Julia London 4 Book Bundle

by The Rogues of Regent Street

  Frozen, Sophie stood in the middle of the crowded floor, watching Caleb and everyone else dance a jig around her. It was surely a dream … after days of wretched misery, it seemed so unreal, this crowded room, the dancing, and Caleb, his feet moving so quickly that he seemed to float.

  Something about that made her laugh; Sophie grabbed her skirts, watched Caleb for a moment, and then kicked up her heels, mimicking him.

  They danced for hours, kicking and spinning away what had gone on between them, fortified by long draws of ale. They laughed, kissed long and deep, then laughed again, as if nothing had happened between them, as if they were old and married and had danced a thousand jigs together. They spun round the room over and over again, their heels going higher and higher, their spinning more frenzied with the increasing tempo of the music.

  In the early hours of the morning, they stumbled outside, hand in hand, for fresh air. The moon was full, spilling gray-white light over them and the courtyard. Sophie looked up at Caleb standing beside her, at the fine lines around his eyes, the square cut of his jaw. He must have felt her gaze; he looked down, his smile so heartwarming. “I have exhausted you, I am afraid,” he said.

  Funny, but she felt more alive and vibrant than she had in days.

  “I should be a gentleman and insist that you retire for the night, or what is left of it.”

  Ah, but her blood was stirring as it always did when she was near him, and Sophie smiled coyly. “Perhaps you should be a gentleman and see that I retire for the night … and what is left of it.” It didn’t even sound like her—but a light sparked deep in Caleb’s eye and Sophie flashed him a terribly wanton smile. “I mean, there are so many people about …”

  He leaned down, nibbled her earlobe. “You should think twice before inviting me to your bed, madam, for I am the greatest threat to your virtue.” His lips moved from her earlobe to her neck, sending a rain of sparks down her spine.

  “Perhaps you should think twice before accepting, sir,” she murmured, bending her head so that he might have better access to her neck, “for I may very well be the greatest threat to your virtue.”

  Caleb laughed softly against her neck, pulled her into a strong embrace. “You may have my bloody virtue, madam. You already possess my heart.”

  More seductive words were never uttered, and Sophie melted into his chest, kissed his chin as she grasped his hand. And just like that, with the touch of his fingers, the old Sophie disappeared. Gone was the cowardly, timid sister of the Earl of Kettering, and in her place, the new Sophie—the one who had traveled the world over, the one who knew the man she loved and wanted to show him just how much that was so.

  She stepped out of his embrace, pulled on his arm. Still smiling, Caleb took one heavy step toward her. A seductive little giggle escaped her throat—with him, she felt capable of being the seductress, of enticing him to bed with her smile alone. Apparently, she was not far from the mark, because Caleb followed her back into the common room, through what remained of the dancing crowd, and up the wooden stairs to the room Sophie had acquired earlier.

  When they stepped inside, Caleb quickly shut the door behind them, then trapped Sophie against it, letting his hand and mouth eagerly explore her body. The sensation was exquisite; smiling decadently, Sophie arched into him, guided his hands to feel all of her. She was floating, buoyed by his strength and his determination to have her, the pleasurable sensations overtaking all conscious thought.

  Only vaguely did she feel herself being lifted; their collective weight made the bed moan as it sank. Caleb laughed. His hand skimmed the outline of her breast, to the buttons of her bodice. A moment later, Sophie felt the breath of cool air on her skin. She sighed as he pressed his lips against the hollow of her throat and pulled the pins from her hair, reaching for him as he moved lower, pushing the white cotton frill of her chemise below her breast as he went, laving the dark nipple. Sophie whimpered at the slow but urgent caress of his tongue on her breast. “You are beautiful,” he whispered.

  What Caleb uttered in the dark was terribly erotic—Sophie actually felt beautiful, so beautiful that there was not even a glimmer of self-consciousness when he pulled her up, dispensed with her gown and her chemise and petticoats. She fell back on the bed, onto her elbows, her legs stretched out in front of her as she watched him undress beneath hooded eyes. His was a magnificent body, entirely masculine, from the breadth of his muscled shoulders to the taper of his lean waist, the full thighs and buttocks. And of course, there was that standing erect before her, long and sleek.

  Standing naked before her, Caleb openly admired her as she admired him, then smiling wolfishly, he leaned over, grabbed her waist, and pulled her forward, until her legs were hanging off the edge of the bed. He went down on his knees before her, his lips grazing her thigh, his breath grazing the apex of her legs.

  Moaning, she let her head fall back and closed her eyes as his tongue slipped between the folds of her sex, languidly at first, carefully tasting her, exploring each crevice. But then the lap of his tongue took on new urgency, the strokes harder, his mouth covering her. Her writhing seemed to inspire him; his fingers gripped her hips, holding her firmly as he stroked and licked, suckled and nibbled her into a frenzy of delicious torment, until the dark suddenly erupted into brilliant starlight. She was falling and soaring all at once, drifting on a cloud of pure pleasure, away from everything. Except Caleb. Caleb. How she loved him!

  She groaned, gulped for air.

  Caleb came over her, kissing her cheek, her throat, as the aftermath of the eruption washed over her in a whisper. “Beautiful,” he said again. “I want you, Sophie. I want to love you.” With his knees, he spread her legs wider, moved so that his cock was pressed against her, begging entry.

  She moved, lifted her knees. “Come inside me,” she whispered, and gasped with exhilaration as he slipped inside her, slowly sliding into her depths.

  “Ah God.” His voice was ragged, full of emotion, as he began his seductive movement, tantalizing her with his breadth and the depths to which he smoothly stroked. As he lengthened within her, her passion was swelling again, as was the primal need to meet every thrust. “Harder,” she heard herself mutter, heard Caleb groan, bury his face in her neck. Sophie’s knees gripped him; she lifted her pelvis to reach him, matching his rhythm, until she was bucking wildly beneath him, begging him with her body to stroke faster, harder. The tantalizing pressure began to mount in her again, and as his strokes deepened within her, the pressure became unbearable.

  “Come now, darling, now,” he urged her, watching her eyes as she did. “Now!”

  “Caleb!” she panted, wildly anxious, and gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into his back, lifting herself higher, meeting each hard stroke, until the tidal wave of pleasure crashed through her, carrying her swiftly away from all reality but the magic of Caleb inside her. She arched her neck, grabbed helplessly at the coverlet beneath her as the release flooded from every pore.

  Caleb cupped her bottom with both hands, lifting her from the bed as he drove into her twice more, releasing his own passion with a powerful thrust and strangled cry. He filled her completely, his seed pouring deep inside her as he softly called her name, then collapsed beside her.

  They lay for several minutes with his flesh inside her, panting for breath, both blissfully sated. After a time, Sophie slowly opened her eyes and turned to look at Caleb.

  He was watching her, an unfathomable look in his pale green eyes. Without speaking, he reached up and smoothed a strand of hair from her eyes. “I love you,” he said. “I have never loved a woman as I love you. Do you know that?”

  “I love you,” she whispered, cupping his face in her palm. “With all my heart, my soul, my flesh.”

  He smiled, stroked her hair once more before pulling her protectively into his embrace.

  They slept in one another’s arms. Caleb awoke sometime in the night, his gaze drawn to the moonbeam that spilled through the small attic window.
It cast a pale light over Sophie’s face; she was so serene in her sleep, so pretty, and he was reminded of the night in London, in his half-finished ballroom—the first time he had ever truly made love to a woman. This woman. He wished now that he could reach up and take the moon in his hand, hold it exactly where it was, and freeze this moment for all eternity so that he might forever gaze on her like this, his heart full to bursting with love. He watched until the moon slid away, and only then did he gather Sophie close again and close his eyes.

  The next morning, Sophie awoke him with a shower of kisses. He opened one eye—she was up and dressed and beaming from ear to ear. He yawned, scratched his chest, and pushed himself up on one elbow. “Top of the morning, my darling.”

  She laughed, kissed his cheek, then bounced up, tossing his trousers to him. “You’ve caused me to quite miss my coach, Mr. Hamilton.”

  “Did I indeed? Well then, there is nothing to be done for it,” he said as he swung one leg over the edge of the bed, then the other. “Having brought this travesty on you, I now must personally see you to your destination.” He winked, shoved one leg in his trousers, smiling as Sophie stole a glimpse of his nakedness before stepping in with his other leg.

  “My destination is quite a distance, I should warn you.”

  “I am well aware,” he said, and fastening his trousers, walked to where Sophie stood, grabbing her in a strong embrace and kissing the top of her head before continuing on to the basin to wash. “Might I ask why you decided to strike out on your own and follow Madame Fortier? It is hardly the sort of thing a lady is suited to doing.”

  “And why isn’t a lady suited for it?” she demanded, punching her fists to her hips. “I can ride in a coach as well as any man.”

  Her zeal surprised him; Caleb blinked. “All right,” he said slowly.

  Sophie blushed a very becoming shade of pink, bit her lip sheepishly. “Besides,” she said, shrugging, “I had no choice. Trevor intends to accuse her of kidnapping and any other crime he can think of. I do not condone what she has done, but Honorine is no criminal. Her intentions are good.”

  He did not choose to debate that at the moment, but instead opined, “I would rather imagine Trevor is halfway to Nottinghamshire by now.”

  “Why, no! Trevor is here!”

  That announcement struck him. He paused in his bathing and looked at her, half-certain she was jesting. “Here?”

  Sophie nodded.

  “What do you mean, here?”

  “Here. At this inn. I had the misfortune of encountering him last night,” she said, and abruptly turned away, but not before he saw the look of disgust on her face.

  Caleb glanced in the mirror before him, noticed his scowl. The mere mention of Trevor’s name had effectively ruined the mood for him, the heady sense of love and the feeling that they were the only ones in the world.

  “We’ve got to leave this place,” he muttered. “Hurry with you now,” he said, grabbing his shirt and waistcoat from the floor, dispensing with any ideas of shaving he might have had. “We can reach Hamilton House before him—if you can ride, that is.”

  “Yes. Yes, I can ride.”

  He nodded, dressed quickly, uncertain as to the exact nature of his sudden anxiety, other than recognizing a monumental fear of doom should Trevor find him here with Sophie like this.

  “Come on then,” he urged her. “I’ll see to my horse and a separate mount for you. Meet me in the courtyard, will you?” He started for the door, his mind on the business of finding another horse. He started at the feel of Sophie’s hand on his arm, and abruptly stopped in mid-stride, looked around to her.

  “I … I did not know he was here until I saw him.”

  Caleb forced down the ancient feelings of rejection, of envy. It wasn’t her fault, he knew. But he resented the hell out of Trevor at the moment, and knowing that he had been here, somewhere on the same floor as they had made such passionate love, did not improve his disposition in the least. The best thing to do was leave St. Neots as soon as possible.

  He kissed her forehead. “Hurry,” he said simply, and quit the room.

  In the stables, he arranged for a serviceable mare and even an old sidesaddle for Sophie. Having agreed upon what he thought was a reasonable price, Caleb walked past the stables and around to the back, where several carriages had been pulled. Nothing overly ornate or black, he noticed with a sigh of relief. Trevor had undoubtedly left with daybreak.

  He was wrong.

  As Caleb walked into the courtyard, he saw his half-brother standing beside his father’s ridiculously appointed coach, looking as pompous and as obnoxious as ever. He thought to skirt the edge of he courtyard and remain unnoticed by Trevor—but then Sophie stepped out into the bright sunshine.

  Trevor’s jaw tightened noticeably.

  Caleb reached her first, managing to step in front of her before Trevor could accost her. His sudden appearance obviously startled Trevor; he took an involuntary step backward, his eyes hardening at the realization of who would stop him.

  “Good morning,” Caleb said evenly.

  His brother did not speak for a moment. His hard gaze flit to Sophie, then back to Caleb. “What in the hell are you doing here?” he demanded.

  “Passing through, like you.”

  “Then pass through. But stand away from me, sir.”

  Caleb did not move. He braced himself for a fight, not even flinching when he felt Sophie’s hand fall on the small of his back.

  “You missed your coach,” Trevor said flatly to Sophie.

  She stepped up to stand beside Caleb. “No. I didn’t.”

  It was a moment before Trevor understood; the realization slid over him so slowly that Caleb could see it drain the blood from his face. Scowling, he shifted a murderous gaze to Caleb. “You have wrought too much harm, sir. Do not think that I will allow an imposter and a blackguard to steal from an infirm man and compromise a lady of the ton with his bastard seed.”

  “At any time or place you name,” Caleb responded low.

  “No—” Sophie started, but Trevor cut her off with a murderous gleam that made Sophie shrink into Caleb’s side.

  “As for you, madam … if you think you have experienced the sting of scandal before, I think you will find the label whore a much deeper wound.”

  Sophie merely lifted her chin at the insult. Raking one last glare across Caleb, Trevor turned on his heel, stalked to his coach. Barking an order to the driver, he climbed inside, slamming the small door behind him.

  Caleb and Sophie stood side by side, watching the coach pull away. Sophie found Caleb’s hand and squeezed gently. “We’ve nothing to fear from him,” she said pleasantly.

  Caleb smiled. “Of course not.”

  God help us both.

  Just west of Huntingdon, on the banks of the River Nene, beneath the wide boughs of an old oak tree, Honorine and Will sat admiring the buttercups that blanketed the slopes. Will brushed Honorine’s hair slowly, his mind struggling to capture the thought he knew was there. It definitely concerned Caleb, that much he had come to remember. He also knew with some certainty that the answer to whatever was lurking there in the shadows of his mind was at Hamilton House. The sooner they could reach it, the better, for Will had a sense of unease, a sense that something wasn’t quite right.

  He finished brushing Honorine’s hair, bent forward to catch the scent of it before leaning back against the tree.

  Honorine moved to rest against his chest, staring thoughtfully into the flowers around them, her bare feet sticking out beneath her gold-and-blue skirts.

  “What has your … thh-thoughts, m-my love?” he asked.

  She shrugged, smiled up at him. “My thoughts, they are simple,” she said, looking a bit confused when he laughed. “I have these thoughts that you are more well without la médecine.”

  Will stopped laughing. “What? What do you m-mean by this?”

  Honorine pressed a finger against his lips, then leaned up to kiss him. �
�La médecine, it does not help, non? Your head is more well without it,” she said, gesturing to his forehead.

  Will nodded, looked away. There it was again, the urgent thought on the periphery of his mind, the sense that something wasn’t quite right.

  Honorine was correct. His capacity to think and reason had improved tremendously in the last several days. The only difference—aside from being with Honorine and in the clean air of the countryside—was the absence of any medicine. That, he found quite interesting. But also deeply perplexing.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  RURAL ENGLAND

  SOPHIE AND CALEB chose a rarely traveled back road, hoping to gain some ground on Trevor.

  It had been years since Sophie had ridden horseback, and while it took her a few miles to find her equilibrium, she soon rediscovered the exhilaration of riding with the wind in her face. She felt free, wanted to ride faster, harder, into the space before them.

  The events of the last three days had, by some miracle, transformed her into the woman she had always wanted to be. She felt invincible, unconquerable, the queen of her own world—an independent woman, capable of making her own decisions and turning her back on the collective prejudices of the ton. She had never felt quite so strong in all her life—if she wanted, she was certain she could lift mountains.

  They decided to stop in the small village of Peakirk and inquire if anyone might have chanced to see the gig carrying Honorine and Lord Hamilton, and assure themselves that they were on the right path. After all, Sophie reasoned, they had only the word of a small boy, and he had been rather angry. Caleb agreed that it was conceivable that the child might have lied.

  Feeling quite formidable, Sophie insisted on conducting the interview of the dry-goods proprietor herself. Prepared to make quick work of him, she marched into the small shop.

  The proprietor, as it happened, was not a man at all, but his large and jovial widow.