by Amelia Grey
“Excuse me, sir, but are you looking for something?”
Matson froze at the sound of Sophia’s voice behind him. He’d wanted to see her, but he hadn’t wanted her to catch him peeping through the shrubbery.
He turned. She was walking down the footpath toward him. His stomach muscles tightened at the sight of her. She wore a pale melon-colored dress and matching bonnet. She had a dark brown shawl wrapped around her shoulders with the ends tied in a knot in front of her chest.
“Yes, Miss Hart, I am, but not something, someone. I was looking for you.”
Surprise brightened her eyes. “Oh, Mr. Brentwood, it’s you.”
She smiled, and suddenly he felt warm all over. He didn’t understand it. Of all the young ladies in London, why was she the one who heated his blood like no other and made him feel desperate to touch her?
“Wouldn’t the better place to look for me be at my front door, knocking and asking to see me?”
“Yes, it would, if your aunts were anyone other than the Misses Shevington. Your aunts refused to let me see you.”
Sophia’s lips twitched with suppressed merriment. “So you decided to spy on me through the hedge. That was very naughty of you, Mr. Brentwood.”
“Did you just call me naughty?” He grinned. “I don’t believe I’ve been called that since I left the nursery.”
“The shoe fits, does it not?”
He placed his hand over his heart. “On my gentleman’s honor—I will never own up to that.”
Sophia laughed. “My aunts told me you had called, but I assumed you left.”
“Then perhaps I should pat myself on the back because I managed to stay longer than your average gentleman caller.”
“Yes, just how did you manage that?”
“Because I am also a twin, and your aunts adore talking about being twins.”
She laughed. “So they told you the story of how they got their names.”
“In great detail and more than once,” he said with a smile.
“That subject would definitely give them reason to allow you to stay. I believe I’ve already mentioned that they are a bit overzealous concerning their duties to me.”
“A bit?” he said good-naturedly. “Surely you jest, Miss Hart.”
She looked as if she was trying to stop another smile from spreading across her face, but her efforts went unrewarded. His comment had amused her, and it showed. That pleased him.
“All right, a lot, but perhaps you’ll take comfort knowing they have not singled you out. Lord Snellingly, Viscount Hargraves, Lord Bighampton, Mr. Parker Wilson, and others were all told that I won’t be at home to visitors for a few more days.”
“To be added in with those gentlemen is of little comfort. However, while I was having a delightful conversation with your aunts, Miss Mae Shevington let it slip that you were in the back garden, writing poetry, so I thought I would have a look and see if I could find you.”
Sophia folded her hands together in front of her and lifted her head slightly. “Are you fond of verse, Mr. Brentwood, or did you decide you had to see me?”
Her teasing expression delighted him. He looked down at the sheet of vellum she held in her hand. “Very clever, Miss Hart. If your poems are as sharp as your wit, I’m sure I would enjoy them too.”
Appreciation for his compliment sparkled in her eyes. She folded the paper once and then held it behind her back. “You will never know. I write only for myself, sir. A gust of wind swept this page away from me and up and over the back gate. I came out to chase it down. On my way back, I caught a glimpse of someone peering through the hedge.”
Ignoring her comment about his peering, he said, “I think the lady doth protest too much. It must be very good poetry if you went to such lengths not to lose it.”
The corners of her tempting mouth lifted again. “No, it’s so bad I didn’t want anyone to find it and read it.”
Matson chuckled lightly. “I doubt that’s true.”
“I have to admit that I’m surprised to see you here. I had the feeling you were not very happy with me after our encounter last night.”
He’d wondered if she would mention that. “I admit I was caught off guard when I discovered you were Sir Randolph’s ward.”
“I think we were both startled when we were introduced.”
He nodded. “True. Yet, your aunts showed no recognition of my name when I was talking to them earlier.”
“My aunties are of the old, old school that ladies should not read newsprint.”
“Not even the scandal sheets?”
“Especially so. Aunt June disapproves of such reading for ladies and only reluctantly allows me to read them because my father told her I could. When I first went to live with them, she would hide the newsprint and then come up with ridiculous things that might have happened to it, one time going so far as to say Lord Pinkwater’s ghost was stealing it.”
Matson chuckled. “A woman without curiosity about what others are doing and saying is very rare.”
Her brows lifted, and her eyes widened. “Oh, I agree. I want to know about everything.”
“Which brings me back to the reason I’m here,” Matson said.
“Have you found the thief?” She took a hopeful step closer to him. “Did you recover my brooch?”
She seemed eager for good news, and Matson hated to say, “No.”
“Oh,” she whispered softly and looked away from him for a moment. “The constable’s search hasn’t yielded anything either.”
“There’s still hope it will be found,” he offered.
“But less and less with each passing day.”
“The brooch, it must have been your favorite.”
She shook her head. “No.” Her voice remained low as she continued. “And it’s not even very expensive. It’s just that it’s all I had.”
Matson could see in her eyes and hear in her voice she was still sad over the loss. “What do you mean?”
She brought her hands back in front of her and seemingly unconsciously folded the sheet of vellum again. “I lost everything of my mother’s except that brooch in a house fire when I was seven.” She blinked several times, breathed in deeply, and lifted her chin and shoulders a little higher.
“I’m sorry,” he said, angry at himself all over again for allowing the boy to steal it in the first place. Now he knew why she’d been so frantic that day at Timsford’s Square.
“Yes, so am I, but just as Sir Randolph reminded me this morning, I have memories. I will always have those.” Suddenly her forehead wrinkled. He could tell she was trying to decide if she should say more. He remained silent and gave her the time she needed.
“So, if you didn’t have news about the lad, why did you want to see me?”
The change of subject let Matson know she didn’t want to say more about her loss. But he made a vow to continue to look for the boy who stole that brooch, so he could return it to her.
“I wanted to finish the conversation we were having last night. You obviously know things about my past that I don’t know, and I would like to hear more.”
“I really don’t know any more than I told you last night. I already admitted to being curious about conversations from time to time, so I’m certain I didn’t hear the complete story. Your parents and Sir Randolph wanted to shield you and your brother from ever knowing that he was your father. They hoped, in sending you to America, you would make your life there in the new land and never return to discover the truth.”
Matson had to admit to himself that he had been happier before he knew he was another man’s son.
“And that’s all you know?”
“Truly. Since I was a little girl, my father always said that I speak and act before I think about consequences. I’m afraid I’ve never outgrown such impulsive behavior. I was gui
lty of that last night. I spoke out of turn. I’m sure you are not happy about all the gossip that’s been written about you, your brother, and Sir Randolph. I should have been more sensitive to your feelings and never brought it up.”
“What has been said or written about us matters not a whit. What we don’t like is how it reflects badly on our mother.”
“I believe you. I shouldn’t have mentioned the horrid story that poet wrote.”
Their eyes met, held, and though he saw only softness, gentleness, and innocence in hers, he knew she was as dangerous to him as a sharpened blade. Sophia could never be the right lady for him, yet something about her beckoned him. His desire for her made him want to wrap her in his arms and hold her close. He wanted to kiss the light smattering of freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose.
“Why are you looking at me so intently?”
“Am I?” he asked, knowing full well that he was.
She nodded.
“Maybe that’s because I’m wondering if you are thinking what I’m thinking right now.”
“What are you thinking?”
A gust of wind caught a strand of her hair and blew it across her face. He caught it with the tips of his fingers and secured it behind her ear, caressing her delicate skin with the backs of his fingers as he lowered his hand. His mind was reminding him she was Sir Randolph’s ward, telling him to leave, but his body was urging him to stay.
“That I want to kiss you,” he said softly.
He watched her swallow. “I believe I’m thinking something very much like that, even though I know it’s not the proper thing to have on my mind.”
Matson didn’t give a bloody hell about being proper. His problem was that she was Sir Randolph’s ward. He didn’t want to be attracted to her. But he was. He felt different inside when he looked at her, when he was near her. Whatever it was that caused these feelings, he seemed powerless to stop it. And the way she looked at him told him that whatever it was, she felt it too.
“I’m certain it’s not proper too, but…”
He stepped closer and bent down and lightly kissed the bridge of her nose, then under one eye, and then over to the other side. He raised his head a little and looked into her eyes.
“Hmm,” he said and then moistened his lips. “I wondered what your freckles tasted like.”
She stared into his eyes and frowned. “Do they have a taste?”
He nodded once. “They taste like sugar. Soft, sweet, and they melt in my mouth.”
“You are teasing me.” She smiled cautiously. “I expected you to kiss my lips.”
“Did you? And so I shall, but first…” He bent down and placed his nose on the soft skin just behind her ear and breathed in deeply. “Mmm. I knew you would smell as fresh as rainwater.”
Matson slid his arms around her waist and pulled her up to him. He let his lips glide across to her mouth and slowly, softly, pressed them against hers.
“Yes,” she whispered into his breath and melted willingly, easily into his arms.
Matson savored the taste of her. Her lips were warm, and the inside of her mouth as refreshing as a piece of summer fruit, making him want to devour her. His hand moved up and down her back, feeling her delicately rounded shoulders and straight spine. His hand slipped to her narrow waist and rested there for a moment before inching down the flare of her shapely hip. Her body was as slim, firm, and supple as he imagined it would be. The soft, feminine sounds she made heated his body and filled him with an eagerness to do the unthinkable… to lift her skirts and possess her.
“Oh, yes,” he said huskily. “This is much more intoxicating than freckles.”
She stretched her arms around his neck and pressed him closer. He moaned softly. He fitted his lower body tightly against hers by cupping her bottom with one hand while his other hand slid down her chest to capture her breast and cover it with his palm.
Sophia gasped and leaned into his palm. He heard a crinkling noise and knew her hand was tightening on the sheet of vellum she held. He liked what he was doing to her, and what she did to him.
Matson held her tighter and smiled to himself as his lips left hers and he kissed the warmth of her neck.
“Sophia,” a high-pitched voice called.
They quickly broke apart.
Sophia raked the back of her hand across her lips as if she could erase what had just happened between them. “It’s Aunt Mae. Did she see us?”
Matson looked through the shrub. “No. She’s just coming down the steps. She couldn’t have seen us.”
“I have to make sure she doesn’t. I must go.”
Sophia spun and headed down the footpath.
Matson peeked back through the hedge, watched her enter the garden and greet her aunt by the fountain. He blew out a deep, sighing breath.
“Damnation,” he whispered.
He was already trying to think of a reason to see her again.
***
“Sophia, why were you outside the gate?”
“Looking for my poetry, Aunt Mae.” She held up the sheet of vellum. “A gust of wind blew it away, and I had to run after it.”
Her aunt took the paper from her and looked at it. “Thank goodness you found it, but it’s wrinkled. What a shame. You’ll have to copy it again.”
“I shall be happy to do so. I’m just glad I saved it.”
“This is very good, Sophia. Come inside and have a cup of tea while I read the rest of it.”
Sophia gave another glance toward the hedge as she picked up her paper and pencils from the table and chair. She could have sworn she saw Mr. Brentwood watching her through the hedge as she followed her aunt into the house.
“You’ve been out a long time,” Mae said. “Your cheeks are quite rosy, Sophia. You’re not chilled, are you?”
“No, no, my woolen shawl has kept me quite warm.”
“Good. I have to admit it gave me a start when I first went into the garden and you weren’t there.”
Sophia placed her writing materials on the center table in the drawing room and asked, “Would you have been shocked if I had told you I was meeting a handsome prince in secret?”
“No.” Mae’s eyes brightened. “I’d say that’s the most romantic thing I’ve heard in years, but I wouldn’t have believed you. Obviously, if your mind was on a handsome prince, you were getting ready to write romantic poetry.”
“It’s true that my mind is on a handsome gentleman. But just as my poetry was swept away by the wind, I fear my dreams are being swept away too.”
Sophia turned away from her aunt and touched the tips of her fingers to her lips. How could such a simple kiss breathe so much life into so many different feelings inside her? Feelings she hadn’t known existed. Because it wasn’t simple. The kiss he had given her in the corridor last night was simple. His kiss a few minutes ago was passionate.
Mr. Brentwood appealed to all her senses. She’d wanted him to kiss her. But it was foolish. She had to deny his charms and not give in to them again. He could never be the match for her. Fulfilling her oath to her father for her selfish and childish behavior and gaining redemption for ruining his life meant she must marry a title. And even if that vow were not weighing heavily on her shoulders, Mr. Matson Brentwood would not be the man for her. He was a very resourceful businessman. He would not welcome advice from his wife on how to manage a business.
“I know how you feel, Sophia, and I will not let your dreams fade as mine did so many years ago.”
Sophia heard a strain of wistfulness in her aunt’s voice. “Did you have a beau when you were younger?”
“Me? No,” she whispered, sadness gathering in her eyes. “Not a beau, but June and I went to dances the first year we were old enough. I had such a wonderful time dancing, talking, and smiling at all the young gentlemen. But just before the Season was ov
er, June had declared that we didn’t need dances, beaus, or parties. No, we had each other. That was all we needed, and that’s the way it’s been.”
“Why did you stop going just because June did?”
“Oh, we always did everything together. We still do.”
“Why did she stop wanting to go?”
“I don’t know. She never told me.”
“And you never asked?”
“Oh, I did, but she made it quite clear I was not to ask her any personal questions, so I never mentioned it again.” Suddenly Mae’s eyes brightened, and she smiled. “I was so excited when your father asked if we’d be your chaperones and help you find the perfect gentleman to marry. I knew we could go to parties again, see the glittering chandeliers and watch the dances, hear the music, see all the beautiful clothing and jewelry the ladies wear.” She stopped, laughed, and then said, “Oh, my, listen to me! I sound like a young gel waiting for her first Season. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“I know what’s wrong.”
“You do?”
“Yes. You want to be courted.”
“Oh, yes, I do,” she whispered in a breathy voice, sounding as if she was in a trance. Suddenly, she cleared her throat. “What am I saying? I mean, no, no, of course not. You allow me to fill my head with too many fanciful notions, Sophia.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
Mae looked flustered for a moment and then said, “Well, I don’t want them. I have all I need to make me happy.”
Sophia stepped closer to her aunt. “Are you being truthful with me?”
“Of course I am.” Her eyes turned thoughtful again. She looked at Sophia and continued, “Mostly. Oh, Sophia, must you make me admit I do sometimes wonder what it would be like—to have married and had children? But you know the old saying that you can’t put spilled milk back in the bottle. I was put on the shelf years ago, and there is no going back for me.”
“I don’t believe that, Auntie.”
“Well, it’s true,” she said in a stronger voice and then gave a half chuckle. “I don’t know what is putting all these silly ideas in my head. Perhaps it was being at the ball last night. I haven’t been to one in so long. I certainly don’t know what is making me say these outlandish things to you. I must be getting daft, or perhaps it was all the handsome gentlemen I saw. Maybe it was the lively music or the glass of delicious champagne I drank.”