by Amelia Grey
Another thing he hadn’t counted on was the heat of the midday sun beating down on him, draining his energy faster than he’d anticipated. The muscles in his arms burned, but Matson didn’t let up. He struggled for deep breaths and kept pushing the oars harder and faster into the water with each downward motion. The minutes seemed like hours, but Matson passed first one boat and then the other, leaving no one between him and the shore but Sophia and Beckett.
It surprised Matson that Sophia had taken him at his word and was helping Mr. Beckett row. He didn’t blame her for wanting him to lose, after what he’d done. But what he told his brother was true. He’d made a big mistake, and it was going to take a big effort to set it right.
Beckett was strong, but Matson could see he was tiring, and slowly Matson was gaining on him. The problem was that with each slice into the water, they were getting closer and closer to shore. Matson felt a little safer when, at last, the front tip of his boat came even with the back of Sophia’s boat. Sophia looked back at him, and seeing her face gave Matson the surge of energy he needed to dig harder into the water. He heard the roar of the crowd on shore, some urging him to win and some urging Mr. Beckett to be the winner.
In a last hard, sweeping push of the oar through the water, Matson caught Beckett and Sophia; their boats hit the shore at the same time. Beckett reached back for Sophia’s hand to help her step out of the boat. Matson knew he had only one chance to win, and he took it. With arms weak and trembling from exertion, he reached down and picked up Miss Craftsman in his arms. She gasped as he swung her around and quickly set her feet down on the shore just before Sophia’s feet touched the ground.
Matson heard cheers and clapping. He also heard jeers, which obviously came from the gentlemen who’d bet against him winning. Iverson bolted down to the shore and patted him on the back.
Beckett quickly turned angry eyes on Matson and said, “You cheated.”
The crowd fell silent. “Watch your accusations, Beckett,” Matson said, stepping closer to the man. “I don’t cheat.”
“You picked her up”—he pointed to Miss Craftsman—“out of the boat.”
Matson’s breathing was labored. He looked at Sophia. She was his.
“I don’t recall there being any rules about how our partner’s feet made it to the ground, only that she be the first to touch it for the win.”
Beckett looked up into the crowd and asked, “Who’s in charge of this race?”
“I am, I am,” Lord Tradesforke called, waddling down to the water’s edge. “Hold on, hold on. I’m on my way.”
Matson’s gaze didn’t waver from Beckett’s while he waited for the earl to get to them, but he knew Sir Randolph and the Misses Shevingtons had crowded around Sophia.
“He cheated,” Beckett said when Lord Tradesforke was close enough to hear him.
Rumblings of discontent came from the crowd. Matson’s eyes narrowed, and his hand made a fist at his side. He was prepared to fight over this if need be. He didn’t like his honor being questioned, and especially in front of more than half the ton. He didn’t want to have to defend himself with his fists or swords after he’d just rowed like the devil himself was after him, but damnation, he’d do it if Beckett persisted in this false claim.
“That’s a serious charge, sir,” Lord Tradesforke said, wedging his large body between Matson and Mr. Beckett.
“He picked up his partner out of the boat and set her feet on the ground.”
Lord Tradesforke looked up at the crowd and asked, “Did Mr. Brentwood’s partner’s feet touch the ground first?”
Shouts of yes, absolutely, and clapping flowed from the crowd.
“Then there is no problem of cheating. I didn’t stipulate how the lady’s feet should touch the ground, sir, only that she be the first to do so. If you had picked up your partner, perhaps you would have won. As it is, you lost fairly.”
A roar of support went up from the crowd, and Matson took in a deep, satisfying breath. Mr. Beckett turned to Sophia and continued to complain that the rules were unclear, and therefore he hadn’t truly lost the race.
Matson turned to Miss Craftsman, who was scowling at him. He really couldn’t blame her. This was the second time she’d been handed off to another man. “Miss Craftsman, it’s been a pleasure to be your partner this morning.”
She looked at him for a moment as if she were trying to decide if she should pout and be remorseful or slap him. Matson was so tired and so happy at the moment, he really didn’t care. “Would you allow me to see you back to your parents?”
Obviously the nicer side of Miss Craftsman won out. She sucked in a deep breath, smiled unconvincingly sweetly, and said, “I would not care for you to do another thing for me, Mr. Brentwood. And please don’t call on me the next time you want to make Miss Hart jealous. This is really not a role I’m suited to play.” She turned and stomped away.
Matson walked over to Sophia and greeted her, her aunts, and Sir Randolph. He ignored Beckett, who was still at her side.
“You almost lost a ship today, Mr. Brentwood,” Sophia said.
“I admit I was worried for a short time. You never gave an inch.”
Smiling, she said, “You didn’t expect me to, did you?”
“Nor did I want you to. It made the win all the sweeter.”
“It was very clever of you to pick up Miss Craftsman.”
He fought to suppress a victorious grin. “I had no doubt it would be the quickest way to get her out of the boat.”
Sophia turned to Mr. Beckett. “I’m sure you made Lord Snellingly very proud of you today.”
“I’m sure I didn’t, Miss Hart.” He nodded to her and walked away.
Matson looked at Sophia. Her aunts and Sir Randolph stood behind her. His brother was behind him. “It appears we are partners once again, Miss Hart. You look like you could use a cup of tea or chocolate, or something stronger, if you prefer. May I?” He held out his arm.
For a long time, Matson had felt like Sophia belonged to him, and at that moment, with his brother, her guardian, and her aunts looking on, Matson knew he loved Sophia.
The problem was that he wasn’t at all sure he had her heart.
Twenty-four
Two souls with but a single thought, two hearts that beat as one.
—John Keats
Inhaling deeply, Sophia softly opened her bedchamber door and stepped out into the darkened corridor. Silently and slowly she pulled the door shut behind her. All was quiet except for her own excited breathing huffing in her ears. The rug beneath her bare feet kept her footsteps soundless as she hurried toward the stairs.
She had never before had a reason to slip out of the house and into the night. Her heart pounded, and her throat felt tight. Fear of getting caught rippled through her. Sir Randolph had been good to her, and she didn’t want to bring shame to him. But she was willing to risk everything to be with Matson again.
She picked up the hem of her cloak and night rail as she descended the stairs and quickly headed toward the back of the house. Once at the exit, she leaned her cheek against the cold wood and tried to still her rapid breathing.
It had been almost midnight before she’d made it home from the park. The afternoon and evening with Matson had flown by as they visited all the booths at the fair, and later danced under the stars until the orchestra had stopped playing and Lord Tradesforke bid everyone good night. Just before they had parted, Matson asked her to meet him in the garden after everyone had gone to bed.
As quietly as possible, she opened the door and stepped out onto the landing. Anticipation and excitement grew inside her. There was only a slight chill to the air, and a thin slice of moon hung in the sky. It was barely enough to light her way, but bright enough that she needed her black cloak to hide her white cotton gown.
The steps and stone-covered pathway were cold to her f
eet as she fled to the end of the garden. When she made it to the gate, she took hold of the handle and looked back at the house to see if any lamps or candles had been lit. The house was dark, quiet. She breathed a sigh of relief.
“Sophia.”
Startled, she spun and saw Matson step out of the shadows. She looked into his eyes, and he smiled at her. Her heart melted for the second time that day.
She had never seen him dressed so casual or look so handsome. He wore only a white shirt and dark trousers. He had discarded his coat, neckcloth, and waistcoat. Her heart overflowed with love for him. He slipped his hand around to the back of her neck, pulled her gently to him, and lowered his head to hers. His soft, moist lips brushed over hers, teasing her with the lightest contact.
Sweet contentment settled into her soul.
“You are late again,” he whispered against her lips.
“And you are early again.” She smiled. “I wanted to be sure everyone had time to get to sleep after retiring.”
She stepped into his arms, and they circled her. She loved the comfort and safety of his embrace. Matson covered her lips with his, drawing her closer to his chest. He kissed her reverently at first, but quickly his kisses turned impatient and physical. His hands moved over her unbound breasts, down her waist, and over her hips.
Her arms slid around his broad back and gloried in the feel of the strong muscles that had helped him win the boat race. She had been hurt and angry that he had deserted her, but he had come back for her. All was forgiven. She wanted to be here with him like this. She loved him with all her heart, and though she could never tell him, she could show him.
They kissed with all the passion they were feeling for a few more moments, and then he hugged her up close, kissed the warmth of her neck just under her ear, and whispered her name.
“Come,” he said huskily. “I’ve laid down my cloak for us in the corner behind the table and chairs.”
“I thought we were to meet outside, between the hedges.”
“I was too fearful someone might use the pathway as a shortcut to the mews and disturb us. We are safely secluded here in this corner of the garden. No one can see us from the house because of that tree. No one can enter through the gate, because I locked it.”
Matson took her hand and led her to his cloak, where they sank to their knees as their lips met once again. She leaned sensually into him. Her lips parted, and his tongue swept inside her mouth slowly, delicately. His tongue played with hers as they tasted, teased, and tempted each other. He untied the ribbon at the base of her throat, and her cloak fell to the ground. Her long hair spilled down her back. He caught it up in his hands and crushed it in his gentle grip.
“I’ve dreamed of seeing your hair spread across your shoulders like this,” he said against her lips.
“It pleases you?” she asked.
“Very much,” he answered and cupped her cheeks with his hands and pressed his forehead against hers. “There is much I need to say to you, Sophia. I’m sorry I—”
Her fingers pressed against his mouth, stopping him. “Later,” she whispered. “Right now I want to kiss you, to touch you, and to taste you again. We’ll leave words between us for another time.”
He raised his head and looked into her eyes. “How can I not tell you how beautiful you are and how good you make me feel inside?”
She laughed softly. “You can tell me wonderful things.”
His hand combed down her hair. “I wish I could see you better.”
“It would be dangerous for us out here tonight if there were more moonlight.”
“I know.” He grinned. “But I can still wish.”
He bent his head and slanted his lips over hers in a slow, tender kiss. His hand left her hair, and his fingers floated down her neck to her chest, and on to the firm swell of her breasts nestled warmly beneath the cool cotton fabric of her night rail.
Sophia’s breathing increased. His hand felt strong, tender, and sure. Matson’s thumb brushed against the taut tip. Her nipple grew hard and erect under his ardent touch, and she moaned softly with pleasure.
She wanted their time together to be slow, so she could enjoy every touch, every kiss, and every breath. Their coming together in the rowboat had been exciting and eager, but too cramped and rushed to be savored.
“Sophia,” he whispered into her mouth, “lie with me.”
That was what she was waiting to hear. She had yearned for his touch again. She sank from her knees to her buttocks, and Matson gently tumbled her onto his cloak. He bunched her wrap behind her head. He then stretched his long, lean body beside her as his lips sought hers again. He kissed her passionately as his hands eagerly caressed her shoulder, down her arm and over her chest to fondle her breasts. Occasionally he would stop and tease the nipple with his thumb and finger, which sent shivers of delight shooting through her.
His lips left hers, and his tongue swept down her neck, tasting her skin, and back up to her mouth again to devour her lips. She pulled the front of his shirt from his trousers and slid her hands beneath it to feel his warm, firm skin. She let her fingertips glide softly and tantalizingly slowly over his chest and down his midriff. Her hand slipped lower to the hard swell beneath his trousers. She heard his soft moan of satisfaction, and it pleased her that her touch could make him feel so good.
Matson’s lips left hers, and he rose up over her. He untied the bow that held the front of her gown together and slowly slid it off first one shoulder and then other. He gazed lovingly at her breasts.
He then looked into her eyes and said, “You are as beautiful as I knew you would be.”
She shivered. “Touch me.”
He lowered his head and closed his mouth over the tip of one breast and tasted her hungrily. A whisper of need eased past his lips as he cupped, lifted, and caressed her breast as if he were feeding an insatiable desire to possess her with all the hunger he was feeling.
Sophia threw her head back and lifted her chest to him. She took pleasure in the earth-shattering sensations spiraling through her body. She cupped his head to her while her fingers played in the warmth of his thick hair. She stroked the line of his shoulder and muscled arm and then all the way down his wide back and straight spine, before sliding her hands up to sensuously tangle again in his dark hair.
She gasped and sighed softly as one sensational feeling after another shot through her. His hand cupped and molded the swell of her breasts as he gently teased her nipples with his tongue. With loving caution, his hand slid down her rib cage, over her abdomen, and to her lower, most womanly part. She sucked in her breath at the feelings. His touch sent rushing, delicious warmth sizzling through her. She lifted her body toward him. Her erratic breaths quickened, and so did his.
He rose, and in one fluid motion he ripped his shirt over his head and off his arms, dropping it to the ground beside him. A smile spread across her face. She wound her arms around his strong back, leaned up, and kissed his neck, letting her lips skim along his shoulders and across both nipples on his chest.
Her hand raked down his thigh, over his buttocks, and then around to the thick shaft between his legs. She fumbled with the buttons on his trousers. Matson helped her slide them down his hips and off his legs. He grabbed her night rail and pushed it up and over her head, and bunched it with her cloak to make a soft pillow for her.
Sophia lay completely nude before him, with the pale moonlight shining down on her.
Matson smiled at her. He ran the palm of his hand and tips of his fingers over her naked shoulders to her breasts, to her waist and abdomen, down the slim plane of her hip and over to her inner thigh, before going back to her face to lovingly caress her cheek.
“You are gorgeous, Sophia. Perfectly shaped, beautifully soft, and yet womanly firm.”
She smiled. “I’m glad I please you.”
He looked at her for a
moment or two longer before his lips, tongue, and hands once again started working their magic on her senses. His open palm slid down and cupped the curve of her waist before tenderly sliding to the warmth between her legs.
The slow movement of his fingertips created an intense fire of desire burning inside her. She rotated her body in movement with his fingers.
“I am so eager for you, Sophia,” he whispered huskily.
“Then don’t keep us waiting.”
He rose over her and covered the length of her body with his, settling his weight on her. Her hands were free to comb the solid, muscled wall of his back, hips, and thighs. His body was firm, his skin smooth.
All her senses burst to life when he pressed his manhood against the softness between her legs, and slowly, deliberately, continuously pressed into her, joining his body to hers. She felt him tremble, and she gloried in the power she had to give him such pleasure.
Matson stopped moving and sighed contentedly. “You are mine once more, Sophia,” he whispered against her lips. “You are mine.”
Her pulse beat loudly in her ears, but she heard him whisper her name over and over as he kissed her lips, her eyes, her ears, and her neck.
She felt full, complete. She pressed against him, rocking in motion with his movement. His thrusts became fast and sure. She rose up to cup his body to her. With uneven breaths, she stroked down his back, across his buttocks, and up to his shoulders again with loving hands.
With his thighs wedged between hers, they moved together, engulfed in the exquisite, luxuriant sensation of pleasuring each other. She clung to him and rode the waves of delirious desire with him until they both silently cried out in fulfillment. She fell limp with contentment. Matson’s body shuddered as he buried his face in the crook of her neck and inhaled deeply. She realized he hadn’t rolled away from her before completing their union, as he had when they were in the boat. That pleased her.