by Mary Campisi
He shrugged. “Business is business.”
“Indeed it is.” Her eyes flashed. “And pleasure is pleasure, is it not?”
He chose to ignore the liquid sweetness of her voice. How could a woman switch from lemon ice to syrup in a matter of seconds, and make both sound equally formidable? “What are you implying?”
“I’m not that naive. Everyone knows what’s in London besides business.”
“Do tell, sweet wife, for there are many things in London. What do you speak of?”
“I think you two should bring this conversation to a more private location before we read all about it in the morning paper.” Jason placed a hand on Holt’s shoulder as he spoke. “I’ll stay and see to Julia.”
Holt threw his brother a dark look and nodded. “You and I will discuss your misplaced devotion in the morning.” And with that, the Earl of Westover placed an arm about his wife’s waist and quit the ballroom.
***
Several minutes had passed since the carriage pulled away from the Carlington estate and began making its way toward Ellswood. Sophie had expected her husband to pounce on her with recriminations and demands the very second they were settled in the carriage, but that had not happened. Rather, he’d sat across from her, staring out the window, saying nothing. She studied his profile in the semi-darkness, grudgingly admiring his ability to wear his looks with such casual elegance. It only served to make him more appealing. More irresistible, she corrected. She balled her fists beneath the numerous folds of her gown, digging her nails into her palms as visions of her husband charming his London ladies with his looks and his hands floated before her.
“I’ve missed you.”
His quiet words jerked her out of her nightmarish imaginings. “You merely tired of your whores.”
“I did miss you, though with that waspish tongue, I’m beginning to wonder why.”
“Spare me. You left our marriage bed the day after our wedding without a by your leave to travel to London on supposed ‘business.’ And,” she pointed a finger at him, making no attempt to hide her outrage, “you left your brother to the disagreeable task of telling me. You didn’t care enough to let me know you were going or when you would return. Have you any idea what it’s like to be deserted in your husband’s home the day after your wedding? The day after, we . . .” She couldn’t say it for the tears threatened and she vowed she’d kill herself before letting a single one slip. “You humiliated me.”
“I never meant to hurt you.”
“One would have to care to be hurt, would one not?” He’d never know she’d cried for three days and took no meals for two. “I said you humiliated me. There is a difference.”
He showed no sign of emotion save the tiny twitch on the left side of his jaw. The least the man could do was argue with her, perhaps raise his voice so she would be justified when she raised her own. She’d practiced this moment for weeks, alternating sarcasm and venom into her tongue-lashing and now he was taking even that from her with his ridiculous silence.
“Have you nothing to say?” Speak damn you, speak. He shrugged with a nonchalance that made her want to slap his arrogant face. How dare he?
But she knew better. A man like Holt Langford could dare to do exactly as he pleased because he cared for nothing and no one but himself. “You bastard,” she spat out, determined to unleash her fury. “You inconsiderate, arrogant bastard!” She lunged at him, pummeling his chest with her fists. “I hate you. I hate you!”
“Enough!” He grabbed her wrists and held them. “I haven’t been with another woman.”
She was inches from his face but refused to look at him.
“I said I haven’t been with another woman.”
“And my best friend is a donkey.”
“Damn you, Sophie.” He pulled her onto his lap and clasped her chin between his fingers. “Look at me.”
She shook her head.
“Sophie—”
“No.”
He let out a very long, very annoyed sigh. “For some ridiculously insane reason, I don’t seem to want any other woman.”
She stiffened.
“Did you hear me? I don’t want any other woman, Sophie. Only you.” He placed a soft kiss behind her ear. “Only my wife.” His mouth trailed along her neck, planting feathery kisses that gave her goose bumps.
She would not be distracted. “You left me.”
“I was a fool,” he whispered, tracing her earlobe with his tongue. “An incredible fool.”
“Yes, you were.” She shivered as his fingers eased down her back. “Very . . . foolish.”
“Abominably foolish,” he murmured as he leaned close to nuzzle her neck.
Concentrate, she told herself.
“I won’t leave you again, my love.” He stroked his tongue along the column of her neck, drew a tiny wedge of flesh into his mouth, and sucked.
She moaned.
“I promise.”
“How can I trust your promises?” She inclined her neck to give him greater access.
The kisses stopped and Holt tilted her chin to meet his gaze which burned into her. “I promise I will not leave you again. I fled to London to break the spell you cast on me, but I fear, it is too late. You are with me,” he laid a hand on his chest and said, “deep inside, no matter where I go.”
When the tears threatened this time, she let them spill for they were joy-filled. “Oh, Holt,” she murmured, placing the softest of kisses on his mouth.
“Let me make it up to you,” he murmured, stroking a hand from her breast to her thigh. “I have much to repent.”
Sophie sighed, her body melting against his as the last shreds of willpower evaporated with his words. And then there were no more words as he turned her face to his and took her mouth in a long, sweet kiss. Sophie gave herself up to him, opening her mouth to accept his tongue, stroking it with her own, whimpering with pleasure. Holt groaned, his hands devouring her body, stroking, kneading, possessing.
“Kneel over me, my sweet,” he commanded softly as he grabbed her hips. “Like this,” he said, taking one of her legs and placing it on the outside of his thigh. His smile spread as he watched her do the same with her other leg. “Now sit back and let me pleasure you.” She followed his heated gaze to the large bulge in his trousers. Dear Lord! When she cupped his manhood, he sucked in a breath and jerked against her hand. “You’re playing with fire.”
“Perhaps, I like the heat,” she murmured, emboldened by his reaction. “Perhaps I enjoy the burn.” She moved her hand over the bulge in his trousers and let out a throaty laugh as he groaned and thrust himself into her open palm.
“You,” he continued through clenched teeth, “are most definitely going to get burned.”
She laughed again, soft and low, as she stroked the length of him with both hands. When he ran his fingers along the neckline of her gown she caught her breath, aching for his touch on her bare breasts.
It would seem he shared her desire for he eased the gown from her shoulders and loosened her chemise. “Beautiful,” he murmured, pushing the fabric aside to expose her breasts. “So beautiful.” He captured a nipple in his mouth, gently sucking while he caressed the other with light, circular strokes that drove her mad.
“Oh, Holt,” she sighed.
He sucked again, tugging her nipple with his teeth and the sigh became a moan. The need to touch that most intimate part of him burst into a hot wetness between her legs and she began undoing Holt’s trousers. After a few fumbling attempts, his manhood sprang free. She touched him, gently at first, then more boldly, increasing her strokes, measuring the length of him until he was slick and heavy and thrusting into her hands with hard, greedy strokes.
“Dear, God, you’re exquisite,” he groaned, reaching under her gown to slip a finger into the slit of her pantaloons. “I’ve got to be inside you.”
She raised herself up, as anxious for the union as Holt. He separated her with his fingers and kissed her before impaling
her in one long thrust. Nothing existed but the feel of him thrusting into her, his mouth possessing hers with greedy need.
She had to get closer. Sophie gripped his shoulders and rubbed her breasts along his chest. Yes, oh yes! Holt jerked against her, grabbing her buttocks from beneath her twisted gown and driving into her so deeply she screamed her pleasure.
“Let yourself go, Sophie. Now.”
He pumped into her one last time and let out a hoarse cry, spilling his hot seed into her as she quivered with release, shattering into a thousand pulsing fragments of sensation, her husband’s name on her lips, his groans of pleasure buried deep in her heart.
Chapter 23
There were two empty seats in the dining room the next morning. Neither had been occupied earlier, Jason noted with an amused smile, as he’d been up since slightly past dawn, fully expecting his brother’s wrath and wanting to be done with it. Apparently, Holt had been otherwise engaged.
“Well, what do you think?” Julia whispered.
“About what?” he looked at his sister, feigning ignorance.
“Oh, don’t be obtuse. You know exactly what I mean. Do you think they’ve patched things up?” Her voice slipped a notch. “Do you think they shared the same bed?”
Casting her a warning look, Jason attempted to sound stern, “I would not venture to guess, nor should you.”
“You’re not even curious?”
“No.” No need for curiosity when he’d wager a ship Sophie and his brother had indeed shared a bed, were at this very moment, still sharing a bed.
“I think they did.” Before he could respond, Julia slipped in another thought. “She’s hopelessly in love with him.”
“Possibly.”
“Obviously, not possibly.”
“That, too.”
“I think he’s in love with her and well you know what usually happens when two people are in love . . . ” her voice trailed off. For all of her bluster, she was still such an innocent.
Jason smiled in spite of himself. “Yes, I do believe I’ve heard tell.” He grinned at the withering look she gave him. “It would make life much more pleasant around here.”
“And prove Francie right,” Julia said, sliding him a smug smile.
“What does that woman have to do with Holt?”
“Why would you ask that question in such a manner?”
“No reason.” Other than Francie Bishop and her outrageousness.
“Do you dislike her?”
“She’s a bad influence on you.”
“Because she prefers to ride astride as do I?”
“In her husband’s breeches?”
Julia wrinkled her nose at him. “I’ve been wearing yours for years.”
“Not in public. Good grief, the woman doesn’t care who sees her cavorting around barefoot on the front lawn in her husband’s breeches with dogs and geese.”
“I believe they’re ducks.”
He frowned at her.
“Everyone loves Francie.”
“Not everyone,” he grumbled.
Her gaze narrowed on him in sudden understanding. “You’re the one who’s been trying to keep us apart! And all this time I thought it was Alexander Bishop.”
Jason looked away and shrugged. “You’re free-spirited enough without anyone else encouraging you to behave like a wild woman.”
“I should be permitted to choose my own friends.”
“Not when the friends permit dogs to romp around the drawing room.”
“They’re well-trained.”
“You think it’s perfectly normal for a dog to sprawl on his master’s sofa?”
It was Julia’s turn to shrug and look away. “Francie says Alexander isn’t fond of the idea but he tolerates it. Compromise is crucial to a good marriage you know.”
“No, I wouldn’t know.”
“She’s my friend, Jason. I wish you could overlook her peculiarities and allow me to enjoy her friendship.” She turned that pleading gaze on him and he knew he was finished. “Couldn’t you at least try?”
There was that voice, spoken with such honest intention he could do no more than mumble, “I’ll try.”
He guessed he could attempt patience with her barnyard of animals, and perhaps even the barefoot cavorting could be overlooked, as well as the breeches, though thank God she didn’t sport those when she was with child. Bishop at least appeared to have a say in that. Jason could even overlook the various strange tasting muffins and breads that randomly presented themselves at his supper table, substance offerings from Julia’s experiments in Francie Bishop’s kitchen.
But the eyes, now that’s what truly unmanned him. They were so blue, so startling, and so clearly resembled those of the woman who had stolen his heart and crushed it years ago.
“Do you think love conquers all, Jason?” Julia asked. “You know, like the stories say they do?”
He met her gaze and forced his words to remain steady. “Not always, Julia.” And then as an afterthought he said, “Actually, almost never.”
***
“Did you know, Madame Wife, your hair has shades of red and gold running through it that shimmer in the light?” Holt smiled at Sophie as he smoothed her hair onto the pillow. “And,” he continued, “it’s softer than the richest silk in the Orient.”
“Do tell,” she whispered.
“And then there are your breasts,” he said as he traced their plump curves. His hand slid to her belly, inching lower. “And your beautiful, tight —”
“Stop!” Sophie turned crimson.
He smiled slowly. “Stop what darling? This,” he stroked her nubbin until she gasped with shock and pleasure. “Or is it my honest words which embarrass you?”
“Both.”
“Would you like me to stop?”
She shook her head a vigorous no.
“Good.” He wondered if he would ever get enough of her. They’d made love throughout the night and finally fallen into an exhausted sleep somewhere before dawn. When they woke, Sophie lay wrapped in his arms, cradled beside him with her bottom pressed intimately against his arousal. He’d merely lifted her leg slightly and slipped his throbbing shaft into her, drawing and withdrawing ever so slowly as he taught her yet another equally exciting lesson in the art of lovemaking.
“Holt?”
“Yes?”
She stroked his cheek. “Make love to me.”
“It’s too soon . . . after last night.”
“I want you.”
God, she was killing him. “Sophie—”
“Take me.”
“But—”
“Take me, Holt. Now.”
Her soft command proved a heady aphrodisiac he could not resist. He settled his body over and into hers, reveling in the feel of being tightly sheathed inside her, with her long legs wrapped around his waist. They moved together, she bucking under him, and he driving into her, deeper and needier, until finally they exploded in each other's arms.
***
It was well after two in the afternoon when Holt settled himself in his study. Jason had been waiting for him, not wanting to intrude on his brother’s new found bliss and yet anxious to clear the air. Furthermore, there was another pressing matter that needed discussing.
Jason knocked on the door and entered. Holt sat behind the desk with several ledgers spread out before him. Was he humming? Good God, the man was well and truly besotted! Jason cleared his throat and approached the desk.
The humming ceased immediately as Holt looked up and muttered, “I must look like a lovesick fool to you.”
“Humming, eh?” Jason grinned. “I didn’t even know you knew what humming was.”
“Actually, I doubt I did. But right now, I feel as though I could fly.”
“Good Lord.”
“I’m the luckiest man in the world.” He cleared his throat. “I owe you an apology for my behavior last night.”
“Indeed you do.” Jason paced the room, enjoying the few moment
s when he actually had the upper hand over his older brother. “I was merely protecting your innocent wife’s virtue from those wolves, need I say more?” His smile faded when he noticed the dark look on Holt’s face. “I owe you an apology as well. I never should have let those two little minxes talk me into going out. But Christ, it was worse than an infernal cemetery with everyone waiting for your return and no one wishing to speak of it. After the first day, your name was never mentioned, in polite inquiry or otherwise. We thought to spare Sophie, and all the while she was trying her damnedest to spare us with her feigned cheerfulness. I think I gave in because I wanted them to forget about you for just a little while, but I realized my mistake the moment we entered the ballroom.”
“Spare me the details. Suffice it to say, we were both in error and leave it at that.”
“Done.” Jason paused a moment, weighing his next words carefully. “While you were gone I sent word to the West Indies. I thought perhaps you ventured there, but apparently you haven’t been in twelve years.”
“That would be correct.”
“What happened? The letter from our uncle said you took off when he tried to strip you of what he called your clinging ways and fearfulness.” When Holt didn’t respond, Jason pressed on, “That didn’t sound like you. Even back then, scrawny or not, I’ve never known you to back down from anything. What really happened?”
Holt sat back and regarded Jason through narrowed eyes. “There were twenty or thirty of us when I arrived, all upper crust, next in line to inherit. We were lacking due to one infirmity or another, be it physical or mental. Our uncle’s job was to beat it out of us.”
“Good God.”
“Whips. Chains. Rope. Even dogs that would chase you for hours until your feet bled and you thought your lungs would burst.”
“I had no idea—”
“Edward knew.”
“He may have been a lot of things, but this?”
“He knew.”
“You’re certain?”
“The night before I left, he told me I would probably hate him for sending me away. He said Uncle’s methods were primitive but the results would justify any discomfort I might experience. I had no idea what he meant until I got off the boat and saw five young men strung from a tree, naked. They were blindfolded, dangling by their feet, crying in pain. That’s when I knew Edward absolutely understood what was about to happen to me.”