“You’re trying to rile me, rather ruthlessly.” He swept one hand around to the small of her back and drew her up flush against him, his other hand resting possessively over her hip. “I wish”—he cleared his suddenly husky throat—“that you could be mine, Sophia. I need you to know that.”
“You need to take the barricades you’ve been raising between us down.”
“There is your safety to consider.” He leaned in closer, his breath whispering across her lips. “I need to kiss you. May I?”
“No, I’ve decided only my future husband may. If you would like to apply for the position, then you may state so now, or forever regret doing so.”
“Temptress.” Growling under his breath, he pressed his forehead to her forehead, then growled again and brushed his mouth across her mouth.
She stopped breathing.
Goodness, his lips were so soft and warm against hers.
“Kiss me back,” he coaxed as he swept the tip of his tongue across her lower lip and urged her lips to part.
She opened her mouth, touched her tongue to his and got swamped in a heady wave of pleasure. She gasped as he tasted her in return, as he stroked his tongue across her tongue then pushed deeper inside her mouth and sent her thoughts spiraling, his warm breath mingling so magically with hers.
“James…” She sighed, heat spearing through her core, his kiss divine. No man had ever made her emotions rise the way he did. He’d cast a spell over her from the first day they’d met, and now she was finally alive again. “Don’t let me go.”
“I’ve missed you too, my sweet Sophia.” Another kiss, deeper and toe-curling.
Never had she imagined such an intoxicating kiss as this could exist.
She swayed against him, wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to the only man she’d ever loved. Her breasts swelled, and her nipples scraped against the silk of her rose-colored bodice. She moaned, her desire for more swamping her.
“Do you feel it, Sophia?”
“Yes, and I have no words to explain how wonderful this moment feels. It’s sublime.” Her legs wobbled, her limbs all loose.
“You’re so incredibly enticing.” He stroked one finger down her neck, her skin so sensitive to his touch. “What have you done to me?”
“My heart is beating so fast.”
“So is mine.” He angled her head, swooped in again and took full command of the moment, his tongue dueling with hers in a battle of wills.
Sheer pleasure coursed through her, until she could barely breathe from the intense passion he’d stirred to full and vibrant life within her.
“I don’t want you receiving any gentleman callers,” he muttered against her lips.
“Have you changed your mind and wish to stake a claim on me?”
“No, that I’ll never do.”
“Then you’ll need to give me John’s address.”
“No, that I’ll never do either.”
“I am three and twenty, James. With Ellie’s recent marriage to Ashten, it has made me a rather enticing catch and I’m not sure how much longer I can fend prospective husbands off.” The truth. She had received several callers since he’d left, many of them asking her to take a walk or ride, to see if they might suit. “There is passion between us. You can’t deny it.”
He swallowed hard, his throat working. “I haven’t had a woman in a very long time, Sophia, and it appears I’m rather randy at the moment.” He stepped back from her, his hands lowering to his sides. “I shouldn’t have allowed so much time to pass before taking a lover.”
“Pardon?” His words shocked her, jumbling her thoughts, which had likely been his intent. Hmm, well, she could give back as good as he gave. Lifting her chin, she asked rather spiritedly, “So, did you take a lover while we were courting?”
“No, but taking one allows for a perfect liaison.”
“In what way?”
“There are no expectations from either party.”
Her cheeks burned, and she fanned her face. Oh dear, perhaps she shouldn’t have questioned him as she had, although she had to keep the charade up now that she’d begun it. “I see.”
“I’m not sure you do.” He pushed her up against the bookshelf, slid his hands around her bottom and squeezed her backside through the thin silk of her rose-colored skirts. His breath left his mouth in a harsh rush, his next words all rough and rumbly. “You’re not wearing any undergarments.”
“Good grief. I, ah, no.” How had he noticed that through her skirts?
“Would you care for a quick dalliance here in my library?” Eyes blazing with determination, he smoothed his hands over her skirted backside. “I’ll ensure no one interrupts us.”
He had clearly suggested such a thing to scare her away, but she craved him, the past two months they’d spent apart tearing at her deep inside. “I could never walk away from you after such a dalliance.”
“You could if you tried. I need to kiss you again.” He lifted her higher and settled her bottom on the middle shelf, bringing her to eye level with him. Cupping her breasts through her bodice, he lifted the mounds until the upper swells showed, right along with a peek of her nipples. He dipped his head and buried his face between her breasts, then with one flick of his tongue under the silken scalloped edge, licked her nipple.
“Oh my.” Holding his face in her hands, she released a ragged sigh. “James, this is a rather delicious way of kissing.”
“Very delicious.” He massaged her breasts, rubbing and squeezing each in turn, then he scraped his thumbs over the beaded tips poking through the silk.
A book crashed to the ground.
Breathing harshly, he seemed to come to his senses and slid her from the shelf. Gently, he settled her slippered feet on the floor. “I can’t even scare you away with my actions.”
“You have failed, terribly, I’m afraid.” She’d always been stubborn, and would remain stubbornly in love with him. It couldn’t be helped when her heart had already chosen him.
Carefully, she picked up the fallen book and slotted it back on the shelf, right in amongst texts in English, Latin, and Greek, which sat side by side with journals on the sciences, agriculture, and even husbandry. She righted each and every tome she’d pushed out of alignment with her bottom.
Donnelly gnashed his teeth as he too fixed a few tomes.
She shuffled alongside the shelf and frowned at a row of Minerva Press novels all askew. She’d never pushed them out of alignment, or read them, not when they were of fiction and horror, such a heinous subject matter. One of the books was slotted in the wrong way, so she tipped it out of its place, turned it up the right way and frowned at a loose piece of parchment sticking out from between the pages. She slipped it free and perused it. A drawing, quite a remarkably well sketched one too. It was of a mask, with wide eyes and an open mouth, the picture colored with a wax-based crayon of pale green, the color very close to jade. Yes, definitely jade. “James, look at this.”
“What have you found?” He crossed to her and she passed him the drawing. He eyed the sketch, a frown creasing his brow. “This picture was drawn by my father.”
“How can you tell?”
“He always enjoyed drawing and”—he tapped a mark on the bottom, of three periods marked in ink—“this is his signature mark, an ellipsis from the ancient Greek language. This series of three periods indicates an unfinished thought or a slight pause. Father always completed each of his drawings in such a way, his belief that no sketch was ever complete. He must have sketched this jade piece from the treasure chest.”
“I wonder why he tucked this particular drawing away in this book?” She opened the book and tapped the title stamped across the first page. “Peculiar Warnings by Elizara Whitehall, 1796.”
“I’ve no idea why he slotted the drawing in here, but this piece of artwork is the only visual evidence we have of one of the stolen pieces of jade.” He searched her gaze. “I need to get this drawing into the right hands.”
“Whose ha
nds?” She popped the book by Whitehall back onto the shelf.
“A man by the name of Captain Bourbon.”
“I’ve never heard of him.”
“He owns a gaming hell near the docks, one called The Cobra.”
“Gaming hells are hardly respectable places. Is the captain trustworthy?”
“Ashten gave me his name, so yes, he’s trustworthy.”
“Wait.” She grasped his arm. “There has to be a good reason why your father placed this sketch within the pages of a book in your library. Do you have any thoughts as to why? It’s a most unusual place to put it. He should have left it in his study where it would be safe.”
“Perhaps there wasn’t time for him to put it there, or some other reason. I’ve honestly no idea, but I intend to uncover the answer.” With a fierce look in his eyes, he gave her a firm nod. “I won’t rest until I have.”
“Promise me you’ll be careful.”
“Never fear for me, Sophia.”
“That is an impossible request.” She’d feared for him from the moment he’d ridden out with the hussars, and she’d fear for him for all time to come. One did when love was at play.
Chapter 3
The next morning, Donnelly sat in his study chair before his oak desk. Last night, he’d written a missive to Captain Bourbon about the drawing Sophia had discovered and had Sawyer hand the letter directly into the man’s hands at the gaming hell he owned near the docks. He’d requested a meeting with Bourbon, as soon as the captain was available. Certainly, the drawing seemed to have been shoved haphazardly into the book, which he should have noticed in the week since his return. Thank goodness Sophia had.
“Are you certain you don’t wish for a glass, my lord?” Woodman waited at attention inside his doorway, his concerned expression likely as grave as his own currently was.
“I’m certain. A glass will only hinder my consumption of this fine claret.” He swigged a mouthful straight from the lip of the bottle he’d seized from the cellar after seeing Ashten, Ellie, and his ravishing Lady Sophia Trentbury away. Was he drowning his sorrows over letting Sophia go? Yes. Was it helping? No.
Allowing himself to be alone with Sophia had been a terrible mistake. He hadn’t been able to keep his hands off her, or it seemed his mouth. He frowned as their time together yesterday afternoon rushed through his mind. From the moment he’d touched his lips to hers, he’d gotten lost, while her admittance that she wished to travel to Jamaica and wed his uncle had completely disarmed him. He wanted to travel the world with her, to visit faraway places that only two lovers could.
Yes, he wanted to be her husband, his soul-deep need for her as strong as ever. Unfortunately, he couldn’t, not with his currently difficult circumstances. Maintaining her safety was imperative.
Another swig and he tossed the empty flagon in his wastebasket.
It hit with a clink as it knocked the other two empties. “Woodman, have a bath readied for me, then breakfast served in the dining room after I’ve bathed. Also, ensure Parker is aware I need the carriage brought around at the strike of nine. I’m due to collect the Duke of Ashten at Blackgale House at half past the hour, so we can spend the day going through my father’s files at the docks.”
“I’ll organize everything now, my lord.” With a tug of the cuffs of his impeccable gray jacket, his butler disappeared out the door to see to his instructions.
The man was irreplaceable, always on hand and never questioning a request.
Quite the opposite to Ashten’s butler. His friend often grumped and grizzled about his man, Gorman, that his butler never knew when to keep his nose out of his business. Ashten though had come into his title at a very early age, a mere five when his parents had passed away in a tragic accident, Gorman attending him ever since.
As his father’s second born son, James had never expected to receive the title or the lands he had. It had always belonged squarely to his brother and—damn it, but he missed George and always would.
His brother might have been five years older than him, but they’d always been close, finding mischief together no matter their age.
At twelve, it had been George who’d partnered him in their lessons with the saber, even though his brother was so much stronger. George had held back on his strength to ensure their sparring sessions remained a learning experience rather than a sound beating.
George had also been there the first night he’d over imbibed on whisky at a tavern, and fallen off his horse on his ride home. Sixteen, he’d been at the time, his brother dragging him over his saddle in front of him and sneaking him in through the servants’ entrance, so their father would never discover his completely and utterly foxed state.
At eighteen, it had been George who’d taught him how to enchant the ladies. His brother had been rather popular within Society and intended on taking a wife before the end of this year. George would have made a wonderful earl.
Instead, he now had to fill some rather large shoes, and without a wife at his side to aid him. What he wouldn’t give for his wife to be Sophia.
With his sweet minx reigning supreme in his mind, he drew forth a leaf of parchment and set about writing her a letter, as he’d done every day since they’d met, not that he’d ever dispatched any of those letters to her, or told her about them. No. Writing down his deepest thoughts had been a way for him to remain close to her, healing words which he allowed to flow from his mind onto paper right now.
My dearest Sophia,
Yesterday I succumbed to your charms and took liberties with you that I shouldn’t have. I would beg your forgiveness for doing so, a hundred times over if I could, but unfortunately being the cad I am, I would gladly take advantage of you all over again if you so placed your ever-desirable self within my striking distance. Since the moment we met at the Bradford’s ball, I’ve been smitten with you. You hold a warmth in your heart that I adore, will always adore.
Do you remember our first meeting?
I’ll never forget it.
While the music had played in the ballroom and everyone danced, I stepped outside for some fresh air and there you were in the garden, a golden-haired enchantress standing atop an overturned wooden pail at the base of an oak tree, moonlight shimmering down over you. You wobbled precariously as you tried to rescue a kitten which had gotten stuck between two branches.
Such a bewitching sight you made.
Then of course you lost your balance and I had to bound over bushes to get to you, which thankfully I did. You toppled with the scrawny wee kitten in hand, and I snatched you up in my arms. Your sweet white rose scent surrounded me, just as it did yesterday while we were together in the library.
That night so long ago, I rescued a treasure. My treasure.
Unfortunately, now isn’t the right time for us.
It might never be, and I’ve accepted that.
It would help it you did too.
Certainly, your offer yesterday to aid my sister during her time of mourning touched my heart, although your offer also sent a spear of wild and savage jealousy tearing through me. I too wish to spend such blessed time alone with you, as my sister soon shall.
Please know that you are, and always will be, the holder of my heart.
Yours forever,
James.
With his missive penned, he dribbled hot red wax and pressed his Donnelly ring into the seal then added the letter to the wooden box in which he stored all his letters addressed to her. Letters which she’d never see.
She was the only woman he’d ever wanted, quite fiercely at times, but the futility of wanting her during this difficult time wasn’t acceptable. It might take years for him to uncover all he needed to in his current investigation. He certainly hoped it didn’t, but his duty right now was inescapable. He had to unearth his father and brother’s murderer, ensure justice was served, as well as take care of his sister during these difficult days as they mourned.
With a deep breath, he pushed back his chair and st
rode upstairs to ready himself for the day ahead. Each day these past two months, he’d done so with a deep longing in his heart to have all his family surrounding him, his mother who he and Maria had lost three years ago, and now his father and brother.
All three of them gone forever, but never forgotten.
Always, he’d hold them in his heart.
He closed his bedchamber door, while Woodman stood at his dresser and removed his clothing for the day and laid it on the bed, the ornate blue and gold brocade canopy tied back with matching tassels at the bedposts.
Boots shucked, he lobbed the rest of his clothes into Woodman’s arms as his man stepped up to him, then he crossed to his tub and sank into the blessed warmth of the steaming water. The fire crackled and warmth flowed through his chamber.
He scrubbed himself with a bar of sandalwood soap, dunked his head and when he came up, cleaned his hair. Done with his bath as quickly as he could, he rose to his feet in the tub and waited as Woodman poured a pail of warm water over his head. Suds sluiced down his body and pooled around his ankles.
From the chair next to the hearth, he snagged the drying cloth and wrapped it around himself then stepped clear of his bath. A quick dry and he donned a pair of his favorite buff breeches, buttoned his shirt and faced his man, who knotted his cravat with practiced ease and speed to the task. Black jacket shrugged on and his boots laced, he collected his pistol from his drawer and slid it into his pocket.
Downstairs, he trod, counseling himself once more as he’d done each day since he’d become the Earl of Donnelly. The killer would pay for his crimes, and it was his duty above all else to see that done.
In the dining room, he sat and laid a napkin over his lap.
He partook of a hearty breakfast of eggs and bacon, followed by fresh bread rolls and a steaming pot of hot chocolate, a splash of brandy lacing his cup which Woodman poured into it. As he ate, he read the newspaper, his man leaving after he’d raised a thankful hand and dismissed him.
“Good morning, my dear brother.” Maria swished into the room.
The Earl's Bride Page 4