Her eyes widened. “Not if I do not wish it—”
“And why should you not wish it, Sophia?” he prompted huskily. “You were aroused as I just now, were you not? Please do not lie to me, Sophia,” he pressed achingly.
She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue again. “I—”
“Please, Sophia!”
She gave a pained frown. “I cannot deny that which was all too evident.”
Dante relaxed slightly. “There must be no more barriers between us, Sophia. Only pleasure. Pleasure I wish you to find only with me in future,” he added, the thoughts of another man even touching his beautiful Sophia enough to make him frown darkly.
Sophia’s throat moved convulsively as she swallowed before speaking. “But—”
“Only with me, Sophia,” Dante repeated firmly as he took the step that brought him within inches of touching her again.
So close, in fact, that Sophia could not miss the glitter of determination burning in the deep green depths of his eyes. Or ignore the warmth she felt emanating from his muscled body.
Any more than she could avoid seeing the evidence of their heated kisses upon those sensuous and slightly fuller lips. Did her own lips look as swollen and kissed…?
What had she done? More to the point, how was she ever to succeed in her need to put her relationship with Dante back onto a level that was once again acceptable to her? All those years of showing coolness towards him, of denying her own desires, were now rendered futile by the heat of her response to him a few minutes ago!
The raw need in Dante’s handsome face, as he looked down at her with an intensity that made Sophia tremble anew, succeeded in assuring her that Dante certainly had no intention of aiding her in her quest for restoring distance between the two of them, emotional or physical.
She gave a firm shake of her head even as her chin rose determinedly. “Having been a wife for nine years, and a widow for one, I do not have any wish to tie myself down to but a single lover—”
“If you believe, having waited all these years for you to be free, that I could ever consider another man in your life, then you are mistaken.” A nerve pulsed in his clenched jaw. “I will go further, Sophia, and state that there will be never be another man in your life, or your bed, but me!”
Sophia eyed him exasperatedly. “And exactly how do you intend to go about achieving that?”
Dante gave a humourless smile, not in the least happy with the way this conversation was progressing. But this was Sophia. The beautiful, but equally as stubbornly determined, Sophia. To have expected anything else from her but a continuation of that stubborn determination, after kissing her again but once, had he now accepted, been more than a little optimistic on his part.
His smile deepened as he anticipated the chase he was not only determined to win but also refused, for the sake of his own sanity, to ever contemplate losing. “I am to become your shadow,” he informed her pleasantly. “Wherever you go in future, whatever you do, then I shall be there too.”
She eyed him derisively. “You are to follow me about in the manner of that impertinent young puppy I referred to earlier this evening…?”
“Woof,” Dante returned dryly.
Her eyes widened in frustration as her taunt failed to achieve the reaction she had so obviously hoped for. “And won’t that make a pretty picture? Dante Carfax, the unmarried Earl of Sherbourne, sniffing around the skirts of an older woman, a widow, and one who so obviously has no intention of returning his interest—”
“Would you care for me to demonstrate again just how uninterested in me you are, Sophia?” His voice had hardened, his eyes glittering darkly in the moonlight.
Sophia eyed him impatiently even as she felt her cheeks burn with guilty colour. “You might have been any man in the darkness—Dante!” she gasped breathlessly as she suddenly found herself pulled into his arms as he crushed her tightly against his chest.
“It was Dante who kissed you just now, Sophia,” he bit out tautly. “Who touched you so intimately. Who felt the warmth of you against my fingers.”
Sophia was unable to suppress the low groan as she was filled with renewed desire at Dante’s words. She had been married for nine years, but she had never—never—experienced what had just happened between herself and Dante. It was totally beyond her understanding of the intimacies that took place between a man and a woman.
She had been two and twenty when she married Simon Rowlands, eighth Duke of Clayborne, and had been both unworldly and totally inexperienced in the manner of the affections a man showed towards his wife. Her own father had been widowed at Sophia’s birth, and had certainly never discussed such matters with her before he died some time before her wedding to Simon took place. And the spinster aunt, who had lived with them whilst Sophia was growing up, had never discussed such a delicate subject with her either before being taken off suddenly with the influenza when Sophia was aged but fifteen.
Simon Rowlands had been a friend and contemporary of Sophia’s father, one of the few who had remained loyal to him following his shunning by Society. Simon’s marriage proposal to Sophia, after her father’s death, had been made out of that same sense of loyalty and obligation once Sophia had been left alone in the world, rather than any deep or passionate love being felt on either side.
Theirs had been a marriage based on liking and respect, mutual intelligence and interests, rather than love and passion.
The same physical passion Dante had always aroused in Sophia, but which minutes ago had threatened to rage totally out of her control…
Her chin rose as she now looked down at him. “You may ‘intend’ all you please, Dante, but I am warning you now, I shall be equally as determined to ensure you do not succeed!”
His eyes narrowed as he looked down at her searchingly. “You do not deny your responses to me just now?”
Her mouth tightened at the memory of the intimacy of Dante’s caresses. “In the circumstances, such denial would be futile.”
“Or that you would have enjoyed…taking that experience further?”
Her breath caught in her throat at thoughts of having Dante’s lips on her in the way he had described earlier. “I cannot deny that either,” she allowed huskily.
Dante gave a puzzled shake of his head. “Then I do not understand why you continue to fight me?”
No, Dante would not understand, had never suffered the rebuffs of Society that her father had, and Sophia too once she grew old enough to realise how and why she was excluded from that Society. An exclusion which had only ceased when the highly respectable, and deeply respected, Simon Rowlands, Duke of Clayborne, had chosen to make her his duchess and present her to that Society as such.
For Sophia to now embark upon a brief and intimate affair with the Earl of Sherbourne, admittedly an arrogantly handsome gentleman, but also one who was both four years her junior and much sought after in the marriage mart, was guaranteed to cause a scandal of gigantic proportions if it should ever become known of by a single member of the ton. A scandal from which neither Sophia, nor her emotions, might ever recover…
She straightened her shoulders. “It is enough that I do.”
Dante’s nostrils flared in his frustration with Sophia’s dogmatic attitude. “I should warn you, I am known as something of a contender in the ring.”
Sophia smiled slightly. “But we are not in the ring.”
He raised mocking brows. “Are we not?”
; Her humour faded. “As far as I am concerned, no.”
It seemed to Dante that was exactly where they were. “I believe you must concede the first round went to me?”
Colour once again blazed in Sophia’s pale and creamy cheeks, but in temper this time, her eyes flashing a deep and fiery green. “You were only the victor of a small skirmish, Sherbourne; I assure you I have every intention of winning the fight!”
Dante gave an acknowledging inclination of his head. “In that case, my dear Sophia, let the fight commence.”
Chapter Five
True to his threat, Dante somehow managed to be everywhere that Sophia went during the week that followed!
If she walked to the shops with her maid, then she very quickly found herself with a rakishly handsome companion who carried her parcels for her and smiled charmingly at everyone they met. If she rode her carriage in the park, then a rider would very soon appear outside the window on his fine chestnut hunter. Each and every one of the evening entertainments she attended heralded the arrival of the Earl of Sherbourne shortly thereafter, whether he had received and accepted an invitation or otherwise; for what hostess in her right mind would dare to turn away the eligible Dante Carfax, Earl of Sherbourne!
There had not even been chance to meet and talk with Genevieve or Pandora this past week, Dante’s constant presence at Sophia’s side precluding any such meeting taking place, let alone the luxury of indulging in a private conversation with her two closest friends.
Including this evening, at the home of Lord and Lady Chumsford, where Sophia had been invited to enjoy the musical entertainment provided by their young daughter newly introduced to Society, Dante having arrived and been admitted only minutes after Sophia herself, before once again taking up a proprietary stance at her side.
“You do not appear to be listening to the entertainment, my dear?”
Dante bent down to whisper in Sophia’s ear as he easily saw her look of distraction, and dared to hope he might be the cause of it.
It had been a long and difficult week for him, being with Sophia several times a day, and yet at the same time having to rein back his ever-increasing desire to make love to her; ten years of desiring this woman had certainly not improved his impatience now that she was free and almost within his grasp, and it was taking all of his indomitable self-control to prevent himself from just reaching out and taking what he wanted. Namely Sophia…
But he had already reached out and taken far more than she was as yet comfortable with, only to have her turn and hurry away from him afterwards. It was not an experience Dante wished to have repeated. No, the next time he made love with Sophia he was determined that she would come to him entirely of her own free will.
She now rose abruptly to her silk-slippered feet. “If you will excuse me…? I find I am in need of refreshment.” She swept past him and out of the salon in a swirl of russet silk, her head held proudly high.
Dante followed at a more leisurely pace, nodding to several acquaintances as he did so, suppressing his irritation and forcing himself to smile charmingly as he was beckoned over imperiously by one of the most influential doyens of Society. “Lady Jersey.” He bent solicitously over the gloved hand she extended.
“You are unappreciative of my god-daughter’s musical talent, Sherbourne?” Her eyes gleamed with amused acknowledgement of this explanation for her own presence at such a lukewarm entertainment.
“Not at all, Lady Jersey,” Dante assured her smoothly, not a hint of his inner impatience visible on his charming demeanour.
Her eyes narrowed shrewdly. “Then would I be right in assuming Sophia Rowlands’ charms hold more appeal for you…?”
Dante stiffened at this attack by a woman known far and wide for the influence she had in Society. “I do not—”
“Do not treat me as a fool, Sherbourne.” Those shrewd eyes flashed in warning. “All of Society has become aware of your interest in the widowed Duchess of Clayborne.”
“Indeed?” Dante murmured noncommittally.
Lady Jersey gave a cool inclination of her head. “I approve, Sherbourne.”
He bit back the angry retort which sprang to his lips, fully aware that this innocuous-looking woman held sway over the opinion of Society, and that her approval, if given, was hard won. “I am gratified to hear it, Lady Jersey—”
“No, you are not.” She smiled knowingly. “But you have it anyway. Now run along before the headstrong gel succeeds in escaping you yet again. And I fully expect to receive an invitation to the wedding. I might even consent to attend.” She turned away in dismissal.
It took Dante but a few minutes to locate Sophia once outside the music room, finding her in the adjoining salon drinking lemonade.
She frowned her irritation as he approached. “I am growing more than a little weary of your constant attendance upon me, Sherbourne!” she snapped waspishly the moment he reached her side.
Dante’s smile turned to one of lazy good humour—the sort of easy, predatory smile which any opponent in the ring would recognise as heralding their imminent defeat. “What a pity, when I have so enjoyed this past week of visiting the shops, riding in the park, and attending such evenings as this one!”
Sophia could not mistake the sarcasm in Dante’s tone. “I believe that was by your own choice?”
“Indeed it was.” He chuckled wryly. “And I will gladly continue to choose to do those things for yet another week. Or two. Possibly even three. But after that…”
“Yes?” she prompted sharply as he broke off pointedly.
He shrugged broad and muscled shoulders beneath the perfectly tailored evening jacket, once again magnificently attired in black over snowy white linen. “The decision of when and where we make love requires only a word of assent from you, Sophia.”
“I wish you would not talk of such things to me in public!” she hissed even as she gave a self-conscious glance about the salon where, thankfully, only the Chumsfords’ butler and several footmen attended them, the other guests still in the neighbouring room listening to the tedious piano recital being given by the Chumsfords’ daughter, Clarissa.
Sherbourne raised mocking dark brows. “I am more than willing to demonstrate my…willingness in a more private venue?”
Sophia felt the warmth enter her cheeks. Not through embarrassment. Or temper. But the heat of awareness that now seemed to creep up and through her every time Dante was near. An awareness that made Sophia’s breasts tingle, caused the tips to ache, and a flood of heat between her thighs. That same heat Dante had so appreciated as evidence of her arousal a week ago!
Sophia felt herself begin to tremble at the memory of those intimacies, of having Dante’s lips and tongue exploring her mouth even as his fingers moved beneath her gown to explore between her thighs. An intimacy she had found herself thinking of constantly during this past week. Intimacies that could, Dante now claimed, be repeated, deepened, at any time with but a single word of assent from her…
She drew in a shaky breath. “I have absolutely no interest in becoming your latest plaything, Sherbourne.”
His brows shot up into the dark curl of his hairline. “Would you care to tell me when and where you have ever heard of my having taken any woman, lady or whore, as my ‘plaything’?”
Never, came the immediate answer. Which would only seem to imply that Sherbourne was more adept than most at keeping the identity of the ladies who became his mistress well away from the eager ears and wag
ging tongues of the ton…
And…?
And Sophia’s resolve to remain aloof from Dante had been severely weakened during this past week of seeing and being with him constantly. Of remembering, when alone in her bed night after night, the intimacy of his caresses, of the pleasure she had experienced from his mouth and fingers. Pleasures which Sophia knew she physically ached to know and feel again…
She moistened her lips. “It is rather warm in here, is it not? Perhaps you would care to join me for a stroll outside in the garden?”
Dante studied her through narrowed lids as he saw the reckless gleam in the depths of Sophia’s eyes as she looked up at him through long dark lashes, her cheeks bearing a fevered flush, the fullness of her lips slightly parted. Lips he had long wanted to feel about him as she took the full length of him into her mouth…
“I should like that above all things,” he growled, as his fingers clasped her arm lightly and he escorted her to where the butler now opened the French doors to allow them to step outside onto the terrace. “Sophia…?” His chest rapidly rose and fell as he looked down at her questioningly once the two of them were alone in the moonlight.
“I—” She swallowed before attempting to speak again. “I find that—that your lovemaking a week ago has—has awakened—” She broke off, shaking her head in her agitation.
“Has awakened…?” Dante repeated huskily.
Sophia chewed on her lower lip for several long seconds, resulting in its being a rosy and tempting pout when she finally left off worrying it in order to speak again. “I feel that perhaps we should—that perhaps I am ready to…explore further?”
Dante’s breath caught in his throat. It was not the complete capitulation he had been hoping for, of course. But where Sophia was concerned he was a proud man. “Then might I suggest we go somewhere we can be more private?” He stepped back in order to allow her to precede him down the steps into the garden, a certain part of him leaping in response as Sophia’s arm brushed lightly—deliberately?—against his side before she stepped down into the cool quiet of the moon-dappled garden.
Some Like It Scandalous Page 3