She dragged her brother to the door. The boy looked over his shoulder at Sophie, his pointy features quivering with distress.
“Miss…”
“No, Toby!” Becky pulled the door open, yanked her brother through it, then slammed it shut.
Sophie scrambled after them, grabbing for the door handle. As her fingers closed around the cold metal, a powerful arm wrapped itself around her waist and pulled her away.
“Are you mad, Sophie? You will bring the wrath of God down upon those children if you follow them. You heard what the boy said about their father.”
She struggled to escape, but he tugged her back hard against his brawny chest.
“Simon, we have to help them,” she panted. “You have no idea of the trouble they’re in.”
“Well, you can’t help them tonight, and I bloody well refuse to stand about in this pestilent hellhole chatting about it. You can tell me in the carriage, after you explain exactly how you came to be in this part of town.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and began to steer her up the laneway. “Especially after I told you not to come down here again.”
She tried to wriggle out from under his grip. “If you’d had the courtesy to take me to the theater tonight, instead of avoiding me, this wouldn’t have happened.” Sophie knew the accusation to be unfair, but she couldn’t help flinging it at him. “In fact, you’ve been avoiding me all day, and I think you’re very rude.”
“I haven’t been avoiding you, and I’m not being rude,” he snapped, jerking her to a halt before him. “I called at Aunt Eleanor’s this evening, but you had already left for the theater.”
Sophie narrowed her eyes at him, refusing to be intimidated by the way he loomed over her or by his towering rage. She had been on the receiving end of his temper more than once over the years, and she had never let it stop her before.
“If you were visiting in St. James’s Square, then why are you down in this part of town now?” All at once her throat went dry as a sickening thought popped into her head.
“You weren’t visiting a brothel, were you?” she squeaked.
He stared at her with a look of utter disbelief. “Of course I wasn’t visiting a brothel. What kind of bird-witted question is that?”
He grabbed her elbow and began pulling her back to the carriage. “I swear, Sophie, this kind of nonsense had better stop when we’re married, or else we’ll both end up in Bedlam.”
The pavement suddenly tilted under her feet. “What?”
Simon winced. “Oh for God’s sake, don’t shriek.”
She dug in her heels and skidded to a halt, forcing him to stop as well.
He blew out a long-suffering breath. “Now what?”
“What do you mean we’re getting married? What are you talking about?”
He glowered down at her, looking positively demonic in the faint light of the alley.
“Don’t be dense, Sophie. Of course I’m going to marry you. I wouldn’t have kissed you in public—or in private, for that matter—if I didn’t intend to make you my wife.”
Chapter Eight
Sophie peered into Simon’s obsidian eyes, staggered by his stunning disclosure. His lips twitched, and he tapped a long finger under her chin.
“Close your mouth, Puck. You’ll catch a fly, especially in this neighborhood.”
She snapped her lips shut, and then opened them again. “Why?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Why do you want to marry me?”
She couldn’t believe she was asking that question, but the distinct possibility existed that she hadn’t heard him correctly. Her ears—and her head—felt stuffed with cotton batting.
His dark gaze moved slowly over her face. In typical Simon fashion, he took his time answering.
“I care for you, Sophie—quite a lot, as you know. And you’re not silly like other girls your age. You’re not romantic, and you don’t make a fuss about things.” His lips thinned into a dangerous line. “At least not generally.”
Don’t make a fuss about things? Hardly the declaration of passion one would have hoped for!
She opened her mouth to protest when he gently laid two fingers across her lips. At the buttery touch of his leather glove on her mouth, all logic fled her brain.
“Besides, it will please our families,” he added, as if he’d just thought of it. “Especially yours. You’re going into your fourth Season next year, Puck, and your mother and Robert are beginning to worry about you. It’s time you started your own family, and it might as well be with someone who knows you and will take care of you.”
Her stomach felt as hollow as a broken old bell. She may not be romantic, but this had to be the most depressing marriage proposal a girl could imagine. How could Simon think she would ever agree? And how dare he ask her to marry him while standing in a disgusting alley behind a tavern populated by thieves and whores? Only he would think he could get away with this.
Her returning awareness of their surroundings reminded her of Toby and Becky’s plight. Simon’s outrageous proposal would just have to wait.
“Yes, well, that’s all very flattering, my lord,” she said through clenched teeth. “But I don’t want to talk about that now. I haven’t finished telling you about the children.”
Even in the dim light of the alley she saw him roll his eyes.
“Tell me in the carriage.” He wrapped a hand around her wrist. “We must be gone from this place before someone sees us and I’m forced to explain why I would allow my fiancée to wander around the slums of Bath.”
Sophie practically had to run to keep up with his long strides.
“As to that particular subject,” she panted, “I don’t think the outcome has actually been decided.”
Simon stopped in his tracks. Sophie skidded to a halt, her foot sliding into some grisly piece of refuse that squished over the top of her shoe.
Another pair of shoes ruined.
Simon’s dark brows drew into a straight line of thunder across his forehead. “Sophie, what possible objection could you have?”
“You have made me an offer, clearly under duress, and I have not accepted it.” She did her best to keep any trace of resentment from her voice.
Simon drew in a deep breath, obviously preparing to unleash another blistering volley of sarcasm.
“At least not yet,” she amended, giving him what she hoped was a placating smile. If they had an argument over this now, she would never get him to see reason about the children.
“As far as I’m concerned, you already have. I clearly remember how enthusiastically you responded to my kiss last night. Have you forgotten?”
Her cheeks flushed with a prickling heat, and she looked down to avoid his predatory gaze.
“I thought not,” he murmured. He resumed his quick stride down the laneway, pulling her along behind him.
Her heart began to race. How dare he treat her in such a high-handed and mortifying fashion? She had dreamed of this impossible moment for so many years, and now that he actually had asked her to marry him, all she really felt was the familiar urge to kick him.
“Forgive me, Sophie. Did you say something?” He sounded preoccupied.
She glanced up, noting with irritation that he wasn’t even looking at her. “Why does an offer of marriage from you sound like a punishment, rather than a consummation to be devoutly desired?” This time she couldn’t manage to tamp down her resentment.
Simon halted, pulling her into a gentle but unbreakable grip. The sound of voices and the occasional snatches of song drifted in from the nearby street.
Simon eased her forward until the tips of her breasts pressed against his coat, and she had to tilt her head back to look at him. His heat and strength penetrated the multiple layers of her clothing, causing her nipples to harden with that strange, delicious ache.
Something shifted in his gaze, something dark and bewitching, pinning her like a butterfly on the head of a pin. He leaned down and brushed hi
s mouth high on her cheekbone. She sighed, mesmerized by the velvet touch, succumbing all over again to the feel of his warm mouth.
“Why, Sophia, I thought you always wanted to marry me.”
His voice washed over her—hot sugar syrup sliding along her veins. But the words themselves yanked her out of the enchantment beginning to steal over her.
“Why you…you bastard!” She had never used a word like that before in her life, but his insufferable arrogance drove her to it.
After a short and fruitless struggle to pull from his grip, Sophie finally stomped down hard on his foot. She had to swallow a yelp of pain, as her evening slippers were no match for his hessians. She wriggled madly in his arms, but Simon refused to let go. Instead, he slid a large hand down her back and captured her bottom in a firm grasp, pushing her hips against him. She froze, stunned by the feel of his rock-hard length against her stomach.
The stream of acid she had been about to unleash died on her lips. She looked up into eyes that glittered like black ice. Simon slowly lowered his face to hers, and his mouth—that perfect mouth she had coveted for so long—covered hers in a kiss that plunged her into a silken heat.
Sophie moaned at the waves of sensation coursing through her body. His hand closed convulsively around the globe of her bottom as he lifted her up to press her belly against his shockingly large masculinity. Her legs trembled, and a prickling at the top of her thighs seemed to reach deep inside to soft, secret places.
She gasped, letting her head fall against his arm. She felt surrounded, enveloped in his steely embrace. His size and strength combined into a mesmerizing power that demanded her submission.
Simon’s mouth trailed fire across her neck before coming to rest on the pulse at the base of her throat. His wet tongue caressed her skin, causing blood to leap under its hot touch. She clutched desperate fingers into the thick wool of his coat, no longer wanting escape, wanting to be swept deeper into the dark madness of his kiss.
But the madness receded a moment later when Simon drew back, easing her gently to her feet. Sophie swallowed a whimper of frustration. He stroked her cheek as if to soothe her, but even in the shadows of the alley she could see a look of masculine satisfaction cross his features.
“I thought so,” he murmured, his voice a husky growl that set her skin tingling once more.
Sophie shook her head, trying to banish the wooly feeling from her brain. She had completely lost the thread of their conversation, although she knew she should still be angry with him for something.
She opened her mouth, but no words came out.
“Never mind, sweetheart.” Simon’s hand settled at the base of her spine, nudging her gently toward the street. “Let’s get you home before anyone misses you, or there will be the devil to pay for this night’s work.”
Sophie allowed him to guide her along to the carriage, dimly aware that he still needed a set-down for his imperious and high-handed conduct tonight. But she seemed to have left her wits behind in the alley. And until she found them again, she decided that in this case at least, discretion really was the better part of valor.
“Lady Jane and Miss Stanton are in the drawing room, my lord. I will announce you,” Yates said.
Simon draped his coat over the butler’s outstretched arms and dropped his hat and gloves on the ornate side table inside the front door of his aunts’ townhouse. “I’ll announce myself.”
His mood had only improved slightly since last night. Finding Sophie down in the stews had been the shock of his life. He didn’t know what had tempted him more—the idea of shaking her until her teeth rattled for disobeying him, or shoving her skirts up and taking her right there in the carriage. Neither course of action had been remotely acceptable, so he had wedged himself into the opposite corner of the coach and done his best to ignore her on the short ride back to St. James’s Square.
That hadn’t been easy, since she had nattered on endlessly about her two misbegotten street urchins. He had momentarily silenced her by planting a fierce kiss on her lips. Even so, Sophie had managed to wheedle from him a promise to discuss the fate of the children first thing in the morning. But the sweet taste of her mouth had made the concession worth it, and that had surprised the hell out of him too.
He smiled as he strode down the hall to the back of the house, recalling Sophie’s reaction to his kiss. To all his kisses. She melted like wax in his arms, and he had no doubt she would eagerly accept his proposal once he made a formal and proper declaration. He really couldn’t blame her for refusing to give him an answer last night. After all, a slum alley was hardly the place to propose to any woman, much less a sheltered miss like Sophie.
The door to the drawing room stood ajar. The sound of Aunt Jane’s old harpsichord, the tones faded but true, drifted into the hallway. Simon slowed to a halt, knowing what would come next—Sophie’s shimmering soprano, picking out the melody of one of the old country ballads so beloved by his aunts.
He stopped and leaned against the doorframe to listen to the voice he had heard so often as a youth, but had almost forgotten with the passage of years. The pure, lilting sound resonated in his bones, awakening deep memories. His eyes drifted shut as he remembered the lad he had been. A lad who loved music and played the pianoforte for a funny little girl wearing spectacles, who sang with the voice of an angel. He had ceased playing the instrument a long time ago, but back then he had enjoyed the music almost as much as Sophie.
The song ended, but the delicate vibrations of Sophie’s voice lingered in the air. Then Aunt Jane laughed, and Simon jolted free of the music’s spell.
His dark mood rushed back. Both the lad and those simpler times had departed years ago, and he had no wish for either to return.
When he pushed the door open, he saw Sophie beside his aunt at the harpsichord, looking sweetly youthful in a gauzy yellow gown, spectacles perched on the end of her nose as she examined pieces of music. Her head jerked up at the sound of his footfall, eyes widening as they met his. She cast her gaze back to the music. One slender hand fluttered up to touch a cheek turned rosy with heat.
Aunt Jane rose from the instrument and extended her hand. “Simon, dear boy. We didn’t expect you until tea.”
He bowed over her hand, pressing a gentle kiss on her soft, wrinkled skin.
“Good morning, Aunt Jane. I hope I don’t inconvenience you.”
“Not at all. You’ve missed Eleanor, though. She’s gone to the baths for a treatment, poor dear. Her chest is very troublesome these days.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I had hoped for a better report this morning.”
“I’m sure the waters will do her a world of good. They usually do, when she can be compelled to take them.” She waved her hand vaguely toward a gilded ebony chair in front of a settee. “Please sit, my dear. I’ll ring for tea.”
“Thank you, but no. I won’t trouble you. I’ve come this morning to talk with Sophie.”
“Indeed?” Aunt Jane’s eyes searched his face, and then flickered over Sophie’s blushing countenance. A smile touched her lips. “What have you done now, Sophia? Simon looks very stern this morning.”
Sophie narrowed her eyes at him in silent warning.
“I can’t imagine, my lady,” she replied in a carefully bland voice.
“Well, Simon, I’ll see you tonight at Lady Penfield’s, I’m sure. Good-bye, my dear.” His aunt offered him a perfumed cheek before she rustled over to the door. “Sophia, we can leave for the Pump Room after you’ve had your little chat.”
The door closed quietly behind her. Sophie continued to stare at the music on the harpsichord, apparently doing her best to pretend he wasn’t in the room.
“You don’t have to ignore me, Puck,” he said. “I’m not here to reprimand you.”
“Lucky me,” she grumbled, jumping up from the instrument. She skirted around him and took a seat in a high-back chair set against the wall, as far away from him as she could get.
His unorthodox
proposal last night had clearly failed to impress her.
“Sophie, I want to apologize for my behavior last night. My proposal to you was exceedingly clumsy, and you have every right to expect more from me. I had fully intended to call on you yesterday, but I was unavoidably detained most of the day on business. I called last night, but you’d already left for the theater.”
She looked at him. “Is that all you’re apologizing for?”
He frowned. “What else would I apologize for?”
“You weren’t exactly helpful with Becky and Toby last night. Not only did you scare them, you refused to even let me tell you about their situation. You couldn’t have been more arrogant or dismissive.”
His temper spiked. How the hell did she find the nerve to reprimand him for last night’s foolish escapade?
“You really don’t want to know how unpleasant I can be, but if you ever go back to Avon Street, you will have the misfortune to find out.”
She popped out of her chair and stalked across the room. A slender finger jabbed into his chest as she glared up at him.
“I know just how unpleasant you can be, I assure you. And callous, too! Those children need my help, and I’m going to give it to them, whether you want me to or not.”
He swallowed a scathing retort, reminding himself that he had come to propose to her, not pick a fight. “I’m not being callous, just realistic. I have no doubt their life is difficult, especially since their mother died, but they do have a father and a roof over their heads. Their situation is not desperate.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and stared into his face.
“Sophie, what could you possibly expect? That I would waltz into the blasted place and demand their father take better care of them? Too foolish by half, my girl, if you think that will do any good. In fact, you just might get them thrown onto the parish, and from there to the workhouse. Hardly the result you’re looking for, I’m sure.”
She looked blank for a moment, but then her anger drained away. She wandered over to a heavily cushioned divan, sumptuously covered in gold silk, and sighed wearily as she sank down onto the plump cushions.
Sex and the Single Earl Page 10