“—and your friends, when we’re married. Once more, I was not flirting with Lady Randolph. Bathsheba is merely an old friend. We’ve known each other for years, and I have always enjoyed her company. She is one of the leaders of the ton, and you know it. I fail to see why you dislike her so much.”
“And have you always been ‘just friends’?” Sophie threw her head back to gaze up into his face. She could feel her hair starting to come loose from its knot, the tendrils escaping down around her shoulders. “And are you still ‘just friends’? You looked quite cozy to me, and to everyone else at Lady Penfield’s, I dare say.”
His lips compressed into a hard line. “Whatever my history may have been with Lady Randolph—which is none of your business, by the way—there is nothing between us now. I give you my word.”
She gave a snort, recalling all too vividly the triumphant smile Lady Randolph had sent her way—and the embarrassed flush that had stained Simon’s cheeks. She leaned back against the plump cushions and studied his grim expression.
“You’re such a hypocrite, Simon. You’re as dictatorial and snobbish as your grandfather, who, I swear, was the most insufferable man to ever set foot in the House of Lords. No one could ever live up to his standards, especially after your cousin Sebastian died. He made your life a misery; do you remember?”
Simon turned as still as a marble statue. Except for his eyes. They blazed with a fury that made her wonder if she had lost her mind to provoke him so thoroughly.
“And just like your grandfather,” she plunged on, driven by a terrible mix of emotions she couldn’t begin to explain, “you do whatever you want, whenever you want. And, apparently, your ridiculously correct code of conduct doesn’t pre…pre…” For some reason her tongue felt thick and clumsy. “…preclude a flirtation with your former mistress, despite our engagement!”
Those imperious eyebrows of his ticked up another notch. The anger began to fade from his countenance, replaced by a familiar look of irritation.
“May I remind you,” Simon intoned in a patronizing voice, “that you were the one who wanted to keep our engagement a secret? What the devil do you want? Bathsheba Randolph arrived at Lady Penfield’s at the same time as I did. I gave her my arm to escort her into the room. What would you have me do? Be rude to her?”
“Yes.” Sophie lurched to her feet. Simon grabbed her by the elbows to steady her. “I would like you to be very rude to her.”
“Well, I won’t. And stop acting like a silly girl,” he exclaimed, giving her a slight shake.
He used to shake her like that when she had misbehaved as a child. Really, he couldn’t possibly be more arrogant.
“You know what I think?” she retorted. “I think you should marry Bathsheba.” She heard the reckless anger in her voice. Felt it thrumming under her skin.
Simon’s dark brows practically shot up into his hairline.
“You suit each other so well, after all. You’re both selfish and arrogant, and think only of yourselves. Yes, that’s the best solution for everyone. You marry Lady Randolph, and I’ll do exactly what I want. And that doesn’t involve you telling me how to live my life.” She flung that last bit at him, but her heart hammered so violently she thought it would burst from her chest.
His big hands circled her arms, strong fingers flexing into the shivering flesh below her puffed sleeves. The rest of him remained motionless, except for one muscle that pulsed in a jaw carved from granite.
As she stared into eyes as black and hot as pitch, she had to force down a pathetic squeak that threatened to escape from her throat. What had she done? Simon always kept an iron grip on his temper, but had she finally pushed him too far?
They stared at each other for what seemed an eternity. She couldn’t move a muscle, couldn’t even bat an eyelash. All she could do was gaze helplessly into features that looked, at this moment, as if they belonged to a demon sent to drag her to the depths of hell.
Then his lips parted, and a soft breath whispered across her cheeks.
“You don’t mean that, do you?”
She couldn’t move, mesmerized by the heat in his eyes, a heat that glowed not only with anger, but with another flame she was beginning to recognize. His hands tightened around her arms, and he lifted her up on her toes. His warm mouth brushed her ear. Every part of her body began to tremble.
“Answer me, love. Do you really want me to marry Bathsheba?” His voice was soft and compelling.
“N…no.” She cringed at the breathless quaver in her voice. But the idea of Simon in Lady Randolph’s arms…it would kill her.
A laugh rumbled in his chest. She felt the vibrations deep within her own body.
“Good. I assure you I have no desire to marry anyone but you.” Slowly, his mouth descended to hers, and Sophie gave herself up to the velvet madness, opening to him with a desperation she had never felt before.
He murmured soft, indistinguishable words against her lips as he eased her back down on her feet. Every inch of him burned against her, and the rigid length of his masculinity nudged her belly. At the feel of that, of him pressed into her, her legs began to shake with an exquisite weakness. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed back, loving the feel of her smaller limbs enclosed in his powerful embrace.
Simon ran his tongue between the edges of her lips, silently urging her to open for him. She sighed, and welcomed the hot champagne taste of him as he plundered her mouth. His tongue stroked deep inside, then retreated to lick her lips before sliding back in once more. She whimpered, her head falling back under his sensual onslaught.
The tiny sound that escaped her seemed to gentle his touch. One hand slid up her back, forming a sheltering cradle for her body. He pulled her closer, and her nipples contracted into buds as they pressed into the brocade of his waistcoat. The thin layers of her gown and her chemise were as nothing against the firm contours of his broad chest. She felt his tension, the flex of his muscles, the rise and fall of his breath.
He kissed her, his mouth consuming her with a fierce passion, and Sophie’s own breathing turned into a stuttering gasp. She trembled as unfamiliar, delicious sensations compelled her to dig her fingers into his shoulders. Simon deepened the kiss, molding her to his will. She clutched at him, tasting the residue of his anger, feeling it in the iron of his hands. But his fury had transformed into something else, into a searing masculine possession. Her instincts screamed at her to surrender, to melt into his greedy embrace. Swept under by a strong, sweet current of longing, Sophie gave in to his demand, even though she knew his convulsive grip would leave more than one mark on her softer flesh.
For a moment more his grasp on her became almost painful, but then he pulled his mouth away and eased his embrace.
“Simon!” Even to her own ears, her protest sounded petulant.
“My God.” His mouth looked tight, as if he was in pain. “What are you doing to me?”
“Kissing you?” she ventured, not sure what she had done wrong. It had all felt so wonderful, and she was sure he thought so too. She tried to read his expression, wondering if she had misunderstood what he wanted.
He set her at arm’s length, although his hands rested on her shoulders.
“Did I do something wrong?” Sophie forced herself not to squirm under his now wary gaze. She was a woman grown, after all, and he was her fiancé—at least for the moment. But his watchful silence was beginning to annoy her.
“Simon, if you’re not going to kiss me, then tell me what’s bothering you. If I’m not doing it right I’d like to know.”
His laugh sounded guttural. “Believe me, you’re doing it exactly right. I desire you in every way a man desires a woman, but I cannot take advantage of you like this. It would be outside the bounds of all propriety.”
“But I want you to take advantage of me, really I do.” She blinked as the words escaped her mouth, appalled she was begging him to make love to her. But, after all, he had started it.
A grim s
mile touched the corners of his mouth. “You should be careful what you ask for. You just might get it.”
“And you shouldn’t start things you don’t intend to finish, Simon. It’s really quite rude.”
His smile grew into something genuine. “I thought you wanted me to be rude.”
“Not to me.” The delicious melting feeling between her legs had started to fade. She wriggled closer, inadvertently pressing her hips against the bulge in his trousers. That caused an interesting change to the lines of his countenance.
“Kiss me again, Simon,” she coaxed. “I do so love it when you kiss me.”
“Later.” His voice was so rough the melting feeling in her legs came rushing back. “We need to discuss what’s happening between us, and what it will mean to you.”
“I know exactly what’s happening. You’re making love to me.”
He surprised her with a rough bark of laughter. “Not yet, but I will be if we keep this up.”
She slid her arms around his neck, and stretched up on her tippy-toes to plant a kiss against the faint bristle of his chin. “Well, please get on with it and stop wasting time.”
He paused for several long moments, staring at her through narrowed eyes. His handsome face grave, it seemed as if he struggled with some weighty decision.
“Are you sure, Sophie? Once we do this, you will be mine, irrevocably. I’ll never let you go.”
“Oh, yes, Simon. I’m very sure. Very sure, indeed.”
Actually, she wasn’t. Wasn’t sure she should marry him, given that he probably didn’t love her. But she was certain beyond all doubt that she wanted him to finish what he had started a few moments ago. It was foolish beyond all measuring, but for tonight, at least, she wanted to believe that Simon truly belonged to her. And it might be the only chance she ever got.
He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “All right, love. I’ll give you what you seem to want. This is against my better judgment, but perhaps it’s the wisest course of action, after all.”
Her mouth gaped open. Where did he find the nerve to lecture her at a moment like this? “Simon, why must you always be so difficult? I ask you to do one little thing, and you…”
He pressed his hand over her mouth. “Sophia, I’ve been waiting for this for quite some time. You’re going to be quiet now, and do as I say.”
She grabbed his hand and pulled it away. “Really? You’ve been waiting for this? Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
He growled at her again, and then smothered her lips in a ferocious kiss. But even as Sophie melted into his arms, she had the definite impression that he intended to silence as well as seduce her.
His strategy was working.
Chapter Eleven
Sophie inhaled, pulling in the scent of sandalwood and Simon as he worked to remove her gown. His deft fingers searched out ribbons, laces, and tapes, tugging and untying, even as he trailed damp kisses across her cheeks and down her throat. His touch seared her flesh, causing a shuddering heat to race down her belly and through her legs.
“Sophie.” His breath raised prickles on the sensitive skin beneath her ear. She forced herself to drag open heavy eyelids, though she didn’t remember closing them in the first place.
The drawing room refused to come into focus. Velvety shadows made the atmosphere seem murky, the furniture transformed into fantastic, oddly distorted shapes. She blinked into Simon’s face—mere inches from her own—his hard-edged features thrown into stark relief by the uneven light cast from the flames in the hearth.
Simon had removed her spectacles. When had that happened? She felt defenseless, more exposed without them on her face than she felt standing before him without her gown.
A teasing smile played around the corners of his mouth as his eyes lingered over her body. “You’ll be more comfortable if you lie on the settee.”
“Oh, yes, of course.” Sophie winced at the squeak in her voice. She sounded like a demented squirrel.
Simon didn’t seem to notice. His eyes continued their downward drift to a point just at the top of her legs. She followed his gaze, finally registering the fact that she now wore only her chemise. The flickering glow of the fire reduced the linen to transparency. She gulped, her throat gone suddenly dry, as Simon’s fingers brushed over her chest and stomach, skimming down to the dusky triangle of hair visible through the delicate fabric.
“You’re so pretty.” His voice had dropped to a deep rasp. And surely the brimstone in those dark eyes would burn a hole in her chemise at any moment.
Her legs trembled and refused to hold her up any longer, so she collapsed slowly onto the overstuffed cushions of the settee. Even as she nestled back into the silky fabric, she couldn’t help devouring Simon with a greedy gaze. She took in the flame-gilded outline of his lean hips, his broad chest, and his massive shoulders. He exuded a formidable masculinity as he shrugged out of his formfitting tailcoat, which he then tossed onto a wingback chair. Sitting down beside her, he went to work on the buttons of his waistcoat.
“Sophie?” His gravelly voice held a curious note of hesitancy.
“Yes?” She couldn’t resist reaching over to stroke his sinewy forearm. Heat seeped through his finely woven shirt, the muscles beneath the fabric as hard as a blade tempered in the flames of a forge.
“How much do you know about, ah, marital relations?”
She snatched her hand back. “Simon! What a question to ask at a time like this.”
A laugh that sounded more like a groan escaped from his lips. “It seems like the perfect time to ask. I don’t want to frighten you, Puck, or rush you into anything. You’re such an innocent thing.”
Sophie edged toward the other end of the settee, suddenly very conscious of the puckered tips of her breasts, clearly visible under her filmy chemise. She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned. Why did he always have to destroy every romantic moment that occurred between them—especially when they were as rare as hen’s teeth?
“I’m not that innocent. I did grow up in the country, after all. I spent just as much time around horses and other breeding animals as you did. It doesn’t really seem all that complicated.”
He shook his head in silent reprimand, even as his hands curled around her wrists to coax her arms away from her chest. One index finger traced the soft swell of her breast until it stroked across her veiled nipple. A piercing ache shot from the tip of his finger to the dark cove between her legs.
“You’re talking about mechanics, nothing more.” The delicious rumble of his voice penetrated every part of her body. “What do you actually know about lovemaking between a man and a woman? Do you have any idea of what I intend to do to your sweet body? Trust me, Sophie, I can make you lose your mind with pleasure.”
His daring words set all her nerve endings aflame. His big hand closed around her breast, stroking and kneading the compliant flesh until the nipple pearled against his palm.
“I…I know that Robert and Annabel always seem to be happy first thing in the morning.” The more he stroked, the more her eyelids drooped.
“Would you like to feel that way, my love?” His hands were on both breasts now, rolling beaded nipples between his fingers until they were throbbing points of exquisite sensitivity.
Sophie could only moan in reply. His hands moved over her body, silently urging that she lift her hips as he pulled the chemise over her head in a rustling slide of cool linen.
“Open your eyes again, sweetheart.”
She slowly obeyed him, although it took a few moments for her passion-dazed vision to focus on his face. His angled cheekbones were flushed, and his mouth had narrowed into a thin but beautifully carved line.
She shivered, suddenly aware that Simon had withdrawn his warm hands from her body to clench them in tight fists against his powerful thighs. His thick hair was disheveled, as if he had run his fingers through it, and his eyes gleamed with an intoxicating combination of laughter and desire.
That look made her sigh w
ith pleasure, and she lifted a hand to caress the edges of his enticing mouth. He caught it, pressing his lips against her palm. His breath scorched the sensitive flesh. She could feel her nipples contract even more, though he only touched her hand.
“God, you’re beautiful, Sophie. Like sugar and cream. I never would have believed what you were hiding under all those prim little gowns.”
His greedy eyes consumed her. She blushed from head to toe with the realization that she sat before him completely naked, while he had only removed his coat and cravat. Her senses were jolted into a painful state of awareness—awareness of her own vulnerability and his dominating sensuality as he loomed over her.
But she didn’t fear him, or have any desire to cover herself. Instead, her heart pounded as his eyes raked over her body grown rosy and damp with excitement. She relished his hot gaze and the way his other hand twitched against his leg, as if he could barely keep it from her body.
The situation was depraved, of course, and not something she could ever—not even in her wildest dreams—have imagined. For just tonight, though, she wasn’t plain old Sophie Stanton, but a bewitching and seductive woman who would claim whatever she wanted.
And what she wanted was Simon.
She felt a dreamy smile touch her lips as she watched him, entranced by the dark flush on his cheeks, the rapid rise and fall of his breathing. His eyes narrowed on her breasts, and his look became hard and possessive.
“Touch me, Sophie,” he rasped.
She blinked at the unexpected command. “Where?”
“Anywhere. Just touch me.”
She reached trembling fingers to his chest, parting the top of his shirt before beginning to fumble with the laces. Under her hand beat the hard rhythm of his heart.
She obviously took too long for his liking. With an impatient hiss of breath, Simon brushed her fingers away and yanked the garment over his head.
Sophie swallowed a choking breath at the sight of his naked chest and shoulders, corded with muscle and bronzed to a golden sheen by fire and lamplight. She shyly traced one hand over his ribs. It was like touching the sleek sides of a blooded stallion, all hard flesh and grace. Her fingers delved into the fine pelt of dark hair that covered his chest and flat stomach, and arrowed down under his waistband.
Sex and the Single Earl Page 13