Not again! Desperate, she captured him around the neck. “I am right in front of you, you daft man.”
The last of Crispin’s control shattered when Sophia’s lips slammed into his. He tugged her against his chest and devoured her mouth. Gone was the sweetness and wonder of their first kiss. This was passionate, consuming. She possessed him—her scent, her warmth, her erotic little moans.
He sank against her, trapping his hands between the small of her back and the bricks to keep from acting on his basest desires. At the edges of conscious thought, he recognized he couldn’t take her. Not in some alley against a brick wall, him driving into her over and over, losing himself in the sweetness of her scent and the softness of her skin.
Lord help me, I want this woman, all of her. He trembled in an effort to restrain himself.
Sophia, for her part, seemed oblivious to his inner battle. A pleasing murmur slipped from her when he teased her lips apart. She sighed, opening to him; he swept his tongue into her sweet mouth.
Winding her arms around his neck, she arched into him. The temptation to explore her exquisite body beckoned—to begin at the gentle slopes of her hips and slide his hands along her waist until he was cradling her small breasts. He wanted to strip her until every silky, alabaster inch of her was bared and pleasure her until she cried his name and begged for more.
A faint reprimand echoed in his mind. Restrain yourself, man. The voice forged through the fog to wake his conscience. Reluctantly, he ended the kiss, but his mouth brushed her cheek and strayed to her ear to tease the button of velvety flesh there between his teeth.
“Heavens!” She had grown breathless and pliable, which made retreat even more difficult but necessary.
Sophia exhaled as he drew away and leaned her head against the wall with her eyes closed. He allowed himself to revel in her beauty in this unguarded moment. Her pink lips were swollen from his kisses, and her lashes lay like gossamer against her flushed skin.
He lovingly caressed the length of her delicate neck. Sophia was the most winsome creature he had ever encountered. Standing here with her, feeling her pulse beneath his fingertips, he understood the reason his godfather had tried to discourage him from joining the Regent’s Consul.
Crispin could never provide her with a normal marriage or the family life she desired. Yet, he couldn’t continue taking from her and offering nothing of himself. He was stuck in a hell of his own making.
Regret swirled in his gut. “Sophia...”
“No!” She squeezed her eyes tight and shook her head. “Unless you intend to say you love me, do not speak. You will spoil everything.”
He chuckled softly. Her eyes snapped open. Ire sparked in their blue depths.
“Are you laughing at—?” She gasped.
Instinctively, he threw up his forearm and spun to block a blow before it smashed into his head. The dull sound of wood connecting with bone made him nauseous; pain shot into his shoulder.
Sophia screamed. He pushed her away.
Before he could get his bearings, a second hit knocked him off balance. His gaze locked on the weapon, a thick cane poised to strike again. Crispin lunged and grabbed his assailant’s arm. “Run, Sophia!”
She dashed toward the stage door, yelling for help.
Crispin’s opponent was smaller than him—a street rat, to be sure. Hooking his arm around the back of his attacker’s neck, Crispin threw him to the ground. The gangly footpad landed on the packed dirt with a grunt. A swift kick knocked the weapon from his hand.
Bloody cane.
He couldn’t decide which made him angrier, the throbbing in his arm, or knowing he was to blame for his injury.
A scraggly ruffian standing at the alley’s entrance abandoned his watch and ran in their direction, screaming a battle cry as he barreled down the alley. Crispin snatched the cane from the ground and darted to the side. The dimwit ran past; Crispin smacked the battered mahogany stick across the backs of his knees. He crumpled on the ground with a loud “Oof” and skidded on the dirt, creating a small dust cloud.
The first attacker pushed to his feet and scrambled down the alley, leaving his rescuer to Crispin’s mercy. He raised the cane overhead, prepared to frighten some sense into what he could now tell was a boy no older than fifteen lying on the ground.
“Run along after your cohort while you still can,” Crispin said.
The whelp struggled to stand. Crispin extended his arm to offer assistance. With a disgruntled frown, the lad placed his sooty hand in Crispin’s and pulled himself up. Grumbling, the urchin limped down the alley.
“If you desire honest work, call at Arden-Hill in Mayfair. Tell them Lord Margrave sent you.”
The lad looked back at him warily.
“I could use a brave man like you on my staff,” Crispin said.
The boy blinked and a slow grin cut across his face. “Aye, milord.” With renewed vigor, he dashed toward the street and disappeared around the corner.
Sophia’s scream was like a dirk driven into Crispin’s chest.
He spun toward the sound and froze. The stage door flew open and the guard burst into the alley.
“Don’t move,” Crispin ordered, but the guard had already drawn up short.
Not ten feet away, a man stood behind Sophia with a blade pressed to her neck. Crispin’s throat closed as if he was being garroted.
“Drop the cane,” the blackguard barked, “and no harm will come to the lady.”
The man was older and heftier than the assailants Crispin had fought off, more experienced. Probably the leader. He towered over Sophia, and in his clutches, she appeared more delicate than Crispin had ever realized. One wrong move, and she would break like a porcelain doll.
“Hold very still, darling.”
She rolled her eyes. “Do you think me a d-dolt?” Despite her bravado, her voice quivered. It was all he could do to resist storming them and beating the blackguard unconscious.
Sweat dripped down the assailant’s pronounced forehead. He darted a glance at the guard. “Stay where you are. This don’t concern the likes of you.”
Crispin’s grip tightened on the cane. “Release her, or I will end you.”
He eased toward the man and Sophia, calculating the odds of reaching them before she was harmed.
“You ain’t fast enough to save ‘er, Lord Margrave.”
Crispin’s heart skipped. He knows my name. He is here for me. Rage roared through his veins. This was his fault. Sophia was in danger because of him.
“Do not hurt her. I surrender.” He held his arms out at his sides and dropped the cane. It landed with a thud. He didn’t require a weapon to disable the bastard, but he couldn’t make a move while Sophia was being used as a shield. “You are here for me. Let her go.”
The man’s low laugh grated on him. “I think I like ‘er where she is. He who has the wench controls ‘er man.”
“He is not my man,” Sophia said. “Believe me, I’ve tried enticing him, but—”
“Quiet,” her captor snapped. His meaty fingers dug into Sophia’s upper arm. She hissed in pain.
Crispin growled low in his throat and took a step closer.
“Stay where you are, Margrave. I ain’t the squeamish sort. I’ll cut ‘er.”
Sophia whimpered then began mumbling to herself. Her lips formed the same words repeatedly. Did she recite a prayer? Her face screwed up in disgust for a moment, then her silent chanting resumed. When Crispin made out the word peach, his pulse skipped.
Squeeze the peach, she was saying. Squeeze the peach.
Only now did he realize she had wedged her hand between her neck and her assailant’s arm when he had grabbed her, just as her uncle taught her. Hope surged in Crispin. All he required was a moment’s diversion.
The blackguard paid her no attention, mistakenly assuming she posed no risk. “Listen,” he snarled. “I ain’t going to warn you but once. Stay away—”
“Yes, Sophia,” Crispin murmured, “the f
ruit is ripe for picking.”
Furrows cut across the man’s forehead as he looked back and forth from Crispin to Sophia. She kept mumbling. “Shut your trap! Both of you.”
Her chanting ceased; she opened her eyes.
Do it! Crispin inclined his head, the movement barely perceptible.
Her gaze hardened. In one quick motion, she stepped to the side and grabbed the man by the bollocks while the knife away from her neck.
The blackguard howled like a mezzo-soprano. The weapon clattered to the ground. She kept squeezing, showing no mercy until he released her first. He collapsed on the dirt, gasping in pain.
“Oh, my heavens! Ew!” Sophia skittered away, wiping her hands on her skirts and shuddering with revulsion. “Ew! Ew! Ew!”
Crispin and the theatre guard pounced on her assailant while he was still immobilized and moaning. If the blackguard could walk any time soon, it would be surprising. He was unlikely to threaten another lady again, of that Crispin was certain.
A stagehand exited the theatre and happened upon the scene. His jaw dropped.
“Find Mr. Jonas,” the guard barked as he helped Crispin haul their captive to his feet and trap his arms behind his back. “And see the lady safely inside.”
The stagehand jumped to obey the guard’s command, placing his arm around Sophia’s shoulders. “Come with me, miss. Have you been hurt?”
Sophia shook her head and allowed him to usher her toward the stage door.
“You are trembling like a leaf,” he said. “The stage manager keeps a bottle of brandy in his quarters. A nip might calm your nerves.”
“Thank you, but I am all right.” She threw a quick glance over her shoulder as if she was worried Crispin might abandon her.
“I will follow,” he said.
She hesitated but entered the building with the stagehand.
Crispin addressed the guard. “You will be rewarded for your bravery, sir.”
“The name’s Penhale,” he said, “and no reward is necessary. Let’s take him inside. There’s rope backstage to secure him while the manager sends for the magistrate.”
“In due time.” Crispin didn’t intend to relinquish custody of the blackguard until he received answers. As he and Penhale neared the stage door with their prisoner, Crispin shoved the man chest first into the brick wall. A grunting wheeze escaped him on impact.
“Talk,” he growled into the assailant’s ear. “Who sent you?”
The blackguard’s lips curled, revealing several rotting teeth. “Ye’ll regret treating me poorly.”
“His lordship asked you a question.” Penhale slapped the back of his balding head. “Answer.”
The prisoner cursed them. Like his godfather, Crispin was opposed to acts of brutality for the sake of loosening one’s lips, but picturing Sophia at this villain’s mercy tested his convictions. Before he acted on the impulse to commit violence, he jerked his captive away from the wall and wrestled him through the backstage door.
The giant named Benny rounded a corner at the end of the corridor and stalked toward them with Sophia and her actress friend on his heels.
“There he is,” Sophia said and pointed. “He is the one.”
Benny stopped in front of the prisoner, looming above him, and glowered as if he contemplated tearing the flesh from the man’s bones. “You attacked Miss Sophia? Did your mama never teach you to be kind to ladies? Perhaps you need some learning on the subject.” He rolled up his sleeves, revealing massive forearms that were the size of small trees.
The captive shrank back. A spark of pleasure ignited in Crispin at seeing him frightened when faced with a larger threat. Perhaps Benny had the right of it. The coward could use a lesson in how to treat a lady, although Crispin doubted the bigger man’s teaching methods could be any more effective than Sophia’s own.
Crispin couldn’t help feeling proud of her bravery, and equally horrified that she had been in danger in the first place. The morning’s event only reinforced the notion he should maintain his distance, but he was unlikely to convince her.
She caught his eye and her mouth turned up slightly with a coy smile.
Hell, he was no longer certain he could convince himself.
As Benny raised his fist, Sophia touched his forearm to intervene. “No doubt this brute needs a lesson in manners, kind sir, but he cannot answer questions if he is knocked silly.”
Benny’s fierce gaze bore into the man; he kept his fist raised. “And if he refuses to answer?”
“Then by all means, you may take matters into your hands,” Sophia said, her eyes twinkling with mischief, as they did when she was putting Crispin through the paces. “I doubt the magistrate will care whether he is able to walk into a cell or must be tossed inside like a sack of grain.”
The man gulped. “H-how do I know you ain’t going to order him to attack if I tell you what you want to know?”
She clicked her tongue. “Benny is not a hound, sir.”
Growling, the big man snapped his jaws, causing the blackguard to yelp and stumble backward. He fell into Crispin trying to escape. Crispin jerked him upright.
“Oh, dear,” Sophia said and captured her bottom lip between her teeth. “I think you have upset him.”
Benny snarled.
Sophia’s actress friend covered a chuckle with her hand and spun away.
The blackguard was quivering.
Crispin smiled. Sophia was a master at making men squirm. Funny this hadn’t occurred to him until now.
A second stagehand rounded the corner with coiled rope and handed it to Benny. While he secured the prisoner’s hands behind his back, Sophia turned to Crispin. “What would you like to ask him first?”
“Perhaps we should start with him revealing who sent him.”
“That does seem a logical place to begin. Perhaps we should adjourn to the stage to continue the interrogation?”
The drama she and her cohorts were performing belonged on stage, and he would enjoy every minute of the blackguard’s discomfort.
“Lead the way, Miss Darlington.”
Eight
Sophia accepted Crispin’s assistance on the carriage stairs, her mind preoccupied with what they had learned during the interrogation of their attacker. She settled on the bench for the ride home and turned to thank him for coming to her aid. He climbed inside and sat on the opposite seat. Her eyes widened in surprise.
“We are traveling to the same location,” he said evenly, “and you should not be without an escort.”
Her manservants could see her home, but she didn’t dare argue. The incident in the alley had shaken her, and she didn’t want to be alone.
“What do you propose we do about Lady Van Middleburg?” she asked.
Crispin spared her a brief glance before he redirected his gaze toward the bustling street out the window. “We will take no action.”
“None? You cannot be serious.”
“I am.”
“What? Why? She hired a thug to threaten you. Doesn’t that strike you as a bit of an overreaction on Lady Van Middleburg’s part? You questioned the Duke of Stanhurst’s servants. That is hardly a reason to resort to violence.” She crossed her arms. “The baroness is hiding something by pretending to be her cousin’s champion. Something personal, I think.”
He abandoned his mission of broodingly staring out the window. “There is nothing odd about it. She wishes to protect her family.”
“If you believe that to be true, you need my help worse than I thought.”
“You will mind your own affairs.” The ubiquitous scowl was back on his handsome face. “I will handle the matter alone.”
Sophia sniffed. “As you wish, Lord Overbearing. I will mind my own affairs.”
“Thank you, and my name is Crispin. You have leave to use it.”
Havers! He was the most arrogant and difficult man she’d ever met, and she was hopelessly in love with him anyway. She moved across the carriage and plopped down beside him.
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“You were impressive today,” she said. “I had no idea you could fight like you did. You must have kept up your exercises like Regina.”
His eyebrow slanted when she took his hand between hers. “What are you doing?”
“I am simply minding my affairs, my lord.”
His stiff posture softened, and the hint of a smile played about the corners of his lips. “Are you certain you want me involved in your affairs? Usually, you scold me for interfering.”
She laced their fingers together, their gloves creating a barrier. “I am feeling generous today. After all, you saved my life. Such bravery deserves a nugget of kindness.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. She seemed to have struck a sore spot. “You saved yourself,” he said.
The sensation of cold, sharp metal pressing into her skin seeped into her memory. She snuggled against his side and forced herself not to think about what could have been. “I never would have had the courage without you.”
He released her hand to place his arm around her shoulders. “You never would have been in danger if not for me. I was careless.”
“How dare you take all the credit?” She tipped her head to the side and gazed up at him, teasing. “It was my idea to kiss in the alley, and might I add, it was amazing.”
His eyebrows rose on his forehead.
“What? I quite enjoyed myself. Did you not?”
“Did you hear any objections from me?”
“Miraculously, I did not.”
He chuckled halfheartedly. “At least no one of consequence saw us today. I will have your driver drop me at the next street while there is time to salvage the situation. You may return to husband hunting tonight without anyone being the wiser.”
When he reached to knock on the carriage roof, Sophia planted her hand in the middle of his chest. “Move one more inch, and I will sit on you. You are going nowhere.”
“Do you think sitting on me would be effective if I wanted to leave?”
She notched her chin. “Would you like to find out?”
“Maybe,” he admitted with a wicked glint in his eyes that caused an excited tumble in her belly. “I will stay to argue my case, though. Sophia, it is not too late to choose another man.”
Lord Margrave's Secret Desire Page 8