by Lara Temple
Sophie looked up and stopped abruptly, which was a good thing because otherwise she might have ploughed directly into Max, who stood on the first step of Huntley House. She hadn’t expected to see him until the evening, but she was immediately filled with happiness at the sight of him. And then a little guilt about her less-than-kind thoughts about Serena.
‘Is something wrong?’ he asked, a line forming between his brows and she shook her head.
‘Marmaduke behaved exemplarily. Nothing is wrong. I was just thinking...’
‘Ah, I see the problem. Come in and rest, then.’
He tapped the knocker and the door opened before she could respond.
‘Very amusing,’ she muttered as she put Marmaduke down in the hall and Max smiled at her and took her hand, leading her to her parlour. Once inside he leaned back against the door and the look in his eyes was so uncharacteristically warm she felt answering heat creep up her neck and into her cheeks. It wasn’t the desire, but the hint of affection in the quirk of his mouth that did it and she actually took a step towards him before stopping. Too soon, silly, she told herself and sat down on the divan.
‘Would you care to join me?’ she asked properly, but somehow the words sounded off to her. Apparently they did to him too because his smile deepened, but he didn’t answer and the prickling heat surged and she gritted her teeth. If there was one thing she wished she could fix in herself it was this horrible tendency to blush.
He sat down on the divan.
‘That’s unfair, you know,’ he said. ‘That blush is more potent than my resolution.’
That just made it worse.
‘I hate blushing.’
‘I...this will probably sound wrong, but I think it’s adorable.’
Slightly better.
‘It sounds frilly and fluffy and I’m not.’
‘No, you’re not that. I’m still working on what you are.’
‘Now, that sounds suspicious.’
‘It’s a compliment. A poor one, but sincere.’
‘Then I will take it as such. And stop while I’m ahead.’
‘Clever girl. Now tell me what was bothering you before.’
Oh, please don’t ruin it. And the worst was that no matter what she said now, he would know she was avoiding something and in the end he would get it out of her. It was better to just make a clean breast of it while he was in such a mellow mood.
‘I was thinking about Serena,’ she said in a rush. ‘And before you poker up, remember that you asked and that it is only natural that I will think about her. That much is unavoidable. If you don’t wish to talk about her, I understand as well, but then I suggest we come to some agreement about your expectations of honesty from me.’
The warmth did disappear from his face, with spectacular swiftness.
‘You are telling me to ask you to lie?’
‘No, I’m telling that if you wish me to respect your boundaries, you must learn to respect mine. Lying...at least lying convincingly is not an option for me. And not thinking about the past is not an option for me either. I will respect your wish not to discuss it, but I won’t lie.’
He looked as if he might get up, but he remained seated, staring at the carpet.
‘What were you thinking?’ he asked almost sullenly and her hands curled into fists. Dangerous ground.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’
‘I would rather not talk about it ever again in my life, but if you are thinking about it, which I suppose is unavoidable, then that wish is moot. So, yes, I want to know what you were thinking.’
Her mother always said better out than in. Hopefully she was right. She rushed ahead.
‘Very well, you said she killed herself, but Wivenhoe said she took a potion to rid herself of a child, so I was thinking it might just as easily have been an accident. She just doesn’t sound like someone who would commit suicide.’
There. And he wasn’t jumping up in anger.
‘Wivenhoe said? When?’ His voice was flat, carefully controlled, and though her heart jumped, she managed to answer calmly.
‘Outside Reeves’s. It came to mind today because there was this little boy, maybe ten years old, in the park and it made me think...well, never mind. That’s what I was thinking.’
* * *
Max stared at the faded fleur-de-lis pattern on the carpet. He wished his past would fade as well, but it kept seeping in through the cracks in his life, inexorable, inescapable. He knew he should leave this conversation until he had himself under better control. He was wavering at the edge of a landscape he preferred not to enter and his mind at least was telling him to get some distance before he proceeded. But he remained.
‘I said she killed herself, but I don’t think it was suicide either. She probably hoped to pass the child off as mine, but we had to put back the wedding date because my uncle died. And when she didn’t manage to seduce me as a means to cover for her...slip, she sought other means of solving the problem. I don’t think she realised the dangers of those remedies. Or of anything. She had a presumption that the world would fall into line for her.’
‘Would she know how to find such a remedy?’
He glanced up at her.
‘Would you?’
‘No, Wi...’ She hesitated for a moment, clearly uncomfortable. ‘Wivenhoe said men knew how. I would have thought he was the one who gave it to her, but it didn’t sound like that when he spoke to me.’
He unclenched his jaw. She wasn’t Serena. Maybe if he said it enough times, it might sink in.
‘What did it sound like...when he spoke to you?’
She frowned at his tone, but continued.
‘It sounded like he cared for her and mourned her.’
‘Unlike me.’
There, it was out. She didn’t answer.
‘No insightful comment, sweetheart? Did you imagine Wivenhoe and me as two lovelorn suitors enslaved by the siren Serena? You want honesty? Well, by the time she died whatever juvenile attraction I had for her was crushed under her dainty heel and I was so sick of the sight and sound of her that my first feeling when I saw her lifeless body in the bed where she used to meet her lover was relief that by some miracle I had been spared the purgatory of spending the rest of my life with her. Not a very nice thought for a twenty-year-old to have standing by the deathbed of a beautiful young woman while her father crouched on the floor wailing loud enough to bring the neighbours’ servants in on us. I don’t need you with your soft heart to tell me that I am despicable. Despicable enough to feel relief even today, even knowing that fool Wivenhoe did care for her, even knowing her death destroyed her father’s life. I went away to war to escape the realisation that I was so glad to win my freedom I couldn’t even regret the price. Every time I see Wivenhoe I remember what I am. I didn’t care for her and I don’t mourn her, and I wish to hell I never had to think about her or about what she brought out of me for as long as I live, so forgive me if I prefer to avoid the topic. Is that honest enough, Sophie?’
She was pale and looked much more stern than he had thought possible. He had never told anyone any of this. At least Spain and the brutal reality of war had put Serena and Wivenhoe and even his own guilt in some perspective. There had been very little room for such emotional self-indulgence in the raw push and pull of battle. And that perspective had held even on his return to his former life and duties. Until now. Until Sophie had come and turned his life on its head almost more dramatically than Serena had. And now she knew. He waited, readying himself.
‘Very,’ she replied. ‘And I’m sorry I and this engagement brought it back, but you will never be able to avoid the topic. And nothing you told me makes you despicable.’
‘Don’t you dare presume to forgive me!’ he flashed.
‘I don’t forgive yo
u. I just don’t blame you. She sounds like a thoroughly selfish and manipulative young woman and I’m impressed you had the good sense not to adore her. ‘
He stood up abruptly.
‘And don’t make light of it!’
She raised her hands.
‘I’m not. Really.’
He stalked over to the window. Nothing good would come of this. Was she really so naïve not to see that if it weren’t for his cowardice and stubbornness a young woman would be alive? Serena might have been selfish and manipulative, but she didn’t deserve to die. He might not be solely to blame for what happened, but he held his share of guilt. He never should have insisted Sophie tell him what she was thinking. He knew it was trouble. She was trouble. And now she knew the truth and it would always be between them. She might be in her compassionate mood right now, but it was inevitable this would colour her perception of him, an inescapable taint. He should have had the sense never to embark on this discussion; instead he had goaded her on even though he had known it was heading in the wrong direction. What was wrong with him?
He turned back to Sophie. She was so easy to read sometimes. Her teal-blue eyes were filled with regret, as if she wished she could take it all back and somehow shield him from what he had revealed. And just as it had that day he had first told her about Serena, her warm, generous empathy was like a searing brand, unsettling and unwelcome. She had no right to keep dragging into the open events that were firmly in the past and then expect him to succumb to that inviting warmth. He could feel that pull all too strongly, a crescendo of heat had clung to him since he had met her, like a persistent low-grade fever, flaring at the most inconvenient moments and making him do things that he would have scorned to believe himself capable of just a week or two ago. He didn’t even know if there was anything personal behind her empathy. Aside from the obvious passion he had tapped into with her, she might feel just that degree of concern towards her siblings or even Marmaduke. All he knew was that she kept throwing his whole well-ordered existence into unwelcome upheaval and he was fast losing his patience with her and with himself.
‘Whatever happened, it happened years ago and it doesn’t concern you. I think I will accept your offer to respect boundaries on this issue. And from now on if you need to go to Reeves I will come with you. If it is your intention to push me or Wivenhoe to the point where we have no choice but to resort to violence, you are doing a very good job of it’
The empathy vanished and she stared at him in shock.
‘That is not my intention. Do you really think that is what I want?’
‘I don’t know what you want!’ he exploded. ‘What do you want?’
‘I’ll tell you what I want...’
A howl, loud and pitiful, penetrated the closed door, followed by a tentative knock. Max threw up his hands and marched back to the window and Sophie breathed in deeply.
‘Enter.’
The door opened and Marmaduke rushed in.
‘I beg pardon, Your Grace...miss,’ Lambeth said, looking off into space. ‘But he insisted. Apparently he, like Lady Huntley, is not fond of loud voices. I will leave him with you, miss, if I may.’
Sophie nodded as Lambeth closed the door once more and pressed her hands to her blazing cheeks. Marmaduke meanwhile shuffled over to Max and lay down, yawning widely. They both looked at Marmaduke for a moment, but he just gave a little snort and closed his eyes, clearly settling in for a nap.
‘If you laugh, Sophie, I swear...’
She shook her head and looked down and his resentment and fear drained away, leaving a tight ache in his chest at the pain she was so obviously trying to hide. What did he want? He went to sit down by her and picked up her hand. Why couldn’t they just stay in that sylvan idyll they had found in the park?
‘I’ll tell you what I want.’ She looked up abruptly, the ferocity in her eyes startling him. ‘I won’t get it, but I want you to admit that she was a spoilt brat who would have driven any sane man to the end of his tether. That you were a silly boy who took himself far too seriously and was too full of pride to admit he was in over his head. That your parents and hers were fools for not seeing you were completely unsuited and helping both of you out of that disastrous situation which is what reasonable and loving parents should have done. If any of the lot of you had had the sense to call a halt to the situation you would have suffered from nothing more than a little humiliation and Serena and Wivenhoe would probably be married and miserable as they deserve. But life doesn’t work that way and this is what happened and now it’s over and it doesn’t make you a bad person. What on earth did you expect of yourself? Just what do you think you are? You’re just Max! And I am so tired of unreal expectations and... I’m just tired and I’m going to rest!’
She tugged her hand out of his, but he caught it again, too shocked to respond, but not enough to let her go.
‘It’s still morning,’ he protested.
‘It feels late. I wonder why. Let go.’
He let go of her hand, but only to pull her on to his lap.
‘Not yet. Please.’
She froze, one hand braced against his shoulder.
‘You can rest here,’ he added.
‘This isn’t restful.’
The anger had gone out of her voice, but it was still abrupt. He took the hand pressed against his shoulder and gently shifted it to his neck, turning her towards him. Her eyes rose to his. They were fierce, but not just with anger, and he breathed in, welcoming the burn of desire that coursed through him. Definitely not restful. He didn’t want restful. He wanted her. To hell with sylvan. He needed something hotter, wilder.
‘Actually, you can rest in a minute,’ he corrected, smoothing his hand up her back and down again, his other hand moving up her arm, and when he reached the edge of her sleeve, he slid his fingers under the gathered seam. He loved the liquid feel of that skin just there, the pale part of her inner arm he had kissed the day they had become engaged. He could remember how it felt against his lips. Soft, exquisite...a subtle, irresistible invitation. He turned over her arm and touched his mouth to it... Her hand jerked against his neck and she said something he couldn’t make out, but she didn’t stop him when he tucked his hand into the hair at her nape and drew her mouth towards his.
‘Sophie...’
* * *
Max’s voice was uncharacteristically hoarse and Sophie detached her gaze from his lips and looked up. She had seen passion in his eyes before, but never so unveiled. The Stone Duke was utterly gone. His eyes were dark and filled with a heat that swept her thoughts and fears away like an unrelenting flood. Nothing mattered but the thudding urgency of the desire emanating from them. It was utterly foreign and the most natural thing in the world. It made no sense that this feeling hadn’t been with her always, because for the first time she felt herself fully, as she ought to be. And what she needed was to feel him, to see him, to give herself fully to this new reality.
Her lips parted under his as he kissed her, deep and drugging and desperate. Some faraway voice said this is what it is like to be drunk on love and it was wonderful. The heat was rising and gathering between her legs and the lost, empty sensation was being replaced by something impatient, demanding.
‘Max.’ She breathed against his mouth, her hands pulling at the fabric of his shirt, trying to get under it to feel him. It was no longer acceptable to have clothing between them, anything between them. She wanted him.
‘Max!’ she moaned impatiently and he gave in with a curse and shrugged off his coat and she pulled at him, trying to get closer to him, but hampered by her skirts. She gave them a tug so she could rise on her knee, pressing against him, and his hands grabbed her skirt, shoving it up and urging her the rest of the way and she found herself straddling him, her hands on his shoulders, his thighs as rigid as stone between her legs and the unmistakable
heat of his erection, hot and hard, pressed just inches below where that scalding, aggravating tension was building, filling her with a choking drumbeat. It was hard to breathe and a wave of confusion almost woke her to the wantonness of what she was doing, but Max was already on another plane, his hands urgent and impatient as he unhooked and unlaced her, tossing her dress and stays to the floor. The scrape and pull of fabrics left every nerve-end tingling and urgent, adding to the fire raging at her centre.
Max’s gaze moved over her and that and the cool air made her aware of how closely her filmy silk shift clung to her damp skin. She sobered, suddenly scared that she was teetering on the edge of an abyss, about to willingly abandon control to a man she didn’t know if she could fully trust. But then his eyes rose to meet hers, holding her, and time slowed and stretched out. He reached out, gently tracing the skin above her chemise, shaping the swell of her breast, his fingers slipping between them, lingering reverently as if he was drawing her, forming her out of elemental sensations. She came into being under his hands, alive and yearning...she grew under every stroke, unfurling and filling up with sensations and emotions she had never imagined. She locked her eyes on his face, the dip of his lashes over those amazing cheekbones, the contradiction of passion and ruthlessness in his mouth that she wanted on her. Dragged along by the tide determined by the movement of his hands on her skin, rising and falling, now sliding down the centre of her abdomen. Then he slid a hand under her bottom, raising her a couple of inches as his fingers slid very lightly, almost unbearably lightly, between her legs.
The sheer fabric dragged over her sensitised flesh and the sensation was so powerful she arched against him, an uncontrollable shudder running through her. Max breathed in sharply as she shifted convulsively, but though his other hand tightened on her bottom, his fingers kept the rhythm of the gentle caresses. Her eyes kept drifting closed, but she tried to keep them open, to take in everything. His mouth, sharp cut and firm, looked softer and, without thinking, she reached out to trace it with her fingers. His erection surged under her and a lightning bolt of need wrested her from her sensuous passivity. She dragged his shirt up impatiently and he let her go long enough to pull it off, doing the same to her chemise before pulling her towards him, bending to kiss her neck, his mouth hot and urgent on her skin, his hands on her breasts, rough and soft and maddening, and everywhere they touched she felt seared and alive. She moved against him without thinking, searching and finding. She wanted it over and she wanted it never to end.