by Wendy Vella
After a brief wedding breakfast, they were to travel to his estate in Sussex for their honeymoon. Timmy would follow five days later with Letty. They, too, were to leave London straightaway, but would be stopping to visit with Lady Horsham, a friend of Letty’s, before journeying on to Sussex.
Sophie had argued that she did not want to leave Timmy behind after what had happened, but Letty had been adamant. Lady Horsham would help and they had the staff and, of course, Mary, Timmy’s nanny, to ensure his safety, plus Robbie and the two men the Earl of Coulter had sent to protect them.
“He will be protected, Sophie, and you must get to know your husband before Timmy comes to live with you,” Letty had said, and so she had relented.
Patrick left her alone until they reached the outskirts of London. After handing her into the carriage, he had placed a quick kiss on her lips, then sat on the opposite seat and watched her.
At least she had color in her cheeks now, Patrick thought as she smoothed her skirts over her thighs, which she had done repeatedly since the journey began. She looked at her gloves; frowning, she studied the tip of one finger and slowly pulled them off one finger at a time. Patrick shifted slightly as the unconscious gesture made his body start to heat. Placing them beside her, she looked at him. He smiled, she smiled, and then she looked away. She had something on her mind and Patrick knew she would talk to him when she was ready.
He marveled again at her birth. How had a woman born to a life of poverty become the lady she was today? His wife, Patrick thought with a deep satisfaction that he felt all the way to his toes. It wasn’t only love, he assured himself, but it was a need to hold Sophie, to protect her. Make her laugh and maybe, just maybe, let her into his life a little, and share more of who he really was with her.
“Patrick?”
“Yes, sweetheart,” Patrick said, meeting her eyes.
“Patrick …,” Sophie said again, taking a deep breath, “I was not born to this life, as you know, but …”
“Sophie.”
“I need to say these things to you. Please, Patrick, let me speak,” Sophie said, and she was rewarded with a nod of his dark head.
Looking away she chose her words; it was so much easier when she wasn’t looking at him. He was such a handsome devil and Sophie often felt tongue-tied just looking at him, and when he smiled at her, well, she was lost.
“I did not expect to become anyone’s wife and most especially not an earl’s …”
Patrick smiled as the frown appeared again between her brows.
“Well, not a live earl. That is … er … I mean. Oh dear, that made me sound heartless,” Sophie whispered, placing a hand over her lips to stop any further outpouring of words.
“There is no need for this, Sophie,” Patrick said, moving to the seat beside her.
“I will try to be the best wife I can, Patrick,” she rushed on as if he had not spoken. “I will try not to embarrass you and run your house … oh lord, Patrick, how will I run your house when I have not learned how to do so?”
The look she gave him was despairing, so he lifted her into his arms and resettled her onto his lap.
“I have a competent staff that has run my estates for many years unaided, Sophie. Yes, they will talk with you, but will not expect anything from you until you are ready,” he said into her hair. It smelled like a meadow and felt like silk against his skin.
Sophie did not fight him; instead she rested against his chest, enjoying the steady rhythm of his breathing under her cheek.
“Together we will face every challenge, love, and you must always come to me if you have a problem,” Patrick said, kissing the lobe of her ear.
“But, Patrick, I …”
Patrick sealed her mouth with his lips. and he kissed her until she was limp in his arms, and only then did he stop, because the next time he made love to his wife it would be in a bed.
“Rest now, love,” he said, tucking her head under his chin.
And Sophie did sleep. The heat from his body helped her relax and the stresses of the past few days had taken their toll.
Patrick felt her body ease into slumber. He shifted slightly, propping his legs on the opposite seat to get more comfortable, and then he looked at her. Studied the gentle sweep of her lashes where they lay on her cheeks. He smoothed the dark smudges under her eyes with his fingers and felt a small tug of guilt that he had in some part been responsible for them. Sophie sighed softly, her warm breath brushing his hand as she snuggled closer to him. Pulling a blanket from beneath the seat, he covered them both. Patrick thought that he would be more than happy to stay here holding Sophie for the rest of his life. He looked down at her again. She was his now, and he knew that he would protect her with his life. Closing his eyes, he leaned back and soon he, too, was asleep.
* * *
“Plentiful, did you say?” Sophie said, as the carriage swept into a long driveway. “Why did your ancestors call your family home Plentiful?”
Patrick laughed at Sophie’s stunned expression. They had stopped only to rest, change horses, and have a meal, then continued their journey so they could reach his home as soon as possible. For most of the drive, Sophie had been in his arms, leaning against him as they talked about small, inconsequential things, and Patrick, who had never been overly close with any woman before Sophie, enjoyed the experience. It was both torture and pleasure holding her this close. He wanted her with a fierceness that stunned even him; just the smell of her perfume sent lust rampaging through his body, but he also realized that she was starting to trust him, and he would do nothing to hinder that.
“It is quite simple,” Patrick said tugging one of her curls. “There is a plentiful supply of everything you will need here.”
She stared at him, her eyes studying his to see if he was laughing at her. “Oh” was all she said, her mouth forming a perfect round. “I wish I could see it,” Sophie added, looking out the window into the darkness for the fifth time in as many minutes, her backside facing Patrick.
“And you will, my sweet,” Patrick said, admiring her bottom, “in the morning.”
The carriage slowed and then stopped. Patrick climbed down and reached up to help Sophie. Lights blazed from the house as he walked her to the door.
“It is very big,” she whispered, looking at the huge pale stone façade. “It must be two stories high.”
“Three,” Patrick answered.
“My lord!”
“Ribble,” Patrick said, as the door suddenly opened before them.
Patrick’s butler looked exactly like every butler ought to, Sophie thought. He was tall, his shoulders straight, his hair shot with silver, and his uniform immaculate.
“Ribble, I would like you to meet my wife,” Patrick said, pulling Sophie inside the house and then in front of him.
“Hello, Ribble.” Sophie almost wanted to sink into a curtsy but stopped herself just in time. Patrick’s chuckle told her he knew her thoughts.
“My lady, please allow me to welcome you on behalf of the staff. I am afraid most have retired for the evening.”
“Thank you, Ribble.” Sophie stepped backward onto Patrick’s foot, which caused him to groan loudly.
“I’m sorry!” Sophie said, turning to face her husband. Rolling her eyes at the teasing look in his, she turned once again to face the butler.
“Your rooms are ready, my lord,” Ribble said, leading the way to a set of wide stairs.
Everything was opulent and grand, Sophie thought. The wooden banister gleamed, the floors were waxed and scattered with large, intricately patterned rugs, and flowers stood in vases nearly as tall as she. It was all very beautiful and very imposing.
Patrick watched her take in the grandeur of Plentiful. To him, it was just the house that had been both haven and prison to him growing up. He took its splendor for granted, but seeing it through Sophie’s eyes made him happy. She looked like a child, her eyes growing bigger with every new sight.
“You have a beautifu
l home, Patrick,” she whispered as they turned at the landing to climb another set of stairs.
“So do you, Countess,” Patrick said, placing an arm around her waist.
She turned pink at the thought that this was now all hers as well. Windows ran along the length of the hall as they walked to their suites. Sophie imagined rolling hills and gardens as far as the eye could see, and she could not wait to explore.
“I have taken the liberty of placing some champagne in your rooms, my lord, and a light repast,” Ribble said, holding the door wide for Sophie to enter. Patrick followed.
“Your maid has arrived, my lady.”
“Thank you, Ribble.” Patrick closed the door behind him.
“Patrick?” Sophie turned toward him as he followed her deeper into the room.
“Yes, Sophie.”
“Where are my rooms?” she said, looking everywhere but at him.
“These are your rooms, love,” Patrick answered, moving to open a door toward the end of the room. “And these are mine,” he indicated with a sweep of his hand.
“Oh,” was all she said as she continued to study her room. Everything was toned in the palest blue and lemon; it was quite simply the most beautiful room Sophie had ever seen. It was so huge that her parents’ home would have fit inside. The bed was piled high with pillows of silk and lace, the cover was of an intricate design that made Sophie’s fingers twitch to stroke it. Above, a gossamer canopy hung from four turned wooden posts. She walked behind the screen to find the dressing room and a long table with high mirrors and shelves filled with her clothes. How had they gotten there? Sophie wondered.
“I will see you soon, sweetheart,” Patrick said from behind her, and then disappeared through the door.
“Lady Carstairs sent your clothes on ahead, my Lady,” Jenny said, emerging through yet another door.
“What is in there, Jenny?” Sophie asked, as she walked through the door.
“Dear lord!” Sophie gasped as she stared at the huge bath. Surely it was big enough for two people.
“It is quite something, my lady, is it not?” Jenny said, coming to stand beside her mistress. “I have it all ready for you,” Jenny added, helping Sophie undress. “I have poured in some of the rose oil that Lady Carstairs packed for you.”
Sophie let Jenny’s chatter flow over her as she undressed and stepped into the warmth. It was blissful to let the water enfold her. This was her wedding night; tonight she would lie with Patrick as his wife. Would he want her to stay with him through the night? No, of course not, Sophie answered herself. Noblemen did not want to wake up with their wives, hadn’t Letty told her this? It was all very confusing, because her mother hadn’t lived this sort of life. Her education was very limited and she only had the bits of information Letty had given her, and she hadn’t touched on bedroom etiquette.
Climbing out of the bath, she let Jenny dry her off.
“Lady Carstairs wanted me to give you this tonight,” Jenny said holding out her hands.
It was a wisp of satin in the softest emerald. The straps were two slender strips, the bodice plunged into a low V, and each satin cup would clearly outline her breasts. The skirts fell to the floor, but a split ran up one leg from ankle to thigh. Sophie held it against her with trembling fingers. She could almost feel the heat from Patrick’s eyes as he would look at her once she was wearing it.
Jenny took it from her, and slipped it over her head. Sophie almost sighed as the soft fabric touched her heated skin. Picking up one of Sophie’s brushes Jenny then ran it through her hair until it crackled.
“I will say good night now, my lady,” the maid said with a knowing smile, and then she was gone.
Sophie noted that the door to Patrick’s room was slightly ajar. Slowly, she walked forward, and with each step the material caressed her body; her breasts felt fuller, nipples erect as the satin brushed against them. She listened at the threshold but could hear no voices. Taking a deep breath she opened it wider to walk through.
Patrick sat sipping champagne and staring into the fire after his bath. He had sent his valet to bed and was now waiting for Sophie. Would she be nervous? Of course she will, you idiot, Patrick chided himself. They had already made love several times, yet she had not been his countess then. Just the memory of that night in the gazebo had the power to arouse him. In the past, their lovemaking had always been a frenetic coupling of the flesh. Tonight would be different; tonight would be for her, he vowed, and it was at that moment that he sensed he was no longer alone.
“Patrick?” Sophie whispered as she moved into the room.
Patrick cursed soundly beneath his breath as he watched Sophie walk toward him. She looked like his every fantasy. Her hair flowed down her back, stopping at her waist in a black cloud. Emerald satin kissed her curves as she moved. Her breasts were barely covered and spilled from the bodice and he could see her nipples, already peaked as if taunting him to touch them. A long split down one side of the skirt offered Patrick a brief glimpse of her legs, legs that he had fantasized about since their first meeting many months ago.
Sophie felt powerful when she saw the look of hunger in her husband’s eyes. Unconsciously, her hips swayed a little more and her breasts arched forward as she walked closer.
“Sophie,” Patrick warned as she kept coming toward him. “Have mercy,” he whispered as she stopped when her toes touched his. “I … I want this night to be for you, sweetheart,” he said, stumbling over his words like a callow youth.
“It will be,” Sophie replied. Reaching for the belt of his robe, she released it and pushed it from his shoulders. She could feel the heat from his naked body and longed to touch him. Running her hands up his arms she then trailed her fingers down over the planes of muscle that formed his chest. She stroked the light sprinkling of hair and teased his nipples, which caused him to draw a sharp breath, and finally she looped her arms around his neck and pulled his head down until their lips met.
Go slow; go slow, Patrick chanted in his head as her body melted into his. She smelled of woman and something exotic that tantalized his senses. Her skin felt warm and silken from her bath. Fierce, hot lust nearly dropped him to his knees.
Sophie made a small noise in her throat as Patrick swept a hand down the length of her spine; its heat seemed to brand her wherever it traveled. He ravished her lips, sensual mind-drugging kisses that robbed Sophie of rational thought.
“Where the hell did you get this?” Patrick growled as he lowered one of the tiny straps and replaced it with his lips.
“Letty,” Sophie sighed, as he kissed her shoulder and moved lower to the swell of her breast.
Patrick’s laugh was harsh as he pushed the other strap aside and moved to administer the same treatment to the other shoulder. With a gentle tug he had her breasts freed—one and then another—and Sophie felt the fabric pool around her ankles.
“You rob the breath from my body,” Patrick rasped, his voice now deep with need. “I could look at you for hours,” he added, taking a step back. She was perfection to his eyes; her breasts were full and tipped with rose-hued nipples, her slender waist flared into gentle hips, and her legs were long and silken.
Dropping to his knees, he ran his hands up her thighs and then slowly parted them.
“Patrick!” Sophie cried, as she felt his breath between her legs.
Placing both hands on her hips, he pulled her forward to meet his lips. He held her still as he stroked his tongue along the cleft he had exposed between her thighs, long sweeping strokes that soon had her moaning with delight. Lifting one slender leg, Patrick draped it over his shoulder, his hands cupping her bottom as he devoured her.
Sophie was sobbing as the pressure began to build, and when he touched the tiny nubbin between her legs she cried out. Patrick’s response was to do it again. He took his time torturing her, building the pressure until Sophie begged him to release her; only then did he push a finger inside her.
Patrick felt Sophie shudder and gr
ip his shoulders as she found her release. Regaining his feet, he lifted her into his arms and lowered her onto his bed. In seconds, he was thrusting deep inside her, just as the tremors started to ease.
“Wrap your legs around me, Sophie,” he said as he withdrew and reentered.
Sophie couldn’t think, only feel. He surrounded her, each thrust better than the last. Obeying him, she lifted her legs, then cried out as he drove into her once again and this time he was deeper, higher.
She looked like sin with her head thrown back amongst the pillows and her breasts arched and heaving. Patrick drank in the sight. Lowering his head, he bit softly into one pouting nipple and felt her tighten around his aching flesh; she was responsive to his every touch, every stroke.
“Patrick!” Sophie screamed as he thrust into her one more time. Patrick followed his wife, with a loud growl, over the edge and into oblivion.
When he could breathe and form a rational thought, Patrick looked at Sophie. Her eyes were closed and she appeared on the verge of sleep. She was his, all that sensual heat and passion belonged to him, and Patrick couldn’t help it—he laughed from the pure joy of the moment.
“Patrick,” Sophie sighed, turning toward him, then murmuring as he pulled her into his arms.
“Sleep, love.” Patrick covered them both with blankets. Soon the only noises that could be heard in the room were the sounds of slumber.
Something woke Patrick a few hours later. Opening his eyes, he reached for Sophie and his arms came up empty. He couldn’t see her in the darkened room, both the candles and fire having burned down. Pushing aside the blankets, he climbed from the bed and let his eyes adjust to the night. Then he walked toward her rooms. The curtains were not drawn, so he could see Sophie’s small form in the middle of her big bed.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” Patrick roared.
“What!” Sophie cried, coming awake with a start, her heart thumping wildly in her chest.
“Why are you in here and not in my bed?” the large male at the foot of her bed said in a menacing tone.
“I … I had thought it proper to leave you, Patrick,” Sophie said, her voice still thick with sleep as she struggled to push her hair from her eyes. “I believed this was what you would want.”