“You have tested my patience like none other,” he said, his voice harsh.
“I know.” Her hand remained, cradling his cheek.
And she felt the slight tremble in him.
The tremble that revealed more to her about him than his medievally possessive words. He desperately needed human contact, was starving for it like a thirsty man traveling through a long, desolate stretch of desert. He was isolated, alone. Without the caring touch of another for so long, his need strained in every sinew of his body. There was no question: something had happened to him…something cataclysmic and devastating.
But how far would he let her go?
“What happened to you?” she asked.
His gaze sharpened. Became cautious.
Undaunted, she traced her finger down his chiseled jaw to the cleft in his chin that had fascinated her the first time she’d seen him at Delmont’s masquerade ball.
He grasped her ungloved hand, but didn’t push her away. Rather he pressed his lips to her palm.
Her breath hitched at the touch of those perfect lips on her skin.
“I tried, dammit. I tried to warn you…tried to warn myself to steer clear,” he muttered.
“Why?”
He lowered her hand, but didn’t release her fingers. “I’ll end up hurting you.”
“You’re not going to hurt me. I’m a grown woman, and I can look after myself. I trust you.”
“No. Don’t say that.”
“I do. I trust you.”
“I’m a bloody fool.” His head lowered an inch, his breath fanning her lips.
She tilted her face toward him, and her lashes fluttered, every nerve ending tingling…waiting, wanting, craving his kiss.
He hesitated; her eyes opened.
I want this, she thought. I desperately want him to kiss me.
She rose on tiptoe and closed the distance.
At the first touch of their lips, a yearning growl rumbled deep within his chest. He drew her tight against him, and his kiss was like the soldering heat that joined metals. She felt her knees weaken and her fear and inhibitions melt away. It didn’t matter that they were in the center of a garden maze in broad daylight with the sun streaming down upon her upturned face. The threat of discovery only heightened the forbidden…the excitement. There was a strange bond between them, as if he had been waiting for her to heal him and she had been waiting for him to show her the mysteries of pleasure.
He cupped her buttocks and pulled her against him, holding her tight against his hardness and letting her know of his desire. Liquid heat pooled low in her belly and between her legs.
Her hands slipped beneath his jacket and roamed the muscles of his shoulders and back. She felt a rope-like scar through his shirt, and she had an overwhelming urge to remove the barrier of his clothing and study every inch of his flesh.
He carried her to the stone bench and sat, sweeping her onto his lap. His lips recaptured hers, more demanding this time, while one hand cupped her breast. Then his finger slipped inside the bodice of her silk gown to graze her nipple, and the sensitive peak instantly grew taut from his touch. Pleasure radiated outward, sending currents of desire through her.
He whispered against her lips, “Sophia…I was right. You’ll drive me mad. You’re untouched and deserve better.”
In response she arched her back, eagerly inviting him. She was vaguely aware of him working the fastenings at the back of her gown. The silk gaped away, and he tugged at the low neckline exposing her shift. He cupped one soft mound, then returned to kissing her, until her senses whirled from his lips and his touch. His lips trailed a path down her throat to her breast, and he kissed and licked her nipple through the thin cotton.
Gasping from the pleasure, she looked down as he laved her breasts. Her swollen nipples stood out through the wet garment. She felt no shame, only the exquisite feelings flooding her limbs.
“You’re so passionate. So beautiful.”
She felt beautiful. He kissed her again. Melting kisses. Slow, shivery kisses. She squirmed in his lap, rubbing against his hardness. Lifting the hem of her skirt, he let his hand travel up her calf and past her silk stockings and frilly garters to caress her thigh. His fingers found the slit in her drawers and brushed the silken curls between her legs. She inhaled sharply when he found her most sensitive woman’s flesh. He stroked the bud slowly, skillfully, until she was wet with need and her body quivered from his slightest touch.
“I want to kiss you here,” he murmured.
She was shocked. Could a man do that to a woman?
She clutched his arms. “I’m so hot, Robert. Is it always this way?”
He lifted his head and the passion in his sapphire eyes was startling in its intensity. “God, yes. Hot. Wet. Let me show you what it can be like for you.”
She wasn’t ignorant of how humans mated. Her father’s library had been full of scientific books and treatises. But none had mentioned the rioting emotions, the delicious sensations coursing through her body. This was different. He was different. And she wanted to experience more.
“Yes. Show me,” she breathed.
She was urgent in her need. He held the key to some indescribable release. It was a purely sensual experience, and her heartbeat throbbed in her ears. He touched secret places she didn’t know existed, and she surrendered completely to his masterful touch.
His tongue thrust into her mouth, matching the rhythm of his fingers. She grew desperate, clawing his shoulders, returning his kisses with wild abandon until a sudden cry tore from her. Her body tightened like a bow and a sharp release pushed her beyond the precipice, leaving her clinging to him.
She looked up at him through half-closed lids. His eyes were shut. His body tense. Perspiration beaded on his brow. He didn’t look like a rogue or a womanizer, but a man riven with need.
With sudden certainty, she knew that she wanted him. Wanted all of him. She had no illusions. The fact that he was a government agent, a man who could never offer a commitment—whether through marriage or with his heart—did not deter her.
She was twenty-four years old and had come to the conclusion long ago that she would not marry. She’d never been interested in carnal passion, only the intellectual passion she’d felt while working on her inventions in her workshop. No men had drawn her, not Henry Heinz or any of the gentlemen she had danced with at the many fancy balls she’d attended. Only Robert, with his thin veneer of respectability, made her feel weak with longing. He alone drew her like a lodestone and was impossible to resist.
With shaky hands, she reached for the closure of his trousers.
“Wait.” His eyes flew opened, and he grasped her wrist.
She looked up at him. “I want to touch you, too. Please, let me.”
He groaned low in his throat. “God, yes.”
He was a man of nimble and agile fingers, able to finesse open the most complex mechanical locks, yet he was unable to accomplish the simple task of unbuttoning his trousers.
Pushing his hands aside, she pulled his shirt free of his waistband. She glimpsed the sprinkling of crisp hair on his chest that trailed downward to the muscular ridges of his abdomen, and lower still…to the prominent bulge in his trousers. She reached for the buttons and flicked them open. The fabric parted to reveal his manhood.
Heavens!
Once again, books had not adequately prepared her. A shiver of fear rippled down her spine at the size and length of him. Eyes wide and heart pounding, she reached out and touched him. He was like smooth iron—hot and hard—a fascinating, erotic contradiction.
How could he fit inside her?
Then he groaned again and all her apprehension fled. She touched the vermillion tip and a pearl of liquid lubricated her hand. She ran her fingers down his length and he moaned with pleasure. Encouraged she wrapped her fingers around him.
He jerked and hissed.
She pulled back. “Am I hurting you?”
“No…no. It’s just been t
oo long.”
Too long? A man like him would have flocks of women eager to bed him, yet all her instincts cried out otherwise. His response told her otherwise.
She met his hot gaze. “I want to be with you.”
“No. Not with me. I can never marry.”
“Good. I don’t want to marry.”
“I’m not worthy, Sophia.”
“Stop. Don’t speak that way.”
He shook his head. “Not here. Not now.”
“Then let me please you.”
“Yesss.”
He showed her how to hold him, and she watched as he began to pump in her hand. His hips rose and fell, and she was fascinated by his muscles straining and his masculine beauty. With knowledge as old as Eve, she knew she held great power over him. He closed his eyes, threw back his head. The corded muscles of his neck strained against the loose cravat. She sensed he was close to his own release…
Feminine voices sounded over the high hedge. A trill of laughter followed.
His eyes snapped open. She was struck by the raw, desperate need in the blue depths.
Oh, Robert. What happened to you?
He jumped to his feet and quickly righted his clothing. He then whirled her around and started with the tiny row of buttons at the back of her gown.
The voices sounded closer. A sense of urgency passed between them. They both understood the consequences if they were found alone and half-dressed in each other’s arms. Once her buttons were refastened, she spun to face him.
“This isn’t over. We need to talk about what happened,” he said.
We need to talk about you. “I—”
He cut her short, pointing to the pathway leading out of the maze. “Go before we are discovered,” he said in a tense, clipped tone. “I’ll remain behind and distract them.”
This time she didn’t argue and turned and fled.
Chapter Nineteen
Robert watched Sophia go, his hands fisted at his sides. He counted to ten, then breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth. Sexual desire ravaged against the urge to protect and possess. His need was greater than it had ever been in his life.
More so than with Gwendolyn.
Not for the first time he questioned his fierce attraction to Sophia Merrill. She had the same effect on him that she’d had the first time he’d kissed her: instant, combustible lust. He could not control his hunger for her any more than he could cut off a limb.
The thought barely crossed his mind before another formed. She wasn’t a first year debutante, but a mature woman who desired him. Why couldn’t he?
His resounding answer was dredged from a place beyond logic and reason, but nonetheless undeniable. He wanted Sophia with a desperation bordering on obsession. To hell with Henry Heinz, Viscount Delmont, or any other who desired her. The only man who would touch her, kiss her, was himself.
He’d have to move on after the mission was concluded; there could be no future between them. Even with his new title, he would never consider himself proper husband material. Not when his life involved the daily dangers of espionage. He’d learned that brutal lesson long ago with Gwendolyn.
Yet somehow his motives had changed. The simple had become complex. To entrap Delmont and the mastermind for certain, but also to claim Sophia and protect her from the unseen dangers the mission would undoubtedly reveal.
…
As Sophia hurried back to the house, her body still hummed with delight from Robert’s skillful touch. Erotic images of what had transpired in the gardens filtered through her mind. Her heart thumped erratically as she recalled his passionate kisses, the strength and warmth of his flesh, and the earth-shattering climax she’d experienced before they had been interrupted.
She had longed to touch him, to kiss and stroke his magnificent body until he reached his own fulfillment. Yet she sensed that his need was deeper than a sexual release, and she’d never forget the low growl that had rumbled from within his chest from her simple touch.
But how could he be a stranger to women? To human contact?
He’d wanted to talk about what happened between them. She wanted to talk about him. More specifically, his past. But how could she bring up the subject?
She made it to her room and changed into a dress of pale primrose muslin embroidered with tiny roses. By the time she finished and closed her bedroom door, she was late for luncheon. Her slippers were silent on the Oriental carpet runner.
At the sound of angry voices in the corridor, she slowed.
What in the world?
The shouting was coming from the Brass’s assigned rooms. She halted and glanced about. The hall was empty; the guests had long ago headed for the dining room. Ducking behind a large, ornate Chinese vase on a pedestal and pressing her back against the plaster wall, she strained to hear.
“I cannot believe you put the Earl of Stanwell’s name in the hat for the séance. Lady Stanwell must have been distraught. That was above cruel, even for you, Emma.” Mr. Brass’s voice.
“I told you I didn’t do it to be cruel. I thought it would add to the entertainment. I never believed the viscountess a real medium or the séance would work!”
Sophia stood stunned by the admission. Emma had put Charles’s name in the hat as a joke? Sophia’s temper flared at the thought of what Jane had suffered. It took all of her self-control not to burst into the room and strike the silly woman.
The couple continued arguing, and she remained in her spot, more intent on eavesdropping.
“We shall leave this place. I’m finished with the Society,” Mr. Brass said tersely.
“You cannot be serious, George. You’re finally a member. How can you think of leaving?” Emma asked.
“I’ve made my decision.”
“An opportunity like this comes along once in a lifetime. Think of the money we can earn with their influence. You will have the funds to pursue your inventions. The ton will visit your shop, and I will receive invitations to all the Season’s soirees.”
“Is that all that concerns you? Money? The beau monde?”
“Am I so different than your first wife—”
“That will be enough!”
Just then, the bedroom door opened and Emma burst out, slamming the door behind her. Her skirts whirled around her ankles as she rushed down the corridor and down the stairs.
Sophia remained frozen against the wall, thankful the other woman hadn’t noticed her. She prayed the Brass’s bedchamber door would remain closed so that she could discretely pass. The last thing she desired was to be a witness to the couple’s domestic quarrel.
Grasping her skirts and stepping from behind the Chinese vase, she attempted to hurry past just as the door swung open and Mr. Brass stepped out.
He halted upon spotting her and cleared his throat. “Lady Sophia, I apologize for that display. Mrs. Brass has quite a temper.”
Sophia stood awkwardly. “I was just passing by. There’s no need to apologize.”
Mr. Brass shut his bedchamber door and stepped toward her. “Are you on your way to luncheon?”
“I am.”
He offered her his elbow. “May I escort you?”
How awkward. Yet how could she refuse him? Manners dictated that she accept. She placed her hand on his sleeve. “That would be lovely.”
Mr. Brass led her to the landing and down the grand staircase. “I couldn’t help but overhear from Lady Stanwell that you are an inventor.”
“My father’s workshop has become mine, and I hope to follow in his footsteps,” she said.
“I wasn’t aware women were allowed in the Inventors’ Society.”
“They’re not.”
“It’s for the best.” They passed the vestibule and soon entered the maze of corridors that led to the dining room.
She tilted her head to the side and regarded him. “Are you suggesting women are not intelligent or creative enough to become inventors?”
Mr. Brass chuckled. “Others may hold
that opinion, but not me.”
“Then why is it for the best that I not join?”
He leaned close and looked at her from beneath craggy brows. “If it was up to me, I wouldn’t have joined myself.”
“It’s certainly not required,” she pointed out.
He drew his lips in thoughtfully. “Maybe not to others, but Mrs. Brass is—how can I phrase it—ambitious.”
“She forced you to join?”
“I have no opposition to what the Inventors’ Society stands for.”
“Then what?”
He sighed wearily. “I’m old and no longer need validation in my life for my achievements. Personal satisfaction comes from within, not from a fancy society. I’m also a simple jeweler and engraver—an artist at heart—but Emma is young and wants to be more than the wife of a shopkeeper, no matter how successful my business grows.”
Not for the first time, Sophia wondered why Mr. Brass had married an overly ambitious woman less than half his age. “You must be true to yourself,” she said.
He hesitated and appeared to be in deep thought. “Did I ever tell you that I knew your father?”
Her step faltered. “No.”
“He helped me once. When I began my business years ago, he came to me to buy a piece of jewelry. A locket.”
She looked up at him stunned. Reaching for the filigree chain around her neck, she pulled out her locket. “This?”
“Yes.”
She flicked the heart-shaped piece open to reveal a tiny portrait of a middle-aged man. “It has a picture of my father. He gave it to me when I was a young girl. I’ve worn it since.”
“He purchased it from my first shop and requested I engrave it with a specific message from father to daughter. At the time my shop wasn’t doing well, and he offered to lend me money until business improved. If it wasn’t for him, I would not have succeeded. I paid him back years ago and we parted ways, but I never forgot his kindness. The Marquess of Haverton was a good man.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I had no idea. Father never mentioned it to me.”
A Spy Unmasked (Entangled Scandalous) Page 14