Amelia Grey - [Rogues' Dynasty 06]

by The Rogue Steals a Bride

  She had never before had a reason to slip out of the house and into the night. Her heart pounded, and her throat felt tight. Fear of getting caught rippled through her. Sir Randolph had been good to her, and she didn’t want to bring shame to him. But she was willing to risk everything to be with Matson again.

  She picked up the hem of her cloak and night rail as she descended the stairs and quickly headed toward the back of the house. Once at the exit, she leaned her cheek against the cold wood and tried to still her rapid breathing.

  It had been almost midnight before she’d made it home from the park. The afternoon and evening with Matson had flown by as they visited all the booths at the fair, and later danced under the stars until the orchestra had stopped playing and Lord Tradesforke bid everyone good night. Just before they had parted, Matson asked her to meet him in the garden after everyone had gone to bed.

  As quietly as possible, she opened the door and stepped out onto the landing. Anticipation and excitement grew inside her. There was only a slight chill to the air, and a thin slice of moon hung in the sky. It was barely enough to light her way, but bright enough that she needed her black cloak to hide her white cotton gown.

  The steps and stone-covered pathway were cold to her feet as she fled to the end of the garden. When she made it to the gate, she took hold of the handle and looked back at the house to see if any lamps or candles had been lit. The house was dark, quiet. She breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Sophia.”

  Startled, she spun and saw Matson step out of the shadows. She looked into his eyes, and he smiled at her. Her heart melted for the second time that day.

  She had never seen him dressed so casual or look so handsome. He wore only a white shirt and dark trousers. He had discarded his coat, neckcloth, and waistcoat. Her heart overflowed with love for him. He slipped his hand around to the back of her neck, pulled her gently to him, and lowered his head to hers. His soft, moist lips brushed over hers, teasing her with the lightest contact.

  Sweet contentment settled into her soul.

  “You are late again,” he whispered against her lips.

  “And you are early again.” She smiled. “I wanted to be sure everyone had time to get to sleep after retiring.”

  She stepped into his arms, and they circled her. She loved the comfort and safety of his embrace. Matson covered her lips with his, drawing her closer to his chest. He kissed her reverently at first, but quickly his kisses turned impatient and physical. His hands moved over her unbound breasts, down her waist, and over her hips.

  Her arms slid around his broad back and gloried in the feel of the strong muscles that had helped him win the boat race. She had been hurt and angry that he had deserted her, but he had come back for her. All was forgiven. She wanted to be here with him like this. She loved him with all her heart, and though she could never tell him, she could show him.

  They kissed with all the passion they were feeling for a few more moments, and then he hugged her up close, kissed the warmth of her neck just under her ear, and whispered her name.

  “Come,” he said huskily. “I’ve laid down my cloak for us in the corner behind the table and chairs.”

  “I thought we were to meet outside, between the hedges.”

  “I was too fearful someone might use the pathway as a shortcut to the mews and disturb us. We are safely secluded here in this corner of the garden. No one can see us from the house because of that tree. No one can enter through the gate, because I locked it.”

  Matson took her hand and led her to his cloak, where they sank to their knees as their lips met once again. She leaned sensually into him. Her lips parted, and his tongue swept inside her mouth slowly, delicately. His tongue played with hers as they tasted, teased, and tempted each other. He untied the ribbon at the base of her throat, and her cloak fell to the ground. Her long hair spilled down her back. He caught it up in his hands and crushed it in his gentle grip.

  “I’ve dreamed of seeing your hair spread across your shoulders like this,” he said against her lips.

  “It pleases you?” she asked.

  “Very much,” he answered and cupped her cheeks with his hands and pressed his forehead against hers. “There is much I need to say to you, Sophia. I’m sorry I—”

  Her fingers pressed against his mouth, stopping him. “Later,” she whispered. “Right now I want to kiss you, to touch you, and to taste you again. We’ll leave words between us for another time.”

  He raised his head and looked into her eyes. “How can I not tell you how beautiful you are and how good you make me feel inside?”

  She laughed softly. “You can tell me wonderful things.”

  His hand combed down her hair. “I wish I could see you better.”

  “It would be dangerous for us out here tonight if there were more moonlight.”

  “I know.” He grinned. “But I can still wish.”

  He bent his head and slanted his lips over hers in a slow, tender kiss. His hand left her hair, and his fingers floated down her neck to her chest, and on to the firm swell of her breasts nestled warmly beneath the cool cotton fabric of her night rail.

  Sophia’s breathing increased. His hand felt strong, tender, and sure. Matson’s thumb brushed against the taut tip. Her nipple grew hard and erect under his ardent touch, and she moaned softly with pleasure.

  She wanted their time together to be slow, so she could enjoy every touch, every kiss, and every breath. Their coming together in the rowboat had been exciting and eager, but too cramped and rushed to be savored.

  “Sophia,” he whispered into her mouth, “lie with me.”

  That was what she was waiting to hear. She had yearned for his touch again. She sank from her knees to her buttocks, and Matson gently tumbled her onto his cloak. He bunched her wrap behind her head. He then stretched his long, lean body beside her as his lips sought hers again. He kissed her passionately as his hands eagerly caressed her shoulder, down her arm and over her chest to fondle her breasts. Occasionally he would stop and tease the nipple with his thumb and finger, which sent shivers of delight shooting through her.

  His lips left hers, and his tongue swept down her neck, tasting her skin, and back up to her mouth again to devour her lips. She pulled the front of his shirt from his trousers and slid her hands beneath it to feel his warm, firm skin. She let her fingertips glide softly and tantalizingly slowly over his chest and down his midriff. Her hand slipped lower to the hard swell beneath his trousers. She heard his soft moan of satisfaction, and it pleased her that her touch could make him feel so good.

  Matson’s lips left hers, and he rose up over her. He untied the bow that held the front of her gown together and slowly slid it off first one shoulder and then other. He gazed lovingly at her breasts.

  He then looked into her eyes and said, “You are as beautiful as I knew you would be.”

  She shivered. “Touch me.”

  He lowered his head and closed his mouth over the tip of one breast and tasted her hungrily. A whisper of need eased past his lips as he cupped, lifted, and caressed her breast as if he were feeding an insatiable desire to possess her with all the hunger he was feeling.

  Sophia threw her head back and lifted her chest to him. She took pleasure in the earth-shattering sensations spiraling through her body. She cupped his head to her while her fingers played in the warmth of his thick hair. She stroked the line of his shoulder and muscled arm and then all the way down his wide back and straight spine, before sliding her hands up to sensuously tangle again in his dark hair.

  She gasped and sighed softly as one sensational feeling after another shot through her. His hand cupped and molded the swell of her breasts as he gently teased her nipples with his tongue. With loving caution, his hand slid down her rib cage, over her abdomen, and to her lower, most womanly part. She sucked in her breath at the feelings. His touch sent rushing, delicious warmth sizzling through her. She lifted her body toward him. Her erratic breaths quickened, and so d
id his.

  He rose, and in one fluid motion he ripped his shirt over his head and off his arms, dropping it to the ground beside him. A smile spread across her face. She wound her arms around his strong back, leaned up, and kissed his neck, letting her lips skim along his shoulders and across both nipples on his chest.

  Her hand raked down his thigh, over his buttocks, and then around to the thick shaft between his legs. She fumbled with the buttons on his trousers. Matson helped her slide them down his hips and off his legs. He grabbed her night rail and pushed it up and over her head, and bunched it with her cloak to make a soft pillow for her.

  Sophia lay completely nude before him, with the pale moonlight shining down on her.

  Matson smiled at her. He ran the palm of his hand and tips of his fingers over her naked shoulders to her breasts, to her waist and abdomen, down the slim plane of her hip and over to her inner thigh, before going back to her face to lovingly caress her cheek.

  “You are gorgeous, Sophia. Perfectly shaped, beautifully soft, and yet womanly firm.”

  She smiled. “I’m glad I please you.”

  He looked at her for a moment or two longer before his lips, tongue, and hands once again started working their magic on her senses. His open palm slid down and cupped the curve of her waist before tenderly sliding to the warmth between her legs.

  The slow movement of his fingertips created an intense fire of desire burning inside her. She rotated her body in movement with his fingers.

  “I am so eager for you, Sophia,” he whispered huskily.

  “Then don’t keep us waiting.”

  He rose over her and covered the length of her body with his, settling his weight on her. Her hands were free to comb the solid, muscled wall of his back, hips, and thighs. His body was firm, his skin smooth.

  All her senses burst to life when he pressed his manhood against the softness between her legs, and slowly, deliberately, continuously pressed into her, joining his body to hers. She felt him tremble, and she gloried in the power she had to give him such pleasure.

  Matson stopped moving and sighed contentedly. “You are mine once more, Sophia,” he whispered against her lips. “You are mine.”

  Her pulse beat loudly in her ears, but she heard him whisper her name over and over as he kissed her lips, her eyes, her ears, and her neck.

  She felt full, complete. She pressed against him, rocking in motion with his movement. His thrusts became fast and sure. She rose up to cup his body to her. With uneven breaths, she stroked down his back, across his buttocks, and up to his shoulders again with loving hands.

  With his thighs wedged between hers, they moved together, engulfed in the exquisite, luxuriant sensation of pleasuring each other. She clung to him and rode the waves of delirious desire with him until they both silently cried out in fulfillment. She fell limp with contentment. Matson’s body shuddered as he buried his face in the crook of her neck and inhaled deeply. She realized he hadn’t rolled away from her before completing their union, as he had when they were in the boat. That pleased her.

  They lay quietly for a few moments before Matson lifted his weight from her and quickly took the sides of his cloak and wrapped it around them like a cocoon. Sophia snuggled tightly to him, fitting her body perfectly against his, with her head nestled on his arm.

  Matson propped on his elbow, lifted her chin with the tips of his fingers, looked into her eyes, and said, “Sophia, I know you’re going to find this difficult to believe, but I’m in love with you.”

  Sophia held her breath, trying to keep the pain of his words from penetrating to her heart.

  “I want to marry you, Sophia.”

  She let out a sighing breath. “You know that’s not possible.”

  He looked down into her shimmering eyes. “No, I don’t know that, and if I did know it, I wouldn’t accept it.”

  She moved to rise, but he touched her arm. “I won’t let you run away from me.”

  Sophia stared deeply into his eyes, aching with the pain of loss. “You can’t stop me, Matson.”

  “I must. I love you. I want you to be my wife.”

  She tried to look away from him. “I can’t marry you.”

  “Do you love me?”

  “After what we just shared, how can you ask that?”

  “Because you haven’t said the words to me that I long to hear.”

  She withdrew farther from him. “I won’t say them. I can’t.”

  “Sophia.”

  “Matson, you know this barrier has always been between us. If I could change taking that vow, I would.” She slowly shook her head and cringed as she looked up at him sadly and said, “No, that’s not true. I don’t think I would change it if I could.”

  A deep frown of confusion marred his face, and she knew he didn’t understand what she was saying.

  “You weren’t there, Matson. You didn’t see my father struggling and gasping for every breath. I would have promised him anything to ease his suffering.”

  “But he is gone, and you are here. This is your life we are talking about, not his.”

  She shifted and rose on her elbow too, facing him. “No, this is about me. It’s about who I am. It’s the only way I know how to absolve myself of the guilt I have lived with for so long. I must do this for him.”

  “Sophia, any father would have risked his life to save his child from a burning house. It was his duty to save you and everyone else in the house. You don’t owe him anything for that.”

  She closed her eyes. Deep sorrow filled her. “You don’t know. It was more than that.”

  “More than what? Open your eyes, Sophia.” He touched her shoulder softly. “Tell me.”

  That time in her past came rushing back, and it pained her. “No,” she whispered earnestly, “I can’t bear it. Don’t make me tell you what a horrible, selfish child I was.”

  “Sophia,” he said huskily, “look at me.”

  She opened her eyes and realized they were clouded with tears that wanted to spill, but she refused to let them.

  “First, I don’t believe you were horrible or selfish, and second, if you were, do you think it matters to me what kind of child you were?”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “Tell me so I can.”

  She swallowed past an aching throat. “You know the fire was about six months after my mother died.”

  With a loving hand he brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “Yes.”

  “What you don’t know is that about six months after the fire, my father came home jubilant one day. He told me he was going to marry the most beautiful woman in the world. She was a nobleman’s daughter and had him feeling young and more alive than he’d felt in years. She would come live with us and be my mother. My mother! I remember I just started screaming at him. I still hear my screams in my dreams sometimes.” Her hands balled into fists.

  “Sophia, you were a child.”

  “Yes, but I continued to scream, and I hit him over and over again, telling him he couldn’t marry her. I ran out of the house, and Papa had to chase me down. I wouldn’t stop screaming until he promised me he wouldn’t marry her, and he didn’t. As I grew older, I realized what a selfish thing that was to have done to him. I’ve often wondered if I thought maybe my mother would come back if he didn’t marry her. Maybe I thought that woman was the reason I had nightmares of my mother being consumed by the fire until there was no trace of her left. I don’t know why I behaved as I did. I only know I have to make amends.”

  “Did your father ever tell you he held your actions at that time against you?”

  “No. And I often tried to get him to talk about it with me when I was older, but he wouldn’t. When I tried to apologize, he wouldn’t even discuss her with me.”

  “I don’t like seeing you in such anguish.” He touched her cheek with the backs of his fingers, wanting to comfort her. “I’m sure he didn’t blame you for his not marrying that woman.”

  “But it was
the last time I ever saw my father truly happy. I had cost him his healthy lungs when I left my room and he couldn’t find me in the smoke, and I cost him the woman he loved and wanted to marry. I did owe him my vow. I still do.”

  “This is madness! You were seven. You had been traumatized. He couldn’t possibly hold that childish behavior against you.”

  “No, he didn’t. He would never, but I fault myself. That is why I made the vow to him to marry a title. Don’t you understand, Matson? I need the redemption and forgiveness for what I did to him.”

  “Sophia, no.”

  “Yes,” she pleaded. “He called her name on his deathbed. Not my mother’s name, not my name, but her name, and I kept him from her. I don’t deserve happiness.”

  “You can’t believe that,” he said, looking into her bright eyes.

  He reached for her again, and again she pulled away from him. “I have to do this so I can be free of the guilt,” she said, pushing him away. She reached behind her and grabbed her nightgown and yanked it over her head.

  “The only thing my father ever asked of me is that I do for him what he could never do for himself, and that was to have a title connected to my name.” Her voice cracked. “I will do that for him.”

  Matson threw the cloak aside and grabbed his trousers and started shoving his legs into them. “Do you want to spend the rest of your life bearing the touch of a man you don’t love?”

  “No,” she said, tying the ribbon at her throat. “But I will. I must. I can’t live with this guilt.”

  “Sophia, you are making me crazy.”

  “Have you ever made a vow?”

  Matson thought for a moment as he pulled his shirt over his head.

  His eyes turned guarded. “Yes. I have vowed that I will never forgive Sir Randolph for having an affair with my mother and fathering me.”

  “Do you know of anything I could say that would make you change your mind so you would forgive him?”