by Sharon Page
“Oh, you poor thing,” Angelique said sardonically. But she was listening. “So, you are telling me my son was killed in the attack.”
“No, he wasn’t. He deserted and hid. Then he found me. What he did to me—he attempted to kill me. I was chained up, fighting for my life. He thought if I were dead, there would be no one to condemn him for the murder of that woman. It was he or I, Angelique. I’m sorry.”
“And when you were found, did you tell the truth? Did you admit to killing him?”
“I told the whole story. It was decided there was no need to reveal it all. He was dead and had paid the price for what he did. His name was protected—it was said he died in battle. What more would you want, Angelique?”
“Justice! What was wrong with what he did? He merely killed an enemy spy. And you—you act as though what he did was wrong! You murdered an Englishman. You will not get away with it!”
Cary took a step away from Angelique, toward the door. Sophie met his gaze, and he motioned with his head. She edged toward the door to the kitchen. She was against the wall by the doorway, and O’Malley was watching her.
Cary looked at Angelique. “Of course I will,” he said. “And so will Sophie.”
Oh dear God, what was he doing?
“No, you won’t!” Angelique screamed. In one furious motion, she pulled the trigger. A flash of flame. A roar that shook the room. Smoke spewed out of the pistol.
Cary jumped to his feet. He had thrown himself at the ground. As he got up, he shouted, “O’Malley!” to keep the lackey’s attention on him. He threw a knife, and it arced through the air, but with the warning, O’Malley was able to duck. Sophie was near the door. The key was still in the lock—
No. She turned to see O’Malley straightening, preparing to shoot Cary. “O’Malley!” she shrieked. “I’ve got a pistol, and you are going to die.”
He whirled to face her, and Cary lunged, shouting the man’s name to draw his attention again. O’Malley’s pistol exploded.
“Cary!” Sophie cried.
Cary slammed his fist into O’Malley’s face with such force, he knocked the man out cold.
Angelique. What was she doing? Then Sophie saw the courtesan wrench at her bodice. Silver glinted in her hand.
“She has a blade!” she cried, and she looked for some kind of weapon. Her hands were tied, but that wasn’t going to stop her.
Cary was struggling with Angelique, trying to get the knife out of her hand. Angelique seemed to have the strength of a madwoman. She’d cut Cary’s face and his throat. Lines of dark blood welled.
Then Sophie saw it—the one thing she could use as a weapon. With her bound hands, she grabbed it. She lunged forward, just as she’d done to save herself with Lord Devars. Struggling against the ropes binding her wrists, she swung as best as she could and threw the thing—
Angelique’s cloak fluttered though the air. It fell short, missing Angelique. But it distracted her, and Cary grabbed the woman. With two swift moves, he had Angelique disarmed.
He held the woman with her arms pinned behind her.
Sophie’s heart still thundered faster than speeding horses. “Cary, are you all right? Were you not shot?”
“No, love,” Cary said. He breathed hard. “O’Malley shot the wall instead.”
Cary shoved Angelique away from him and pulled a pistol from his pocket. “Sit on the chairs.” He growled at Angelique. He motioned for Sophie to come to him. She knew he couldn’t look at her; he was watching the villains. But he sliced through the ropes securing her hands, holding Angelique’s knife in his left hand. He murmured, “Thank the Lord, you are safe. I was afraid—afraid I would be too late.”
“You weren’t.”
“I can’t believe you threw Angelique’s cloak. It was brilliant.”
She glowed at the praise. “It was all I could think of.”
“Brilliant,” he said again. And added, “The other dukes were traveling behind me in a carriage.”
Sure enough, she heard thundering hooves, rattling traces. Sophie ran to the door and opened it as the other Wicked Dukes leapt out of the carriage.
They would be able to tie up Angelique and O’Malley and give them to the law.
Sophie almost sobbed. They had survived, and they were safe.
“Sophie, are you all right?”
She found herself turned around and pulled into Cary’s strong embrace. But she drew back and faced him. “This place is just a house. A terrible thing happened to you here, but it does not have magical powers. Everything Angelique told you is rubbish. You were never willing; you must have been terrified. I know—why do you think I let Angelique put me in a carriage? She threatened your family. I was trying to protect them, and I was playing for time. I didn’t fight her every step of the way because, to save myself and you and your family, I had to wait for the right moment. Of course, it didn’t come. I needed you to save me. Here, when you were a child, you did the most amazing thing. You saved yourself, Cary. Angelique is going to pay for her crimes. You committed no crime, Cary. You don’t need to pay for the rest of your life.”
Sophie almost held her breath. What would he say?
“This place is the setting of my most hellish nightmares,” Cary said hoarsely. “Even being held prisoner in Ceylon, where I was certain they would kill me, was not as bad. But you are right—this place is just a building of stone. It has no special power over me.”
“Those memories don’t either. You don’t have to let them. You are not to blame.”
“I could have run away. I didn’t understand what was going on. I let the man approach me, and I should have run. My mother would have been spared hell too.”
“Stop blaming yourself. Stop tormenting yourself with nightmares. I have—I know what children are like. My friend Belle has children, and through them I’ve seen that children are innocent and trusting, especially at such a young age. They don’t yet understand that people can be monsters. Let us walk out of here and, at the same time, please walk away from your memories. You deserve some happiness.”
“So do you. Sophie”—his raspy voice cracked with emotion—“you are so precious to me.”
At that moment, the other Wicked Dukes entered. As they took over watching Angelique, Cary cupped Sophie’s face and drew her to him. Her hair was in tangles. With the palm of his hand, he pushed it back. He gently ran his thumb along her lower lip.
“I know what I want to do to you tonight,” he murmured.
“What?” she whispered.
But he wouldn’t tell her.
It was almost dawn when she rode with Cary to a nearby inn. With the Wicked Dukes, they had taken their prisoners to the nearest jail. Sophie discovered Cary had left his horse at the inn and had taken a strong, fresh gelding to gallop to the cottage. He engaged a carriage to take them home while Saxonby would ride his horse back. The other two dukes would use the carriage they had traveled in to the cottage. Grey was anxious to return to his wife.
In the carriage, Cary drew her close.
And he kissed her.
Such a kiss! It could have melted rock and turned it into boiling lava. A long, lush, heated kiss. She wanted more kisses, but the warmth and the pleasure relaxed her.
They were safe. It was all over—
The next thing Sophie knew, she was in her bed in her town house, naked and under warm covers. She sat up, confused. A roaring fire had been built, and Cary was prodding it with the poker. “Oh, what happened?”
He turned, and she lost her breath. He wore a white linen shirt, open at the throat, the tails hanging out, cuffs undone. Black trousers clung to his long legs, his taut buttocks. His blond hair was mussed, falling over his eyes.
He was en déshabillé, and she wriggled under the cover. She grew wet and achy just looking at him. “I remember you kissed me. It was a volcanic eruption of a kiss.”
His slow grin stole her breath again. “I’d intended to kiss you the entire way home, but you fell aslee
p on me.”
She flushed. “I’m so sorry. That’s not what mistresses are supposed to do.”
“You deserved it. You must be exhausted.”
“I’m not anymore.” Taking a deep breath, she pushed the covers off her body. Slowly. Suggestively, she hoped.
“What do you want to do?” She shifted so her arms squished her bare breasts together, making them look more full and round. “Would you like me to suck you?” she asked. “Or would you like to do that to me? Or something with toys again.” She knew she was blushing. “That was rather fun.”
“You ask that so cheerfully and sweetly, as if you’re asking what I want in my tea. You made me understand a lot about myself. Tonight, I realized something. You are utterly irresistible, Sophie.”
“I am?”
“You helped me face my demons, love. You never judged me. You never condemned me. Even when you were dragged into danger, because of me, you only wanted to help me.”
“Of course I did.”
He walked toward the bed. Propped his knee on the end of it. She couldn’t tell what he wanted. He’d kissed her passionately. Right now, in the glow of the fire, he looked so handsome. But also younger than usual. Vulnerable.
“I want to make love to you, Sophie. I still don’t know if I can. But I want to try.”
She held out her hand. “I want that very much.”
It was like dealing with an animal that had been abused. She knew that from life in the country, from living near farms. She couldn’t do anything too quickly. Push too hard.
She slipped out of the bed and walked around to him.
The fire crackled, and the light of it danced. It was warm in her beautiful room. He watched her come to him. This moment was charged, special.
She was almost afraid to speak, as if she might break a spell. She stroked his broad shoulders. “Let me help you undress.”
Together, they lifted the hem of his shirt, whisking it up over his flat abdomen. She could count each muscle if she wished. She could only lift his shirt so high. He took over, pulling it over his head.
More wetness rushed between her legs as he threw the shirt, his chest, arm, and back muscles flexing and moving as he did. Underneath, he was naked, the golden hair on his chest flattened in whirls. His skin was so smooth and the color of milky tea—just kissed with a bit of sun browning.
Sophie pressed her hands to his taut, flat belly. She ran her fingertips on his hot, silken skin, to his jutting hipbones, which flared up above the waist of his trousers. She ran her hand saucily along his hip. “This is going to be so much fun,” she said lightly. Tracing them made her shiver inside. Made her cunny ache for him.
They were going to try to make love. She was thrilled. And a little bit scared.
She had to make this perfect for him.
Cary caught her hands, lifted them from his hips. “I have to sit down and fight to get the boots off, angel.”
“I could help.”
Cary set his rump on the edge of their bed. That was how she wanted to think of the bed—their bed, not her bed.
“Hmmm. I have a bootboy. He puts his arse facing me, lets me brace against his backside to pull them off.”
“You are joking.”
“I’m not.”
“And gentlemen claim that women’s clothing is idiotic.” She turned, then pointed her naked bottom at him. She bent over and took hold of his right boot. “You brace and I’ll tug.” She turned to look at him. His eyes gleamed at her, and with a swift motion of his hands, he undid his trousers. He stood, shoving them down. His erect cock was caught in his trousers for a moment, then sprang upward.
“I can’t wait, angel,” he said hoarsely.
He helped her up, drew her back to the bed. He fell back onto the mattress, pulling her with him. She squealed with surprise as she landed on his broad, bare chest. His hand cupped the back of her head, drawing her into a kiss.
Sophie wanted to play. She threaded her fingers in Cary’s silky hair. She parried her tongue with his. She knew how to kiss now. The beauty of kissing was it wasn’t just about kissing him with skill, but about sharing something exciting and sensual together.
She let her mouth caress his. Gently. Teasingly. Then she kissed hard and passionate and thrust her tongue into his mouth. When she backed off, he was breathing hard. His blue eyes were hazy with lust.
He pursued her, kissing her, holding her so tight to him that there was no air between them. They were both essentially naked. Two now warm bodies pressed together. She felt steam rising between them.
She almost wanted to sob. With happiness.
She loved Cary. She knew she did.
Cary rolled her gently onto her back, then he got on top of her. She sank a little into the soft mattress. She wanted to be so close to him. As he kissed her, she hooked her leg around his legs. Wrapped her arms around him.
He kissed her mouth. Her cheek. Even her chin, which made her giggle.
His head rested in the crook of her neck, and he kissed a spot under her jaw. Oh God! That one made her shiver and gasp.
She touched his back. Felt his warmth. She pressed her hand against his chest to feel the beat of his heart. Ooh, fast.
His lips closed over her right nipple. He knew just what to do. Lick. Suck. Tug. Flick with his tongue. He would tease her like this until she was ready to explode—
He stopped. His mouth skimmed lower. Down to her navel, and each kiss along the way made her wind up more, grow more aroused. Lower and lower he was going—
Then he suckled her clit. She was so ready. She felt her juices flow. Smelled them and blushed.
Something bumped her inner thigh. Heavens, it was his cock, so rigid that it felt like being prodded with a cricket bat.
She wrapped her hand around it. So thick. So hard. Pulsing in her grip. But he unwrapped her fingers. He took his cock in his own hand.
Once, they had pleasured themselves in front of each other. That had been shocking . . . and deliciously fun.
Did this mean he wanted to do that instead of making love? Had he realized he couldn’t do it? She would share this with him no matter what.
She let her fingers slide down through her nether curls—
Cary got between her legs, and he pressed his erect cock against her pussy lips. She moaned at the wonderful tug as his cock tried to push between her lips. Her hand was trapped between their bodies, pressing on her clit.
Slowly, he parted her wet, sticky lips. She was almost holding her breath! His hips thrust, and his cock slid in a few inches. She gripped his shoulders. He was big, stretching her, but it felt so good. He shifted his hips and hit that magical place inside her. She clutched tighter to hard muscle, quivering.
“Oh!” She gasped.
Deeper and deeper he went. His eyes were half shut, and she didn’t want to look into his eyes in case she spoiled this moment.
His groin bumped hers. He was all the way inside her. Filling her.
Her eyes were wide. Every sensation—she wanted to know every sensation.
His mouth caressed her nipples, his finger stroked her sensitive, aching clit, his cock thrust deep. So deep. Sometimes so deep, the agony was both pleasure and pain, and her nails gouged his skin.
He thrust faster, and she moved with him. His hips flowed like silk over her. She closed her eyes. Heard his rasping breaths.
Yes. Oh yes.
She moved faster. His fingers played with her, he kissed the sensitive place on her neck, and she cried out, “I’m going to come. Just do this. Keep doing this.”
A rough laugh against her neck. But he did. Bliss built in her, bubbling and boiling, and then her orgasm welled up and rushed through her.
She clung to him. Sobbed as she curled to put her head against his.
“Sophie.”
When he said her name like that, he was going to—
He bucked against her. A rush of heat filled her. Heat and wetness, and he rode out his orgasm with a
look of intense agony and low, soft groans. Then he slumped on her. Half on his side so he wasn’t crushing her.
“That was beautiful,” he said. He brushed back his golden hair, darkened to amber with sweat.
“You did it.” She gazed at him. “It means you are healed. You did it!”
“Did I do it well?”
“Of course. But what does that matter?” she asked ingenuously. “All that matters is that you now can! Which means you can be married—” She broke off abruptly.
He rolled up onto his side. Kissed her forehead, then the top of her nose. Gently. Sweetly. Cary lifted from her, then got out of bed. “Yes,” he said. “I can.”
20
The next morning, Cary went out and bought a newspaper from a lad on the corner. Then he returned to Sophie’s house before she awoke. The newssheet contained the story of Angelique’s arrest for two murders and the attack on Sophie.
The story of his kidnapping had been included. Angelique had been identified as the daughter of the man who had abducted him. The sordid details of what had happened to him were not there. He had wanted to spare his mother and sisters the scandal of it. So he had arranged for Angelique to escape the noose in return for her silence on the details of his kidnapping.
The hell of his past was behind him. He’d spent a wild night making love to Sophie.
First in the bed.
Then, from behind, with Sophie leaning on her vanity table so they could both watch his thrusts and her delightfully bouncing breasts in the mirror.
Then they had tumbled onto the carpet in front of the fire. To be gentlemanly, he had her ride him so she didn’t get sore from rug burns.