by Sharon Page
After, they had some dinner in the dining room. There he’d locked the door, sank to his knees, and licked her sweet pussy until she’d exploded in another orgasm.
Exhausted, they’d fallen asleep together in her bed. Laughing. He had continually kissed her until he’d drifted off to sleep.
He hadn’t dreamed a thing. All Cary remembered was having a long, blissful sleep. And the joy of waking up with his arm around Sophie.
He had the cook give him breakfast on a tray, which flustered the older woman. “Here you are, Your Grace,” she said. “I’ve made coffee as well as chocolate.”
He took it upstairs and then poured a cup of steaming chocolate.
Sophie stretched, wriggled under the sheets, and opened her eyes, blinking. “Something smells delicious.”
He handed her the cup of chocolate. Fed her delectable morsels of food.
She blushed. “I’m the mistress. Aren’t I supposed to serve you?”
“I’m enjoying this.”
When breakfast was done, she went to her bedside table and drew something out. A series of leather-bound journals. “This is my courtesan book,” she said shyly. “My mother’s memoirs that she never finished and never published.” She had told him in the night that Nell was her mother. “Now that I’ve found my mother, I find I can’t really read it anymore. But there was one thing that it says a courtesan must do. Something all men enjoy.”
She fished around in the drawer and drew out lengths of white silk rope.
Now he really understood what it meant that Sophie had a book detailing how to be a courtesan.
“Apparently, men like to do things with rope. I wanted to surprise you. But I wasn’t sure. . . .”
He had been tied up when he was five, and tied up again when he was held prisoner. But that was part of his past. And what Sophie had in mind was erotic fun.
“By all means,” he said. “Why don’t we start with you tying me up?”
Sophie approached him with the ropes, her legs almost trembling with desire. Cary lay back on the bed, his arms pillowed under his head. Utterly naked. The ropes were piled in her arms, and she was staring at him. Savoring him. Long, long legs. Lean hips, with a sensual ridge of hipbone that was so very sexy, it made her pussy clench.
His chest was broad, his arms forged of pure muscle. She loved the way the veins were prominent on his powerful biceps.
Tentatively, she trailed the rope there.
Cary grinned. “Is this what you would like?” He spread his legs so his ankles were closer to the bedposts. He stretched his arms above his head.
“You are so beautiful.” The words slipped right out of her mouth.
“Sophie, you are the one who is beautiful.”
His cock stood upright along his belly, thick and long and rigid. Threads of silver fluid led from the weeping eye to his stomach, glistening like they were made of spun diamonds, if such a thing were possible.
Holding the rope, she leaned over and planted a kiss to the head of his cock.
Then suckled it in—just the head—and sucked hard. He moaned, and his hips bucked up to her.
She wanted to take him to the same place he’d taken her. That heavenly place of extreme pleasure. Where it built so much, you just knew that one little touch would make ecstasy explode for you.
So she toyed with his balls, stroking the seam up and down as she backed off his cock and only lightly strummed the head—and sensitive opening—with her tongue. She loved how he tasted. So earthy. Tasting him made this feel so special and intimate.
She took the ropes in her hands. She licked the head of his cock and rubbed the ropes back and forth along his hard shaft.
She watched Cary through her tangled hair and her half-lowered lashes. His hands clenched into fists, his expression was a thrilling blend of agony and pleasure.
Now to tie him up.
Following the jaunty instructions in the book, she moved up and wrapped a rope around one of his wrists. She was on her knees on the bed beside him to do it.
Cary closed his eyes. His mouth tightened. His breathing became more harsh.
She hesitated. “Should I stop?”
“No, don’t.” Intense and blue, his gaze met hers. “I trust you. I know you won’t hurt me.”
“Of course not. I never would.”
“Then tie me up, angel, and make love to me.”
Cary said he trusted her, but his instincts still screamed to fight as she wrapped a rope around his wrist. That was the past, he reminded himself. This is just play.
She tied a knot, and he felt the rope lightly biting into his skin. Very lightly. It was more of a caress.
Biting her lip and concentrating, Sophie wrapped the other end of the rope around the bed column. His cock bucked as she pulled the rope around the post, slowly, gently stretching his arm. She tied a bow, but he gave a tug and it undid.
“I’ll pull against the ropes while I’m coming. You should make them tight,” he advised.
She did, pulling again, then knotting it. She did his other arm the same way.
His heart pounded. Once his hands were bound, Cary felt panic rise.
Sophie moved down and kissed him on the lips. A hot, slow, arousing kiss.
He caught her lips and answered her kiss with a hungry one of his own. Fear faded away. He wanted to cup her breasts, but he couldn’t, so he broke from the kiss and arched up against the ropes to capture her nipples with his lips, one after the other.
She squealed in delight. “I should tie your legs.”
“Just make love to me now, angel. I can’t wait.”
She got on top of him, naked, her breasts swaying.
With his hands bound, he couldn’t tease her clit with his hands as she bounced on him. So he tried to shift his cock as she moved.
Suddenly, she gave a cry of shock and pleasure.
There, that was the place his shaft needed to stroke.
He lifted his hips, supporting her in midair. She gasped, planted her hands on his chest to hold her body steady. “You’re so strong!”
He laughed. This was the best sex he’d ever known. This joy, this connection. She was so sweet.
So perfect.
He jerked his hips, making her breasts bob.
Then he lowered and used his stomach muscles to thrust up into her. Sophie worked down on him. She gripped his shoulders and met his thrusts with such vigor that sweat damped her hair and beaded on her chest.
Yes.
With Sophie, he could find ecstasy. It was there, waiting for him.
As long as he took her there first—
She cried out. “Cary!” Rocked on him. Her face went very pink. Her head fell forward as the orgasm claimed her.
He thrust into her, wanting to take her there again—
He couldn’t hold on.
Like a blinding streak of heavenly light, his climax shot through him, searing him.
He felt reborn. He felt new.
She sank down on him, gasping for breath. He laughed lightly as strands of her long black hair tickled his face.
Sophie had healed him. She had made him whole. She had let him see and enjoy sex as a healthy, fun, normal pleasure.
“You don’t need a book, love,” he murmured. “You are a goddess.”
The next morning, his mother found him at the breakfast table. Cary hurried to help her sit down, but she said in a heavy voice, “I do not need your help, Caradon. I am quite able to pull out my own chair. You see, I was not honest with you.”
She sat, and Cary poured coffee for her. “I don’t understand, Mother.”
“I have an admission to make.” She gazed at him, eyes filled with guilt. “I have exaggerated how ill I really am. I wanted to push you into marriage, so I lied to you. I am not on death’s door. What I did was wrong, terribly wrong.”
“You are not ill?”
“No. I have been very worried about you, and that left me tired, but I am not going to leave this mort
al coil anytime soon. I am so sorry. Miss Ashley told me to admit the truth, and I do indeed feel better. She said you would forgive me. I do not expect your forgiveness, but I wanted to ease your mind.”
Sophie had told her to give him the truth. “Mother, I understand why you did it. It’s a shock to know you lied, but I am so happy you are not dying. And I do intend to propose to a woman.”
He got up and left the breakfast table. His heart hammered and his wits were spinning. If his mother was not ill, was it possible that he could have what he hoped for . . . ?
Leaving his mother because he needed to think, needed to clear his head, Cary went to his stables, then guided his horse across Park Lane into Hyde Park and to the Rotten Row. He’d spent two glorious days making love to Sophie. He’d never had so much fun during sex. They had been partners in their pleasure, coming up with playful and inventive places and positions. He showed her some exotic ways they could entwine and embrace while he thrust deeply into her, taking it slowly to make their pleasure last.
Late last night, he’d taken his leave and returned to his house on Park Lane, knowing what he had to do. He was a duke. He was now able to put his past behind him and make love.
He had to marry.
But things had changed if he did not have to worry how his choice would affect his mother’s health....
As he’d hoped, he saw Grey riding his large gelding along the Row. He galloped over and explained what he had to do. Propose to a woman. He posed his other problem to Grey first, knowing Grey would have the answer. Satisfied with what Grey said to him, Cary admitted, “I’m nervous about proposing. I had no idea I would be so nervous.”
Grey grinned. “No need for nerves. There’s no doubt she is going to say yes.”
“What do you put in a proposal? I’ve never done this before, and I want to get it right. What do you say to a woman to convince her to marry you?”
“You don’t have to convince her, my friend. Just ask her. You say you believe she cares about you? Tell her what’s in your heart.”
“How exactly do I tell her? I am not good at poetic words.”
“Tell her you love her and you want to marry her. That’s all you have to do.”
Cary had intended to spend some time riding, then returning home to have breakfast. His mother had given him a list of eligible names when she’d first arrived. For all he was fairly reclusive, he knew most of the young women. He knew which ones seemed sweet of disposition, and which of those had clever brains and would make good duchesses.
Now he felt a pressing need to get on with the business. “I was going to ride, but I’ve changed my mind. What I need to do now . . . is talk to Sophie.”
But when he arrived at her town house, he was told she was gone.
“What do you mean gone?” Cary stared in confusion at the maid.
“To the country, Your Grace.”
Ah, now he understood. “To see her friend?”
“I believe so, Your Grace.”
He knew where that was. He would go there and speak to her. It would be good that she would be with her friend when he spoke to her.
Then he could get on with this business of marriage. His mother wondered which woman he intended to choose to be his duchess—an earl’s daughter, a marquis’s daughter, or a duke’s daughter.
He had already made his choice.
Cary saw Sophie the moment his curricle pulled into the drive in front of Ivy Cottage, the small, stone manor house he had acquired for her friend and her children. He had driven his curricle himself, driven at neck-or-nothing speed on the Great North Road. Had turned off with such haste, he’d thrown up a spray of mud and had almost gotten stuck in the mire left by rain. It must have rained yesterday, but he had been in bed with Sophie all day and hadn’t noticed.
He had trotted his tired horses up the small drive. Apple trees hid the house from view for seconds, then the gravel drive opened to a clearing beyond the rows of trees, showing the two-story house with mullioned windows and doors, a neat stretch of tended lawn, and dark green ivy embracing the stone. The April air was sweet, filled with spring scents.
And then he saw Sophie.
She stood away from the house, beside a wooden stile that separated the meadow from the tended lawn and gardens of the cottage.
“What are you doing, young man?” she called.
Instinctively, Cary started and was about to explain himself, but then she wagged her finger at someone on the other side of the stile.
“You haven’t been playing at the pond in your new jacket, Alex.”
Morning sunlight bathed over her. Her dark hair was pulled into a sleek bun. She wore a simple dress and a shawl.
Even in the simplest clothes, she was so beautiful, it made his heart ache.
Cary brought his horses to a halt. Sophie hadn’t noticed him, and he got down, hand resting on the flank of one of his lathered horses. While he soothed them with words, promising them rest and hay, he just watched Sophie.
He was going to ask her to marry him.
He’d realized he wanted a marriage filled with love. He couldn’t spend a life doing his duty, nor could he trap an innocent woman into a loveless marriage.
He wanted Sophie. Somehow he was going to have her.
First, he wanted to know if she would say yes. Grey believed she would. Sophie always looked for the best in things—she wouldn’t hesitate to marry for love, regardless of social position. Anyway, Grey had pointed out, before Cary had left the park this morning, Helena had said no to Grey at first. Now they were the happiest of married couples. Grey and Helena had feared scandal, but they had overcome it.
Cary knew he could too.
Now he could see the young man she was speaking to. A young boy of about five emerged from a path between the tall meadow flowers. His hair was gold. His clothes were dirty and disheveled.
“Had to,” the boy declared. “I wanted to catch a salamander. And I got one!” He held up two small hands, a tiny green lizard clutched between them.
Cary was taken back in time—transported—to when he was a child and he’d run up to the kitchens of Carvenleigh, their favorite estate for summer, with a frog or a lizard in his hands, and the wicked plan in his five-year-old head to tease Cook.
Once, Cook had just threatened to cook his “little nuisances,” and that had been the end of his plan.
And after he’d been kidnapped, he had never trapped anything again—
“Don’t make me let him go!” The strident cry of the little boy brought Cary out of his memories. Quick as a wink, the memories were gone. So was their power to hurt him.
Because of Sophie.
A smile touched his lips. She argued feistily with the boy, who she called Alex. Obviously, short for Alexander.
Alex ran a few steps away from her, his back half turned and his precious find held to his chest. “But I want him to be my pet, Mummy!”
Mummy? Cary stared at the two people—at raven-haired Sophie and the blond stubborn little boy. Had he heard wrong?
He looked around. There was no other woman there but Sophie.
Sophie held out her hand to the boy, but the lad mulishly shook his head. “No, Mummy!”
He hadn’t been wrong.
Sophie had a son. A child. This must be the son of the young man she’d married, the soldier who had died at Waterloo.
Two other children ran up, a boy and a girl, both dark-haired. The girl carried a tin bucket from which frogs jumped out. They called her Aunt Sophie, obviously a term for the best friend of their mother.
Why had she never told him? Did she think he wouldn’t want her if he knew she had a child? It didn’t matter. She’d been married. God, this was why she had been so desperate. She had been desperate to protect her son.
Her son was all she had left of her husband.
They had been married for one night, and Sophie had been blessed with a son.
What had she gone through when her husband had
died and they had faced poverty?
He remembered how sunny and determined she’d been. He’d had no idea.
She was so incredibly courageous.
As he watched, Sophie and her son debated. Then her son reluctantly nodded. “All right, Mummy. I will put him back where he belongs.”
Sophie marched them all back to the pond. Cary followed, stopping a few yards back as Sophie’s boy got down on his haunches, opened his hands, and let his pet go. The salamander moved like a streak of light, scurrying under the turnstile and disappearing. The other two children carefully took their frogs out of the bucket.
Cary grinned. Sophie had won.
“Bravo,” he said softly. It was hard to speak when his heart ached so much.
Farther ahead of him on the narrow path, framed by waving cattails, Sophie spun around. Her face was white, her hand clenched in a fist. Then she saw him. “Oh! Your Grace! I didn’t know you were there.”
She smiled, but she flashed a look toward her son.
“I know he’s your son,” he said softly. “I heard him call you ‘Mummy.’ ”
“Oh. Yes, I did keep him a secret from you, didn’t I?” She gave a nervous laugh. “Are you very angry?”
“Of course not. But you looked really afraid before you knew it was me. Have you been bothered by the man who tried to force you to become his mistress?”
“No. He hasn’t come near me. I suppose I was just taken by surprise. I never expected you to come here. I thought, when you went home, it would be to prepare for a wedding.”
“Wedding?”
“I mean, after you have proposed marriage.” Then she clapped her hand to her mouth. “Oh! Now I understand. You’ve come to say good-bye? I vowed to be very stoic. I shall take this very well. You will be impressed.”
“Sophie . . .” He shook his head. She was trying to look stoic, and it made him want to chuckle. “I haven’t come to say good-bye. I haven’t done any proposing yet.”
“Oh. Oh, I see!”
“What do you see?”
“You wanted to make love again. To be sure, I suppose? Though you must be quite certain by now.”
He wanted to say that wasn’t why he was here. But Sophie had already come up to him. She looked to make sure no one was looking, then she leaned against him to whisper in his ear. At the push of her full breasts, the softness of her skirts and tummy against his growing erection, he was lost.