Deeper in Sin

by Sharon Page

  Her breath was a sensuous caress by his ear. “I’ll send the children up to the house.”

  She walked away from him, to the children. “It’s time for your lunch,” she told them. “And we have a very prestigious visitor. This gentleman is the Duke of Caradon.” She made a curtsy.

  The young girl did the same, and then Sophie whispered, “You must bow” to the two boys. They made fast bows. Then they ran off, excited for their food.

  Cary laughed. Then he saw Sophie brush away a tear. She turned to him, glowing. “Thanks to you, they have a roof over their heads and food on the table, and I know they are safe. You are the most wonderful, wonderful man.”

  Impulsively, she came to him, grasped the waistband of his trousers, and lifted to kiss him.

  He wanted to give her intense pleasure. He wished he had toys or ropes to help him. But all he had was him.

  He undid his cravat and pulled it off. “Do you trust me, love?”

  Her large green eyes glowed. “Of course. With my life. Which you have saved many times.”

  Tenderly, he touched her lower lip. “I adore you, Sophie.”

  He showed her how much fun a cravat could be. Draping it over his shoulder, he took off her pelisse, then undid her gown. He loosened her corset to draw it down. It took a while, but he got her breasts exposed. The shelf of the corset lifted them, and he stroked the cravat across them.

  They went plump and hard. And Sophie gasped and moaned.

  Once he had her squirming, he lifted her skirts. He slid his fingers between her legs. Already wet, the sweetheart. Gently, he parted the plump, slick lips. He trailed the cravat over her sweet clit. Then held the cravat taut and sawed it across her.

  Her hips moved rhythmically. Her cheeks went pink. Her eyes shut, and she panted with pleasure.

  He dropped to his knees, pulled her pussy to his face, and suckled and licked her.

  “Cary!” She climaxed against him.

  Then he lifted to his feet, lifted her in his arms, and lowered her sweet, wet cunny onto his rigid cock.

  Supporting her, he made love to her. She jiggled up and down, holding his shoulders. His buttocks were taut, his legs shaking with the exertion.

  “I’m going to come,” she wailed.

  “Let it come, love, because I want to come too.”

  She squealed. Her nails drove into his shoulders. He let go. His climax roared through him. His cock felt like it had swelled to double the size. His come shot through him so fast and hard, he almost fell over.

  He buried his face in her neck and rode out his orgasm. Then they sank down together. Laughing, he held her close.

  He’d had sex in all kinds of positions—on top, on the bottom, once upside down.

  But making love with Sophie had been more precious than all of that. He smiled down at her. Her eyes were closed, dark lashes feathered over her cheeks. Her face was pink with exertion.

  But he’d never had sex as an expression of love. True love. A deep love that warmed his heart and his soul, made him smile when she did, made his body tense with anger when she cried.

  She was precious to him. More precious than his own existence.

  She was sitting at his side, so he shifted his position. “Can you stand up?”

  “I’m still too weak.” She giggled. “But I must, to fix my clothing.”

  He helped her up and got behind her to retie her corset, then fasten her dress. The instant he finished, he turned her. He dropped to one knee before her.

  Grey was right. He did not need to say anything fancy. “Sophie, I love you with all my heart and soul. Will you become my wife?”

  “Oh!” she cried.

  He waited for her to say yes. It was going to be the happiest word he’d ever heard.

  “Cary, I wish—Oh heaven, how I wish I could. I never dreamed of this. But I can’t. I cannot marry you.”

  The children had found them then. They had rushed between the apple trees, yelling and squealing like demons. All hungry, because Belle had said they must wait until Sophie and the duke came for lunch. Thanks heavens, Cary had helped her tidy and smooth her clothing and repin her hair before proposing marriage.

  She would have been too shocked to even think.

  She had been too stunned to even chastise the children about shouting for their food. Cary had done that. He ushered them toward the house, promising to come so they could have their lunch.

  Then she’d looked at his eyes and seen such pain, it had speared her heart. “I’m so sorry.”

  She felt just as wretched. Her heart felt as if it had burst in her chest. She’d never known such pain. So much pure, sheer agony when she’d had to refuse him.

  It was like the pain of losing Samuel. It almost drove her to her knees.

  “Why, Sophie?”

  “I just can’t marry you, Your Grace. I can’t explain why.” The children’s whoops and hollers were disappearing as they plunged through the meadow toward the house.

  She’d never dreamed he would propose to her! She was a courtesan.

  How confused he looked. “I think I deserve some reason. I thought—apparently mistakenly—that you cared about me.”

  He spoke calmly, but she heard the raw hurt in his voice. He did deserve the truth.

  He had done so much for her. For her son and for Belle and her children too.

  “Is it because of my past?” he asked softly. Grimly. “I’ve heard it said that a woman loses respect for a man who cannot protect himself. She fears he will not be able to protect her.”

  Sophie gaped. Then she realized Cary was utterly serious. “You cannot believe that.”

  “Isn’t it true?” he asked, his voice low and quiet.

  “Of course not! For a start, I know you are perfectly capable of coming to my rescue. You have proven it more than once. I know you are strong, courageous, and beyond brave. Anyway, you were kidnapped as a child. The fact you survived is a testament to your strength. How could you have been expected to defend yourself against a full-grown man—and yet you did.”

  “Then why won’t you marry me?”

  She wished she could touch him. They were walking toward the house, side by side, but she felt as if there were one thousand miles between them.

  She couldn’t marry him because of the theft. She could be transported for that. She doubted Devars would keep quiet if she married Cary. She had prayed he had just gotten tired of her and that was why he hadn’t pursued her in London. Or maybe he was waiting until he felt she had money—and then he would demand she repay him.

  But she doubted Devars would stand back and let her be happy. He would talk, and she would be arrested. And the worst of it—it was true! She had taken that horrid bracelet because he had made her even more afraid and desperate. She’d taken it to escape him and ensure she and Belle and the children were far from him.

  If she married Cary, she would be a duchess convicted for theft—it would be a horrible scandal. She would lose everything.

  But she owed Cary an explanation.

  “I haven’t told you everything about me,” she said. “You know almost all of it. I am a courtesan’s daughter. I told you I was married, but that wasn’t true. He was my fiancé and wanted to wait until after the war to marry. But I loved him so much. I couldn’t let him go without . . . without making love to him. So we did, even though we were not married. I could have hidden that sin, except I became pregnant. Then Samuel was killed, and I bore a son. I was so happy to have Alexander. He is all I have of Samuel. But my family—the family who raised me because my mother gave me up—threw me out. Belle lost her husband in battle too. So we were homeless and impoverished together.”

  “Sophie, you’ve had such a hard time of it.” He stopped and touched her hand.

  She squeezed his hand. “I am so sorry, but can you not see why I can’t marry you? A duchess cannot have an illegitimate child! I could not hope to surmount such an obstacle. I can’t pretend I am not his mother. And I feel
so terrible for having been apart from him when I went to London. I could not send him away forever like my mother did. I love him, and I can’t hurt him that way.”

  “You pretended to be a widow before. We can continue with that story.”

  “But people will be curious about where a duchess came from. What if Society learned the truth? There would be a scandal. Besides, people know I was your mistress.”

  “Other men have married their mistresses. Greybrooke, for example. Helena was a governess and became his mistress before he married her. I believe a scandal can be weathered. It is not as if you have had any other lover but me.”

  The theft. She could not agree to marriage. “I just cannot marry you. I can be your mistress—and be one happily. But I can never be your wife.”

  Cary rode back to London with a broken heart.

  Grey found him at White’s in the afternoon and settled in the leather chair across from him. “I thought you would look happier.”

  He rubbed his temple. Duty to find a bride still weighed on his shoulders. What in hell was he going to do now?

  To Grey, he said, “I am in love with Sophie, I asked her to marry me, and she turned me down. I found my perfect bride, and I lost her. And I don’t have the taste for a wife I don’t love,” he growled. “Damnation, love is an insidious thing. I can’t contemplate life without it.”

  “She said no.” Grey leaned back. A servant appeared at once with a glass of brandy, which Grey took. He sipped it, then said, “So did my wife when I first asked her. I convinced her to change her mind.”

  “I won’t convince Sophie. She’s refused me for the noblest reason.”

  “Helena refused me for noble reasons.”

  Groaning, Cary said, “Grey, Sophie refused me because she has a child.” Quietly, he laid out the problem before his friend. “I thought we could continue to pretend she had been married and widowed, but she fears people will find out the truth, driven to seek it because she is a duchess. I would never ask her to give him up; I couldn’t deprive him of his mother.” God no. Not when he knew what it was like to be taken from his family. When he had been taken, he’d feared he would be forever parted from the people he loved.

  He could not do that to a child.

  “She will consent to be my mistress. But I have to marry. I’m obligated to do that to protect my own family. If I don’t produce a son, the estate goes to a ne’er-do-well second cousin. He would bankrupt the estate in no time. My mother might not be gravely ill, but I could see her becoming that way if my cousin inherits and runs through all the money.” A fresh drink was delivered for Cary. He took a long swallow. “The truth is, I want to marry and have children of my own. Thanks to Sophie, I am no longer afraid I might lapse in protecting them.”

  “That was what you feared?”

  “I feared something could happen, and I would be too late. I would lose someone I loved. But I faced that, and I proved I could prevail and keep safe someone I loved.”

  “Is there any way you can find a compromise?”

  “I want to believe there is some way, but she flat out refused to marry me. . . . So do I savor love with Sophie for as long as I can . . . or do I let her go free now, in the hopes she can find love herself?”

  He went to her house that night with every intention of letting her go. Sending her home, just as he’d vowed to do at the very beginning. He wanted her to find love, not go to another protector.

  But he failed at being noble. Even now, when he knew he loved her and the decent thing was to end this, he walked into Sophie’s parlor, took one look at her, and took her directly upstairs to her bedroom.

  She faced him with a happy, welcoming smile as he pulled off his coat. The fire flickered in the bedchamber grate, warming the room. She looked happy—he was going mad with frustration and self-recrimination.

  She walked up to him, slim and lovely in her gown of pale ivory silk. Her fingers curled around the lapels of his waistcoat, and she reached up on tiptoe. He stayed motionless, letting her lips touch his throat.

  “I want you,” he growled, flicking open the fastenings down her back. “I need you now.” He worked at the laces of her stays. Then he couldn’t resist, and he kissed the exposed skin in the crook of her neck. Warm and sweet and sinfully beautiful.

  He wanted her for a lifetime, damn it.

  But she loved her son—

  Now he saw. She loved the child she had borne to the man she’d loved, intended to marry, and lost. She must love him still. He had been a good, honorable, decent young man. But for war, she would be a happy wife now.

  Cary was a man who appeared to be honorable and decent but who hid dark anger behind a shield. He’d been afraid to let it out.

  She deserved a good man, who could find happiness with her.

  Sophie let her loosened stays fall to the rug. She pulled her shift off and stood before him completely naked. He had a glimpse of her full, heart-shaped bottom before she turned. Her nipples, rosy with desire and peaked, pointed at him.

  She stepped forward and ran her hand over the front of his trousers. “I want you. I want every minute I can have you.”

  She kissed his waistcoat while her hand fondled him, stroked him to rigid attention. Her lips trailed down, and she sank to her knees in front of him.

  “Sophie—”

  “I like doing this.” She gave him a bright smile. Not a saucy one or a bold one but one that should be shared by two delighted people pleasuring each other. Then she undid his falls and pulled down his linens, and he was lost.

  Her lips parted, and he couldn’t resist arching his hips slightly forward and offering his cock to her. As her plump lower lip cradled the head, he felt like lightning shot through him.

  He was so aroused, he climaxed after a few sucks of her lush lips. She swallowed, amazing him.

  Then he carried her to bed. He was so aroused for lovely Sophie, he got hard again quickly. They made love side by side in bed so he could tease her nipples.

  They came together—at the exact same instant.

  But after, he realized something. “Your son is in the country, and you are staying in London for me. I’m keeping you apart from him.”

  “I can see him sometimes—if it is all right if I travel frequently.”

  “Of course it is all right, Sophie. I feel damned guilty about keeping you from him. Especially during these precious times when he is so young.”

  Her lip wobbled. She covered it up quickly with a smile, but he had seen it. He knew her happy disposition hid pain.

  “I would support you to live in the country with your son,” he said softly. “I have other jewels on order for you. They are yours to sell. Your allowance would continue for a year. You don’t need another protector—you don’t need to stay in London. Let me do at least that for you.”

  His mother found him in his study.

  “Caradon, I know you are in love with Sophie. Is that why you have not proposed to a prospective bride?”

  Cary looked at his mother and said, “I proposed marriage to Sophie, but she refused me.”

  “There would be a scandal if you married her.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry I was prepared to plunge our family into scandal, but I love her so much.”

  His mother sighed. She had told him she had exaggerated her ill health, but he could see how thin and tired she was. “I do want to see you marry.”

  “I will marry soon. I accept that I have to.”

  “I am not trying to manipulate you, Caradon. I wish you could find love in your marriage. I suspect you will have no trouble finding a woman who loves you. Please choose a wife, my dear boy. I need to know you are happy, finally. . . .”

  “I am happy. All the sorrow and pain in my past has been put to rest.”

  “Thanks to Sophie Ashley,” his mother said softly.

  “Yes.” Damn, he knew he had to do this. He had to for his mother, who had suffered so much. “What if I were to marry the earl�
�s daughter? What’s her name—Lady Penelope Bryant?”

  His mother walked to the window and looked out over the gardens. “She would be an excellent choice. Breeding, beauty, wit—and a fortune. An eagerness for children. But do not just choose a name off the list. Meet these young women. You will find one who you like. I know you won’t be madly in love, but you can grow to love someone.”

  Cary’s heart felt like stone, but he had to do this. His next logical step would be to choose one of the girls from his mother’s list and propose again.

  He was fairly sure that this time his intended would say yes.

  Whether he wanted her to or not.

  Then his mother said, “You deserve to have love, Cary. You deserve that more than anything. Scandals fade. I would rather you find joy than do your duty. I will accept your choice. If you marry Sophie, I will do everything I can to help her enter Society.”

  He stared at his mother, astounded. Before he could say a word, someone cleared his throat and said, respectfully, “Your Grace?”

  Cary looked up. His majordomo stood in the doorway of his study. “Yes, Penders?”

  “There is a young lady to see you, Your Grace. She is waiting in the red drawing room.” The aged man paused. “It is not my place to say, Your Grace, but this is an unusual hour for a caller. But then, there have been young ladies about this place doing the most unusual things.”

  “It isn’t your place to say, Penders. However, I assume it is a matter of importance for that reason.” But Cary didn’t care. It had to be Sophie. “I have to go to her,” he said to his mother.

  Penders cleared his throat. “The young lady fought to disguise her emotion, but I believe she is extremely upset and frightened, Your Grace,” Penders said.

  Cary jumped to his feet. His blood went ice-cold. “Upset?”