Ash groaned aloud, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Did you like the reading that much?”
“Yes, especially the part where you mimicked a female’s voice and pressed her hand to your chest, though if you flutter your damn eyelashes one more time at me, I’m going to pick them out, one by one, and feed them to the cat.”
“Well, that’s silly.” Hunter dropped the sheet. “We don’t even own a cat.”
“I’ll buy one.”
“Why waste money? Simply shoot me and be done with the whole business.”
“Am I truly here to drink tea and gossip?” Ash leaned back in his chair, crossing a leg. “And before you answer in the affirmative, the tea better damn well have been laced with something fortifying.”
A soft knock sounded on the door, followed by John. Why the butler was bringing the tea rather than one of the kitchen staff — Ash was afraid to ask. It was always wiser not to ask questions where Hunter was involved, if one wanted to keep one’s sanity, that is.
“That will be all, John,” Hunter excused the butler and began pouring the tea. Silence ensued as his twin added a bit of cream to each cup and handed one to Ash.
The minute Ash took a sip, Hunter asked, “So how many times have you kissed her then?”
The tea spewed out of Ash’s mouth and onto the gossip sheets littered on the table.
“Damn.” Hunter lifted Mrs. Peabody’s Society Papers and sighed. “My favorite one.”
Ash coughed a few times then took another sip only to have his brother interrupt again with his irritating questions. “I’m waiting for an answer.”
Ash said nothing.
“By God, I know math has never been your strong suit, but taking five minutes to add up a few kisses! Where’s your decency, man! At least keep the count to what you can keep track of on your fingers and toes!”
Calmly, Ash set the tea down and leaned back in his chair, meeting his brother’s irritated gaze. “As I said before—”
“You mean when you lied?”
“As I said before,” Ash repeated, jaw clenched. “It is none of your business, and I refuse to discuss it.”
“She must marry.”
“I believe all of London is aware of that simple truth, but thank you for repeating it.”
“A title.”
“Yes.”
Hunter set his tea down and pointed at Ash. “A title.”
“Your point?”
“You like her. She likes you.”
“So we should marry? Is that it?”
“She needs protection. Why not you?”
Ash let out a humorless laugh. “Why not me? Because I’m a disease… I’m a cold-blooded killer? Perhaps, I do not want to marry.”
“Rubbish.”
“Not everyone wants what you have.”
“But once… you did.”
“Ah, a reminder of my past sins. Thank you. I’ll see myself out.” Ash rose from his seat.
Hunter cursed. “Ash, wait… I simply want you to be happy. And I believe she would make you happy.”
Ash hung his head. “She does not want me, brother… and I’m sorry if you refuse to understand that simple truth. I cannot tie myself to a woman who might one day have eyes for someone else.”
The room fell silent.
Ash sat back down; Hunter joined him and whispered, “But if she did?”
“Then it would be pointless.” Ash truly did wish the tea had been made of something stronger. “I, um… I may not live to see it.”
“Save us all from the drama of you shooting yourself again,” Hunter said lightly, though his eyes were telling he was terrified. Utterly terrified.
“Not that.” Ash waved him off. “I have a bullet lodged somewhere in my chest very merrily making its way toward my heart.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
“Has the doctor given you… a diagnosis? Have you sought out a second opinion?”
“You sound like Pierce.”
“Dear God, don’t tell him that. The man would brag on it for years.” Hunter smiled. “Have you though?”
Ash shrugged.
“Right, a shrug while we talk about life or death.”
“Would you rather I weep?”
“I’d rather you feel something akin to regret. You could very well be dying without doing the one thing we both know you’ve wanted to do for your entire existence. Since you were a boy in short pants, chasing the maids up the stairs.”
“That was you.”
“My point is… you haven’t even given yourself a chance.”
Ash lifted his head. “For what?”
“Love.”
Ash wanted to laugh it off, like he usually had when Hunter brought up painful memories of the past — memories of Ash telling Hunter that one day he was going to marry the most beautiful girl in London and that they would love one another just like Mother and Father and live in a real castle. He’d been a boy of ten, but the idea had remained for some time, and it had grown the minute he’d seen Hunter’s wife, only to be stamped out the minute her soul had left his earth.
“Thank you..” Ash mumbled, standing to his feet. “…for the tea.”
Hunter nodded. “You’ll think about it then? The second opinion?”
Ash exhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Will you stop reading gossip rags and inviting me over for tea?”
Hunter seemed to think about it for a moment then shook his head. “No. I’m afraid I’m not willing to give up that vice.”
“Will you at least stop asking me how many times I’ve kissed the girl?”
“Yes.”
“Thank God.” Ash looked heavenward.
“But, at least give me one small hint, minute, if you will. Doesn’t even have to signify…”
Ash smirked, finally feeling like he’d somehow gained the upper hand. ”Dear brother… I lost track after last evening.” He tilted his head. “Good day.”
Hunter’s eye widened and then narrowed. “You son of a bitch! You seduced her! Why, I can’t believe you’d—”
Ash shut the door in his face and made his way back toward Dominique’s residence, feeling rather cheerful that, for once, he’d ended a conversation with his brother cursing and not the other way around.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I see every piece of the puzzle, every side, every possible outcome, and in every single ending it’s her — but I am not by her side. I cannot fathom how my life will continue to have meaning when its very purpose has started and ended with her. How the devil did that happen? —The Grimm Reaper
THE ONSLAUGHT OF GENTLEMEN was positively overwhelming. Minutes after Sofia had finished eating, the doorbell had rung, and rung, and rung some more. Thinking it had been merely visitors for her cousin, she’d lazily made her way back to her rooms, only to be stopped by a frenzied Isabelle.
“Visiting hours!” she exclaimed, her eyes wide. “You must change, immediately.”
“You have visitors?”
“Us?” Isabelle’s brown eyebrows arched with humor. “Oh, my dear, they could care less about us. The visitors, mostly gentlemen, are here for you.”
“Me?”
“You.”
“But—”
“Hurry!” Isabelle scooted her toward the bedroom. “Already they are downstairs waiting, and I highly doubt the gentlemen will last with that beastly cousin of yours in there growling every time they try to compliment the furniture.”
Sofia rushed into her room, and, with the help of Ana, changed into an afternoon dress of simple white muslin paired with a navy paisley pichu and a lighter blue spencer — so she didn’t catch a chill.
By the time she made it downstairs, voices were coming from the violet drawing room.
She entered, head high, smile plastered on her face, and nearly collided into not one, but three gentlemen — and those were just the ones standing.
Another five were seated, along
with two young women who seemed familiar with Isabelle.
“Your Highness.” One of the men bowed, reaching for her hand, only for another gentleman to bow after him and try to reach for her other. If they were trying to rip her person in half, they were doing an admirable job.
Sofia curtsied as Isabelle made the introductions. Sofia immediately began memorizing details of each man in order to keep track.
“Lord Deacon of Devonshire.” Long chin, thinning hair. “Lord Hallows.” Gap in his front teeth, curly blond hair, wide smile. “Sir Bentley.” Old man of at least fifty years.
She suppressed a shudder.
“Mr. Smythe of the Bath Smythes.” Dark black hair and blue eyes, but… a bit menacing. “His Grace the Duke of Roodley.” And apparently a child, for the duke was not much older than eighteen—if that.
Isabelle introduced a few more gentlemen — who were not titled — who seemed to misunderstand the reason for visits meant one had to smile and-or speak.
“And, of course, you know my dear sister, the Duchess of Haverstone.” A beautiful woman with dark hair and piercing eyes inclined her head, smiling mischievously as she offered a wink.
Sofia felt immediately at ease, until more questions began. Would she care for a carriage ride around the park? How did she feel about lilies? Her favorite flower? Was she allergic? Did she have a preference for the opera?
And then finally, the heavens bestowed mercy upon her in the form of a throat clearing.
“My, my, what a busy morning.” Ash’s deep brooding voice caused the chattering in the room to pause.
Sofia stood and gave him a helpless look.
“Well, it appears you’re ready for our outing.”
Outing?
All eyes fell to Sofia.
“Yes,” she said briskly and stood. “Apologies, gentlemen. I’ve already promised an afternoon drive to…” How was she to address him? Was he a mister, then? Her mouth dried instantly.
“Me, of course.” Ash flashed a grin and offered his arm. “Shall we, Your Highness?”
“Of course.” She took his arm, gripping it like a lifeline, and followed him silently from the room, stopping by the door to retrieve her wrap, hat, and gloves.
Once they were outside, Sofia breathed deeply. Even though the air was moist with morning rain, it was the most refreshing thing she’d experienced in hours. The room had been stifling, the company, horrible.
“You appear as if you’ve just escaped prison and desire to make a run for it.” Ash smirked. “Tell me, how long were you locked in that ghastly drawing room?”
“Too long,” Sofia huffed. “I shudder to think of tomorrow.”
“Ah…” Ash helped her into the carriage and followed. “…shall I make a visit to each of their houses? I have been known to deal death quite swiftly. They won’t feel a thing.”
“Oh really?” Sofia’s mouth curved in amusement. “Not a thing?”
“Well…” Ash held up his fingers. “…perhaps a twinge of something… but within the grand scheme of things, a completely clean kill.”
“Lovely.”
“I always think so.” His grin widened. “Then again, how else are you to find a husband if I eliminate every possibility?”
Sofia’s shoulders slumped. “One was a mere child.”
“Yes, well, look at the bright side. While he drinks milk, you can simply finish off the wine.”
“Lovely,” Sofia said dryly as the carriage gave a jolt. “Because that is the real reason women marry younger men, so we escape having to share our daily wine ration.”
“And men think women aren’t practical.”
Sofia rolled her eyes.
“Any of them… interesting? In the slightest?”
She gave it great thought as the carriage ambled along. “Well, there was…” She frowned. “And I guess…” She worried her lower lip and stared at the floor.
Ash’s yawn snapped her attention back to the present.
“Exciting, these gentlemen you gush over. Pray, slow down your speech so I have time to write down all the excellent characteristics of a great husband.”
“You are not amusing.”
“Oh, but I am.” Ash flashed a grin and leaned forward. “Tell me, did you feel any… passion?”
Sofia’s blood stirred. “Loads of passion, so much I could barely contain my enthusiasm.”
“Such an actress.”
“I do try.”
“Passion…” Ash glanced out the window. “…is never forced. It simply is. It exists without our help and always wins out, much like the truth. Passion does not stand in the background waiting for you to force its hand. It pushes to the front, demanding you acknowledge its existence. It promises to dissipate if you simply engage in… One. Simple. Action.” Ash licked his lips, his eyes hooded. “So you give into the temptation it offers. You pluck the apple willingly from Eve’s hand, and the minute your teeth dig into the core...” His voice was a hoarse whisper. “…you want it all.”
The carriage was charged with such thick tension that Sofia was afraid to breathe. “And you consider yourself an adequate judge of passion? Having experienced it so much in your own life?”
Ash’s tongue slid across his lips. He didn’t answer, simply knocked on the ceiling of the carriage. It pulled to a stop.
Sofia glanced out the window to see if they’d reached their destination, but Ash quickly pulled both coverings, blanketing them in darkness.
“I guess you’ll have to be the judge of that,” he whispered. “All things considered… I haven’t even given you a taste. The scientist in me wonders… what will happen when you have a small bite?”
Chest heaving, Sofia fought to catch her breath. “There’s only one way to discover the answer to that question.”
Ash’s hand shot out and grabbed Sofia’s arm. He pulled her across the carriage and into his lap. “Straddle me.”
Shaking, she carefully sat, legs on either side of his, her skirt hiked up near her knees. Indecent did not even begin to describe her positioning. The man could see her ankles, stockings, and at least one knee.
“Kiss me.”
Sofia gasped. “But—”
“Be a good student, Princess… and let me teach.”
Nerves took over as she slowly gripped the sides of his perfectly sculpted face and leaned in. Her lips grazed his carefully at first, and then for some reason, perhaps it was her vulnerable positioning or just the conversation they’d been having, a slow heat built in her core, making her want to press her body so tightly against his that she wasn’t sure where hers ended and his began.
“That’s it,” Ash encouraged, his mouth working softly against hers. “Passion exists, but, Princess, you have to be brave enough to take it.”
“Brave or stupid?” Her lips trembled as they pulled back from his.
Ash gripped her hips and slid her harder against his body. “A bit of both, Princess. Madness combined with passion is always a bit stupid — but oh so enjoyable, don’t you think?” And then the man attacked her mouth. There really was no other way to describe it. His tongue pushed past her lips and plunged inside, driving out every single doubt she’d had about making their arrangement. His fingers danced along her collarbone and rested against her breasts until he cupped them. With a groan, her head fell back. His lips found her neck and moved lower. Her body built with need, a need he wasn’t satisfying. Not yet.
“More,” she demanded.
“Of?”
“Just…” Sofia whimpered. “More… please?”
“Show me.” His voice was a whisper. “Show me what you want.”
“I don’t—” Sofia found his hands and ran them down the front of her body, resting at her hips. “I don’t know. I just need—”
“This.” He gritted his teeth and gently pushed her backward until she was leaning against her own seat, and he was on his knees in front of her, sliding his hands up her legs, his tongue following each touch of his fing
ertips. When he reached the inside of her thigh, she was too hot, too wanton to feel embarrassed, just… needy, so needy she thought she’d die.
The whiskers along his jaw grazed her soft skin. She let out a moan and gripped his shoulders.
A knock sounded at the carriage door.
Ash jerked back. “What is it?” His teeth were clenched, his face flushed.
“Sorry, er, Lord—”
“Billings, just spit it out.” Ash shifted in his seat as if uncomfortable. Then again, they’d just been about to make love on a street, in a carriage. Sofia fought to keep her hands pinned at her sides so she wouldn’t cover her face.
“’Tis a busy street.” The footman coughed. “And the carriage was rocking a bit. After a few stares, I decided to see if you were… well.”
“No,” Ash said in a dark voice. “Not anymore.”
“Apologies.”
“The park.” Ash pinched the bridge of his nose. “Take us to the park and be quick about it.”
No more talking commenced.
Once the carriage jolted forward, Ash opened his mouth then closed it again. He bit down on his lower lip and leaned forward. “It seems our lesson will have to wait.”
Sofia smirked. “So you plan to keep me wanting all day?”
“But of course…” Ash grinned. “If it helps, I shall suffer right along with you.”
“And when… when will the suffering end?” she asked in a weak voice. Please say as soon as possible.
“When you marry, of course.” His face darkened as he jerked his attention to the floor. “Where it is supposed to.”
“And if I want it to end before then?”
When Ash Falls Page 14