A Rake by Any Other Name (10 page)

“Oh, you silver-tongued devil.” Sophie shook her head and presented her back to him, flipping her hair over one shoulder. She unhooked the first few buttons that marched down her spine, but there was another full dozen below that which she couldn't reach. The fabric peeled away on either side to expose the skin between her shoulder blades. Richard bridled himself not to hurry to her side to finish the job. “There. You see? I can't reach all the buttons. Blame your grandmother.”

“My grandmother?”

“Yes, she's the one who alerted me to the fact that I need to provide employment for others. Being unable to dress or undress myself means I need help, so I engaged a maid.” She lifted her heavy hair off her neck and fanned herself with her sketchbook. A sheen of perspiration showed on the newly exposed skin. “It's so warm today.”

“Not as hot as India, I'll warrant.”

“No, not as hot as that.” She dropped her hair and looked away. “You may as well share my blanket. Otherwise, you'll spoil your trousers on the granite.”

“Inexpressibles,” he corrected.

She shot him a puzzled look.

“Trousers. Ladies refer to them as ‘inexpressibles.'”

“Why?”

“Because most ladies don't want to admit they notice the lower half of a man, I suppose.”

“Another reason I'll never be a lady.”

Richard settled beside her, wondering if she was objecting to the coyness of proper speech or if she was admitting to enjoying looking at a man's trousers. He rather hoped it was the latter because he filled his out well, if he did say so himself.

He peered over her shoulder at the sketchbook. She'd captured the remaining half wall of the chapel with its gothic arched window openings. “This chapel once used to be quite ornate, I'm told.”

“I'm sure it was nothing compared to the ornamentation in Indian temples,” she said.

“Tell me about them.”

She chuckled. “I think not. I've already shocked you with the story of Godiva. If I describe the sybaritic friezes at the temple in Khajuraho, you'll be hopelessly scandalized.”

His interest was definitely piqued. “Somerfield Park is hopelessly mired in correctness. Perhaps I could use a little scandal.”

“My word, is the staid Lord Hartley flirting with me?”

“Flirting? Of course not.” No, he wasn't. He tried very hard to imagine Antonia's blond loveliness, but her face wouldn't come into focus. “Tell me something else about India then. What did you see in it?”

“That's the amazing thing about the place. It's whatever people wish to see. If you want to find an incredibly rich culture with art and music and myriad tongues, you won't be disappointed. If you want to see impressive scenery, the jungles and the distant Himalayas are amazing. But if you wish to see ignorance and squalor, you will find that as well.”

Richard shrugged. “One only has to look as far as Whitechapel to find that.”

Her gaze snapped toward him sharply. “Exactly. You'd be surprised how many Englishmen bewail the plight of poor natives when his countrymen wallow in poverty and crime-ridden ghettos.”

“Careful. You sound like a reformer.”

“Not me. I have enough trouble with my own life. I've no wish to direct anyone else's.” She closed the sketchbook before he could get a look at anything else she was drawing.

“That's something I like about you, Sophie.” There were plenty of people trying to direct his life at the moment, but the woman next to him was not among them. “You know when not to stick your oar in.”

“Someone is pushing you?”

“The line forms at Somerfield Park's front door.” He leaned back and stretched his legs in front of him. “But no one puts as much pressure on me as I do myself.”

“Then you'd better do what you must to satisfy yourself.” Her words made great sense, but he was captivated by the way her little pink tongue peeped from between her lips as she spoke. “After all, you're going to be with you for a long time.”

“On the moment, I can think of only one thing that will satisfy me.” Richard sat up, reached to cup the back of her head, and leaned in to kiss her.

While I'm a firm believer in careful planning, the things that happen to us by accident often turn out to be delightfully astonishing.

—Phillippa, the Dowager Marchioness of Somerset

Sophie almost jerked away in surprise, but Richard moved with such deliberate purpose, she was mesmerized. The first time he'd kissed her, it had come in a frenzied rush. It was hard and fast—a kiss that had something to prove. That kiss had been almost a dare, and not one to back down, she'd responded with all the passion of her nature.

This kiss was a leisurely question. He explored her mouth with tenderness. She answered him in kind. She lost herself in the gentle play of lips and tongues, and the sweetness of a shared breath.

“Are you willing to know this part of me?” he murmured between kisses.

“Yes, Richard.”

“I won't hurt you.” His kiss deepened, turned darker and more beguiling. She'd heard of swimmers being lost to the “rapture of the deep,” unwilling to surface even to save themselves. She began to understand them.

“You won't mean to,” she gasped.

“You've been hurt before.” He claimed her mouth with more insistence.

“Only once.” She surrendered to him before remembering she had to keep the upper hand. Her tongue teased him till he groaned into her mouth. Then she tore her lips away long enough to say, “I take care that it will never happen again.”

But for the moment, his mouth, his kiss was all there was. Somehow without realizing how they had gotten into that position, Sophie was dimly aware that they were both lying on their sides facing each other on the plaid blanket, and Richard's large hands had found those tiny pearl buttons on the back of her gown. His fingertips brushed her shoulder blades, sending little pixies of pleasure dancing along her exposed skin. He tugged the gown down over her shoulders, pinning her arms to her sides. Sophie wiggled her arms free. She never wanted to feel helpless.

Her breasts were spilling over the top of her stays. The only thing separating them from his touch was the thin linen of her chemise.

Richard kissed down her neck and took the ribbon that held the chemise closed in his teeth. He tugged the knot free. Then he nuzzled the undergarment aside and covered her breast with kisses, his warm breath swirling over her charged skin.

Her nipple ached so she couldn't keep herself from arching into him. When he finally took it into his mouth, she cried out for the joy of it. She buried her fingers in his hair. She wanted to hold him there forever.

Tugging. Suckling. Nipping.

Everything was heat and wanting and slick wetness. That drumbeat between her legs… Oh yes, she remembered that. She didn't think she'd ever feel that rhythmic ache again, but there it was, even more demanding and powerful.

As
long
as
that
is
only
what
it
is
and
not
pretending
to
be
something
more.

When Richard kissed his way back up to her mouth, he hitched a leg around her and drew her close. There they were—pressed against each other, all their hills and valleys filling each other with such rightness. He rocked against her and a thrill shot through her.

The great and proper Lord Hartley, the man who kept himself in check at all times, wanted her desperately. If she encouraged him only a little, he'd tug up her skirts and rut her like a magnificent beast.

Then he tore his lips from hers, his breathing ragged.

“I can't,” he said.

“Yes, you certainly can.” His hardness proclaimed his readiness so loudly she could hardly hear anything else. “Though I haven't said you
may
.”

“But I shouldn't have let myself… I'm sorry, Sophie.”

“There's no need.” She wedged a hand between them to lay it on his chest. “You haven't done anything to hurt me. It's been wonderful actually. In fact, I don't know why you stopped.”

“You don't understand.” Richard rested his forehead against hers, his eyes still closed. Beneath her hand, his heart pounded like a coach and six. “I stopped because I had to while I still could. You haven't said yes. God help me, I didn't even ask, but I can't answer for my actions if we continue, and I don't want that for you. I'm deeply sorry. I shouldn't—”

“Don't apologize. Not for this. We shared a moment, Richard. We were genuine with each other. Do you have any idea how rare that is?”

He opened his eyes and met hers for the space of several heartbeats. His pupils were so wide his usually amber eyes went almost black, deep wells a girl might tumble into and never be able to climb out of. It was too open, that look. Too enticing.

Sophie was relieved when he broke off their gaze and began retying her chemise closed and hitching up her gown. Then he stopped and looked at her face again, a bit of wonder in his eyes, as if he was seeing her for the first time.

“You are…” he whispered, “quite extraordinary.”

She sat up and arranged her gown so that she was completely covered once again. “One of a kind, that's me.”

He sat up as well and began refastening the row of buttons at her back. “Why must you always do that?”

“Do what?”

“Make light of it when I try to compliment you.”

She had to make light of it. If she took a man's pretty words to heart, she'd risk opening herself to hurt. And that was not going to happen.

“Have you been trying to compliment me?” she said as she put her bonnet on and tied the ribbons under her chin. “I hadn't noticed.”

“Then I shall have to try harder,” Richard said. “But what I must not do is more of this. Truly, I apologize, Sophie. It's not fair to you.”

“Why? I was having a wonderful time. Didn't you enjoy it?”

He blinked at her as if she'd suddenly sprouted a second head. “That's not in question.”

“Then I don't see the problem.” She rose to her feet and began dusting pine needles and grass seeds off her skirt. “Honestly, Richard, it's not the end of the world. We kissed. We did a bit more than kiss. I liked it. You liked it. No one has been hurt by it.”

Richard stood, hands in his pockets. “Antonia would be if she knew.”

“Well, she won't hear it from me.” Sophie picked up the blanket and began folding it. “But why should she be hurt? Have you proposed to her?”

“No.”

“Told her you love her?”

“Not in so many words…”

“Believe me, there are only three that count,” she said, bending to retrieve her sketchbook and pencil. “Do you kiss her and a bit more sometimes too?”

“No, it wouldn't be proper.”

She arched a brow at him. “But it's all right to do so with me because I'm not proper to begin with.”

“Sophie, I didn't mean… I don't think of you like that.”

“Never mind. I'm teasing you.” She swatted his broad shoulder with the back of her hand. “I know I'm not proper so no harm done. But if we aren't going to do any more kissing, we need to do something else. Will you walk with me, Richard?”

“I'm supposed to be playing hide-and-seek.”

“Really? It doesn't sound as if you're enjoying it much.”

“I wasn't.” He grinned wickedly at her. “Until I found you.”

“Yes, but I'm not part of your game.”

“No, you're playing one of your own, and I have no idea what the rules are.”

“Good.” She smiled at him. He was dazzlingly handsome when he frowned a bit in confusion. “That's the way I like it. While we walk, you can find the others as we go. Two birds with one stone.”

He took the blanket from her and draped it over one arm while offering her the other. She took it, and he led her through the ruins of the Gothic arch and out of the ancient keep.

“I'll bet this was a beautiful place in its day.”

“Beautiful and deadly,” Richard agreed. “The Barretts used this castle to hold Somerset for hundreds of years. Pity that force can't hold it now.”

“No, now it takes buckets of money to run an estate,” Sophie said. “Isn't it amazing that there is nothing the
ton
despises so much as someone who makes his own fortune while they all desperately need some of their own?”

“I'm not after your fortune, Sophie,” he said with such earnestness she believed him. “It's insulting, you know. The idea that someone should wed you for your father's purse. You should be enough for anyone.”

“Some might argue I'm too much.”

“You're doing it again. Can't you just accept that I have formed a good opinion of you?”

She knew she shouldn't let them, but his words sank in and warmed her chest in a way that made her want to retreat. It wouldn't take long before she came to depend on his good opinion. Need it, even. And it wasn't safe to need someone.

Was that why he'd stopped kissing her? She had a hard time believing Richard Barrett would ever not be in complete command of himself.

Did he also have reason not to need anyone?

“You bridle yourself quite severely, Richard. Wound tight as a crossbow, my father would say. Why is that?”

“Because I know what can happen if I don't.”

That sounded ominous, but he didn't expand on it. They walked in silence for a few steps, the only sound the swish of their footfalls. The forest floor was carpeted with leaf litter from the previous fall, vining ground cover, and the occasional mushroom. A few spindly trees grew under the dense canopy of the forest, but most of the tree trunks were bare of branches until they spread out in the sunshine far overhead.

“No decent climbing trees here, are there?” Sophie said.

“I guess not.”

“Don't you know? Didn't you climb trees when you were a boy?”

“I wasn't at Somerfield Park all that often actually. When I was eight, I was sent to my bachelor uncle's place in London to study Latin and rhetoric and sums with his old tutor. Then it was off to Eton at twelve. After that, I read law at Oxford and then traveled the Continent for a couple of years with Seymour.”

“Sounds as if you've had a broad range of experience.”

“If we're talking about the last couple of years, yes. I've seen a good bit of the world and liked it.” He covered the hand she'd slipped around his elbow with his warm one. “But all in all, my education was pretty much the done thing for someone like me.”

“I can't imagine what it must have been like to be away from one's family so much as a child. Were you lonely?”

“If I was, I didn't dare admit it. You've met my family. We Barretts aren't the demonstrative sort. Stiff upper lip and all that, so I doubt I missed much. But public school life was rather like being raised by wolves.”

“How so?” she asked.

“‘Might makes right' in a setting of all boys, and there was a beastly prefect who had it in for me from the first day. He was a scholarship student.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“No title. Not even a ‘Sir Somebody' in his lineage. He was a hothead commoner with a sharp mind, a wicked left hook, and a chip on his shoulder. I was the highest-ranking new boy, and to make matters worse, I was small for my age.”

She cast him a dubious glance. At a couple inches over six feet, broad shouldered, and narrow hipped, Richard was anything but small now. “You seem to have outgrown your puny stage quite nicely.”

He smiled. “Thank God I hit a growth spurt after my thirteenth birthday, but that didn't help me when I was twelve. Samuel Moffat pummeled me every chance he got and encouraged others to do so as well.”

“How did the school officials allow such a thing?”

“They didn't know about it. I certainly wasn't going to tell them. Cry foul to the professors and you're marked for life.”

“How long did this go on?”

“Until the start of the Lent half that first year. A new pupil arrived who was even smaller than me, and Moffat transferred his attentions to him immediately. The first time I caught him beating the new boy, something snapped inside me, and I tore into him like a whirlwind.”

“Good for you.”

“Not so good for Moffat though. He'd only given me bruises up to that point, and he was careful to deliver them where they wouldn't show.” Richard shook his head. “I wasn't so fastidious. The rage inside me was so great I fear I might have killed him if the other boy hadn't pulled me off him. As it was, I knocked Moffat's front teeth out.”

“Good. The bully deserved it, and I hope his soup strainer serves as a reminder to him not to torment others in the future,” she said. “Whatever happened to him?”

“Last I heard Samuel Moffat was a magistrate in Essex with a pronounced lisp and a reputation for hard-nosed sentencing.”

“And what about that new boy?”

“Oh, him. He became a layabout and a wastrel,” Richard said. “And my best friend. The new boy was Lawrence Seymour.”

Sophie laughed. “No wonder you're so close. I'll bet no one bothered either of you after you whaled the tar out of Samuel Moffat.”

“No, they didn't.”

“Why don't you say that like it's a good thing?”

“I guess because it taught me something about myself that I'd rather not have learned. I have a temper, Sophie. A violent one, as it turns out. And if I don't control it, someone can get hurt.”

“That explains your need to maintain a tight rein on yourself,” Sophie said. Perhaps it made sense for his temper, but it didn't account for why he bridled himself when they were kissing. She wondered what he'd be like if he ever let himself lose control.

“Samuel was a bully, it's true, but looking back, I think I understand why,” he said. “There he was, a commoner in a crowd of the privileged. He must have felt like an outsider. And no matter how bright he was, he was doomed to the fringes of our society once we all matriculated, and he knew it. While he was at school, at least he could exercise the power he'd been given as prefect and lord it over us all.”