Rules to Catch a Devilish Duke (11 page)

Settling himself a little, he canted his hips forward and entered her tight, welcoming heat. Beneath him Sophia groaned, digging her fingers into his shoulders. The world seemed to narrow to the places they touched, hips and hands and tangled legs.

He began slowly, sinking into her as deeply as he could, studying her aroused, excited expression, her wild scarlet hair against the gold of the couch. Adam lowered his head to take her mouth in another heart-pounding kiss. God, she was lovely.

“Mm, that feels good,” she moaned.

“How does this feel, then?” he breathed, increasing his pace.

“Good.” Sophia pulled his face down for another kiss. “Very … Oh, very good.”

Harder, faster, then slow and deep again. Adam felt her clench and break, her keening moan of pleasure nearly pulling him over the edge with her. It was too soon to let go, too soon to stop this, however badly his body wanted the release. Taking a deep breath he rolled them, putting himself on his back and her straddling his hips.

She looked down at him, surprise and then delight crossing her mobile expression. So her previous lovers had never done this with her before. Good to know. “Come here,” he rumbled, sweeping his palms over her breasts before he sat up to kiss her.

In a moment she was bouncing on him enthusiastically, her hair wild across her face and shoulders. He imagined she looked very like an Amazon warrior woman of legend. Except that she was warm and alive and moving on him exquisitely.

He surged up into her, his hands on her hips to keep her close against him. Again and again, until with a soaring rush he found his own release.

Sophia collapsed against his chest. Even breathing as hard as she was, she could feel the fast beat of his heart beneath her ear. Good heavens, that had been nice. Much, much better than nice.

“Do you play whist?” she asked.

His responding chuckle reverberated through her, and he stroked his fingers deliciously through her hair. “I challenge you to billiards tomorrow night,” he returned. “Same terms of victory.”

“I accept.”

This was the difference between being a proper lady, a proper and legitimate daughter of a duke, and being a female who made her own way in the world and consequently had no one to answer to but herself. If the Duke of Hennessy hadn’t finally visited The Tantalus Club and taken away every bit of satisfaction she’d ever felt in finding her independence, she would have ended up in this exact same place, enjoying the intimate company of this very handsome, very compelling man. The only difference was that she wouldn’t have abruptly wondered if one duke would stand against another. Possibly, but not over the dispensation of the illegitimate daughter of one of them.

“Have you ever met your father?” he asked into the silence of crackling logs and snoring dogs.

The question startled her. Surely not even a duke could read minds. Sophia rose up to look down at him, her palms on his hard chest and his penis still inside her. “Why?”

Dark gray eyes glanced down her bare front, then returned to her face. “Curiosity.”

For a moment she debated whether to dissemble, but she truly didn’t see the point of lying. “Yes,” she answered. “A fortnight ago.”

“In London? I thought him at Hennessy House.”

“So did I.” Reluctantly she moved off him and went to collect her footman’s shirt. “Until then, the only connection I’d ever had with him was that he reportedly sent money to my aunt and uncle to pay for my education. I wouldn’t have known him if he walked up and asked me to dance.”

“What happened, then, to bring you together?” He sat up, naked and likely completely unaware of how … delectable he looked.

“It’s a very sad and sordid tale, at least from my perspective. Are you certain you want to be troubled with it?” She hoped he would decline. It would sound too pitiful to say how much this holiday, his invitation, had meant to her.

“You’d be surprised by how many sad and sordid tales I know. Some of them are even about me. Tell me.”

Drat
. “Very well.” She took a deep breath, shrugging into her footman’s shirt. “As you know, Hennessy has never acknowledged me. I daresay that hasn’t prevented everyone in England from knowing that he is my father.”

“Yes, it is one of the worst kept secrets in the history of the kingdom.”

“Evidently he could tolerate this, as long as I was a … a nobody. A barely visible speck on his résumé. But then I went to work at the Tantalus.”

Narrowing his eyes, Adam stood as well, using his cravat to clean himself off before he tossed the ruined thing into the fire. “A man who doesn’t provide for his daughter doesn’t precisely have the right to dictate how she makes her way in the world.”

Sophia belatedly realized that what she knew of Adam Baswich could fit into a teacup. And what she’d taken for granted about him—his reported ruthlessness in business, his affection for scandal—didn’t include such a keen insight into desperation. “I agree,” she commented, her voice not entirely level. “But according to him, my idiotic and scandalous way of conducting my life in so public a manner is adversely affecting his reputation and that of his son and daughter. The legitimate ones.”

“Shit-breeched toad,” Greaves muttered, so quietly she almost couldn’t hear him. “Did he have a solution to this difficulty, or did he just wish to shout at you?”

“He had a solution,” she returned, swallowing. “He’s arranged for me to marry. A vicar. The Reverend Loines, in a very small parish in Cornwall.”

Coughing, Adam took a moment to shrug into his trousers and button them. “A vicar?”

“I know. It sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? Evidently Mr. Loines, for an undisclosed donation to the parish, has agreed to wed me and to … save my damned soul.”

“That’s ridiculous,” he stated. “Why in the world would he think you would agree to such a thing? You would be … you would be miserable. I hope you told him to go shit himself.”

Sophia buttoned her own trousers, then sat heavily in the chair by the disabused piquet table. “I did.”

“Good for you, Sophia.”

“And then he told me that if I refused, he would use all of his wealth, power, and influence to see that The Tantalus Club ceased to exist. One way or another, he was apparently very determined to be rid of me and my scandal.”

Adam looked at her for a long moment. She could practically see the words traveling through his mind, the scenarios he conjured and discarded as he mentally followed the various trails she’d spent a fortnight exploring. Then he slowly walked over and righted the gaming table. “In his eyes, it’s undoubtedly the perfect solution,” he mused, taking the seat opposite her. “He’s provided for your future, and he’s rid himself of the constant reminder your presence at the club elicits for him.”

“Yes. Perfect. Thank you very much.”

“Have you parted from the Tantalus, then? Run away? Is that why you’re here?”

If only that would suffice
. “Hennessy made it very clear that my running away wouldn’t save the club. I have to do as he says, or he’ll see Diane and Oliver and all my friends ruined all over again. And some of them—most of them—have nowhere else to go.” A warm tear ran down her cheek, and she impatiently wiped it away. Tears wouldn’t do anything but make her seem weak, and she’d already shed her share of them over this.

“Why are you here, then?”

“You invited me, if you’ll recall,” she retorted with more heat than she intended. Sophia rolled her shoulders. At the moment he was an ally; if she annoyed him, she’d have nothing to do but return to the Tantalus and wait for the clock to spin. “I suppose I wanted to spend one grand holiday as I pleased,” she continued in a more civil tone. “I wanted to see Camille and laugh and enjoy myself before the Reverend Loines locks me away to do penance.”

Abruptly Adam stood and walked over to lean against the deep fireplace mantel. “Evidently we’re both to be saddled with something we don’t want.”

“You don’t want to marry?”

“I didn’t want to have to fill a pot with politically advantageous potatoes and select the least offensive spud. But that’s my own damned fault, for waiting so long to see to my responsibilities.”

“Why
did
you wait so long, then?” she pursued. She could tell herself that any insight into his predicament could help hers, but Adam Baswich was a wealthy, attractive man. He
could
have married a decade ago, if he’d wanted to. Why, then,
had
he put off matrimony until the last possible moment?

A brief smile crossed his face. “It’s a sad, sordid tale.”

Standing, she strolled over toward him, stepping over the snoring dogs to lean her own shoulder against the marble mantel. “I told you mine.”

He shook his head. “Another time.”

Despite the mildness of his words, an awkwardness now hung in the air between them. It was the first time she’d felt less than entirely comfortable in his company, and she didn’t like the sensation. With a sigh she put one hand on the marble mantel and lifted up on her toes to kiss him.

There was a chance, she supposed, that Adam Baswich had merely been curious about her in general. That once he’d had her, he would bundle her off to Hanlith and be done with her. But as his warm mouth met hers, teasing and exciting, that dismal thought crumbled.

He slid his arms up under her shirt to circle her waist and pull her close against him. “No more idle chitchat?” he commented, and she felt his smile.

“I like idle chitchat. Just not about our mutual troubles.” She brushed a strand of raven hair from his eyes, then pulled out of his loose grip before he could seize on her use of the word “mutual.” A duke wouldn’t like having his troubles compared to a scandalous chit like her. “Do you still want to accompany me back to Hanlith tomorrow? Because if you lend me a groom, I can g—”

“Be ready by eleven o’clock,” he interrupted. “We’ll have luncheon at the White Horse Inn.”

“Then I shall bid you good night,” she said with a smile, “because I need to find something to wear tomorrow.”

“I rather like what you’re wearing right now,” he returned, tugging at the hem of her shirt.

“And I like what you’re wearing,” she commented, using the opportunity to run her gaze once more down his very fine form, “but I think you might get cold.”

“Mm-hm. Join me for breakfast at nine o’clock.”

She gathered up her borrowed boots and the remainder of her man’s clothes. “Good night, then.”

“Good night, Sophia.”

As she opened the drawing room door to glance out at the empty hallway, both large brown dogs rose to follow her. She liked having them about; nonjudgmental friends were, in her experience, fairly rare.

Her large bedchamber was empty, the fire lit and the sheets turned down. With a sigh she pulled off her shirt again and shrugged into her absurdly oversized night rail. She supposed she could have spent the remainder of the evening either in Adam’s rooms or with him in hers, but this was better. Not more pleasant, but better.

She liked Adam, and physically having had him once, she wanted him even more. But clinging or somehow giving him the impression that she expected or wanted more than he was willing to give—that wasn’t what she wanted.

She didn’t want to ruin this unexpected friendship, if that was what this was. With a sigh she lay down and pulled the soft covers up to her chin. So far this holiday had exceeded her expectations—as had the Duke of Greaves, himself.

*   *   *

“What do you think of this?”

Sophia turned around from cleaning her teeth as Milly Brooks entered her bedchamber. In her arms the housekeeper-maid held a heavy velvet riding habit of burgundy and forest green. “It’s lovely!” she exclaimed, standing to run her fingers over the soft, lush material. “You didn’t go to Lady Wallace, did you?”

“I think her ladyship would rather go naked herself than lend you a button,” Mrs. Brooks declared.

“I agree. Where did you get such a fine dress then, Milly?” It looked warm and lush and absolutely beautiful. She could hardly wait to pull it on.

“Agnes Smith had it in her trunk upstairs.”

Sophia frowned. “Agnes? The cook’s helper?”

Milly nodded.

“But she’s … she’s very tiny. I can’t wear a gown of hers.”

The maid shook it out. “She said it never fit her well, and that you should try it on.”

It seemed a waste of time, but if the servants of Greaves Park were going to bother to be so kind, she had no intention of turning up her nose at anything they offered. Aside from that, it didn’t
look
overly short. It was certainly worth an attempt, anyway.

“Very well.” With a wistful sigh she pulled off her night rail and lifted her arms so Milly could fit it over her.

She half expected it to get stuck at her shoulders. Instead, it sank down to hug her hips and flare around her legs. Frowning, Sophia faced away from Milly so the servant could fasten the long row of buttons running up her spine.

“Oh, Sophia, it’s perfect,” the maid cooed, finishing the buttons and moving around in front of her.

“I don’t understand,” Sophia returned. “This is a very fine habit for a cook’s helper. Does she—did she—even ride?”

“Well, as Agnes told me, she used to be quite a bit rounder, which might account for the extra length. As to the how she would have it, I don’t know. But she said it’s an old dress that hasn’t fit her in ages, and that you’re welcome to it.”

Finally Sophia looked at her burgundy and green reflection in the mirror. The riding habit and the fit were exquisite, as if it had been made to her exact measurements. She gave an experimental twirl. “I need to thank Agnes,” she said, giving in to the urge to smile.

Of course she’d worn fine gowns before; they were required at The Tantalus Club, the darker and more daring, the better. But she purchased them herself. No one gave her clothes. Particularly not fine, warm ones perfect both for riding and for a Yorkshire winter.

Once she’d stomped into her borrowed men’s riding boots and with Milly’s help finished pinning up her hair, she headed downstairs and to the rear of the mansion. The kitchen seemed quiet, which wasn’t all that surprising considering the duke had only two guests in residence.