Scandal (24 page)

He returned to the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress, still naked. “Sophie. Darling—”

“You're nothing but goose bumps.” She lifted the sheets. “Get in before you freeze to death.”

He slid in and shivered violently until his body warmed up. After a bit, she said, “Are we lovers now, Banallt?”

“Lovers?” He didn't want Sophie to be a lover of his. What he wanted was a permanent, legal relationship duly sanctified by the Church of England. But he knew better than to raise that subject directly. He turned onto his side and took a lock of her hair between his fingers. “If that's all I'm to have from you, Sophie, yes. We're lovers. Are you sorry?” he asked. “What a ridiculous question that is. Would you even tell me if you were?”

“I'm not sorry,” she said. She wriggled under him and got a hand on his chest. “And yes, I would tell you if I were.”

And then there they were, looking at one another. He leaned over her and kissed her, and damned if she didn't move toward him herself. He pulled the sheets up to his neck and drew his body over hers, using his forearms to pin the sheets around them.

“This is an extremely poor idea,” he said as he bent his head to kiss her. The entire time he wondered how he was going to make this permanent between them, but then she softened against him and she kissed him back with a thoroughly distracting enthusiasm. He drew back after a while and watched her face. Her eyes slowly opened.

“You were right,” she said.

“About?”

“That when I came to your bed, it would be because I wanted to be there.”

He wasn't sure whether to be insulted or pleased by that. He gripped her. “I'm glad to know you wanted me, too, Sophie, have no doubt of that.” He struggled to find the words that would explain everything so she'd understand. Really understand. “But what I said back then has nothing to do with now. Nothing whatever.”

She stroked a hand over his head. “Your hair is so soft. I love the feeling of it against my skin.”

“Stop changing the subject.”

“You're very big.” She had her hand on his cock at the time, so the remark was rather more complimentary than it might have been if she'd been commenting more generally.

“Witch,” he said. She wasn't just holding him. Her fingers were just now being very clever indeed. He pressed his hips forward. “Go on.”

“And hard, my lord.” Her lashes hid her eyes. She stroked the head of his cock. “I've never in my life felt anything so wonderful as this.”

One of her arms was around his waist as her eyes fluttered open. He found himself lost in limpid blue green. She wasn't his. Not legally. He could as yet lay no claim to her heart. He wanted the ceremony that would make her indisputably his. He wanted Sophie to be the mother of his children. He wanted Sophie. He wouldn't ever be whole without her. If he rushed her, he stood to lose everything.

She brought up a hand and touched his cheek. Her finger traced the line of his cheekbone, down the side of his face to his mouth and along his lower lip. “Did last night really happen?”

Banallt kissed the tip of her finger and tried not to think about her fingers around him, stroking. “I've been wondering the same myself. But, yes. It did.”

“You're sure we didn't imagine it?”

His body was all too willing to prove she hadn't. All he had to do was shift his hips and he could be inside her again. So he did just that, and she let him go. She lifted her chin, pressing the back of her head into the pillow, and he surged forward.

This was different. Last night had been several of his fantasies about her combined into one. The cold logic of day had been hours away. Last night, they'd lived for a time, just the two of them, in a world no one else shared. This morning, she couldn't deny what it meant to make love with him. “This isn't an affair, Sophie,” he said while he still had the wits to speak. He was rapidly approaching a point of mindlessness. “Maybe it is for you, but for me it's not.”

“Banallt.” His name ended on a gasp. Her hands slid down his back and she arched against him. He thought he would expire right then, before she'd come to any sort of pleasure.

“You're the only woman for me, Sophie. The only one. No one else will ever do.” Underneath the covers, he planted his hands by her rib cage and concentrated on his strokes and the way her body surrounded him, and the rush of approaching orgasm took his breath and his senses and his heart. He damn near didn't withdraw in time.

Afterward, she kept her arms around his. “I'll help you dress, Banallt.”

“And then go back to sleep, I hope?”

“I might just,” she said. She took the duvet with her when she slid out of bed. While she helped him dress he did his best to get her to drop it. She proved too agile for that. When he was dressed, more or less, she leaned back to study the effect. “I think I could do something with your cravat,” she said.

“I shudder to think of that limp strip of fabric coming anywhere near my neck. Another time, when I've fresh linens.” He smiled when she smoothed his waistcoat. “I'll allow, however, that you make an excellent valet.”

“Thank you.” She dropped him a curtsey.

“Odd, but I've never wanted to kiss my valet before now.”

“Kiss your valet?” She pretended to be horrified. “That's very wicked of you, my lord.”

“I'm a wicked man, darling. And I wish to kiss my valet. For some reason, I've only just noticed her mouth is full and soft.” He passed his thumb over her lips.

“Do you think she'll accept such a wicked advance from her employer?” she asked.

“Will she?” He pulled her into his arms. She had to go up on tiptoe to properly kiss him, and when he felt her body against his and her hands snaking into his hair, he groaned. He lifted his head from hers and glanced at the clock. Quarter to nine. He stepped back and stuffed his cravat into his pocket. “Sophie, I must go.”

She laughed. “Very well, my lord.”

“I don't like the subterfuge,” he said. “I'd rather we walked downstairs together and damn what anyone says. I want to stay here, in bed with you.” For years he'd had nothing but trysts. He'd planned and hoped for one with her since he first laid eyes on her, and now he wanted everything in the open. He wanted to court her openly. “I want us to be married.”

Her expression clouded. “Banallt.”

“Do you imagine I'd leave you at the altar?” He saw the answer in her eyes. “No,” he said slowly. “Of course not. You think if we marry, I'll be unfaithful before we've had our wedding trip.”

“My heart's already half broken.” Her eyes glittered. “I couldn't bear it, Banallt. I couldn't. Not again. Not with you. I'll be your lover, happily. But not your wife.”

He headed for the door but stopped halfway. “I love you, Sophie. I love you with my soul.”

Her bare arms held up the duvet. “Don't ruin this, Banallt, please.”

“I'm not a villain from one of your novels, Sophie.” She stared at him, wide-eyed. “Unlike them, I can change. I have changed.”

Unfortunately, she didn't believe him.

Twenty

SOPHIE WAS CONVINCED THE MAID WHO CAME TO HER room when she called for a servant knew Banallt had spent the night here. The young woman didn't say much beyond a respectful “Good morning, ma'am.” She found Sophie's clothes, and minutes later another servant came to take her gown to have it ironed. As Sophie washed her hands and face, she smelled Banallt on her skin and remembered, with a shiver in the pit of her stomach, the way he'd kissed her, where he'd kissed her, the look on his face when he moved in her and how she had felt a bolt of pleasure at every stroke. If she got back into bed, she'd smell his scent there, too, and remember his voice and the way his fingers had tightened on her, how his body had felt.

While she waited for her pressed gown, Sophie put on her stockings and corset and slid on her slippers. Then she sat to let the maid work on the awful tangle of her hair. “You've lovely hair, ma'am,” said the maid. She'd brought a brush and comb with her, silver backed with ivory.

“Thank you. I should have braided it before I went to bed.” She watched the maid's face in the mirror. “I don't know why I didn't. I was so very tired, though.”

“Some nights are like that, ma'am. Do you want me to pin your hair in any particular style?”

“Just so it's off my face and neck, thank you. My brother and I will be going straight home, I'm sure.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

As the maid worked, Sophie's reflection in the mirror showed the same woman she always saw. Pointed chin, too-long nose, a nice mouth, she thought, and pretty eyes. But her eyebrows were too dark and she never shaped them as she ought. Why didn't she look different, she wondered? Why did she look the same even though her life had changed completely? She was a wicked woman now. An immoral one. And she didn't much care.

Her gown came back, and she dressed quickly in her clothes from last night. Another servant showed Sophie to the morning room. John was there with the morning
Times
in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. “Good morning, John.”

“Sophie.” He didn't look up from his paper.

She fetched a plate and put eggs and bacon on it. “Did you sleep well?” she asked.

“Mm, and you?”

“The same,” she said as she sat down with her plate. She piled clotted cream on a scone and reached across the table to take the croissant on John's plate. He didn't notice.

Fidelia came in and John's paper came down with a rattle. He jumped up. “Miss Llewellyn.”

“Mr. Mercer. Good morning.” She walked to where Sophie sat. “Mrs. Evans. Good morning. I adore the scones cook makes. Do you like them, ma'am?”

“Good morning, Miss Llewellyn. And yes, very much.” The girl—young lady—had Banallt's coloring, the dark hair and pale skin, but her eyes were blue as the sky. Her features were strong but tempered by a sensitive mouth. Were the rumors about her and Banallt making a match true? “I hope you're well today.”

“Yes. Thank you. I'm quite well.”

John came around to help her to a seat next to Sophie. “Miss Llewellyn,” he said. “May I get you a plate?”

“Yes, please.” She looked at John from under her lashes. Her cheeks flushed a faint pink. “Poached eggs, if you don't mind. And one of those lovely scones.”

Banallt came in then, dressed in fresh clothes and a rather blandly tied cravat. Sophie's stomach shivered. She'd been intimate with him. She'd touched his naked body, and he'd touched hers. Good mornings were said all around. Sophie wasn't sure how to behave with Banallt in the room. Should she ignore him? That would be unforgivably rude, but if she didn't ignore him, she was afraid everyone would realize what had happened between them last night. His greeting to her was over before she could decide. He was absolutely unruffled.

“Good morning, Mrs. Evans. I trust you slept well.” And then he moved on to Fidelia, giving her a kiss on the cheek. No one even noticed Sophie didn't reply.

She pretended she was intent on finishing her scone, but she couldn't eat. Not a bite, though it was delicious. Every time she looked at Banallt, her stomach felt like she was poised to dive off a mountaintop.

John brought Fidelia her plate and returned to his chair, which happened to end up more across from Fidelia than across from Sophie where he'd sat before. He poured himself more coffee and then left his seat again to get Fidelia the tea she wanted. Fidelia smiled at him when he handed her a cup and saucer. The two were wonderfully in love.

Banallt sat at the head of the table with his breakfast. “I'm ravenous this morning,” he said to no one in particular. Sophie didn't know what to say or do or even think. She'd been to bed with the man and she was distressingly aware that she would do so again. As soon as possible.

“Has His Grace left already?” John asked.

“Yes,” Banallt replied. “Before I was up. Very early this morning, I'm told.”

“I'll catch up with him at Whitehall then, I expect.” John shot a look at Fidelia. “Tell me, Miss Llewellyn, have you plans later this afternoon? Sophie and I were going to Gunter's.” Sophie hid her surprise and managed a nod without, she hoped, anyone realizing there'd been no such engagement. John's gaze slid to Banallt and back to Fidelia. “Perhaps you and your mother might join us.” He hesitated, and really, it was a very charming hesitation. “If you are not otherwise engaged, that is.”

“It would be wonderful if you did,” Sophie added.

Fidelia's face lit up. “I enjoy Gunter's very much. May I go, Banallt?”

He put down his coffee. “I've no objection. You may if you are free and your mother agrees.”

Mrs. Llewellyn came in as Banallt was speaking. “If I agree to what?”

The invitation was made anew and accepted, and John actually gave Banallt a grateful look, which Banallt did not acknowledge. Sophie and John were to meet them at Gunter's at three since Mrs. Llewellyn and Fidelia had a call to make first.

She and John left Gray Street before eleven. They walked home, despite Banallt's offer of a carriage. Never once, by look or word or deed, had Banallt done anything to arouse suspicion that the nature of their relationship had changed. That stood to reason. He had years of experience at such things. Conducting affairs was second nature to him.

John seemed to have a lot on his mind, too. He walked with a repressed gait, as if he wished he could run rather than match Sophie's slower pace. “You're all right, Sophie?”