Song for Sophia (28 page)

“It can’t be avoided, Philip. But perhaps a garden game might defuse some of the tension.” She lowered her voice and hid her mouth behind a glass of punch. “Do you name some grievous flaw of character which prevents recommending your friend to your sister?”

Philip furrowed his brows and frowned, pulling his dimples in contrast. “No, I suppose not. Sherman is fairly a straight arrow. I just don’t want him near Elise.”

“She is nineteen. Nearly twenty.”

“But naïve as a babe.”

Sophia couldn’t debate that. “All the more reason to surround her with trusted acquaintances as she makes her debut into society.”

Philip looked at his lovely sister, only to see her sneak another glance at the dashing Lieutenant Sherman, who stole a glance at her. Both winsome faces lit up then colored. Philip let out a little groan, and Sophia felt some small sympathy for him. “But the way he looks at her — ”

“Nauseating, I know. Why don’t you suggest croquet, and I will place your three colors together — everyone expects such maneuvering from the hostess. And then you can knock Sherman’s ball into the water.”

He endorsed the idea, and Elise managed the introduction to the princely Lieutenant Sherman without giggling. She did bat her eyelashes, but he seemed to like it. Oh well. Sophia could not recall ever being so innocent, and she had never believed in fairy tales.

She studied Lt. Sherman as carefully as Philip, watching like a hawk for some sign of irony beneath his gold-plated façade. She paid more attention to his manner than trying to hit the ball in the proper direction through the wickets. He seemed genuine if not a little vapid and naïve himself. Ten minutes in the garden with Elise and her suitor, and Sophia tentatively changed her mind about fictitious fairy tales. She wished Elise a happy, romantic experience — if such simplicity existed.

Grateful to tune out their buttery conversation about naval uniforms, Sophia followed her errant croquet ball around a hedge. Elise had probably hit it there on purpose. Ever venting her angst over her mentor’s strict regime, unaware her newly acquired ladylike behavior probably kept Lt. Sherman at her side after her beauty had lured him there. “How did you earn your gold tassels?” her syrupy voice purred, thick with admiration.

Where is that dratted ball?
A little farther she found it, but draped over its wooden rings lay a single coral long-stemmed rose, dethorned. At first it put her in mind of the rose hedges lining the drive to Rosecrest. Then she wondered why
orange
until she remembered the popular symbolism for roses. Orange means desire.

“Wilhelm?” She picked up the ball and stood, smelling the exotic perfume. Freshly cut. From where? Rougemont grew no rosebushes that she knew of.

“Here.”

She followed his voice behind the hedge and nearly trod on another rose — lavender, for enchantment. Following a trail, she found a yellow bud for friendship, pink for joy or appreciation? And the white could be purity, secrecy, or reverence, but all of those seemed unlikely. Well, before that she thought Wilhelm meant to send her a romantic message. Now that she thought of it, yellow could also mean jealousy. What sort of game was this? And the next rose: dyed blue in full bloom?

“The unattainable, transcending,” he answered, stepping away from a saddled horse — Sadie, free of her harness and reins, who grazed in a little hollow surrounded by ancient garden hedges. Voices drifted faintly from the lawn; apparently the game had gone on.

“I gave Philip the high sign. He will make your excuses,” Wilhelm answered her unspoken thought. “Stay a moment, please.”

She looked around to notice he had lured her into a thoroughly secluded spot, shaded and overgrown, with soft beams of light filtering through the branches.

He brought a single red rose from behind his back and took the other blooms from her hand, arranging them as he spoke. “Enchantment and friendship. Mystery in spades. Then solace and respect. Always desire. And at the core — ” He gave the bouquet back with the red rose at the center.

She held it while her sluggish brain processed the gesture — was he saying what she thought?

“Love.” He stepped closer and speared her with his soul-reading gaze, hypnotizing her. “All these ways and more. I am madly in love with you, Anne-Sophia.”

First a wave of surprise, then as it faded, consuming warmth swept over her. It gave her heart a jolt, tingled over her skin and made her eyes mist. She bit her lip to keep tears from spilling over. It seemed the lovely soaring feeling singing through her veins would sweep her into the breeze.

“It didn’t seem right to let you think I would use you, especially now that … . But I don’t ask you to — because we both know I am not, I mean, I
wish
… Oh, hell.” He sighed and shook his head in frustration. “Sophie, I am no good at this. Say something.”

She accidently knocked him in the side of the head with the flowers — did some symbolism exist for that? — as she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him like it was their first and last. The croquet ball dropped to the ground, narrowly missing their toes.

Almost impossible to let him go, but she made herself step back and catch her breath. She reached to stroke his jaw, adoring the strength and humor visible in the way he held it. He had shaved, showing the scars as well as the dimples. His razor had missed the shallow cleft in his square chin. Another wave of tenderness weakened her knees, and she allowed herself to lean into him a little.

“I love you too, Wil. With all my heart. I have for a long time.” Oh, the ice-hot way he looked down at her! All the fluttery, absurd feelings she had silently mocked Elise for rushed her in a frenzy, like laughing with a mouthful of champagne.

She wanted romance? Well, here came more than she could handle. “You feel like a miracle and Christmas morning to me. I thought a man like you didn’t exist, and I never dreamed you could be mine. If it is all a dream, don’t wake me.” She dared glance up at him, and the genuine, humble surprise in his expression prompted her to add, “You make me so happy.”

Sunlight and moist air brushed across her shoulders before she became aware of Wilhelm’s fingers lowering the fastener at the back of her dress. She thought he wanted a quick tumble in the garden, not that she meant to complain, but then he turned her around and kissed slow trails from the nape of her neck down over her shoulders, her spine, everywhere the scars marred her skin.

It made no sense to weep, but she couldn’t help it. At least Sophia tried to do it quietly, not wishing to distract him. An odd effect she had not anticipated — healing. Months and years’ worth of angst, fear … even hatred melted away. No room for it in her heart, not with splendid elation taking its place. It seemed his lips on her skin mended her from the inside out, filling her with pleasant memories to eradicate the bad.

He managed to remove her clothes and most of his own without pausing, clever man. Sadie blew a snort and stamped, either affected by the surge of emotion from the humans or impatient for a run. Wilhelm whistled low and the horse nickered in argument but lowered its head to graze again. No one would find them, would they? Or hear them? Sophia suspected she might lack discretion in a heated moment.

She unfastened the rest of his buttons and stood back to look, already working for breath. It was the anticipation, the excitement churning low in her belly. Oh, how she wanted him! The world shrank to this hidden garden behind the hedges. Possibly he had selected the spot for this purpose, with the grass springy and thick like carpet. Confident of him to presume it would go over this way. Or perhaps he had read her mind and already guessed she was completely in love with him. Now that she understood his perspective, she could count dozens of his tender looks she might have misinterpreted. Too much time wasted in misunderstanding. The thought made her eager to make up for it.

“Stop thinking,” he muttered into her hair. Then he angled her head to bare her neck and nibble down the center. He dropped to his knees and kneaded his lips around her navel until she squealed, ticklish. “And touch me.”

Her hand covered the block of muscle over his heart. She squeezed and felt his heart kick, then grazed her palms up and down his arms. Fascinating how he leaned and stretched to follow her movement, as though they were a pair of magnets. She knew his every contour over muscle, bone, veins and scars. She could find him in the dark by touch, if his heady mint-basil-leather scent didn’t give him away first.

Lovely, the moment he cradled his arms across her back and lowered her to the ground, following her down, his lips provoking hers with ghostlike kisses. Hands raking from her waist to ribs, he nudged her to raise her arms over her head then kneaded her palms with his fingertips, lulling her into submission. He wandered downward, detouring at every sensitive spot between her wrists and ankles. Then he did the same with his teeth, shooting electric pleasure through her nerves. It rang in her head, arched her back and made her want to purr.

Wilhelm watched her as he moved deliberately, waiting to see if she could tolerate him lying over her. She cradled him with her knees, relishing his protective shoulders shielding her, his powerful arms caging her in his embrace. Nothing better than feeling him everywhere at once, beyond skin, beyond the physical act, deep into her soul.

That addicting soaring feeling unfurled in her core, possessing her limbs and then her mind. Pleasant insanity. She leaned her head back and swallowed a moan, and he prodded her to look back at him.
Stay with me
, his silent prompting.

Not often could she stand to look so closely into his eyes; faceted silver-gray, deeply set with sharp brows and an almost feminine spray of blond-tipped lashes. Unearthly, a little frightening, and fathomless. He always saw too much when he studied her. Honest moments when he communicated with his eyes, the intelligence as well as the masked pain there always struck her. Too intense. Now she saw a tenderness that broke her heart and put it back together.

An edge of wildness colored the mood, turning the smooth rhythm into a playful battle. Impossible, feeling desperate for
more, more, more
the same moment he gave her everything she demanded. Intoxicating friction, a ravenous hunger that gave her uncivilized urges. Such as biting. She braised her teeth over his shoulder then captured his head so she could nibble on his neck in a rough version of what he had done to her. She smiled at his mangled syllable of protest; he sounded helpless.

His movements lost their fluidity, his effort to restrain his strength failing. She felt the first twinge of irrational fear. Sophia desperately did not want to panic. So close, so near … . Did it even have a name, the episode of tumult that washed her entire being with indescribable euphoria?

Her thoughts ceased —
Oh, a sweet spot
. Her body seized, anticipating … Wilhelm must have noticed, he repeated the motion mercilessly until it happened. He caught her mouth in a rowdy kiss as she cried out, grasping him, riding wave after wave of delicious mind-stroking pleasure.

Her pulse pounded in her head and heat flooded her vision, or else sooner she would have noticed him tense and slide down, burying his face in her abdomen. She loved this moment, when he shook and bucked and fought the onslaught with those charming erotic smiles. But what was he doing? She missed it. Or he did.
Bereft
was the word, and the sting of rejection punctuated it.

Wilhelm kneaded over her sides and dotted kisses across her belly, humming in between heavy gusts of breath. When he seemed to regain his senses, she asked softly, “Why did you do that?”

He grunted in reply, then seemed to register it wasn’t viable communication. He mumbled with a groggy voice, “Compromise.”

“What?”

“I can’t keep my hands off you. But I will
not
risk losing you, and now you know the true reason why.”

“You mean to prevent conception? Why — but…” She fidgeted and he let go so she could roll away. Anger threatened her lovely mood, so she tried logic on him instead. “A little late for that after last night, don’t you think so?” She pretended to clear her throat. “To the fourth degree, if you catch my meaning.”

“A lapse in judgment. But unlikely one night will … you know.”

“
You know what
happened last time, with only one night.” Mercy, but he could be utterly ridiculous.

“Lightning never strikes the same place twice.”

“Never underestimate the power of bad luck. And besides, I dislike the word
never
. Difficult to swallow, when one must eat it.” She cooled her temper again, and her womb jumped with an echo of vibration, as though in agreement. Why were they arguing now? All she really wanted to do was curl up and nap, then do it all again.

“Precisely. So I suppose we might discuss …
you know
. I mean, you have a say in how to go about it, next time.”

She really wanted to shake her head and curse. “Very well. I suggest eye of newt in a potion and dancing counterclockwise around a bonfire every full moon.”

He snorted and chuckled, a rusty, reluctant sound. “I am serious.”

“And I thought we agreed to try for a child. Why not? So long as I lounge about like the Queen of Sheba, avoiding any threat of danger on two legs or four.”

My, but he looked thoroughly uncomfortable. She waited for him to come out with it, bracing herself for a little upset and perhaps heartbreak. “I do think it wise … .”

“Yes?”

“Well, soon my position against your father will be ironclad. Until then I fear what Lord Chauncey might do in his desperation. I wager he feels like an animal in a small cage. And I am about to make it even smaller. Caution would be wise, is what I am trying to say.”

She was right — upset and heartbreak coming her way. Why did her father have to shadow every moment of happiness? Taint her future, and Wilhelm’s? Sophia swallowed the first several retorts which sprang to mind, then finally asked, “What will it take to be rid of him once and for all?”