The Millionaire Rogue (22 page)

But she had one last chance. Here, just for tonight, she would forget all that. Just for tonight, she would give in wholly, indulge every whim and fantasy.

And then tomorrow she would return to said miraculous matches, her mama, the marquess and his affections, his proposal, which she knew would come any day now.

Tonight, however, she would be Hope's. Her body, her heart, her every wish and desire—she'd surrender everything she had. Just this once.

Just tonight.

If, that is, Sophia could actually
get
to Hope.

She should've known the house would be a fortress following the theft. Surveying the property from a nearby corner off Duchess Street, Sophia picked out at least a dozen men patrolling the crescent-shaped front drive. The tall iron gates on either side of the house were closed; toward the back of the building, Sophia picked out two windows glowing with low light. Otherwise, the house was dark.

Moving with as much care as her screaming pulse would allow, Sophia stole across the street, hiding in the shadow of a stone pillar that marked the corner of Hope's property.

She was about to turn and make for the mews, when she was grabbed from behind. Her assailant spun her around with such force it knocked the wind from her lungs, her hood falling back from her face.

“Please,” she managed, panic filling her chest as her eyes fell on a familiar face.

“Miss Blaise!” Daltrey whispered, his white hair glinting in the moonlight. “What are you doing here, and at this time of night!”

Relief rushed through Sophia at the sound of his voice, even as she wondered why Thomas's butler was playing sentry in the wee hours of the morning.

“I don't trust these fellows,” he said, reading Sophia's thoughts. “Not after those men betrayed Mr. Hope at his ball. I keep watch on them while they keep watch on the house. Come, let's get you inside. Mr. Hope will be pleased to see you.”

Daltrey ushered her through the servants' entrance at the back of the house. He led her up a narrow set of stairs to a small drawing room on the second floor. Aside from the fire in the grate, there was no light.

“I'm not waking him, am I?”

“Psh!” Daltrey removed Sophia's cloak and carefully draped it over his forearm. “I think Mr. Hope's forgotten how to sleep, poor fellow. He will be curious, however, as to the purpose of your visit. It isn't safe to be about, and
without chaperone
, so late.”

Sophia swallowed, her clasped fingers coiling over and through one another. She couldn't very well tell Daltrey the
true
reason for her visit; she could just imagine him fainting from horror as she said, “I have come to seduce his lordship, Mr. Daltrey. Might you point me in the direction of his bedchamber?”

And so, recalling with no small fondness the evening she'd spent in the Princess of Wales's drawing room, Sophia scrunched her face and stuck out her lip and let out the most pitiful sounding sob she could muster.

“Oh. Oh, heavens, Miss Blaise, I did not intend to upset you.” Daltrey took a step forward, holding his arms awkwardly out before him as if he would embrace her. “There, there, Miss Blaise, there, there.”

“It's just”—sob, along with a hysterical heaving of her bosom—“it's been so. So very difficult. My delicate sensibilities have been
assaulted
, yes, assaulted, and I—oh, dear, I feel a fainting spell coming on!”

Mr. Daltrey tapped her lightly on the shoulder, prodding as if to make sure she were still breathing. “Well. Er. I am terribly sorry, Miss Blaise, for whatever distress I have caused you. I shall lead you to Mr. Hope straightaway so that he might—er, address whatever it is that. Um.
Assaults
you so. There, there, come with me.”

Sophia held up a hand to hide her smile of triumph as Mr. Daltrey steered her from the drawing room and up another flight of stairs.

At the end of a wide paneled gallery, Daltrey paused before a door. He leaned his ear against it, listening for a moment before pulling away in a huff.

“He's not here. Wait inside, Miss Blaise, and I shall locate the master of the house directly.”

Daltrey held open the door. With a nod of thanks, Sophia slipped into the room, the door closing behind her with a small, quiet click.

For a moment she stood at the threshold, marveling at the room around her. Wiping a tear from the corner of her eye, she nearly laughed at the exquisite beauty of Hope's bedchamber.

On the near wall, a dying fire burned in a stone fireplace as high and wide as Sophia was tall. The small circle of light it emitted was bruised red, almost purple. Beyond that was utter, complete darkness.

Even so, she could make out the shape of the room's sumptuous appointments: the biggest bed she had ever seen, its pristine coverlet ironed and fluffed to a most welcoming proportion; Persian rugs of every color and shape; carefully curated paintings, hung from silken tassels to cover every square inch of the walls.

Sophia took a step forward, her heart soaring as the audacity of her actions settled upon her for the first time.

She swallowed her fear. She'd come this far. She was not about to go back. Not when she felt like this.

She swam to the darkest corner of the room, running her hand along the smooth, hard surface of a bedpost, the stack of leather-bound volumes on a bedside table.

“Sophia.”

She started at the voice, nearly knocking the volumes to the floor. Turning, she saw nothing but darkness.

“You shouldn't be here. You shouldn't have come.”

His voice was low, strained; as if something strong, something he wanted to repress, coiled inside him; as if he were a bowstring pulled taut, waiting for release.

She took a step toward him; he made no sound. Though she could not see him, she felt the stirring between their bodies, that familiar anticipation rushing through her with blinding force.

“I came for you,” she said.

“It is foolish of you to be out alone, and at this hour.”

“I don't care, Thomas.” She paused. “I came for you.”

“Please, Sophia—”

“No.” She wished he would come forward so that she might see him. She wanted nothing more than to
see
him. “Please, Thomas. I did not come to talk.”

She heard his sharp intake of air, sensed his mind racing under cover of darkness. For a moment she hesitated. Would he refuse her? He would be right to do so, of course; this was a bad idea, a dangerous idea, and he knew it.

Sophia waited for what seemed like an eternity, her limbs beginning to tremble as if she'd bared to him her body as well as her soul.

There was a rush off to her right, the air suddenly alive with his scent; and then his hands were on her shoulders, brushing her skin as they moved up her neck. She nearly cried out at the tide of sensation that slid through her, his touch firm and impatient as if he owned her.

As if she were his and no one else's.

A
s soon as Thomas drew near, his impatient hands drawing her close, he disappeared, leaving her reeling in the darkness.

She turned this way and that, looking for any sign of where he might be. “Thomas, please—”

“I thought you did not come to talk.” That voice of his; a growl that at once frightened and titillated her.

A wave of heat pulsed between her legs. Dear God, why wouldn't he touch her again, where was he, why was he
hiding
like this—

There was a tug at the back of her head as Thomas gathered her hair in his hand and pulled. She could not see much of anything, but she could smell him, sandalwood and a bit of lemon as he reared over her, pulling back her head and sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of her throat.

This time Sophia
did
cry out, her eyes wide as they searched the blackness. Nothing, nothing. Nothing save the sensation of his lips moving over her skin, his fingers tugging the pins from her hair. He buried his hand in her loosened waves, pulling, and pulling yet harder, arching her against him.

Beneath her skin her blood pulsed hot and wild. He'd never touched her like this, had never been as wildly possessive. There would be no going back from this place; no time for second thoughts or the heavy lives that awaited them outside these walls. He would have her, and she him, and in so doing they would forget everything but each other, and the desire that stretched between them.

At least for tonight.

Thomas's lips found hers, and Sophia's eyes fluttered shut in an agony of pleasure as he kissed her. It was forceful, this kiss, forceful and tender all at once. She felt the darkness falling in on them as the kiss deepened, blocking out everything but the sensation of his nearness. The backs of her knees relaxed; the tug between her legs was deliciously poignant.

Her body, her mind—the surrender was coming.

He took her bottom lip between his teeth, letting out a hiss of satisfaction at her moan. For a moment he released her mouth, resting his forehead against her own. His breath was warm and hard on her skin, coming in deep, long draws. She felt the flutter of his eyelashes on her eyelids, moving slowly, softly; she reached up and thumbed the scar on his cheek, no more than a slight ridge now. How long ago that night in Madame's closet seemed.

And then his hand was cupping her face, and he was kissing her again, moving over her with exquisite concentration. Her pulse rushed in her ears as he tugged at her hair. She could stay here, kissing him like this, forever, her mind blank except for the sensation of her body tangling with his.

Sophia's eyes flew open when Thomas pulled away, his hands leaving traces of fire where he'd touched her. She gasped for air, trembling in the darkness as she waited. What little light there had been from the fire was now gone; the room was a river of black, the only sound a small rustling somewhere in the dark.

She gasped at the sudden, vicious tug at the back of her gown. He was pulling at the laces with impatient fingers, pressing his body against hers. A shiver ran the length of her spine when his lips found the tender skin at the back of her neck, caressing her with his lips and tongue.

Her laces sighed softly as he pulled them free, working his way from her neck to the small of her back. Thomas slipped his hands inside her gown and coaxed it apart, pulling it over her shoulders and hips. It fell in a gust of chill air to her feet.

Thomas wasted no time. His lips moved from the ball of her shoulder to her collarbone and neck as he spun her to face him.

She reached for him, her fingers tangling in the fine rumpled linen of his shirt. She drew it upward and he stepped back from her body, allowing her to pull it over his head.

The sound of her palms scraping over the expanse of his bare chest filled the air between them. Sophia could see nothing, nothing but the dim outline of his person; but beneath her fingers his heart was warm, beating hard and healthy, the feel of skin on skin wildly thrilling. She ran her hands through the wiry hair at the center of his chest, over the smooth, turgid flesh of his neck, down the thick, lean expanse of his belly.

Thomas growled the lower she went, a low sound of warning. He hooked his thumbs into the neck of her chemise and drew it over one shoulder, then the other, moving with brutal straightforwardness that left her breathless.

He set both his hands on her hips, pushing down her pantalets along with the chemise; the air felt tantalizingly cold against her burning skin.

And then he was running his palms up the sides of her ribs, sending waves of exquisite longing through her. Her blood leapt as his thumbs moved over her belly and up to her breasts, scraping her hardened nipples once, twice, three times, taking them between his thumb and forefinger and pulling,
my God
,
my God, please
—

He dug a hand into her hair, bringing his lips to hers as he pulled her naked body against his own. She moaned into the kiss, her hands drinking him in, memorizing every slope, every muscle and sinew, for this would be the only time—the last time—she would ever have him like this.

Sophia curled her fingers into the waistband of his breeches. He bit her bottom lip, as if to say
yes
; she worked the buttons free one at a time, Thomas's mouth deepening its assault with each button she managed to undo.

She freed the last button; and then with a violence of which she didn't know she was capable, tugged them over the bulge between his legs, down, down the length of his enormous, hardened thighs.

For a moment he broke the kiss, stepping out of the breeches one leg at a time before kicking them to some unknown corner of the room.

And then he stood before her; she sensed the working of his chest, the air moving out of his lungs and into her own. Though she could not see him, she knew he was as naked as the day he was born.

As naked as she was, their bodies warm with desire.

He made no move, allowing that desire to burn to new heights between them. He was waiting, she knew, for her answer to his unspoken question.

Sophia stood very still, her breathing the only noise in the room. She would not turn back, not now, not when she felt so full she might burst. Never mind her conflicted desires outside this darkness; here, now, she felt wild with certainty.

She wanted Thomas. She wanted to surrender to him, to say
yes
to all the things she'd forbidden herself to feel and know these past weeks.

Sophia took a deep, shaking breath. This was her chance. Her chance to let him fill her being, her every sense. Her chance to forget the French Blue, the marquess, villainous Frenchmen, and La Reinette. Cousin Violet,
her family
, her writing, and her fellow debutantes at Almack's.

As she exhaled, it all fell away, the armor of her ambition disappearing in the darkness. In its place rose a bursting relief, a lightness she'd never experienced.

Yes. Dear God, yes.

Sophia stepped forward, her bare skin brushing against his for the first time. Fire shot through her, her entire being pounding with a craving so complete, so overwhelming, she could think of nothing and no one but
him
. Nothing but what was to come, what he would make her feel.

So
this
is what La Reinette was talking about in her memoirs. This thunderous feeling, this warm, wondrous taking of breaths, of confidences, of innocence. Being
taken
, and taking in turn—yes, this would be Sophia's greatest adventure yet.

Thomas gathered her against him, bending his enormous arms to cradle her in the curve of his body. One of his hands slid to the small of her back, his fingers clutching her skin; the other found its way to her face, guiding her lips to his.

Slipping his tongue between her lips, Thomas pulled her against him. She felt the leap of his cock against her belly, his pubic hair brushing the angle of her hip. The flesh between her legs throbbed, going from warm to hot to fiery in the space of a single breath.

His lips moved from her mouth to her jaw, working their way down her throat to her collarbones and finally across her—

Oh God
. Her eyes slammed shut as his teeth nicked her right nipple, then her left, his lips moving over her hungrily. His hand slid from her cheek down to her breast, running his thumb over the hardened point of each nipple. She arched back, digging her hands into the tumble of his curls, pulling against him, crying out for more.

His other hand moved from the small of her back down the slope of her backside, his fingers slipping between her buttocks to find the source of all this sensation.

Sophia gasped as he moved to cup her with his palm, his fourth finger finding its way inside her as his first two fingers worked that heady place at the tip of her sex. His fingers traced lines of fire, parting her folds with an expert touch while with his mouth he teased her nipples, pulling and biting, stoking her desire to breathless heights.

She felt herself tightening against him, that rolling tide of screaming pleasure very close,
heavens
, very close, if he'd just touch her one more time—

Thomas's hand slid away from her sex, moving down the backs of her legs, the other scraping up the length of her spine. In one swift movement, he lifted her into his arms. She opened her mouth to protest, but in the space of a single heartbeat he was tossing her onto the bed, the coverlet sighing contentedly as she landed on its surface. She searched the darkness for Thomas, but she saw a blackness so complete she wondered for a moment if his expert ministrations had blinded her.

But then she heard him at the foot of the bed; he was pulling at her boots, dropping them one at a time to the floor with a dull
thud
. His fingers moved up her legs, carefully sliding her silk stockings off her feet and onto the floor.

He grasped her by the ankles and tugged her toward him. Sophia felt the bed bow beneath his weight as he reared over her, trailing kisses along the length of her body as he made his way up: one for each knee, the inside of her thigh, her hips and belly, the left breast and right nipple, the place where her collarbones met.

She gasped as he bit into the flesh of her throat, her body screaming for release as he at last took her mouth with a force that knocked the breath from her lungs.

Of their own volition, her legs snaked around his hips; she felt the nudge of his cock against her sex, its slick warmth begging for more,
more
. She closed her eyes, allowing her need to swallow her whole.

Thomas placed his elbows on either side of her head; his curls fell into her face and eyes as he worked her mouth with his lips and teeth and tongue. Still he made no move between her legs. She wondered what he was waiting for; she felt as if she might lose her soul if he did not release her from this agony, this lovely, breathless moment of unbearable anticipation. He felt warm and impossibly enormous against her flesh. She wanted to know what it felt like
after
this forbidden moment passed; what it felt like
after
he was inside her.

Sophia bucked her hips against him, forcing his hand; above her, he froze.

In response he grabbed both her hands in one of his and thrust them above her head, pinning her to the bed. She cried out, writhing against him; but he held her fast, his other hand moving over the plane of her belly to rest between her legs.

Holding her hostage with the bulk of his body, he opened her, his fingers gliding through her wetness with ease. He slipped one, two fingers inside her, moving as if to ease the tightness he felt there. With his thumb he circled the tip of her sex, slowly at first, faster and faster as she pressed against him, her cries turning to whimpers as her legs went rigid with the approach of her climax.

His fingers worked feverishly now. The tide, it was coming, so powerful she felt as if she were falling through the darkness that surrounded her. She opened her eyes to see flashes of light and color, her back arching against the weight of her rising pleasure.

Thomas broke the kiss, his head moving down, down to her breast. He took her nipple in his mouth, circling it with his tongue in time to his touch between her legs. Her entire body clenched tight as a fist; and then—

Then.

A rush of blood, a thundering wave that pounded through her. Sophia let out a gasping breath, her limbs throbbing with the impact of her release. Her head fell back between her arms as her body reverberated with the fading pulse of her orgasm, her muscles loosening bit by bit in time to the slowing of her heart.

Thomas released her hands, gathering her against his chest as the throbbing subsided. She breathed in the scent of his skin, the wiry hair of his chest tickling her nose as she placed her hands inside his shoulders. His skin felt warm, firm but yielding; his heart was pounding so furiously she wondered if it had worked its way through his breastbone to lie right here beneath her palm.

Sophia curled into Thomas's embrace, finding comfort in his strength, his steadiness, after the riot that rolled through her moments before. He pressed his lips to her forehead, smoothing her long waves down the length of her back. His touch sent a shiver down her spine, and he pulled her closer, kissing her nose, her closed eyelids, and finally her mouth.