The Reluctant Countess (26 page)

Patrick sat sipping champagne and staring into the fire after his bath. He had sent his valet to bed and was now waiting for Sophie. Would she be nervous?
Of course she will, you idiot
, Patrick chided himself. They had already made love several times, yet she had not been his countess then. Just the memory of that night in the gazebo had the power to arouse him. In the past, their lovemaking had always been a frenetic coupling of the flesh. Tonight would be different; tonight would be for her, he vowed, and it was at that moment that he sensed he was no longer alone.

“Patrick?” Sophie whispered as she moved into the room.

Patrick cursed soundly beneath his breath as he watched Sophie walk toward him. She looked like his every fantasy. Her hair flowed down her back, stopping at her waist in a black cloud. Emerald satin kissed her curves as she moved. Her breasts were barely covered and spilled from the bodice and he could see her nipples, already peaked as if taunting him to touch them. A long split down one side of the skirt offered Patrick a brief glimpse of her legs, legs that he had fantasized about since their first meeting many months ago.

Sophie felt powerful when she saw the look of hunger in her husband’s eyes. Unconsciously, her hips swayed a little more and her breasts arched forward as she walked closer.

“Sophie,” Patrick warned as she kept coming toward him. “Have mercy,” he whispered as she stopped when her toes touched his. “I … I want this night to be for you, sweetheart,” he said, stumbling over his words like a callow youth.

“It will be,” Sophie replied. Reaching for the belt of his robe, she released it and pushed it from his shoulders. She could feel the heat from his naked body and longed to touch him. Running her hands up his arms she then trailed her fingers down over the planes of muscle that formed his chest. She stroked the light sprinkling of hair and teased his nipples, which caused him to draw a
sharp breath, and finally she looped her arms around his neck and pulled his head down until their lips met.

Go slow; go slow
, Patrick chanted in his head as her body melted into his. She smelled of woman and something exotic that tantalized his senses. Her skin felt warm and silken from her bath. Fierce, hot lust nearly dropped him to his knees.

Sophie made a small noise in her throat as Patrick swept a hand down the length of her spine; its heat seemed to brand her wherever it traveled. He ravished her lips, sensual mind-drugging kisses that robbed Sophie of rational thought.

“Where the hell did you get this?” Patrick growled as he lowered one of the tiny straps and replaced it with his lips.

“Letty,” Sophie sighed, as he kissed her shoulder and moved lower to the swell of her breast.

Patrick’s laugh was harsh as he pushed the other strap aside and moved to administer the same treatment to the other shoulder. With a gentle tug he had her breasts freed—one and then another—and Sophie felt the fabric pool around her ankles.

“You rob the breath from my body,” Patrick rasped, his voice now deep with need. “I could look at you for hours,” he added, taking a step back. She was perfection to his eyes; her breasts were full and tipped with rose-hued nipples, her slender waist flared into gentle hips, and her legs were long and silken.

Dropping to his knees, he ran his hands up her thighs and then slowly parted them.

“Patrick!” Sophie cried, as she felt his breath between her legs.

Placing both hands on her hips, he pulled her forward to meet his lips. He held her still as he stroked his tongue along the cleft he had exposed between her thighs, long sweeping strokes that soon had her moaning with delight. Lifting one slender leg, Patrick draped it over his shoulder, his hands cupping her bottom as he devoured her.

Sophie was sobbing as the pressure began to build, and when he touched the tiny nubbin between her legs she cried out. Patrick’s response was to do it again. He took his time torturing her,
building the pressure until Sophie begged him to release her; only then did he push a finger inside her.

Patrick felt Sophie shudder and grip his shoulders as she found her release. Regaining his feet, he lifted her into his arms and lowered her onto his bed. In seconds, he was thrusting deep inside her, just as the tremors started to ease.

“Wrap your legs around me, Sophie,” he said as he withdrew and reentered.

Sophie couldn’t think, only feel. He surrounded her, each thrust better than the last. Obeying him, she lifted her legs, then cried out as he drove into her once again and this time he was deeper, higher.

She looked like sin with her head thrown back amongst the pillows and her breasts arched and heaving. Patrick drank in the sight. Lowering his head, he bit softly into one pouting nipple and felt her tighten around his aching flesh; she was responsive to his every touch, every stroke.

“Patrick!” Sophie screamed as he thrust into her one more time. Patrick followed his wife, with a loud growl, over the edge and into oblivion.

When he could breathe and form a rational thought, Patrick looked at Sophie. Her eyes were closed and she appeared on the verge of sleep. She was his, all that sensual heat and passion belonged to him, and Patrick couldn’t help it—he laughed from the pure joy of the moment.

“Patrick,” Sophie sighed, turning toward him, then murmuring as he pulled her into his arms.

“Sleep, love.” Patrick covered them both with blankets. Soon the only noises that could be heard in the room were the sounds of slumber.

Something woke Patrick a few hours later. Opening his eyes, he reached for Sophie and his arms came up empty. He couldn’t see her in the darkened room, both the candles and fire having burned down. Pushing aside the blankets, he climbed from the bed and let his eyes adjust to the night. Then he walked toward her rooms. The curtains were not drawn, so he could see Sophie’s small form in the middle of her big bed.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” Patrick roared.

“What!” Sophie cried, coming awake with a start, her heart thumping wildly in her chest.

“Why are you in here and not in my bed?” the large male at the foot of her bed said in a menacing tone.

“I … I had thought it proper to leave you, Patrick,” Sophie said, her voice still thick with sleep as she struggled to push her hair from her eyes. “I believed this was what you would want.”

“Well you thought wrong!” Patrick growled, tearing the covers off her and lifting her into his arms.

“Did you have to yell at me?” Sophie said. Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest that it hurt.

“The only time you will sleep apart from me will be when you have a contagious disease, and even then I believe there are masks I can wear,” Patrick said, ignoring her words in favor of his own.

Sophie giggled and burrowed into his chest.

Back in his rooms, he slipped her beneath the still warm sheets and climbed in beside her, pulling her into his arms.

“Is that understood, Countess?”

“Yes, my lord,” Sophie whispered, snuggling into him. In seconds, she was asleep.

“We are not proper in here,” Patrick whispered as he wound his fingers through a handful of curls, wrapping the silken strands around his fist. Yawning, he dropped a kiss on the top of her head. Then he, too, drifted off to sleep.

“I am pleased to meet you, Miss Pitt,” Sophie said, smiling at the housekeeper. She was not an overly tall woman, dressed in pale gray with a neat white lace collar. In fact, neat described Patrick’s housekeeper very well. Her hair was pulled back in a neat bun, her nails were neatly filed, she wore nicely polished neat black shoes, and the only thing at odds with her neat appearance was the huge bunch of keys around her neck.

“Are those keys overly heavy, Miss Pitt?” Sophie said, looking concerned.

Surprise flashed across Miss Pitt’s face. “Well, as to that, my lady, they do get a trifle heavy as the day progresses.”

“Perhaps you could remove some of the keys you use less frequently and place those on another chain,” Sophie said, remembering that this was in fact what the housekeeper at Monmouth did. “You could place them somewhere only you are aware of, then get them out when necessary.” If Sophie had said that she would like to bathe in lemon curd, the look on the housekeeper’s face would have been no different. Her jaw dropped open and her eyes widened alarmingly.

“I would never let my keys out of my sight!” Miss Pitt gasped, her hands clutching the aforementioned keys to her chest as if Sophie was about to steal them.

“I did not suggest that you lose sight of the keys, Miss Pitt. I would merely like to see you more comfortable by relieving you of some of your burden,” Sophie said, patting the housekeeper’s hand. “You see, it is very important to the earl and me that our staff be happy in their employment.” Sophie smiled.

Miss Pitt looked at her new mistress. Perhaps Mrs. Gumbrill was wrong in her assessment of the woman; she certainly seemed nice. After all, no one had ever inquired after her health or welfare before today.

“Thank you, my lady, I shall think over your suggestions,” Miss Pitt said, sinking into a curtsy as she prepared to leave.

Sophie watched Miss Pitt walked away from her, her shoes snapping neatly on the tiled floor.

“Luncheon is served, my lady,” Ribble said, appearing as if by magic before Sophie.

“Oh, thank you.” Sophie followed him. “I am afraid that all these rooms look the same to me, Ribble. I would have been walking for quite some time to find where his lordship takes his meals.” With a last glance over her shoulder at the retreating figure of the housekeeper, Sophie hoped she had not just caused a rift between herself and Miss Pitt on her first day at Plentiful.

“Ridiculous name for a house,” Sophie muttered as she walked past Ribble and into the room he was indicating with a wave of his hand.

“Did you have fun meeting Pitt the Pillar of Plentiful?” Patrick asked, standing as she walked into the room, Sophie took the seat he held out for her and then he reseated himself.

He looked wide-awake and very handsome. Sophie felt her cheeks heat as she remembered how he had woken her up this morning, their first morning as husband and wife. His lips had been kissing her neck, then shoulders, and his hands had been stroking her breasts, and then he had simply lifted her thigh and pushed himself inside her.

“She seems very nice,” Sophie said, lowering her head to hide the blush in her cheeks.

“Nice! She used to snap at me at any given opportunity.” Patrick grinned, which made him look less like an earl and more like a rogue.

“I bet you deserved it,” Sophie said, nodding at the young maid who poured her tea.

“Now what, my sweet wife, has put those roses in your cheeks?”

“Nothing at all, my lord, I merely grew flustered hurrying to meet with you.” Sophie busied herself cutting a piece of beef.

“Liar. I think you were thinking about us in bed this morning.”

“Patrick!” Sophie hissed, looking around to see who else was in the room; thankfully, both Ribble and the maid had left.

“Sophie!” Patrick mimicked her. Just looking at her made his body ache. Hell, he wanted her again. He was like a rutting stallion. “We will go riding after lunch,” he said, thinking of a stream with a soft bed of grass beside it that he wanted to show her.

“No, thank you. I am to meet with Mrs. Gumbrill.”

Letty had told Sophie to meet with both the cook and housekeeper at the first possible moment. “
They
run the household, Sophie,” Letty had said, so after breakfast she had started with the housekeeper.

She certainly had an appetite, which was refreshing, Patrick thought, as Sophie started into her second helping.

“We will go after your meeting with Grouchy Gumbrill,” Patrick said.

“Do you have such names for all of your staff?” Sophie questioned, lifting one eyebrow.

Patrick shrugged. “I had to find some way to amuse myself as a child. I had no one else to annoy, so the servants took the brunt of it.”

Sophie studied the large, lounging earl opposite her. He seemed different here at Plentiful. It had only been one day, yet he was not the serious earl she had come to know. She was pleased that not all memories of his childhood were filled with his horrid parents and their indifferent treatment of him.

“I was a quiet child, as this seemed the best way to avoid my parents. Still I got into scrapes on the odd occasion.”

“Your parents deserved to be horsewhipped for their treatment of you!”

“Don’t frown, love,” Patrick said, leaning over the table to run his finger down her nose. “Everyone else loved me.”

He smiled as she rolled her eyes and snorted in disbelief.

“So about that ride,” Patrick said, taking a large gulp of coffee before he followed through with the urge to reach across the table and pull her into his arms.

“No, thank you. I cannot ride and have no wish to learn,” Sophie said, and Patrick knew by her closed expression that she thought the subject was not open for negotiation. She had a lot to learn about him, it seemed.

“And yet, I want you to learn, my sweet,” Patrick said smoothly.

“No.”

“Yes.”

Sophie glared across the table at her husband. “I do not like horses, they are large angry beasts, always stomping their feet …”

“Hooves,” Patrick supplied helpfully.

“And they slobber and bite and arch their backs so their seats …”

“Saddles,” Patrick supplied again, hiding his grin as Sophie sent him a filthy look.

“… come free and their riders are hurled through the air so they can break several bones.” Sophie shuddered.

“Still, I will teach you and no harm will befall you.” In this, Patrick was determined.

Sophie knew by his tone that he meant what he said. “Why must I learn?” she said, sounding peeved.

“Because we have hundreds of acres here at Plentiful, and I want to ride them all with you,” Patrick said, watching her.

“Can I not go by buggy or carriage?” Sophie asked, looking hopeful.

“No.”

“Can I walk?” she added desperately.

“Now you’re being silly.” Patrick threw down his napkin and climbed to his feet to signal the end of the discussion. “Now kiss your husband and then go and meet Grouchy Gumbrill,” he said, pulling Sophie to her feet.