To Marry The Duke (11 page)

Sophia smiled. “I’m not complaining.”

“Nor am I,” he replied, uncrossing one long leg and crossing the other over it. At the sight of his powerful, muscular thighs, she felt a tingle of desire move through her and had to pull her gaze away and try to focus on her gloved hands instead. “I recall admiring art with you a few nights ago,” he continued. “We were alone, then, too.”

“Yes. I’ve been thinking of those paintings we looked at. Especially the Rembrandt—the
Young Woman Bathing
. It was like peering into someone’s private moment. I’ve wondered what she was thinking about.” Sophia paused and gazed off into space.

James stared intently at her. She supposed he was witnessing her own private moment.

“I believe there is another Rembrandt out in this hall.” He gestured toward it. “A self-portrait.”

Sophia looked at the doorway that led out into the hall, and back at Lily, who was still conversing with her friends on the other side of the drawing room.

Could Sophia go alone with James into another room that seemed currently uninhabited?

Could she
not
?

Even here, sitting across from him in this drawing room, she was too far. She felt that “apartness” again and wanted more than anything to bridge it. Perhaps it was a physical thing; she wasn’t sure. She only knew that flame-hot desire was pulling at her, wrenching her away from her common sense.

Sophia stood up. “I would very much like to see the painting. Lily will see where we are going.”

Lily did, at that instant, lean out to watch them walk together out of the drawing room and into the hall.

Sophia and James crossed the quiet room. Her heels clicked over the marble floor and echoed over their heads; she looked up at the high cathedral ceiling. Even though she’d always considered herself a liberal girl, she nevertheless felt uncomfortable with what they were doing.

“Over here.” James led the way to a painting at the bottom of a wide staircase.

Sophia stood before it and let her mind relax about where she was and who she was with. She stared for a few minutes at the portrait. “He looks dignified.”

“Yes. Self-assured.”

“But sad, too. Look at his eyes. I wonder what he was thinking when he painted this.”

As she stared up at the work of art, she felt James studying her profile. “You often seem to wonder what people are thinking.”

She shrugged. “I suppose so. People are a mystery, are they not? You never know what is going on in a person’s mind or heart, and even if they tell you, how do you know they are telling you everything?”

He continued to stare at her profile. “I believe you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

Sophia’s heart lurched in her breast. She met his gaze and tried to fight the aching need to reach out and touch him. James looked over his shoulder. They were still completely alone, though Sophia could hear the hum of the crowd and the laughter of Lily and her friends not far from where they stood.

His fingers came up to touch her cheek, and she felt like she was going to melt into a puddle of desire right there in the hall. “I want to kiss you, Sophia.”

Her knees turned to liquid. She wanted to say, “We shouldn’t be here.” She
should
have said it, but something else spilled out before she could stop it. “I truly wish you would.”

His hand found hers; his was large and warm and strong as his fingers weaved through her own. He led her around a corner into an alcove.

She knew she was doing something unthinkable, but this man—this beautiful man—brought out a riotous fire within her, the kind of heat she had longed to feel in all those dull, stuffy New York drawing rooms, when she’d resigned herself to the fact that her life was going to be one colorless, tedious meaningless soiree after another. With James, for the first time in her life, she felt potent and indulgent. Alive.

God help me
, she thought, as he slowly lowered his lips to hers.

All her life’s experience could not have prepared her for that moment—for the echoing sweetness of his kiss and the spinning sensations that came from the mere feel of his moist lips upon hers. For the tickling of his thumb as it gently caressed her cheek. For the naughty impropriety of kissing a man in a secluded corner of a London assembly. She knew it was wrong, but she could not stop herself, and the sweeping power of it all was more electrifying to her than anything she’d ever seen or done before.

She parted her lips to taste the flavor of his tongue, and then he was taking another step closer and gathering her into his arms. The apartness faded away, and there she was, floating in his embrace, holding on to him with a desperation that was almost frightening. A whimper escaped her. He, too, made a quiet breathy noise from somewhere deep in his throat, and she knew that he was as dizzy as she, with this fierce passion and longing.

Before she knew what was happening, he had taken her hand and was leading her across the hall. She looked over her shoulder to see if anyone was watching them. There was no one, so she followed him willingly into the conservatory, which was unconditionally off-limits to a young lady and a single man, but she had no common sense left—only the desire to feel James’s hands on her body again, to feel his mouth upon hers and to hold him close, pressed hard against her breasts.

He led her down the stone steps and around a wall of ferns and palms and flowering shrubs and bushes, into a back corner where no one who might walk in could see them. Sophia would have followed him anywhere at that moment. She would have followed him upstairs to some unknown bedchamber and let him lock the door behind them if he’d gone that direction. Thank God he had not. There was still a chance they could sneak out of here unnoticed when they finished whatever it was they were about to do.

He leaned back against a wall and pulled her by the hand, firmly up against his hard body. “You taste like wine,” he said in a sensual whisper, “only better.”

“And you taste like nothing I’ve ever tasted before.”

Then she was kissing him again, running her hands through his beautiful, thick black hair and feeling his fingers tickle her shoulders and neck. It was too much for her to take—she didn’t know what to do, how to think, how to touch him. She’d never kissed a man like this. Had she been asleep her whole life? Was she waking up only now?

The next thing she knew, she was tossing back her head and he was kissing her neck and her breasts along the neckline of her gown. God, how she wanted him to be able to kiss beneath it, for his lips to penetrate the fabric and the firm wall of her corset.

“I wish we were alone,” she said breathlessly. “Truly alone.”

His eyes devoured her, his mouth melted her with a sexy, naughty grin that worked over her like magic. “That would be dangerous, my dear. I may be a gentleman, but I do have my limits, and if I had you alone, I would taste you, then fill every inch of you, and mark my words, you would walk away quite without your virtue. So perhaps it is best that we are here—at risk.”

She bent a knee to stroke the outside of his leg with hers. “I don’t want to think about that… about the risk.”

Although she knew she should.

He slid his hand around her thigh and raised her leg even higher. She could feel the firmness of his sex beneath his pants.

What in God’s name was she doing?

She’d never known what a man’s sex felt like, that it could grow and become so large and hard. She found herself pressing up against him, thrusting her hips through all their clothing and feeling drawn into some fiery, burning flame. She could not back out of it. She felt lust mounting in her like the hottest blaze, clouding all sense of reason.

Then she felt his hand lifting her skirt, sliding up under it to stroke her bare thigh above her stocking. She moaned softly, and he turned them around so that she was now up against the wall and he was pressed against her, his hips thrusting into hers.

“Oh, James,” she managed to whisper. But she did not know what to say after that. She couldn’t think.

Then there was a noise. Laughter echoing in the hall outside the conservatory.

James dragged his mouth from hers and lifted his index finger to his lips. She gazed into his sizzling eyes, only inches away, and felt his breath beating against her face. Her heart was pounding out a breakneck rhythm in her chest. They stared at each other for a moment, then he kissed her again and she kissed him back with abandon and raked her fingers through his glorious black hair.

They heard the laughter again. James pulled his mouth away from hers. “This is insane,” he whispered.

It was.

It was insane.

What had she been thinking, behaving this way? The duke probably thought she did this with every gentleman who suggested it. Surely he had lost all respect for her now.

Horror and regret coursed through her. Had she spoiled everything?

What could she do? How could she reverse it? She couldn’t.

“Let me go, this is wrong,” she whispered, in an instant of panic.

She pulled out of his arms and hurried along the leafy enclosure to peer out into the hall. The group of assembly guests—whoever they were—were out of sight, so she hurried from the conservatory and somehow found her way back to the buffet table, feeling breathless and bewildered and dazed with passion, which was not yet receding.

She touched a hand to her warm cheek. How could she have behaved with such a lack of restraint, when she continuously willed herself to act according to what her head told her to do, not her passions? What had happened to her logic and
clear-headedness?

* * *

James closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall in the conservatory. He tapped it a few times. Hard. He felt disheveled and shaky and out of breath, and wondered how—in a few singular passion-filled minutes—he could have lost all control of his senses. It was something his father would have done.

Sickened by that thought, he cupped his forehead in his hand and tried to gain back a semblance of calm.

“Dammit.” He could not possibly have handled this in a worse way. Yes, he’d kissed women in conservatory corners before, but experience had taught him never to kiss unmarried women in search of husbands. What had just occurred was proof that he was less in control than he had thought, and if he had any brains left in his head, he would recognize his failing and retreat from the path he’d set out upon.

But he could not. Not now, for he had just started a very heavy ball rolling with a momentum he could not stop. There could be no more thinking about things, no more considering the
possibility
of proposing. After what happened tonight, it was inevitable. There was no turning back, no way to get out of it, at least not honorably. He would have to ask for Sophia’s hand immediately before word of this got out, for surely someone must have seen them. Lily certainly had. Her friends were young; they did not know the importance of discretion.

God, the American heiress. Perhaps the strangest thing was that despite all his staggering misgivings, it was marvelously fantastic to know that he would have her.

His mother was going to cough up her lunch.

Chapter 8

The next morning, Sophia awoke early after a restless sleep. She ate a light breakfast and ventured outside to wander in the gardens. Lansdowne House— one of the few private London mansions to have its own gardens—was shrouded in a thick, yellow fog, as was the rest of the city. She felt the damp coolness of the air on her skin, imagined that her hair was turning a bit frizzy, but what did it matter? she thought, as she stepped over the flat stones that traced a path through a grove of towering elms. She was alone finally, thank goodness, away from the questioning looks of Florence and her mother.

They had left the assembly early the night before because she had told them she felt unwell. They were unconvinced.

She was not quite sure what else to say about it now. She was thoroughly ashamed of her behavior and could not bear to think of her mother knowing about it. Or her father. He would be so disappointed in her.

Just then, the clatter of hooves alerted Sophia to a visitor. The iron gates to the house swung open in the distance, and a large coach entered the courtyard, a coat of arms emblazoned upon its doors. There was a flurry of activity—groomsmen running out of the stables to tend to the horses, a footman in everyday livery scooting down the front steps to greet the guest.

Sophia watched from the garden as James—wearing a sleek black greatcoat and top hat—stepped gracefully down and looked up at the house.

What is he doing here
? she wondered in a panic. It was not the proper time of day for a social call. If he was here, it was an important matter of business.

Ten minutes later, Sophia, perched nervously on a bench under a tree, watched James exit the house and settle his black hat upon his head.

He crossed the courtyard toward the gardens. He knew exactly where he was going—straight toward
her
.

Sophia’s heart began to pound against her ribs. He looked like some dark, seductive creature against the grayness all around him—the stone mansion, the gravel courtyard, the fog, the mist. She could barely move from her place on the cold bench. All she could do was watch him walk toward her, growing closer and closer with each sure stride.

He stopped a distance away, fifteen feet perhaps. He removed his hat and held it at his side. “Are you not cold out here, Sophia?”

She swallowed hard. “It’s quite refreshing actually.”

Heavens, what did a girl say to a beautiful duke dressed in black the morning after she’d behaved like a trollop in his arms?

He took a few steps closer. “You’re not punishing yourself, I hope.” When she said nothing, he took a few more steps closer. “Because if anyone deserves to be punished, it is I.”

He sat down beside her, and his nearness made her whole body turn to sticky honey. She couldn’t seem to find a single word to say.

“I’ve spoken to your mother,” he said matter-of-factly. “She was kind enough to tell me where you were. She also gave me permission to speak to you about something rather consequential.” He laid his hat down on the bench and reached for her hands, which were like ice. He rubbed them and warmed them between his.

After a moment or two, he kissed them. All Sophia’s senses leaped to life. The feel of his warm lips upon her skin made her tremble with longing—longing to be in his arms again, to be swept away by the enormous, powerful lust she felt every time she looked at him.

He gazed into her eyes. “You must know why I have come.”

Speechless, she waited for him to continue.

“I’ve come, Sophia, because I wish to ask you to be my wife. To be my duchess.” He lowered his head to her hands and kissed them again—a long and lingering kiss.

Sophia wasn’t sure she could breathe, let alone speak. She had dreamed of this moment, but not quite like this. “Is this because of what happened last night?” she asked. “Because I don’t wish to be a wife you were forced to marry.”

He gave her a compassionate look that told her he had expected such a response. “I would be lying if I said last night had nothing to do with this. It has a great deal to do with it—but only because I realized that I could not bear another moment thinking that you might return to America, or that you might marry some other man, or that I would never have the chance to hold you in my arms again. I was bewitched last night, Sophia. Bewitched. I could no more have stopped kissing you than I could have stopped breathing. You are the most intriguing woman I have ever known, and I need, more than anything, to know that you will belong to me and no other.”

She gazed unblinking at his face. Had she heard him correctly? Had he said he was bewitched?

Of course the doubts came hurling at her all at once. “Did you speak to my mother about a settlement?”

He stared at her a moment, then cupped her chin in his hand. The intimacy of the gesture made her head spin with desires.

“Is that what you think? That I want you for your money?”

She gazed into his eyes, searching for truth. Was all this planned? Had he seduced her the night before to ensure her acceptance of his proposal? She did not know him well. Perhaps he was like all the rest—pretending to be interested in her when all he really wanted was her dowry. She could see it in their eyes.

But James… what did she see in his eyes? She wasn’t sure. She thought she saw desire, but was she seeing only what she wanted to see? Was she blinded by her attraction, which perhaps was only physical?

If only she had more experience in these matters. She’d never felt such lust before. She was not capable of judging its integrity. What if it passed in a week’s time? What if she later discovered he really was as devilish as all the gossips claimed—an accomplished rake who knew exactly how to seduce a young, innocent woman with money?

“I don’t know,” she replied at last. “Surely all of London must know what I am worth. Whitby knows.”

“Ah, Whitby.” He lowered his hand to his side and looked away, toward the house. “Are you thinking of him now?”

“No!” she blurted out. “It’s not that. It’s just that I thought because Mother told him, everyone must know.”

His chest rose and fell with a deep breath. “I am here because I can’t comprehend the idea of not having you.” He met her gaze directly. “And that is the truest thing I have ever said to you.”

Can’t comprehend the idea of not having you.

Nor could she comprehend the idea of not having him.

Having. What did that mean exactly?

To have and to hold…

What she wouldn’t give to have him hold her now.

“James, I’m not sure. This seems sudden.”

He took her hand again and kissed it many times. “Please, Sophia. Marry me and make me the happiest man alive. Come to my castle and be the greatest duchess my family has ever known. You told me once that you were in awe of England for its history. Come and be part of it—live it, become it. You wanted to see it from inside the very heart of it. You can, if only you will be my wife.”

Sophia sucked in tiny little breaths between parted lips. Was this real? Could she actually walk into a fairy tale and marry her prince charming?

Then, with no further contemplation, a response spilled out of her mouth. “Yes, James, I will be your wife.”

The whole world disappeared, just for a second, then it returned with the blissful awareness that he was going to kiss her. He pulled her into his arms and pressed his lips to hers, and she felt transported as if on a cloud. She was going to be his wife! They would spend the rest of their days loving each other, living happily ever after!

She glanced up at the house and smiled, for her mother was watching from an upstairs window, jumping with joy.