To Marry The Duke (13 page)

“Oh, no, Sophia,” Clara said. “Everyone’s thrilled for you. It’s like a fairy tale. You’ve read the headlines.”

“Yes, but this person seems to think James is some kind of lowly scoundrel, when in actuality, he’s a responsible landlord of a huge estate. He’s a successful, well-respected man!”

“Of course he is,” Clara said. “He’s an English nobleman! This writer, whoever he is, is just jealous. Some people are always looking for things to complain about, and they hate seeing anyone else happy. They have to spoil it somehow. Don’t they, Adele?”

It seemed a simple way to cheer her up, but Sophia appreciated the attempt.

Her other sister nodded. Adele, unlike Clara, despised anything melodramatic or scandalous or the least bit out of the ordinary. Clara sometimes called Adele a prude, but Sophia knew Adele was just a proper young lady who wished to please her parents and follow the rules. There was nothing wrong with that. Probably, when she was out, she would marry a Mr. Peabody. Someone acceptable. Someone who wouldn’t surprise anyone or cause any friction or gossip.

Clara smiled and strolled back to the dressing table. She picked up her brush and ran it through her thick hair. “If we had noticed that article, we would have pulled it out and burned it before we gave the paper to you. Like Auntie made us do with the other one.” She gave Sophia a mischievous little grin.

“What other one?” Sophia asked.

Adele gritted her teeth with a good-natured warning. “Clara…”

“Tell me!” Sophia demanded, laughing and grabbing the brush from her sister.

Clara turned to face her. “Oh, all right,” she said, sounding pleased to have something juicy to relate. The three of them in their nightdresses leaped onto the bed.

Clara started giggling. “Poor Auntie nearly swooned on the train when she read it.”

“Read what?” Sophia demanded.

“There were illustrations and everything. I don’t know where they found such sordid details.”

Sophia grabbed her sister’s arm. “Tell me!”

Clara paused for a moment to draw out the suspense, then said, “There was an entire column all about your wedding day underclothes!”

“What?”

“Which, of course,” Clara added, “only the duke will ever see in real life.”

“Clara!” Adele scolded. “You needn’t be so vulgar about it!”

“They said the ribbon on your chemise came from Queen Anne’s own trousseau, and that your corset hooks were made of gold.”

“And there were illustrations?” Sophia asked in dismay.

“Yes!” Clara laughed and flopped down onto the bed. “You should have seen Auntie’s face! She looked beastly!”

Sophia stood up and went to the dressing table to look at her reflection in the mirror. “I hope James doesn’t hear of it. Imagine. Corset hooks made of gold. As if any of that mattered.”

Meanwhile, back in London, James’s mother— claiming she was unwell—packed up in a huff and left for the country, while his solicitor and the Wilson family lawyers haggled over the finer points of what was to become the largest marriage settlement in English history.

Chapter 10

“I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

The sound of her fiancé's deep, seductive voice from behind, his breath hot and moist in her ear, sent gooseflesh dancing down Sophia’s spine. Standing next to her mother in a stuffy, overcrowded ballroom at a country estate not far out of London, she smiled and turned to face him.

God, but he was gorgeous. It was excruciating just to look at him. He wore his usual black suit with tails, white shirt, white bow tie and waistcoat, and it contrasted so sharply with his midnight black hair, the effect was devastating.

James took her gloved hand, raised it to his lips, and laid a warm kiss upon her knuckles, never taking his fiery gaze off her as he did so. “A walk on the terrace, perhaps?” he suggested.

“That would be delightful.”

He greeted her mother and the other ladies in the group, then offered his arm. He and Sophia headed toward the large, open doors on the opposite side of the ballroom.

Everyone was watching them, whispering with curiosity and fascination. Sophia didn’t mind. She was proud to be the woman James had finally chosen as his wife. Proud to show them all how gloriously infatuated with each other they were. And how wrong the gossips were about him.

“You look ravishing tonight,” James said. “You make it difficult for a man to wait for his wedding day. It’s painful, actually.”

She laughed and rubbed her shoulder up against his. They reached the cement balustrade and faced each other under the stars. A breeze swept through the leafy oak trees and swooped down over the grass, like a whisper in the night.

“Have you been enjoying all the attention?” he asked. “I imagine your social calendar has filled up considerably.”

“Yes, it’s astonishing. I can’t get over it.”

“Everyone wants to get a look at us together, be the first to congratulate us. They are in awe of you, my dear.”

Sophia lowered her gaze. “You know I don’t care about any of that, James. I just want to be your wife.”

“I want that, too.” He surveyed the couples around them as if to determine what social rules currently applied, then reached a hand out to touch her cheek.

His thumb feathered over her skin, then moved lightly over her lips. The sensation was tantalizing. Sophia closed her eyes briefly, took his hand in hers, and pressed it to her open mouth. She boldly tasted his palm with her tongue.

“You’re killing me, you know,” he said, taking a step closer to her.

She met his wicked gaze. “It’s not my intention.”

“No? Our wedding is not for two months. I don’t think I can withstand this kind of thing until then.”

“I want to be alone with you, James. Every minute of the day, it’s all I can think about. I had no idea it would be like this.”

With an experienced eye, he glanced around the terrace again, then reached for her hand. “Perhaps a walk in the garden.”

“Yes,” she replied breathlessly.
Yes to anything. To everything
.

“I am a well-bred gentleman,” he said, leaning close, “so I will offer you my arm and politely escort you down the stairs, when what I really want to do is grab your hand and run.”

She laughed and took his arm. They descended the stairs and stepped onto the soft, cool grass. The moon was full. The sweet scent of roses drifted languidly upon the clean, night air. It was a perfect, perfect evening.

“Have you picked out your wedding dress?” he asked, resting his hand upon hers.

“Yes, but I’ll tell you nothing about it, nor will I say anything about the flowers I’ll be carrying or the color of my sisters’ gowns or the fabric of their sashes.”

His voice was tinted with amusement. “You seem to enjoy torturing me with suspense. Just a little hint?”

“Absolutely not!”

“Please?”

“No!” she said, laughing.

“I give up. You are a rock. You’ll make an excellent duchess.”

She rested her head upon his shoulder. “I hope so. I want to make you proud.”

“You’ve already made me proud. Every man in London envies me.”

“You’re just trying to flatter me.”

“Indeed I am, but it’s God’s honest truth.”

They strolled around the garden to the other side, where the trees grew tall and full.

“I’m glad you’re wearing a dark gown this evening,” James said.

“Why?”

Guiding her by the hand, he began to back away, into the wispy branches of a weeping willow. They draped like a beaded curtain, and he passed through, lifting the boughs for Sophia. His voice was quiet and searing with tempting allure. “So no one will notice when I lure you into the shadows.”

Sophia smiled and bent forward to pass under the leaves, then straightened beneath the thick canopy. Though the moon was full, it was almost pitch-black beneath the tree.

“What are we doing?” she asked in a sultry voice.

“We’re stealing privacy.”

“This is dangerous, James. If anyone sees us…”

He backed up against the huge trunk of the tree and gently pulled her toward him. “They won’t. Come closer.”

“Why?” she asked wickedly.

“Because I want your lips, Sophia.”

She could barely see his face in the darkness, only sensed where he was and where his mouth was. The thrill of touching him without really seeing him sent a flurry of titillating tremors through her body.

“Then take them.” She sighed, pressing her lips to his and giving in to the lusty hunger that had been assaulting her senses for weeks.

The kiss was deep and hot. Knees melting into a syrupy liquid, she whimpered at the feel of his tongue mingling with hers, the exquisite, spicy, soul-blazing taste of him. She clutched at his strong, broad shoulders for support. Leaned into his hard body.

She felt an instinctive need to push her hips into his pelvis, and he moaned and grabbed onto her bottom when she gave in to it. His firm arousal, pressing against her pelvic bone, caused a torrent of drenching heat to escape her feminine center.

He tilted his head one way, then the other, eating at her mouth as if he were starving for her. She pulled off her long gloves and let them drop to the ground. Shamelessly, she moved her hands over his chest and into the warmth of his suit jacket, around his hips and under the waistband of his trousers. She tried to unfasten a button—doing everything by feeling for it— wanting to slide her fingers in and touch him, but he took hold of her hand and shook his head.

“You’re entering dangerous territory, darling. Perhaps, not yet.”

An owl hooted somewhere in the distance. “But the waiting… it’s impossible, James. I’ve been able to think of nothing but this. I want to know what you feel like.”

He closed his eyes, went still for a moment. “When you say things like that, it becomes a painful exertion to behave like a gentleman.”

He was struggling to pull back on the reins. For some unknown reason, his need to do so, and the fact that it was difficult for him, aroused Sophia even more. She opened her mouth and kissed him again, finding a perverse pleasure in this power that she seemed to have over him—in knowing that she pushed him to his limits.

He responded passionately, cupping her head in his big hands and thrusting his tongue into her mouth. “I should take you back,” he whispered against her cheek as he left a trail of kisses to her neck.

Sophia let her head fall to the side. “Not yet. Please.”

“You mustn’t plead with me, darling, it makes me insane.”

“Then I’ll beg. Please, James, please…”

She felt him smile against her neck, then nibble at her ear. “You have no mercy, do you?”

“I don’t know. I don’t seem to care about anything right now except the feel of your hands on me in this delicious darkness. This is all so new to me, James. I’ve never felt anything like it. Everything seemed to happen so fast between us, but now, the time is passing so slowly. I want to marry you now. This minute. I want to be your wife.”

He dragged his lips from her neck and glanced up at the house. A Strauss waltz was playing inside the ballroom; the sounds of the orchestra were faint but discernible. “We’ve been gone a while.”

He was right, and she knew it, but that didn’t make it any easier to take even one small step away from him.

“I know,” she said. “We should return, but I don’t want to.”

“I don’t either, but this is torture. You are an extraordinary woman, Sophia.”

She smiled at the compliment and backed away from him, picking up her gloves and smoothing out her gown. “All right then, since you put it that way.”

“Mercy at last.”

He moved away from the tree and straightened his tie, then graciously offered his arm. They strolled back to the ballroom.

James danced with his future wife, laughed with her and openly flirted with her, and realized with profound turmoil that tonight he had relinquished any futile attempts to exercise his self-control. Out there in the darkness, he’d been entranced by her. Enthralled by the hot, wet texture of her mouth, shaken by his own body’s response to the way she’d touched him with those eager, searching hands.

She now stood beside him, talking to a gentleman in their group. God, he wanted to touch those hands— peel off her gloves and take each of her slender fingers into his mouth and suck on them for an eternity.

It was as if the flood gates had opened, and he’d completely given in to this mad, ravenous desire for his betrothed.

He glanced around for a tray of champagne and took a glass from a passing footman.

This was not at all how he’d imagined things would be, he thought, as he took the first sip, nodding politely as if he were listening to the conversations around him. He’d intended this marriage to be a business matter, dammit. As Sophia said—
a fair exchange
.

Perhaps it was simply the lure of the forbidden and the strain of constantly suppressing a damned inconvenient number of persistent, aching erections. He tried to tell himself that after he made love to Sophia properly on the wedding night and on their honeymoon, the pressure would ease off.

But for now, what to do. He wanted her, there was no getting around that, and she wanted him. Fortunately, they would have each other soon. The wedding day was approaching, and he would finally be able to quench this massive fire in his sexual core. Sophia would satisfy her curiosity. He would have the honeymoon to enjoy her, as she would enjoy him. They would travel to Italy, spend a few magical weeks with each other. Perhaps it would be best to hold nothing back, he thought. Perhaps he needed to release this pent-up lust. He had been suppressing his passions for what felt like forever.