A Most Naked Solution (8 page)

C
HAPTER
F
OURTEEN

U
p this close, she could see a thin circle of amber around the dark brown rims of his pupils, the slight indent on the bridge of his nose from his spectacles. The warmth of his breath brushed across her lips.

She tried to savor it all.

Because Camden still hadn’t moved. And she was positive he’d never let her this close to him again.

She was a fool to think that he wanted her kiss, but her victory had made her feel brave. She wasn’t the type men dreamt of. She was plain and pale, almost to the point of being invisible.

But then Camden touched her. Starting at the very tips, he dragged his fingers over the back of hers, then across the skin on the top of her hands. By the time his fingers reached the inside of her elbows, her arms trembled. His hands continued up her arms to her shoulders, then his thumbs swept inward along the high, proper neckline of her gown. No closer to impropriety than her collarbone, the lowest the collar allowed him. She’d never hated wearing mourning more than at that moment.

She wanted to sway forward and kiss him again. But her moment of confidence had passed, drained away by old fears. He had to be the one to kiss her. She had to know he wanted her. That he was more than pitying her. That she wasn’t as lacking as Richard had always told her she was.

She knew she was supposed to be stronger than that. She’d told herself she was never going to allow Richard’s poison to rule her life. But what if that part hadn’t been poison? She’d never kissed another man. What if her kisses were as pathetic and unstimulating as he’d claimed? Richard had been a good kisser. At least that’s what other women had sighed about, but for Sophia it had always been awkward. She’d never been sure if she was doing it correctly. If she should apply more or less pressure.

Camden’s lips claimed hers, and all thoughts fled.

His mouth brushed hers—once, twice—before he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her into his lap. His mouth sought hers again, this time without hesitation. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, but when she parted them, he didn’t plunder roughly. Instead, he continued to explore the soft flesh of her lips, awakening every nerve ending. Sensitizing the skin to the point that when he gently raked his teeth across her bottom lip, a moan rasped from her throat.

She threaded her fingers through the short strands of his dark hair, struggling not to shift wantonly in his lap and reveal the extent of the tension between her legs. But the tighter she held herself, the closer it brought her to the brink of release.

She’d spent many hours imagining kissing Camden when she was a young girl. And perhaps a few more since she’d met him again yesterday.

Her imagination needed some serious work.

Her back arched as his hand slipped down her spine. He kissed the way he solved his proofs: slow, intense, thorough. He didn’t move on until every sensation had been fully explored. Until every pleasure had been magnified.

As his tongue twisted with hers, she could no longer keep her hips still. She shifted against him, pressing closer.

They both froze when her hip brushed against the evidence of his arousal. Wild passion glittered in Camden’s eyes, so different from his normal methodical analysis. His chest heaved against hers.

Not once had she thought the kiss awkward. Not for a moment had she even had time to think or analyze her actions. She’d simply been swept away.

Camden’s finger traced back and forth across her lower lip. “You’ve been wanting to try that?”

She licked the tip of his finger as it crossed the middle of her lip. “I had to know if I was capable.”

Her backside hit the seat with a thump as Camden removed her from his lap. The heat in his eyes cooled. “Why did you kiss me? Because you wanted to kiss me or because you had something to prove to yourself?”

She knew she’d offended him, but she owed him the truth. “Both.”

Camden crossed his arms across his chest. “I find myself less than flattered, but what was your conclusion?”

“That I should have been braver and ambushed you in the corridor of my parents’ house all those years ago.”

His arms unfolded. “That would have been awkward. I, no doubt, would have been terribly intrigued and yet helpless to do a thing in return. You were far too young.”

“Only by six years. You noticed me?”

“Your brother once asked me why my lectures were so much better on some days than others. I’ll admit my vanity pushed me to try harder when I suspected you were listening.”

Heat filled her cheeks. She wanted to ask if he’d gotten the letter confessing her girlish feelings, but what did she expect him to say? He obviously hadn’t cared enough to respond then. Did she truly want to know if that had changed?

“So what were you trying to prove?” Camden asked, following the line of her jaw with his thumb.

The warmth in her cheeks turned to a raging inferno. “My husband said I”—she cleared her throat—“lacked passion.”

Camden swore, but then his expression softened. “I hope you no longer believe that.”

“No.”

His eyes darkened. “If you have anything else you’d like to prove, I hereby offer my services.”

He was flirting. Some of her shock must have shown because he dragged his hand over his eyes. “I apologize if that wasn’t appropriate. I realize you are still in mourning. I do better with numbers than people.”

“I do not mourn him.”

“No, but I doubt you are looking for someone to take his place yet.”

In her bed or in her heart? Which position was he considering? Both? “I kissed
you,
if you recall.”

“Did you intend for it to go beyond the single kiss?” He shrugged at her silence, as if proving his point.

It took her a moment to gain the courage she sought. “What if I did?”

Camden’s rough exhale was interrupted by a tap on the window.

Sophia jumped. She hadn’t realized Camden never had a chance to give the coachman the order to depart. They were still sitting outside Mrs. Ovard’s house. That would give her something to gossip about.

“If you are ready, sir?”

Camden nodded, raking his hand through his hair. “Indeed. We will return Lady Harding to her house.”

“Very good, sir.” The coach swayed as the groom climbed back on his perch.

The coach lurched into motion and rattled along the rough street. Sophia turned her face and watched as the village passed, trying to make sense of her churning emotions. Only one thing was clear: she wanted to kiss him again. She wanted to do
more
than kiss him again.

Suddenly a horse screamed. The coach lurched, jolting along the cobbles with teeth-jarring speed.

Bracing his hands against the wall of the coach, Camden strained to look out the window. “The coachman’s still on the box.”

They heard shouts and warnings as the man tried to bring the vehicle back under control and the outriders followed behind.

Sophia gasped as the coach wove hard to the right, slamming her shoulder into the lacquered paneling. Camden braced his long legs on opposite sides of the coach, then wrapped his arms around her, keeping her tight against his body as the coach swayed again. Villagers outside screamed and cursed.

Sophia dug her fingers into Camden’s lapels, praying everyone would clear the path. Strangely, her worry wasn’t for herself. She felt uniquely safe in his arms. Even when Richard had still been charming, she’d always felt unbalanced around him. Yet in a coach hurtling toward destruction, she knew Camden would keep her protected.

The coachman’s commands softened to soothing nonsense as the jolting slowed to a rough sway, then stopped completely.

Camden was out of the coach the moment it stopped. “What the devil happened?”

“Someone threw a rock at the horses, sir,” the coachman said, his voice shallow and winded.

Sophia stood on shaky legs and went to the door of the coach. Camden assisted her down, his hand remaining on her waist afterward.

“Did you see who it was?” Camden asked.

The coachman shook his head, calming one of the horses whose nostrils still flared. “Didn’t see a thing. We were passing by the market and tavern. Hit the horse square in the flank.”

Camden’s hand tightened at her waist, which seemed to surprise him because he then flinched away.

The abashed grooms had nothing useful to add. The market had been filled with the usual villagers, but they hadn’t seen anyone actually throw the rock.

Finally, Camden shook his head and helped her back into the coach. He settled across from her. “What changed in the past week? Why is someone attacking you now?”

She tried to think. “You started to investigate again. You thought I was a murderer. Perhaps someone agreed with you?”

Camden’s face stilled. “Bloody hell, who?”

But she could think of very few people who cared enough about Richard to avenge him. Whenever they’d gone to an event, he’d always arranged to be in the center of everything. His looks and money guaranteed that. But very few people had come to the funeral.

“I don’t know.” She wished if a woman had cared about Richard that much, she would have stolen him away.

No, Sophia wouldn’t have wished Richard on anyone.

“You won’t be safe until we do.”

C
HAPTER
F
IFTEEN

C
amden went over the orders with Sophia’s butler one final time while she changed into a fresh gown and replaced her missing shoes. He’d arranged the footmen and grooms into patrols so there was always someone watching her house. He’d tried to convince her to stay with him until they’d identified her attacker, but she’d refused despite his perfectly logical arguments.

Camden circled the house one final time, checking windows and ensuring the patrols were in place. He wished they’d been able to create a useful list of suspects. But while the list of her husband’s lovers Sophia had provided had been sickeningly extensive, all of the women were safely away in London—although it was possible one of them had hired someone. He’d have Huntford look into those when he arrived.

Wicken joined him as he finished his circuit of the house. “Any news, sir?”

Camden shook his head. “How long have you worked at Harding House?”

“Nearly my entire life. Except those few years I served in the army as a young man.”

“Besides Mrs. Ovard, did Lord Harding have relationships with any village women?”

Wicken bent over to pull a weed from the gravel path. “Are there any he didn’t ruin?” He yanked the interloper out by the roots and crushed it in his hand. “This house has never been the main residence of the Hardings. They prefer their estate in Brighton. But they’d come out here about once or twice a year, and whenever they left, there’d be some local girl crying after his carriage. Showing up on the doorstep looking for promised things that we had no way of providing.”

“Could you make me a list?”

Wicken dropped the crushed weed from his hand and brushed dirt from his fingers. “I don’t reckon if I’ll be able to recall everyone.”

Camden stepped around a large oak tree to see how close the branches came to the windows on the upper floors. A curtain twitched and Sophia’s face appeared in a window above him. She was dressed in something white. Or not dressed. Heat surged through him as he thought of her clad in nothing but her shift. “Perhaps Mrs. Haws would know—”

“I’ll check with her, sir, and get right back to you. I know you’re busy, what with your work and watching out for her ladyship,” Wicken said.

A scream echoed through the garden.

Camden bolted into the house, shoving past the butler and grooms, taking the stairs two at a time. Why hadn’t he checked her room? He should have ensured her house was safe before allowing her into it.

Another scream, this time ending in a sob. He followed the sound toward an open door at the end of the corridor. It matched the window he’d seen from below.

“Get back!” Sophia’s voice was panicked but firm.

As Camden reached her room, a maid stumbled from the door directly into him. He had to grab her to keep her from collapsing to the ground, but his attention was already focused inside the room and on whomever Sophia was warning away.

But he couldn’t see anyone.

“Who—”

“Back away. Stay behind me,” she said again. But this time he realized she was talking to him just as she must have been talking to her screaming maid moments ago.

He disregarded her command, stepping to her side.

A quick writhing on the floor halted him. A snake. It stilled again, its beady eyes watching. A black tongue darted out, tasting. It twisted again. Restless. Agitated.

“Get behind me,” he ordered Sophia.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “I think I said that first.” The maid moaned again from the corridor. “Louise has a dislike of all things reptilian.”

So Sophia’s first urge had been to throw herself between the girl and the snake. Did it even occur to her that it should have been the other way around? How could he have thought her a murderer? She was too quick to protect those around her. Camden somehow knew that even if it had been her worst enemy in the room, she would have been the one to step in front.

But even if Sophia didn’t realize she was worth protecting, he did. “Get a blanket from the next room. I’ll throw it over the snake and—”

Wicken pushed past both of them, strode up to the snake, and snatched it up. Grabbing it behind the neck, he ignored the tail lashing around his arm. “How’d this get in here?”

The maid shrieked as Wicken approached her. “It was in a bag under the bed!”

Camden strode to the bed and retrieved a linen flour bag lying half-concealed under the bed. He spun toward the servants who had joined the commotion. “Who has been in this room?”

The butler wrung his hands. “I don’t know of anyone, sir. Except Louise and the upstairs maid, of course.”

“That would be me, sir.” Another maid stepped forward. “But I swear that wasn’t in the room when I cleaned this morning. And I didn’t notice anyone around her rooms.” She gnawed on her lip. “I don’t know who’d be trying to kill her.”

“Scare,” Wicken corrected.

“What?” Camden asked.

“This here’s a grass snake, not an adder. Not poisonous.”

Camden frowned at the news. This made no sense. “This seems more like a schoolboy prank.” Why would the attacks be decreasing in efficacy? Wouldn’t the person have become more desperate? More violent?

Camden noticed the number of people in the doorway. “Aren’t some of you supposed to be patrolling the grounds right now? What if this was a diversion?”

The butler stiffened and turned on the offenders, driving them back down the corridor.

Wicken held up the snake. “What do you want me to do with it, sir?”

Sophia answered. “Just take it out and let it go by the pond. There’s no reason to harm it.”

Of course she’d try to save the snake.

Wicken nodded and left, most of the servants following him.

Louise still leaned against the doorway, cheeks pale, decidedly unstable.

Sophia rested a hand on her arm. “Go rest for a few hours.”

“But, my lady—”

“I shall be fine. Rest.”

The maid nodded. Hugging her arms tightly about her waist and muttering about slimy, scaly things, she swayed from the room.

Sophia’s exhale shuddered from her. But before he could offer the comfort of his arms, she was laughing. “I’m such a fool. Perhaps I’d have been better off if my brothers tormented me with snakes rather than frogs. Those I can identify with remarkable skill.”

Her dark blue eyes met his and he couldn’t help grinning along with her. A fine pair they made, ready to do battle with a garden snake. He’d spent most of his childhood locked in his room studying. His father hadn’t allowed much time for adventuring.

She laughed until she pressed her hand against her stomach as if it hurt from too much gaiety.

In that instant, two things occurred to Camden. One: they were very much alone in Sophia’s room. Two: her hand was pressing directly against the white fabric of her stays.

His amusement ceased.

Camden braced his hand against the bedpost for support. How the devil had he missed that small detail? The presence of a four-foot-long hissing creature, he supposed.

Sophia lifted a hand to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye. He knew he should be a gentleman and leave, but he couldn’t stop himself from drinking in the sight of her first.

The soft mounds of her breasts cupped and uplifted by the support of her stays, quivering with her mirth. The almost impossibly tiny span of her waist.

Bloody, bloody hell. He’d waited too long to leave. There was no way he’d be able to do it now. Heat rose under his skin, tightening his loins.

With one move, he pulled her into his arms and brought his lips to hers, wanting to taste that joy. He wanted to catch each of her gasps, trap the warmth in her eyes, and forever banish the pain that lingered there.

For a moment, she stilled in his arms, but then with a moan, she molded herself against him, her lips responding to his.

He moved her until her back pressed against the bedpost, the primal need to get her into the bed overwhelming. His hand slid up her side and over the edge of her stays, the soft skin of her breasts rising to meet his hand. He could hear his own ragged gasps, but he was unable to control his body’s reaction.

“You need to laugh more often,” he whispered against the pulse fluttering in her neck.

“Apparently so.” She shifted, her hips pressing against his, driving with a pleading moan. He cupped her cheek, his finger tracing her cheekbone and the delicate skin under her eyes. The pupils had dilated, leaving them dark with want, unfocused in their intensity.

He found himself stepping back. Not breaking the connection with her skin, but allowing himself room to breathe, to think. He wanted those eyes focused on him, not carried away by passion—or at least not until he was sure she wanted this.

“You kissed me first this time,” she whispered. “You want me.”

“Yes.” She’d no doubt felt the proof of that quite clearly, but at the same time, a touch of unease knotted in his stomach. “Was this another experiment?”

“No.” But there was a question to her word, a slight uncertainty.

He had her hot and willing in his arms and yet somehow that wasn’t enough. She’d said in the coach she wanted to go beyond a kiss. Apparently, she was a woman of her word.

“You offered yourself for experimentation.” She dragged a finger down the front of his jacket, stopping just short of the waistband of his trousers.

He forced himself to take another step away from her, until he had fully escaped the intoxicating warmth of her body. Her hand dropped away. “What precisely do you want to try?”

E
verything. She wanted to strip him naked and press her lips to his chest. Kiss her way down his stomach until she could trail her tongue around his navel. But she couldn’t bring herself to say those words. “I desire you.” Couldn’t he just kiss her again? Why did he have to talk and confuse things.

“But is this what you want?”

Her aching body begged for completion. “You kissed me,” she reminded him again.

“I want what’s best for you. I question whether it’s me right now.”

“Why do you have to ask that?” Everyone had an opinion about her well-being, didn’t they? Or on what she was doing wrong. On what she could do better. On how they could keep her from ruining her own life.

She was tired of it.

“Can you honestly say you’re ready for me carry you to that bed?” He reached for her again, only to let his hands drop away without touching her. “I want to, you know.”

“I want that, too.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Are you certain? Absolutely?”

Already her head spun from kissing him. What if she coaxed things further? Her body wanted it; there was no doubt of that. But were her heart and mind ready?

Camden’s finger traced the shell of her ear, then down her neck, dipping to the valley between her breasts.

She shivered.

“When you are sure, Sophia, then we will finish this.”

A woman cleared her throat. They both spun. Louise stood in the doorway, mouth agape. “I remembered I hadn’t helped her ladyship dress.”

Camden backed away. She supposed he meant to slink away while she was distracted, but she wasn’t about to let him give her condescending proclamations without a response. “We’ll finish this in the library.” She wasn’t entirely sure which
this
she meant.

He nodded as he fled from the room. She had Louise rush her dressing, not even bothering with her hair. If it was mussed, it was Camden’s fault, after all. She finally replaced her slippers and hurried after Camden.

A footman stopped her in the corridor. “Begging your pardon, but a constable from Bow Street has arrived. He claims he was hired by Lord Grey to investigate you.”

Years of practice kept shock from showing on her face. He’d hired a Runner to investigate her. He hadn’t believed in her innocence after all.

Was she always going to be the gullible fool, only believing what she wanted to believe?

She’d thought Richard could fix her, that his charm and popularity could pull her from the shyness she’d always loathed. But in the end he’d only broken her more badly than before. “Put him in the parlor. Tell him Lord Grey and I will see him shortly.”

After a few angry strides, she flung open the door to the library. “I’ll admit that I kissed you first. But then you kissed me, curse you. You kissed me and said those things while all the time you thought me a murderer. While you planned to send a constable to my house.”

Camden backed away from the empty bookshelf he’d been studying. “I take it he’s here?” He flinched at her glare. “I hired him yesterday.”

“What do you expect him to find about me that I haven’t already told you?”

Camden’s brows lowered. “Nothing. I hired him before I believed you innocent. But now that he’s here, he can discover who is behind these attacks on you.”

That rather tarnished her righteous anger. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I should have warned you, but there has rather been a lot going on this morning.”

She couldn’t find fault with that statement. “In his mind I’m a suspect.” She’d managed to convince Camden, but could she convince a stranger? It had been easy to claim she’d take the blame to protect her father, but she refused to take the blame for anyone else.