Amelia Grey - [Rogues' Dynasty 06] (15 page)

He stopped rowing and pulled his oar out of the water and told Sophia to pull hers out as well.

He should have been more diligent. He knew the wind had kicked up, but he’d never seen fog roll in so fast. He turned and looked all around him. There was no marker, no light of any kind to guide them safely to the shore. He tried to remember where the other three boats were in connection to them, and he didn’t even remember how long ago it was that he saw them. He thought they were still on the water but wasn’t sure. He hadn’t paid much attention to their position. Had both gone in? Could he risk continuing to row when his visibility was diminished to the point he couldn’t see a blasted thing?

“Damnation!” he whispered under his breath.

“Where did you go, Mr. Brentwood? I can’t see you.”

“I’m still here, Miss Hart. I have not jumped in the water and left you.” Matson looked back toward Sophia. He couldn’t see her either.

Matson laid the oar on the bottom of the boat. It was foolhardy to keep rowing when he had no idea which direction he was going.

“We have to stop and drift until the fog lifts or until someone on shore lights a lantern to show which way to go. I didn’t mean to strand you out here in the middle of the Serpentine. No wonder Miss Shevington was so frantic. She must have seen the fog sweeping across the water. I’m sure your aunts are not happy about this.”

He wasn’t happy either. “They are probably swimming their way toward us right now,” he said. “Once at the harbor in Baltimore I saw the fog this thick, but I don’t remember that it came in so fast.”

There was silence.

“Are you all right, Sophia?”

He heard nothing but the wind whipping around his ears and water sloshing against the boat. She hadn’t spoken since she said she couldn’t see him.

Matson’s skin prickled. “Sophia.”

He turned around in the seat but saw nothing but gray at the other end of the boat. “Sophia,” he said again, his chest tightening in alarm. “I really need you to answer me right now.”

What will not woman, gentle woman dare; when strong affection stirs her spirit up.

—Robert Southey

“Sophia.” Matson said her name louder and with more urgency than before.

He heard movement, and the boat started rocking, dipping precariously from side to side. “Sophia, what are you doing? Don’t stand up.”

“I can’t see you. Where are you?” she asked softly.

Thank God she’d finally answered him. For a moment he feared she might have somehow slipped soundlessly into the water. Suddenly the boat tilted dangerously again.

“No, Sophia, don’t move. You’re not standing up, are you? Sit down. You’ll tip us over.”

Matson knew if she fell into the water wearing that heavy cloak it would drag her to the bottom of the river.

“Do you smell smoke? I can’t find you.”

Smoke?

“No. Stay where you are.” Matson didn’t even smell fish or the sea. He certainly didn’t smell smoke. He quickly swung his feet over his seat and said, “I’ll come to you.”

Matson dropped to his knees and cautiously crawled to the other end of the boat. It dipped and swayed as water sloshed up against the sides. The fog was so thick he could barely make out her black cloak as he touched her knee. She threw her arms around his neck, knocking his hat off his head. She buried her face securely in his chest and held him in a tight, frightened grip.

“I’m so glad you found me,” she whispered. “I was lost and couldn’t see you. Hold me. I can smell the smoke, and I can’t breathe.”

His arms slid beneath her cloak and round her waist, pulling her tightly against him. She was trembling, her chest heaving dramatically, as if she were truly choking and having trouble breathing. Why had she mentioned smoke again?

He quickly untied the bow at her throat and shoved the bonnet off her head. Next he unfastened her cape and shoved it away from her neck. He placed his fingers under her chin and tried to force her to lift her head so she could get air, but she refused.

“I smell smoke,” she whispered again.

Matson sniffed in deeply, There wasn’t even a faint hint of smoke in the air. Anger at himself rose up in him. He shouldn’t have put her in a position of being so frightened, but he had been more interested in Sophia than he was in the weather.

“There’s no smoke, Sophia, just fog.”

She shook her head. “No, you’re wrong. I can’t see it, but I can smell it. I couldn’t find you.”

Matson stroked her back and shoulders, comforting her, reassuring her with the only words he knew to say. “I’m here with you, Sophia,” he whispered. “You’re not alone. I won’t let go of you. There is no smoke on the Serpentine. Just fog. Listen. You can hear the water lapping against the boat. You can feel the rocking, right?”

He heard her hiccup and felt the tremor leave her body.

“But I smelled it. It was choking me. I couldn’t breathe.”

She tried to bury her face further into his waistcoat. Matson assumed the fog must have prompted a memory from her past. An ache sprouted in his chest.

“But it’s gone now.” He continued to slowly rub his hands up and down her back, wanting to calm her and chase away the last of her fears. “The smoke is gone, and you’re safe. Move down here on the bottom with me,” he coaxed. “It will make the boat steadier, and I can hold you closer.”

Matson helped her scoot off the bench seat and make herself comfortable beside him on the floor. She never took her arms from around him or lifted her face from his chest. He immediately felt her soothing warmth against him. He felt better knowing that she was in his arms and right beside him. Matson leaned against the corner of the boat made by the junction of its side and the seat. He kept one arm around her waist and slid his other arm around her shoulders.

“Are you cold?” he asked, trying to wrap the ends of his cloak around her too.

“No. I don’t know what happened. All of a sudden it smelled just like it had the night I couldn’t find Papa.”

Matson went still. Sophia had told him that she lost all her mother’s things in a fire. Was she in the house when it caught on fire?

“When was that?” he asked cautiously.

“Years ago, but sometimes it seems like it was yesterday.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I woke up coughing. I knew something was wrong, so I grabbed my doll and opened my door. Smoke rushed at me the way the fog covered me just now. I couldn’t see down the corridor. I couldn’t see the door to Papa’s room. I called to him, and he didn’t answer at first.”

A shiver stole over Matson, and he kissed the top of her head. “How old were you?”

“Seven.” She rubbed her cheek across his chest. “I started down the hallway, trying to find him. I tried to scream for Papa, but the smoke was choking me. I couldn’t breathe. I remember hearing Papa calling my name over and over, but he couldn’t find me either.”

“How did you get out?” Matson asked.

“I must have fallen to the floor, because I remember he scooped me up in his arms. He buried my face in his nightshirt and held it there. He told me not to look up and that I couldn’t breathe until we were out of the house. He was coughing and stumbling. He fell twice as we went down the stairs, but somehow he held on to me, and we finally made it out of the house.”

She paused and sighed heavily. “Papa kept me safe from breathing in the smoke, but he had to breathe it in to get us out of the house. His lungs were never the same after that. If I hadn’t left my room, he wouldn’t have had to spend time searching for me. He seldom had a day where he could draw a deep breath after that.”

“Is that the fire where you lost all of your mother’s things?”

Sophia nodded. “There was nothing left of the house or anything in it. My mother had died six months earlier. For years after the fire, I had this recurring nightmare where I’d see my mother’s dress catch on fire. The flames would eat their way up her dress until she was completely consumed by the fire and the smoke. There would be nothing of her left. Not even any ashes. It was as if she’d never been standing there.”

Matson felt as if something squeezed his chest. “That must have been a horrible dream for such a little girl, Sophia. I’m sorry.” He bent his head and kissed her cheek several times.

“I hadn’t had the dream in a long time, years maybe, until I lost the brooch. Now—”

“Shh,” he said and kissed her forehead and cheek again, willing her to feel his comforting embrace. “Don’t think about it ever again. You are safe from the fire, safe from the smoke, safe from the nightmare. I don’t want you to have that dream tonight or tomorrow night or ever again. Raise your head and look at me.” She resisted again. “Come on, Sophia. I want you to see that this is gray fog. It might look like gray smoke, but it’s not.”

She slowly raised her head. “But I can’t see you.”

Matson cupped her cheeks in his hands, but in the dense vapor he couldn’t make out her features either. “You can feel me, right? You are safe with me.”

Sophia nestled closer to him, burying her nose against the bare skin of his neck. Emotions Matson didn’t want to recognize stirred within him. He felt her warm breath against his damp skin. He knew he couldn’t take the pain of her past away from her, but he would give it one hell of a try to help her bear it.

“How did you manage to save the one brooch?”

“That morning before the fire, Papa let me look through Mama’s jewelry to pick out something for my doll to wear. I liked the flower brooch, so I pinned it to her dress. Somehow I made it out of the house with my doll still in my hands, saving the brooch.”

“Why did you have it in your reticule that day on the street?”

“The center stone was missing. I couldn’t find it. My aunts and I were taking it to a jeweler to have it replaced. I still can’t believe it’s gone.”

Matson was silent for a few moments. His eagerness to find that boy thief and recover her brooch grew. He held Sophia close, enjoying the feel of her in his arms. He smiled to himself. At first he thought she was safer the closer she was to him, but the way his body was reacting to her, he wasn’t so sure that was true.

“Better?” he asked.

“Much better,” she said and raised her head again. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually such a weak ninny, but the fog came in so quickly, I felt as if I were in that smoky corridor again, searching for my father.”

“Sophia,” he murmured softly, “that doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human. And you certainly don’t have to apologize to me for memories you can’t control.” He touched her cheek. “Don’t think about that night again. You’re safe with me.”

Suddenly she reached up and kissed him on the cheek, allowing her lips to linger on his skin for a moment before letting them glide to the corner of his mouth, where she kissed him again. The brush of her lips against his was warm, enticing, and instantly arousing.

The only sounds he heard were his own heavy breathing and the water lapping at the sides of the boat. Matson knew it was going to be damn near impossible for him to stay a gentleman.

“You are entering dangerous territory, Sophia. Are you sure you want to go there?”

“I am sure I want to kiss you, Matson.”

“Did you just call me Matson?” he asked cheerfully, hoping to tamp down his growing desire as easily as he’d denied the loving emotions swelling and swirling in his chest.

“When I think about you, I always think of you by your Christian name.”

He smiled. “So you are admitting that I cross your mind from time to time.”

“More often than you should,” she said softly.

“Me too, Sophia,” he murmured huskily. “I think of you much too often.”

She turned more toward him and kissed the side of his mouth again. His body reacted strongly to her touch.

“How much of the brandy did you drink?” Matson asked.

“Not much, why?”

“I think that could be what is inspiring your kisses.”

“I didn’t know that drinking brandy makes a person want to kiss.”

Matson chuckled but thought about what she’d said. “It’s not that it makes anyone want to kiss,” he explained, “but if you drink too much, it can certainly cause you to lose your inhibitions so you would be more willing to kiss.”

He heard her feeling around on the floor of the boat. “Here is the flask. Take it and see for yourself that I have not had enough brandy to make me tipsy.”

Matson felt in the gray mist and took hold of the flask. She was right. “It’s still full.”

She rested her arm on his chest and leaned over him. “Then drink some brandy, Matson, because I want you to be willing to kiss me.”

“Do not try to tease me, Sophia. I don’t need brandy to encourage me to kiss you. All I have to do is think about you, look at you, or touch you, and I want to kiss you.”

“Then don’t make me wait any longer.”

Matson had known he was attracted to her the moment he saw her, and that hadn’t changed, no matter how desperately he’d wanted it to when he found out who she was. She tempted him as no other lady ever had, and right now he was powerless to do anything other than her bidding.

Matson dropped the flask to the floor of the boat. An urging from deep inside prompted him to hastily remove his gloves and let them fall to the floor of the boat too. He then swung his cape off his shoulders and made a pillow for Sophia’s head against the edge of the seat. He’d tried to deny his attraction to her. He had tried to deny her, but every once in a while a man had to go with his instinct, and his was telling him that here on the water, under the cover of thick fog, was the perfect time to kiss Sophia with all the abandon he’d long desired.

He bent his head as he placed his hands on each side of her face, and captured her lips with his. He sought her sweet mouth with his and moaned with pleasure. He kissed her softly and lingeringly at first, taking his time to run his tongue along the seam of her lips, before easing it into her mouth to taste her fully. His hand skimmed down her neck, glided across the top of her shoulder, and drifted down her arm.

She leaned into his chest. Through his waistcoat, he felt her soft breasts pressing against him. He let his lips drift away from her mouth to the soft skin of her neck just under her jawbone, lingering there for a few moments before skimming down to the hollow of her throat. He felt the erratic beat of her pulse against his lips.

He lifted his head and tried to look into her eyes, but it was too gray and misty to peer into their green depths. He managed to make out that she smiled at him. She reached out her hand and cupped the side of his face. Pleasure washed over him.

Her touch was gentle, comforting. “Did my beard scratch your skin?” he asked.

“No,” she whispered. “There’s so little of it I hardly notice it’s there. I just want to touch you.”

Keeping on with his slow manner, he took her hand in his and gently, finger by finger, pulled off her gloves. He then pressed his nose into her palm. He breathed in deeply, filling himself with her essence. He planted a kiss in the center of her hand before gently sliding his fingers through hers and linking their hands.

Their lips met, and Matson kissed her again and again, trying to get his fill, hoping his body would tell him “enough,” so he could set her from him. But all the endless kisses made him want were more and more. And the way her lips clung to his let him know that she felt exactly what he was feeling.

He plundered her mouth with growing passion and sweet freedom. Each kiss melted into the next, and all he could think was how good, how right, how desirable she was in his arms. He gently laid an open hand on her chest between her breasts, wondering if he should go further.

“Don’t be afraid to touch me,” she whispered.

The tone of her voice warmed him like flames from an open fire. Heat rose from deep within him. He no longer felt the breezy wind whipping at his hair or the cold spray from the water on the back of his neck.

“I’m not afraid of touching you,” he answered, “I’m afraid only of hurting you.”

“I am not worried that you will hurt me. I want your touch, Matson. I want us to be together like this.”

The heel of his palm rested on the crest of her breast, and his fingertips played in the hollow of her throat. He slowly moved his hand over one breast and then the other, taking his time to feel her firm yet soft shape beneath the layers of clothing, wishing he could find her nipple. He loved the feel of her breasts in his hand, even though they were hidden by the firm stays and crisp fabric of her dress.