Deeper in Sin (26 page)

“Stop blaming yourself. Stop tormenting yourself with nightmares. I have—I know what children are like. My friend Belle has children, and through them I've seen that children are innocent and trusting, especially at such a young age. They don't yet understand that people can be monsters. Let us walk out of here and, at the same time, please walk away from your memories. You deserve some happiness.”

“So do you. Sophie”—his raspy voice cracked with emotion—“you are so precious to me.”

At that moment, the other Wicked Dukes entered. As they took over watching Angelique, Cary cupped Sophie's face and drew her to him. Her hair was in tangles. With the palm of his hand, he pushed it back. He gently ran his thumb along her lower lip.

“I know what I want to do to you tonight,” he murmured.

“What?” she whispered.

But he wouldn't tell her.

 

It was almost dawn when she rode with Cary to a nearby inn. With the Wicked Dukes, they had taken their prisoners to the nearest jail. Sophie discovered Cary had left his horse at the inn and had taken a strong, fresh gelding to gallop to the cottage. He engaged a carriage to take them home while Saxonby would ride his horse back. The other two dukes would use the carriage they had traveled in to the cottage. Grey was anxious to return to his wife.

In the carriage, Cary drew her close.

And he kissed her.

Such a kiss! It could have melted rock and turned it into boiling lava. A long, lush, heated kiss. She wanted more kisses, but the warmth and the pleasure relaxed her.

They were safe. It was all over—

The next thing Sophie knew, she was in her bed in her town house, naked and under warm covers. She sat up, confused. A roaring fire had been built, and Cary was prodding it with the poker. “Oh, what happened?”

He turned, and she lost her breath. He wore a white linen shirt, open at the throat, the tails hanging out, cuffs undone. Black trousers clung to his long legs, his taut buttocks. His blond hair was mussed, falling over his eyes.

He was
en déshabillé,
and she wriggled under the cover. She grew wet and achy just looking at him. “I remember you kissed me. It was a volcanic eruption of a kiss.”

His slow grin stole her breath again. “I'd intended to kiss you the entire way home, but you fell asleep on me.”

She flushed. “I'm so sorry. That's not what mistresses are supposed to do.”

“You deserved it. You must be exhausted.”

“I'm not anymore.” Taking a deep breath, she pushed the covers off her body. Slowly. Suggestively, she hoped.

“What do you want to do?” She shifted so her arms squished her bare breasts together, making them look more full and round. “Would you like me to suck you?” she asked. “Or would you like to do that to me? Or something with toys again.” She knew she was blushing. “That was rather fun.”

“You ask that so cheerfully and sweetly, as if you're asking what I want in my tea. You made me understand a lot about myself. Tonight, I realized something. You are utterly irresistible, Sophie.”

“I am?”

“You helped me face my demons, love. You never judged me. You never condemned me. Even when you were dragged into danger, because of me, you only wanted to help me.”

“Of course I did.”

He walked toward the bed. Propped his knee on the end of it. She couldn't tell what he wanted. He'd kissed her passionately. Right now, in the glow of the fire, he looked so handsome. But also younger than usual. Vulnerable.

“I want to make love to you, Sophie. I still don't know if I can. But I want to try.”

She held out her hand. “I want that very much.”

It was like dealing with an animal that had been abused. She knew that from life in the country, from living near farms. She couldn't do anything too quickly. Push too hard.

She slipped out of the bed and walked around to him.

The fire crackled, and the light of it danced. It was warm in her beautiful room. He watched her come to him. This moment was charged, special.

She was almost afraid to speak, as if she might break a spell. She stroked his broad shoulders. “Let me help you undress.”

Together, they lifted the hem of his shirt, whisking it up over his flat abdomen. She could count each muscle if she wished. She could only lift his shirt so high. He took over, pulling it over his head.

More wetness rushed between her legs as he threw the shirt, his chest, arm, and back muscles flexing and moving as he did. Underneath, he was naked, the golden hair on his chest flattened in whirls. His skin was so smooth and the color of milky tea—just kissed with a bit of sun browning.

Sophie pressed her hands to his taut, flat belly. She ran her fingertips on his hot, silken skin, to his jutting hipbones, which flared up above the waist of his trousers. She ran her hand saucily along his hip. “This is going to be so much fun,” she said lightly. Tracing them made her shiver inside. Made her cunny ache for him.

They were going to try to make love. She was thrilled. And a little bit scared.

She had to make this perfect for him.

Cary caught her hands, lifted them from his hips. “I have to sit down and fight to get the boots off, angel.”

“I could help.”

Cary set his rump on the edge of their bed. That was how she wanted to think of the bed—their bed, not her bed.

“Hmmm. I have a bootboy. He puts his arse facing me, lets me brace against his backside to pull them off.”

“You are joking.”

“I'm not.”

“And gentlemen claim that women's clothing is idiotic.” She turned, then pointed her naked bottom at him. She bent over and took hold of his right boot. “You brace and I'll tug.” She turned to look at him. His eyes gleamed at her, and with a swift motion of his hands, he undid his trousers. He stood, shoving them down. His erect cock was caught in his trousers for a moment, then sprang upward.

“I can't wait, angel,” he said hoarsely.

He helped her up, drew her back to the bed. He fell back onto the mattress, pulling her with him. She squealed with surprise as she landed on his broad, bare chest. His hand cupped the back of her head, drawing her into a kiss.

Sophie wanted to play. She threaded her fingers in Cary's silky hair. She parried her tongue with his. She knew how to kiss now. The beauty of kissing was it wasn't just about kissing him with skill, but about sharing something exciting and sensual together.

She let her mouth caress his. Gently. Teasingly. Then she kissed hard and passionate and thrust her tongue into his mouth. When she backed off, he was breathing hard. His blue eyes were hazy with lust.

He pursued her, kissing her, holding her so tight to him that there was no air between them. They were both essentially naked. Two now warm bodies pressed together. She felt steam rising between them.

She almost wanted to sob. With happiness.

She loved Cary. She knew she did.

Cary rolled her gently onto her back, then he got on top of her. She sank a little into the soft mattress. She wanted to be so close to him. As he kissed her, she hooked her leg around his legs. Wrapped her arms around him.

He kissed her mouth. Her cheek. Even her chin, which made her giggle.

His head rested in the crook of her neck, and he kissed a spot under her jaw. Oh God! That one made her shiver and gasp.

She touched his back. Felt his warmth. She pressed her hand against his chest to feel the beat of his heart. Ooh, fast.

His lips closed over her right nipple. He knew just what to do. Lick. Suck. Tug. Flick with his tongue. He would tease her like this until she was ready to explode—

He stopped. His mouth skimmed lower. Down to her navel, and each kiss along the way made her wind up more, grow more aroused. Lower and lower he was going—

Then he suckled her clit. She was so ready. She felt her juices flow. Smelled them and blushed.

Something bumped her inner thigh. Heavens, it was his cock, so rigid that it felt like being prodded with a cricket bat.

She wrapped her hand around it. So thick. So hard. Pulsing in her grip. But he unwrapped her fingers. He took his cock in his own hand.

Once, they had pleasured themselves in front of each other. That had been shocking . . . and deliciously fun.

Did this mean he wanted to do that instead of making love? Had he realized he couldn't do it? She would share this with him no matter what.

She let her fingers slide down through her nether curls—

Cary got between her legs, and he pressed his erect cock against her pussy lips. She moaned at the wonderful tug as his cock tried to push between her lips. Her hand was trapped between their bodies, pressing on her clit.

Slowly, he parted her wet, sticky lips. She was almost holding her breath! His hips thrust, and his cock slid in a few inches. She gripped his shoulders. He was big, stretching her, but it felt so good. He shifted his hips and hit that magical place inside her. She clutched tighter to hard muscle, quivering.

“Oh!” She gasped.

Deeper and deeper he went. His eyes were half shut, and she didn't want to look into his eyes in case she spoiled this moment.

His groin bumped hers. He was all the way inside her. Filling her.

Her eyes were wide. Every sensation—she wanted to know every sensation.

His mouth caressed her nipples, his finger stroked her sensitive, aching clit, his cock thrust deep. So deep. Sometimes so deep, the agony was both pleasure and pain, and her nails gouged his skin.

He thrust faster, and she moved with him. His hips flowed like silk over her. She closed her eyes. Heard his rasping breaths.

Yes. Oh yes.

She moved faster. His fingers played with her, he kissed the sensitive place on her neck, and she cried out, “I'm going to come. Just do this. Keep doing this.”

A rough laugh against her neck. But he did. Bliss built in her, bubbling and boiling, and then her orgasm welled up and rushed through her.

She clung to him. Sobbed as she curled to put her head against his.

“Sophie.”

When he said her name like that, he was going to—

He bucked against her. A rush of heat filled her. Heat and wetness, and he rode out his orgasm with a look of intense agony and low, soft groans. Then he slumped on her. Half on his side so he wasn't crushing her.

“That was beautiful,” he said. He brushed back his golden hair, darkened to amber with sweat.

“You did it.” She gazed at him. “It means you are healed. You did it!”

“Did I do it well?”

“Of course. But what does that matter?” she asked ingenuously. “All that matters is that you now can! Which means you can be married—” She broke off abruptly.

He rolled up onto his side. Kissed her forehead, then the top of her nose. Gently. Sweetly. Cary lifted from her, then got out of bed. “Yes,” he said. “I can.”

20

The next morning, Cary went out and bought a newspaper from a lad on the corner. Then he returned to Sophie's house before she awoke. The newssheet contained the story of Angelique's arrest for two murders and the attack on Sophie.

The story of his kidnapping had been included. Angelique had been identified as the daughter of the man who had abducted him. The sordid details of what had happened to him were not there. He had wanted to spare his mother and sisters the scandal of it. So he had arranged for Angelique to escape the noose in return for her silence on the details of his kidnapping.

The hell of his past was behind him. He'd spent a wild night making love to Sophie.

First in the bed.

Then, from behind, with Sophie leaning on her vanity table so they could both watch his thrusts and her delightfully bouncing breasts in the mirror.

Then they had tumbled onto the carpet in front of the fire. To be gentlemanly, he had her ride him so she didn't get sore from rug burns.

After, they had some dinner in the dining room. There he'd locked the door, sank to his knees, and licked her sweet pussy until she'd exploded in another orgasm.

Exhausted, they'd fallen asleep together in her bed. Laughing. He had continually kissed her until he'd drifted off to sleep.

He hadn't dreamed a thing. All Cary remembered was having a long, blissful sleep. And the joy of waking up with his arm around Sophie.

He had the cook give him breakfast on a tray, which flustered the older woman. “Here you are, Your Grace,” she said. “I've made coffee as well as chocolate.”

He took it upstairs and then poured a cup of steaming chocolate.

Sophie stretched, wriggled under the sheets, and opened her eyes, blinking. “Something smells delicious.”

He handed her the cup of chocolate. Fed her delectable morsels of food.

She blushed. “I'm the mistress. Aren't I supposed to serve you?”

“I'm enjoying this.”

When breakfast was done, she went to her bedside table and drew something out. A series of leather-bound journals. “This is my courtesan book,” she said shyly. “My mother's memoirs that she never finished and never published.” She had told him in the night that Nell was her mother. “Now that I've found my mother, I find I can't really read it anymore. But there was one thing that it says a courtesan must do. Something all men enjoy.”

She fished around in the drawer and drew out lengths of white silk rope.

Now he really understood what it meant that Sophie had a book detailing how to be a courtesan.

“Apparently, men like to do things with rope. I wanted to surprise you. But I wasn't sure. . . .”

He had been tied up when he was five, and tied up again when he was held prisoner. But that was part of his past. And what Sophie had in mind was erotic fun.

“By all means,” he said. “Why don't we start with you tying me up?”

Sophie approached him with the ropes, her legs almost trembling with desire. Cary lay back on the bed, his arms pillowed under his head. Utterly naked. The ropes were piled in her arms, and she was staring at him. Savoring him. Long, long legs. Lean hips, with a sensual ridge of hipbone that was so very sexy, it made her pussy clench.

His chest was broad, his arms forged of pure muscle. She loved the way the veins were prominent on his powerful biceps.

Tentatively, she trailed the rope there.

Cary grinned. “Is this what you would like?” He spread his legs so his ankles were closer to the bedposts. He stretched his arms above his head.

“You are so beautiful.” The words slipped right out of her mouth.

“Sophie, you are the one who is beautiful.”

His cock stood upright along his belly, thick and long and rigid. Threads of silver fluid led from the weeping eye to his stomach, glistening like they were made of spun diamonds, if such a thing were possible.

Holding the rope, she leaned over and planted a kiss to the head of his cock.

Then suckled it in—just the head—and sucked hard. He moaned, and his hips bucked up to her.

She wanted to take him to the same place he'd taken her. That heavenly place of extreme pleasure. Where it built so much, you just knew that one little touch would make ecstasy explode for you.

So she toyed with his balls, stroking the seam up and down as she backed off his cock and only lightly strummed the head—and sensitive opening—with her tongue. She loved how he tasted. So earthy. Tasting him made this feel so special and intimate.

She took the ropes in her hands. She licked the head of his cock and rubbed the ropes back and forth along his hard shaft.

She watched Cary through her tangled hair and her half-lowered lashes. His hands clenched into fists, his expression was a thrilling blend of agony and pleasure.

Now to tie him up.

Following the jaunty instructions in the book, she moved up and wrapped a rope around one of his wrists. She was on her knees on the bed beside him to do it.

Cary closed his eyes. His mouth tightened. His breathing became more harsh.

She hesitated. “Should I stop?”

“No, don't.” Intense and blue, his gaze met hers. “I trust you. I know you won't hurt me.”

“Of course not. I never would.”

“Then tie me up, angel, and make love to me.”

 

Cary said he trusted her, but his instincts still screamed to fight as she wrapped a rope around his wrist.
That was the past,
he reminded himself.
This is just play.

She tied a knot, and he felt the rope lightly biting into his skin. Very lightly. It was more of a caress.

Biting her lip and concentrating, Sophie wrapped the other end of the rope around the bed column. His cock bucked as she pulled the rope around the post, slowly, gently stretching his arm. She tied a bow, but he gave a tug and it undid.

“I'll pull against the ropes while I'm coming. You should make them tight,” he advised.

She did, pulling again, then knotting it. She did his other arm the same way.

His heart pounded. Once his hands were bound, Cary felt panic rise.

Sophie moved down and kissed him on the lips. A hot, slow, arousing kiss.

He caught her lips and answered her kiss with a hungry one of his own. Fear faded away. He wanted to cup her breasts, but he couldn't, so he broke from the kiss and arched up against the ropes to capture her nipples with his lips, one after the other.

She squealed in delight. “I should tie your legs.”

“Just make love to me now, angel. I can't wait.”

She got on top of him, naked, her breasts swaying.

With his hands bound, he couldn't tease her clit with his hands as she bounced on him. So he tried to shift his cock as she moved.

Suddenly, she gave a cry of shock and pleasure.

There, that was the place his shaft needed to stroke.

He lifted his hips, supporting her in midair. She gasped, planted her hands on his chest to hold her body steady. “You're so strong!”

He laughed. This was the best sex he'd ever known. This joy, this connection. She was so sweet.

So perfect.

He jerked his hips, making her breasts bob.

Then he lowered and used his stomach muscles to thrust up into her. Sophie worked down on him. She gripped his shoulders and met his thrusts with such vigor that sweat damped her hair and beaded on her chest.

Yes.

With Sophie, he could find ecstasy. It was there, waiting for him.

As long as he took her there first—

She cried out. “Cary!” Rocked on him. Her face went very pink. Her head fell forward as the orgasm claimed her.

He thrust into her, wanting to take her there again—

He couldn't hold on.

Like a blinding streak of heavenly light, his climax shot through him, searing him.

He felt reborn. He felt new.

She sank down on him, gasping for breath. He laughed lightly as strands of her long black hair tickled his face.

Sophie had healed him. She had made him whole. She had let him see and enjoy sex as a healthy, fun, normal pleasure.

“You don't need a book, love,” he murmured. “You are a goddess.”

 

The next morning, his mother found him at the breakfast table. Cary hurried to help her sit down, but she said in a heavy voice, “I do not need your help, Caradon. I am quite able to pull out my own chair. You see, I was not honest with you.”

She sat, and Cary poured coffee for her. “I don't understand, Mother.”

“I have an admission to make.” She gazed at him, eyes filled with guilt. “I have exaggerated how ill I really am. I wanted to push you into marriage, so I lied to you. I am not on death's door. What I did was wrong, terribly wrong.”

“You are not ill?”

“No. I have been very worried about you, and that left me tired, but I am not going to leave this mortal coil anytime soon. I am so sorry. Miss Ashley told me to admit the truth, and I do indeed feel better. She said you would forgive me. I do not expect your forgiveness, but I wanted to ease your mind.”

Sophie had told her to give him the truth. “Mother, I understand why you did it. It's a shock to know you lied, but I am so happy you are not dying. And I do intend to propose to a woman.”

He got up and left the breakfast table. His heart hammered and his wits were spinning. If his mother was not ill, was it possible that he could have what he hoped for . . . ?

Leaving his mother because he needed to think, needed to clear his head, Cary went to his stables, then guided his horse across Park Lane into Hyde Park and to the Rotten Row. He'd spent two glorious days making love to Sophie. He'd never had so much fun during sex. They had been partners in their pleasure, coming up with playful and inventive places and positions. He showed her some exotic ways they could entwine and embrace while he thrust deeply into her, taking it slowly to make their pleasure last.

Late last night, he'd taken his leave and returned to his house on Park Lane, knowing what he had to do. He was a duke. He was now able to put his past behind him and make love.

He had to marry.

But things had changed if he did not have to worry how his choice would affect his mother's health....

As he'd hoped, he saw Grey riding his large gelding along the Row. He galloped over and explained what he had to do. Propose to a woman. He posed his other problem to Grey first, knowing Grey would have the answer. Satisfied with what Grey said to him, Cary admitted, “I'm nervous about proposing. I had no idea I would be so nervous.”

Grey grinned. “No need for nerves. There's no doubt she is going to say yes.”

“What do you put in a proposal? I've never done this before, and I want to get it right. What do you say to a woman to convince her to marry you?”

“You don't have to convince her, my friend. Just ask her. You say you believe she cares about you? Tell her what's in your heart.”

“How exactly do I tell her? I am not good at poetic words.”

“Tell her you love her and you want to marry her. That's all you have to do.”

Cary had intended to spend some time riding, then returning home to have breakfast. His mother had given him a list of eligible names when she'd first arrived. For all he was fairly reclusive, he knew most of the young women. He knew which ones seemed sweet of disposition, and which of those had clever brains and would make good duchesses.

Now he felt a pressing need to get on with the business. “I was going to ride, but I've changed my mind. What I need to do now . . . is talk to Sophie.”

But when he arrived at her town house, he was told she was gone.

“What do you mean gone?” Cary stared in confusion at the maid.

“To the country, Your Grace.”

Ah, now he understood. “To see her friend?”

“I believe so, Your Grace.”

He knew where that was. He would go there and speak to her. It would be good that she would be with her friend when he spoke to her.

Then he could get on with this business of marriage. His mother wondered which woman he intended to choose to be his duchess—an earl's daughter, a marquis's daughter, or a duke's daughter.

He had already made his choice.

 

Cary saw Sophie the moment his curricle pulled into the drive in front of Ivy Cottage, the small, stone manor house he had acquired for her friend and her children. He had driven his curricle himself, driven at neck-or-nothing speed on the Great North Road. Had turned off with such haste, he'd thrown up a spray of mud and had almost gotten stuck in the mire left by rain. It must have rained yesterday, but he had been in bed with Sophie all day and hadn't noticed.

He had trotted his tired horses up the small drive. Apple trees hid the house from view for seconds, then the gravel drive opened to a clearing beyond the rows of trees, showing the two-story house with mullioned windows and doors, a neat stretch of tended lawn, and dark green ivy embracing the stone. The April air was sweet, filled with spring scents.

And then he saw Sophie.

She stood away from the house, beside a wooden stile that separated the meadow from the tended lawn and gardens of the cottage.

“What are you doing, young man?” she called.

Instinctively, Cary started and was about to explain himself, but then she wagged her finger at someone on the other side of the stile.

“You haven't been playing at the pond in your new jacket, Alex.”

Morning sunlight bathed over her. Her dark hair was pulled into a sleek bun. She wore a simple dress and a shawl.