Deeper in Sin (27 page)

Even in the simplest clothes, she was so beautiful, it made his heart ache.

Cary brought his horses to a halt. Sophie hadn't noticed him, and he got down, hand resting on the flank of one of his lathered horses. While he soothed them with words, promising them rest and hay, he just watched Sophie.

He was going to ask her to marry him.

He'd realized he wanted a marriage filled with love. He couldn't spend a life doing his duty, nor could he trap an innocent woman into a loveless marriage.

He wanted Sophie. Somehow he was going to have her.

First, he wanted to know if she would say yes. Grey believed she would. Sophie always looked for the best in things—she wouldn't hesitate to marry for love, regardless of social position. Anyway, Grey had pointed out, before Cary had left the park this morning, Helena had said no to Grey at first. Now they were the happiest of married couples. Grey and Helena had feared scandal, but they had overcome it.

Cary knew he could too.

Now he could see the young man she was speaking to. A young boy of about five emerged from a path between the tall meadow flowers. His hair was gold. His clothes were dirty and disheveled.

“Had to,” the boy declared. “I wanted to catch a salamander. And I got one!” He held up two small hands, a tiny green lizard clutched between them.

Cary was taken back in time—transported—to when he was a child and he'd run up to the kitchens of Carvenleigh, their favorite estate for summer, with a frog or a lizard in his hands, and the wicked plan in his five-year-old head to tease Cook.

Once, Cook had just threatened to cook his “little nuisances,” and that had been the end of his plan.

And after he'd been kidnapped, he had never trapped anything again—

“Don't make me let him go!” The strident cry of the little boy brought Cary out of his memories. Quick as a wink, the memories were gone. So was their power to hurt him.

Because of Sophie.

A smile touched his lips. She argued feistily with the boy, who she called Alex. Obviously, short for Alexander.

Alex ran a few steps away from her, his back half turned and his precious find held to his chest. “But I want him to be my pet, Mummy!”

Mummy? Cary stared at the two people—at raven-haired Sophie and the blond stubborn little boy. Had he heard wrong?

He looked around. There was no other woman there but Sophie.

Sophie held out her hand to the boy, but the lad mulishly shook his head. “No, Mummy!”

He hadn't been wrong.

Sophie had a son. A child. This must be the son of the young man she'd married, the soldier who had died at Waterloo.

Two other children ran up, a boy and a girl, both dark-haired. The girl carried a tin bucket from which frogs jumped out. They called her Aunt Sophie, obviously a term for the best friend of their mother.

Why had she never told him? Did she think he wouldn't want her if he knew she had a child? It didn't matter. She'd been married. God, this was why she had been so desperate. She had been desperate to protect her son.

Her son was all she had left of her husband.

They had been married for one night, and Sophie had been blessed with a son.

What had she gone through when her husband had died and they had faced poverty?

He remembered how sunny and determined she'd been. He'd had no idea.

She was so incredibly courageous.

As he watched, Sophie and her son debated. Then her son reluctantly nodded. “All right, Mummy. I will put him back where he belongs.”

Sophie marched them all back to the pond. Cary followed, stopping a few yards back as Sophie's boy got down on his haunches, opened his hands, and let his pet go. The salamander moved like a streak of light, scurrying under the turnstile and disappearing. The other two children carefully took their frogs out of the bucket.

Cary grinned. Sophie had won.

“Bravo,” he said softly. It was hard to speak when his heart ached so much.

Farther ahead of him on the narrow path, framed by waving cattails, Sophie spun around. Her face was white, her hand clenched in a fist. Then she saw him. “Oh! Your Grace! I didn't know you were there.”

She smiled, but she flashed a look toward her son.

“I know he's your son,” he said softly. “I heard him call you ‘Mummy.' ”

“Oh. Yes, I did keep him a secret from you, didn't I?” She gave a nervous laugh. “Are you very angry?”

“Of course not. But you looked really afraid before you knew it was me. Have you been bothered by the man who tried to force you to become his mistress?”

“No. He hasn't come near me. I suppose I was just taken by surprise. I never expected you to come here. I thought, when you went home, it would be to prepare for a wedding.”

“Wedding?”

“I mean, after you have proposed marriage.” Then she clapped her hand to her mouth. “Oh! Now I understand. You've come to say good-bye? I vowed to be very stoic. I shall take this very well. You will be impressed.”

“Sophie . . .” He shook his head. She
was
trying to look stoic, and it made him want to chuckle. “I haven't come to say good-bye. I haven't done any proposing yet.”

“Oh. Oh, I see!”

“What do you see?”

“You wanted to make love again. To be sure, I suppose? Though you must be quite certain by now.”

He wanted to say that wasn't why he was here. But Sophie had already come up to him. She looked to make sure no one was looking, then she leaned against him to whisper in his ear. At the push of her full breasts, the softness of her skirts and tummy against his growing erection, he was lost.

Her breath was a sensuous caress by his ear. “I'll send the children up to the house.”

She walked away from him, to the children. “It's time for your lunch,” she told them. “And we have a very prestigious visitor. This gentleman is the Duke of Caradon.” She made a curtsy.

The young girl did the same, and then Sophie whispered, “You must bow” to the two boys. They made fast bows. Then they ran off, excited for their food.

Cary laughed. Then he saw Sophie brush away a tear. She turned to him, glowing. “Thanks to you, they have a roof over their heads and food on the table, and I know they are safe. You are the most wonderful, wonderful man.”

Impulsively, she came to him, grasped the waistband of his trousers, and lifted to kiss him.

He wanted to give her intense pleasure. He wished he had toys or ropes to help him. But all he had was him.

He undid his cravat and pulled it off. “Do you trust me, love?”

Her large green eyes glowed. “Of course. With my life. Which you have saved many times.”

Tenderly, he touched her lower lip. “I adore you, Sophie.”

He showed her how much fun a cravat could be. Draping it over his shoulder, he took off her pelisse, then undid her gown. He loosened her corset to draw it down. It took a while, but he got her breasts exposed. The shelf of the corset lifted them, and he stroked the cravat across them.

They went plump and hard. And Sophie gasped and moaned.

Once he had her squirming, he lifted her skirts. He slid his fingers between her legs. Already wet, the sweetheart. Gently, he parted the plump, slick lips. He trailed the cravat over her sweet clit. Then held the cravat taut and sawed it across her.

Her hips moved rhythmically. Her cheeks went pink. Her eyes shut, and she panted with pleasure.

He dropped to his knees, pulled her pussy to his face, and suckled and licked her.

“Cary!” She climaxed against him.

Then he lifted to his feet, lifted her in his arms, and lowered her sweet, wet cunny onto his rigid cock.

Supporting her, he made love to her. She jiggled up and down, holding his shoulders. His buttocks were taut, his legs shaking with the exertion.

“I'm going to come,” she wailed.

“Let it come, love, because I want to come too.”

She squealed. Her nails drove into his shoulders. He let go. His climax roared through him. His cock felt like it had swelled to double the size. His come shot through him so fast and hard, he almost fell over.

He buried his face in her neck and rode out his orgasm. Then they sank down together. Laughing, he held her close.

He'd had sex in all kinds of positions—on top, on the bottom, once upside down.

But making love with Sophie had been more precious than all of that. He smiled down at her. Her eyes were closed, dark lashes feathered over her cheeks. Her face was pink with exertion.

But he'd never had sex as an expression of love. True love. A deep love that warmed his heart and his soul, made him smile when she did, made his body tense with anger when she cried.

She was precious to him. More precious than his own existence.

She was sitting at his side, so he shifted his position. “Can you stand up?”

“I'm still too weak.” She giggled. “But I must, to fix my clothing.”

He helped her up and got behind her to retie her corset, then fasten her dress. The instant he finished, he turned her. He dropped to one knee before her.

Grey was right. He did not need to say anything fancy. “Sophie, I love you with all my heart and soul. Will you become my wife?”

“Oh!” she cried.

He waited for her to say yes. It was going to be the happiest word he'd ever heard.

“Cary, I wish—Oh heaven, how I wish I could. I never dreamed of this. But I can't. I cannot marry you.”

The children had found them then. They had rushed between the apple trees, yelling and squealing like demons. All hungry, because Belle had said they must wait until Sophie and the duke came for lunch. Thanks heavens, Cary had helped her tidy and smooth her clothing and repin her hair before proposing marriage.

She would have been too shocked to even think.

She had been too stunned to even chastise the children about shouting for their food. Cary had done that. He ushered them toward the house, promising to come so they could have their lunch.

Then she'd looked at his eyes and seen such pain, it had speared her heart. “I'm so sorry.”

She felt just as wretched. Her heart felt as if it had burst in her chest. She'd never known such pain. So much pure, sheer agony when she'd had to refuse him.

It was like the pain of losing Samuel. It almost drove her to her knees.

“Why, Sophie?”

“I just can't marry you, Your Grace. I can't explain why.” The children's whoops and hollers were disappearing as they plunged through the meadow toward the house.

She'd never dreamed he would propose to her! She was a courtesan.

How confused he looked. “I think I deserve some reason. I thought—apparently mistakenly—that you cared about me.”

He spoke calmly, but she heard the raw hurt in his voice. He did deserve the truth.

He had done so much for her. For her son and for Belle and her children too.

“Is it because of my past?” he asked softly. Grimly. “I've heard it said that a woman loses respect for a man who cannot protect himself. She fears he will not be able to protect her.”

Sophie gaped. Then she realized Cary was utterly serious. “You cannot believe that.”

“Isn't it true?” he asked, his voice low and quiet.

“Of course not! For a start, I know you are perfectly capable of coming to my rescue. You have proven it more than once. I know you are strong, courageous, and beyond brave. Anyway, you were kidnapped as a child. The fact you survived is a testament to your strength. How could you have been expected to defend yourself against a full-grown man—and yet you did.”

“Then why won't you marry me?”

She wished she could touch him. They were walking toward the house, side by side, but she felt as if there were one thousand miles between them.

She couldn't marry him because of the theft. She could be transported for that. She doubted Devars would keep quiet if she married Cary. She had prayed he had just gotten tired of her and that was why he hadn't pursued her in London. Or maybe he was waiting until he felt she had money—and then he would demand she repay him.

But she doubted Devars would stand back and let her be happy. He would talk, and she would be arrested. And the worst of it—it was true! She had taken that horrid bracelet because he had made her even more afraid and desperate. She'd taken it to escape him and ensure she and Belle and the children were far from him.

If she married Cary, she would be a duchess convicted for theft—it would be a horrible scandal. She would lose everything.