Elizabeth Boyle (34 page)

She wanted to tell him that she loved him, pure and simple.

The words stopped in her throat, for if she uttered them they would bind her to him with the promise they carried. If she admitted out loud that she loved him, she would have to let him into her life.

Right now, loving Giles meant leaving him behind.

But she could tell him with her kisses and with her touch what she dared not say.

Her arms wound around his neck, her kiss deepening in a tender response. For a time they stood in the middle of the room, kissing, as if they had the rest of their lives.

Yet Sophia’s passion for Giles wasn’t satisfied with just a kiss. She needed to feel his bare skin, caress his muscled limbs, feel the heat build between them when their bodies met.

Pulling back from his kiss, she pushed her hands inside his jacket, easing it off his shoulders.

“I would see you, Lord Trahern,” she said, mocking his earlier request. “I would see you unclothed.”

“I am but your willing servant, milady. Do with me as you please.”

A daring thrill ran over her as she accepted his submission to her desires. Slowly, she continued to undress him, kissing his arms and chest as she pulled the shirt from his body. Her hands worshipped the knotted cords in his arms, knowing how they would feel wrapped around her when he entered her.

She glanced up to see his reaction as her fingers freed his tight breeches.

His eyes were shut, but a wicked smile curved his chiseled features.

Her hands ran over the length of his naked thighs, the hard lines of his calves, pushing aside his stockings and boots. Now he was naked, and entirely hers.

And very much ready for her further pleasures.

Slowly, she led him to the bed and bid him to lie back.

Stepping just a few feet away, Sophia leisurely undressed herself, her gaze never leaving his face.

With each layer, with each piece of finery, she saw in his eyes what he would do to the flesh she bared for his inspection.

As she eased off her bodice, freeing her breasts, his eyes lit up. She remembered how it had felt to have his mouth tease and torment her there, her nipples puckering tight in anticipation.

“Come to me, Sophia,” he whispered. “You tarry too long.”

“No longer,” she answered, joining him in the bed.

Their naked bodies fused together. In the hurried moments that followed, it seemed they couldn’t get enough of each other’s touch.

Sophia discovered quickly that he had all but read her mind as she’d undressed.

Giles’s mouth immediately claimed her breast, teasing it with his tongue while his thumb rolled over the other tense nipple.

She writhed beneath him, the rocking sensations leaving her aching with tender need. In answer to this, his hand dropped lower, easing open her thighs and teasing the rigid nub hidden away in the soft, wet folds.

A moan erupted from her lips, calling for more, pleading with him to take her out of this tender torment and to that blissful lover’s reward.

She rolled onto her back, her expression heated and anxious. “Don’t make me wait. Please, Giles, love me. Love me tonight.”

Giles hovered over her, his hips rocking forward, pushing his manhood toward the warm, moist spot his fingers had moments before teased to this blind, aching need.

He tried to enter her slowly, but her hands caught his hips and pulled him into her.

She nipped at his shoulder with her teeth and whispered a brazen challenge into his ear.

“Follow me if you dare.”

Her body wrapped around him, setting the pace. Her fingers plied his back, his bottom, while her hips rocked against him.

He felt the desperation in her loving, this reckless need for him. He wanted to tell her how he felt, that he loved her. Loved her for her vitality, her layers, her mysteries.

And so, like she, he loved her with his body. Stoking her requests, pushing himself farther and farther into her. Following her as she beckoned him to come closer, to go faster, to catch her.

Even as her lashes fluttered and her mouth opened in surprise at the shattering explosion of her release, he felt his own body answer in kind, pouring from him wave after wave of passion.

It flowed out of him and into her, this love. The waves carried them as one into a blissful peace the real world rarely offered.

For a time he held her tight, rocking her through the last, lingering shudders.

The fireplace crackled; a log falling apart sent a shower of sparks up the chimney.

“That’s how I feel,” she said.

“How’s that?”

“Like those embers in the grate. Hot, spent, and still on fire. Like I’m floating up into a great unknown. ‘Tis frightening.”

He brushed back a strand of her hair. “But you aren’t alone. You brought me with you.”

She smiled. “I’m glad. I’d hate to go alone.” Even as she said the words she realized the implication, only to hope he wouldn’t take her literally.

But obviously Giles did. “So you’ll let me go with you to Paris?”

She looked into eyes. “Yes,” she lied.

He smiled and wrapped her tight in his arms. “You’ll see, I’m right. It’s better that I go with you.”

Smiling her agreement, Sophia stayed in the warmth of his arms until he fell asleep. Even then she waited until his even breathing reassured her he was truly asleep.

Then she eased out of his embrace and slipped from the bed, shivering in the chill of the room.

Making her way by the fireplace, she watched as the last glowing ember went out. She wondered then and in the days ahead if that hadn’t been an omen of the disaster to come.

E
mma heard the first carriage arrive just past dawn. She didn’t pay it much heed—until a second and then a third conveyance arrived not an hour later. The noisy din of voices downstairs rose to her second-story room. Curious, she got dressed and stole down to the main floor.

The open foyer at the main entrance of the house was stacked high with trunks and traveling pieces. Children darted through the maze of boxes, while the voices of their elders argued in the dining room.

Moving slowly to the open door, Emma peeked in. To her astonishment the room overflowed with Sophia’s Ramsey aunts, as well as her brother Lucien and his family. Even Aunt Mellisande, who never left her York estates, sat ensconced in the place of honor, directing the servants as if the house were her own. Lady Dearsley tried to catch a racing Julien, who darted from one aunt to the next, laughing and teasing his relatives.

At the far end of the table sat an older man whom Emma didn’t recognize. His ramrod-straight posture and his severe, dark coat added the only order to the chaotic room. At his right sat a dimpled, plump woman, who smiled and nodded to the other guests.

“I have no idea what you are talking about, Effie,” the duchess said to Lady Dearsley. “Sophia visiting my house last month? Preposterous. I distinctly remember her saying she intended to stay here with Celia.”

Lady Larkhall looked from one sister to the next. “I think you’re both confused. Sophia remained in London last month. She arrived in Bath not a fortnight ago.”

Lady Dearsley frowned. “I don’t know what in heaven is going on, but I demand an accounting for all this. She always mopes around my house begging to be sent to the country, and now I suspect her behavior is nothing more than an act. I should never have let her out of my sight. I knew it was a bad idea to pass her around our homes like a tray of chocolates. She’s been ill-influenced by both of you. And that Mrs. Langston. I never trusted her. I told each of you her references should be carefully screened. No, you wouldn’t hear of it. And now our girl’s ruined, I tell you. I just know it.” The lady looked from one side of the room to the other. “Where is my Hannah?” she bid the footman. “Have Hannah fetch my niece immediately.”

Emma nearly choked. She backed away from the door and hurried up the stairs. She hustled into Sophia’s room without pausing to knock. Throwing open the drapes, the early-morning light illuminated the dark chamber.

“Get up,” she ordered. “We’ve got trouble in spades downstairs. And Hannah is on her way to deliver the bad news.”

The bundle in the bed rolled over, pulling the covers along.

“Did you hear?” she prodded, nudging the sleeping Sophia. “The entire family is downstairs. All of them. And let me tell you what is for breakfast. Your recent history.”

Emma headed to the closet, tossing out first her well-worn traveling bag and then her clothes. “I don’t know about you, but the back door may be my only chance. I can’t think of another excuse to try to foist off on them. And whatever we come up with, I doubt they’ll believe it. Do you hear me? Your aunts are down there right now comparing calendars. And they are none too pleased as to how the days are adding up.” She stopped and stared at the bed. “Well, did you hear what I said or are your ears still asleep? Feigning death won’t save us now; we’re finished for sure. Now get up and help me come up with something to tell them.”

She marched over to the bed, caught hold of the bedcover, and gave it a good yank.

“How about starting by telling
me
the truth?” Lord Trahern answered.

As Emma tried to stutter out an answer, Hannah did her one better.

The girl screamed.

Hannah’s alarm brought the entire household running to Sophia’s bedchamber.

A hysterical Hannah kept sputtering her rendition of finding Mrs. Langston and Lord Trahern in . . . in . . . such a . . . oh, the overwrought girl couldn’t even say it.

Lady Dearsley shoved her way through the gathered relations and made her way to the bedside. “What is going on?”

From there, in Giles’s humble opinion, the discussion went rapidly downhill.

With Emma’s quick help he’d retrieved his shirt, but his breeches were an impossibility. He found himself in the ridiculous position of entertaining his future relations in his betrothed’s bed with the bedcovers pulled up to his waist.

“This is worse than I thought,” Lady Dearsley cried, wedging her wide hips into the closest chair. “I never trusted you,” she said, waggling her finger at Giles. “Nor you, madame.” Her censorious gaze flitted over Emma before giving her a nod of dismissal.

Giles had to hand it to Emma—she stood her ground well in the face of the storm. But he couldn’t let her take any portion of Lady Dearsley’s censure that she didn’t deserve.

“I think you are under a misunderstanding, my lady,” he told her. “I didn’t spend the night with Mrs. Langston. I spent it with your niece.”

Lady Dearsley swung around to where Lady Larkhall stood hovering near the door. “This is all your fault, Celia. You knew why she was sent to live with us, and yet you allowed her freedom she did not deserve. It was our job to find her a husband and see her ruinous tendencies stomped out. Now look what you’ve done. Why I—”

“Stop your caterwauling immediately, Effie,” the Duchess of Caryll said, bringing her walking stick down on the hardwood floor like a magistrate’s gavel. “For the moment I don’t care if the King slept here. I want to know, where is Sophia?”

Everyone stepped aside, as if stunned by this request. In all the confusion, it seemed most everyone had forgotten Sophia, save the incredible beauty parting the crowded room.

“Gone,” Giles commented, glancing over at the lady who could only one person.

Mellisande Ramsey, the Duchess of Caryll. London’s most legendary diamond still outshone every woman in the room. Forty-some Seasons since her debut, her figure still held the charms and curves to make a man forget she was probably nearing her sixtieth year. Alabaster skin showed none of the wrinkles or ravages of age that claimed Lady Dearsley’s face or whispered at the edges of Lady Larkhall’s complexion. The lady towering over his bedside held everyone’s attention, but not just because of her beauty, but because her iron will demanded it.

She caught him staring at her, and one gray eyebrow arched.

He couldn’t help himself—he grinned at her.

How many times had he seen Sophia do the same thing? Now he knew where his little bride had inherited her tenacity and a good dose of her daring.

“That was just what I was about to ask Mrs. Langston,” he told the duchess. “Before that one”—he nodded at a tearful Hannah—”started her keening and wailing.”

“It’s just they was . . . and he was . . . the covers were …” Hannah sobbed out her protests, while Lady Dearsley patted the girl’s hand.

Thump!! Thump!
The duchess’s cane pounded on the floor. “Enough of this. All of you, out of this room so this man can make himself decent. We will discuss this matter in Celia’s library. Lord Trahern, you will attend me there”— her imperious eyebrow arched a little higher—”once you are properly clad.” She turned to leave.

“I don’t mean to be rude, Your Grace,” he replied. “But I have no intention of spending the morning discussing this matter. My bride is missing. I’m leaving immediately to find her.”

The duchess turned to Lady Larkhall. “Is he always so impertinent?”

Lady Larkhall smiled at her sister. “Let’s hope so, for Sophia’s sake.”

Nodding, the duchess turned her stony blue gaze back to Giles. “Nevertheless, I will hear this story told first, and then you may leave—with all the facts firmly in place and a good idea of where to begin your search.”

The duchess pointed her cane toward Emma. “Mrs. Langston, you will follow me, now.” The woman marched out of the room with such military precision, Giles thought, even Dryden would be envious.

Dryden
! Giles caught a glimpse of his mentor at the very fringe of the crowd. “Sir,” he called out. “I hadn’t expected you.”

Dryden stepped inside and closed the door. “Lady Dryden and I escorted Lady Dearsley here for your nuptials. From the look on Mellisande’s face, I think I’ll have the parson sent for immediately.”

Giles got out of bed and started to get into his breeches. “I think that is a little premature. Once again I am without a bride, so I don’t think the parson will be needed.”

Dryden laughed. “I wasn’t calling him to marry you. I just wanted the old boy around for your last rites once the duchess gets done with you.”