The Lady Hellion (16 page)

He blew out a breath, wiped damp palms on his trousers. “Why does it matter to you?”

After a moment, she said, “Because I love hearing your lectures. Seeing you standing up in front of a room full of scholars and learned men, your ideas bursting forth. Every pair of eyes on you, waiting to soak up the knowledge you readily impart. It’s . . . humbling.”

“I—I had no idea. You never came up to me afterwards. Why did you never tell me?” He hadn’t ever seen her in any of the crowds, not that he gave all that many lectures. It was never more than one or two a year. But he would have liked knowing she was there.

“I never told anyone. Not even Julia. It was silly, really. Like I am some sort of zealot, one of your devoted followers. Lurking in the back row, hiding just to hear you.”

The words were a punch in the solar plexus. Everything in him softened, a warmth blossoming through his veins. “Sophie,” he said and reached for her.

“No, none of that,” she eluded his grasp. “Stay focused. Besides, you know the definition of a phobia. It’s an
irrational
fear—and you are a rational, logical man. You can do this. You
will
do this.”

He exhaled and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

“Just keep your eyes on me.” Sophie stood in front of him and clasped his hands. “I’ll lead you down. All right?”

He nodded, and she began walking backward, keeping hold of him the entire time. His feet shuffled forward, but he focused on her face. The small, pert nose. The heart-shaped bow of her upper lip, resting atop the full, lush bottom lip. The big, round brown eyes that held such confidence, such depth of feeling that he almost believed he could do anything.

Now at the bottom of the stairs, he knew they were in the gardens. His lungs began to work harder as the urge to return to the house hit him full force. His heart hammered as if he were in a race. “Keep looking at me, Damien,” Sophie urged. “Think about what you’re going to do to me when we reach the carriage.”

That
was interesting. He thought about her breasts, now bare beneath the waistcoat and shirt, bouncing in the carriage as they had when he’d been driving into her body. She bit her lip, almost as if she knew what he was remembering. Sweet cadmium, she was lovely. And her mouth . . .

He continued running a series of lurid images in his mind, all the things he’d like to do to Sophie if only he had enough time. Arousal, fueled by panic and excitement, hummed through his veins, as if he hadn’t just spent himself twice in the last hour. He wanted her again. Dimly, he realized she’d reached back to open the gate. He kept his gaze trained on her face, even when she glanced away briefly.

Then they were inside the carriage, with him nearly pushing her up the last remaining steps. She fell back against the squabs and he pounced, covering her as best he could in the cramped, dark space as the wheels began to move.

He swooped down to claim her mouth, ravenous for her, delirious with it, as if he’d never had her. She clung to him, returning the kiss and running her hands over his back. He threw her greatcoat open, unbuttoned her topcoat, and jerked her shirt and waistcoat out of the way, shoving the fabric higher until he could get to her bare skin. Sliding down, he drew her nipple into his mouth, sucking deep.

Her fingers tunneled into his hair. “Oh, God.
Quint
.”

He released her breast and returned to her mouth, kissing her feverishly. “If we were not in a carriage, I’d be inside you already,” he whispered darkly with a roll of his hard shaft along her core.

“Oh, yes,” she whimpered, clutching his buttocks with both hands.

“I cannot get enough of you.” He ground against her once more. “If only you had on skirts.”

She was panting now, writhing under him. “Next time,” she promised.

Lust roared through him, his erection nearly painful. “Touch me, Sophie. Please.” She moved her hand to stroke his cock through his trousers. “More. God, Sophie. I need you.”

Together, they worked the buttons free with due haste, and he groaned when her hand found bare flesh. “Yes. Harder. Stroke me. Faster.
Yes. Like that.
”

Her hand pumped him and he thrust into her grip. So good. So tight. “God, yes. Keep going.” He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, and everything inside him wound taut. Sophie was there, talking to him with sweet, low words of encouragement, and he kept rocking into her fist. Then it rushed over him, his back bowing, body clenching, as he spilled his seed in hot pulses all over Sophie’s silk waistcoat. He shuddered, gasping her name as the spasms continued to echo throughout his limbs.

When it finally ended, he noticed that the carriage had stopped. “We’re back,” Sophie said softly.

He blinked.
Oh, God.
He straightened, sitting up and giving her space while he tried to collect himself. Once again, he’d completely lost his sense of control around her. Exhaling, he rubbed his eyes. He’d never treated a woman so disrespectfully. And Sophie certainly deserved better of him. He’d debased her, ejaculated all over her. Christ, what must she think of him? He didn’t carry a handkerchief, so he whipped off his loosely tied cravat and cleaned her up the best he could.

“Well, that’s one stain Alice won’t be expecting,” she said, dryly.

“Better take it off and let me have it. I’ll have my valet clean it.”

Woodenly, he helped her remove the topcoat and the soiled waistcoat. Then he slipped her topcoat back over her arms. He couldn’t even look at her as he buttoned up his trousers. “I’m sorry.”

“Damien.” She laid her palm on his cheek, bringing his gaze to hers. “Remember, nothing we do together that brings us both pleasure is wrong.”

“I doubt that was pleasurable for you, me using you like that.”

“You would be wrong. Did you enjoy pleasuring me out on your terrace?”

“Of course,” he answered quickly.

“Well, it is the same for me. I enjoy giving you pleasure, you stubborn man. Now get inside so that I may return home. Do you need me to help you?”

“No. I’ll be fine,” he said, even though he wasn’t sure. But she’d done enough. He did not want to burden her further. So he picked up her hand and pressed a kiss to her fingers. “Sweet dreams,
kotyonok.
”

Chapter Sixteen

Sophie surveyed the ballroom from her spot in the back corner. For two days, she’d been searching for Lord Tolbert, but she hadn’t been able to locate him. Until tonight. With help from Alice’s network of servants, they’d learned Tolbert planned to attend the Earl of Portland’s ball. The marchioness had been thrilled when Sophie requested to come along.

Good thing her stepmama did not know why.

She was not here to dance or engage in polite conversation. No, she attended merely to watch Tolbert, to see where he went when he left here.

Because Pamela had been found yesterday, dead. Strangled, raped, her right hand severed. Struck in the back of the head. Thrown into the river. Sir Stephen had returned to the Thames Police Office last night to see the body. Despite being bloated from the water, the girl had fit Madame Hartley’s description.

And Sophie was convinced the blame for her death lay squarely at Tolbert’s feet.

Unfortunately, Tolbert had not yet arrived. When he did, however, she would be waiting.

“Lady Sophia.” The Duke of Colton bowed in front of her. In his impeccably turned-out black evening clothes, it was easy to see why Julia had fallen so hard for her husband.

“Colton.” She curtsied. “I hadn’t expected to see you here. Isn’t this event a tad on the respectable side for you?”

“Yes, but respectability is a nice change of scenery every now and then.”

“The benefit of being a duke, I suppose.”

“Indeed.” He grinned.

Sophie nearly rolled her eyes. “You are fortunate that Julia puts up with you.”

“I’m well aware of that, which is why I would do anything for my wife. Including leave my newborn son and daughter to come to London in order to see you.”

“Me? Julia sent you to see me?”

“Yes,” he said with a nod, then folded his arms over his chest. His gray gaze studied her face. “She is worried about you. Said your letters are infrequent and vague. And you refused to come and visit Harry.”

Sophie shifted in her slippers and clasped her gloved hands. “I plan to visit in a few weeks.”
After I prove that Tolbert is guilty
. “I hardly see why my absence is a matter of grave concern.”

“I doubted it as well, until the other day. Now I happen to agree with her.”

“Do not be ridiculous. I’m perfectly well.”
Other than nearly dueling, getting stabbed, tracking a killer, and having a torrid affair, of course.

“Sophia,” he said tersely. “You and I do not know one another well, but I do know Quint. And I suspect he is the reason you are avoiding my wife.”

She tried very hard not to react. “What did Quint tell you?”

“Nothing, but he is one of my oldest friends. And the way he is acting has me concerned for the both of you.”

Did he know of Quint’s fits? She couldn’t imagine Quint would readily share that information. “There is no reason for concern. We are friends.”

“Yes, that is what he says as well.” He sighed. “Sophia, most men are foolish, vain creatures. We tend to run shallow. Quint is . . . deep. He is unlike other men. Whatever he feels, he feels it all the way through, with no exceptions. And he is exceedingly loyal.”

Was this a warning? Sophie wasn’t sure how to respond. Not to mention that no one need tell her of Quint’s nature. She’d seen him at both his best and his worst. “And you mention this because?”

“Because I can see how he feels about you. I’ve never seen it before in the twenty-odd years I’ve known him. And he is not a man to dally with an innocent woman.”

“So, you’re asking me what my intentions are?”

“Yes, in a manner of speaking. He is acting strangely, refusing to leave the house. You are clearly visiting him whenever you feel like it, unchaperoned. Do you plan to marry him?”

“He has not asked, if you must know.”

“I’m . . . surprised.” Colton rubbed his jaw. “I assumed . . .”

“That he asked and I turned him down?” An unnecessary question, considering the shock on the duke’s face.

That had stung. Quint hadn’t explained why, exactly, but she could not blame him. Not really. She was the ruined daughter of a marquess who spent her evenings skulking about gaming hells dressed as a man. Not exactly proper wife material.

She’d avoided examining her feelings for him. Pointedly refused to worry over the future. And she would not allow Colton—or Julia—to force her to face up to it now.

“I will not hurt him, if that is what you are concerned about,” she told Colton. “And Quint is much stronger than you think.”

A man suddenly stepped into their small circle, a man she had not seen in eight years.

A man she’d hoped never to encounter again.

“Lady Sophia, it has been a long time, has it not?” Lord Robert, now the Earl of Reddington, wore a knowing smirk as he bowed. How had she ever thought him handsome, with his neatly styled brown hair and elegantly tailored clothes? All that perfection hid an underbelly of dishonesty and cruelty.

Blood rushed in her ears. She dragged air into her lungs and made no effort to curtsy. “My lord.”

“Colton, never thought to see you back in England.” Robert nodded toward the duke. “Heard you’re a respectable family man now.”

Colton, clearly unhappy at the interruption, inclined his chin politely. Painful small talk ensued until the host appeared to ask Colton for a word. The duke bowed to Sophie. “We’ll continue our conversation later, my lady.”

Sophie wanted to beg him to stay, but that could attract undue attention. So she found herself alone with Robert. God above, she must remain calm and end this conversation as quickly as possible.

“Sophie—” She stiffened, and Robert grinned. “Oh, come now. You don’t mind if I call you Sophie, do you? After all we’re such
old friends
.” The last two words were said with such barely veiled innuendo that revulsion skated down Sophie’s spine.

“I do mind, if you must know.” Her voice sounded hollow to her ears. “And I hardly think we are friends.”

“Of course we are.” He leaned in closer and she took a step back, only to press against the wall. His breath smelled of brandy. “We were very good friends once.”

Had she truly thought herself in love with this man? “Once, but that was quite a long time ago. Tell me, how is your
wife?
” she hissed.

“Dull. I thought that’s what I wanted at the time, but I was a fool.”

Yes, you were,
she wanted to say. Instead, she tried to step around him, but he quickly blocked her path. “Let me pass.”

“You cannot leave now, not when I’ve finally returned. You know, I’ve thought about you often over the years.” He moved in and she planted her feet. She would not cower. “You’ve never married,” he continued. “I wonder why that is.”

“It has nothing to do with you, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she snapped.

“You needn’t lie to me, Sophie. You forget, I know you.” One finger stroked the bare skin of her arm, above her glove, and she jerked her arm away.

“You know nothing about me, sir.”

He smirked at her. “Come now. We enjoyed one another once. I was thinking we could renew our acquaint—”

Lifting her foot, she rammed her heel down on the top of his dress shoe. He gave a satisfying yelp, and she skirted him, escape the only thing on her mind. The French doors leading to the terrace were not far and she hurried toward them.

 

 

Quint had not seen Sophie for the past two evenings, and he knew precisely why. She was quietly busy watching Lord Tolbert. The idea turned his blood cold. Not because Tolbert was a murderer. The man may or may not be responsible for the killings. No one could know for sure, not without more proof.

And Quint hated the idea of Sophie wading through the underbelly of London, risking herself, to find said proof. Especially when he could do nothing to protect her. He’d hired Jenkins, of course, who drove Sir Stephen about Town, but it wasn’t the same as being there himself.

Not to mention, if he had to sit through one more of Jenkins’s glowing reports of Sir Stephen’s derring-do, he’d lose his mind even sooner.

So he decided to discover answers, even from the confines of his own house.

Tolbert had unfinished business with Sir Stephen, who was supposedly Quint’s cousin. Quint assumed that a vaguely worded note to Tolbert, requesting an audience regarding the argument with Sir Stephen, might be enough to get Tolbert’s attention.

The note worked, and Tolbert agreed to come by before he went out for the evening.

Quint had everything arranged the way he wanted when Taylor announced Lord Tolbert. Dressed for the evening, Tolbert’s dark eyes were wary as he stepped inside the room. “Evening, Quint.”

“Excellent,” Quint said, coming around the desk. “Welcome, Tolbert. Brandy?”

The earl sat in the chair Quint indicated. Quint took the seat opposite and did a rapid examination. Tolbert was short for a man, four or five inches short of six feet. The heels on his dress shoes were unusually high—clearly to increase his stature—as well as worn. Plain cravat pin. No watch fob. The glove on his right hand was missing a button.

They were positioned close to the fire, which was stoked higher than usual on a spring night. He poured Tolbert a generous portion of brandy, handed it over. Repeated the exercise for himself. The two of them sat back with their spirits. Quint pretended to drink his while they made polite conversation. Tolbert, on the other hand, made short work of the first glass, quickly proceeding to the second.

Quint poured just as much this round.

“I daresay this is the best brandy I’ve had in ages. From where did you get it?”

“A tiny village in France. They only produce twenty bottles a year. Costs a fortune, but it’s worth it.” When Tolbert was distracted, Quint poured the brandy from his glass into a plant by his chair.

“Indeed. What are the chances you’d sell me a bottle?”

“No need. I’ll be happy to give you one.” He got up, rang for Taylor. When the butler appeared, Quint requested a bottle for Tolbert.

“Very good. There are only three bottles left, my lord.”

“Never mind that, Taylor. I’m happy for Tolbert to have one of them.”

Taylor bowed, retreated, and Quint turned to Tolbert, who looked more at ease. Excellent.

“Appreciate it, Quint. I’ve never believed what they say about you, you know.”

“That is good to hear. I was sorry to learn of your problems with my young cousin.”

“A trifle impertinent, the lad.”

“Yes. He gets it from his mother, unfortunately.” Quint rolled his eyes, as if mothers were the obvious root of the world’s problems. “You can understand, I’m sure.”

“I suppose.”

“My mother wasn’t much better,” Quint lied, refilling Tolbert’s glass once more. “Some days I wished I had the sort of parents who ignored their children.”

Tolbert made a noise. “My father was worse than my mother. Strict disciplinarian, he was. I couldn’t wait to get to Eton.”

To pick on other boys, no doubt.

“I heard you and Stephen were in The Pretty Kitty. Haven’t been there myself. What did the lad do?” Surreptitiously, he dumped more brandy into the plant. Refilled his glass.

“I had a girl all lined up. Bought her for the night, just wanted to finish my cards first. Then I see Sir Stephen leading her to the stairs. I waited until they came back down and laid into the boy.”

“Understandable. So did you get what you paid for that night?”

“Indeed.” He grinned. “She more than made up for the trouble.”

“Ah. Work her over, did you? Sometimes the girls like it when you get a bit rough, I’ve found.” Quint watched every one of Tolbert’s features carefully.

His brow pinched ever so slightly before it was gone, and he shifted in the chair. Confusion, but Tolbert did not want to show it.

“Not really. I’ve other ways of getting my money’s worth.” Eyes clear, he never blinked or looked away. It was the truth.

Quint put his glass down with a decisive thunk. He rose and went to the door to call for Taylor. Throwing the wood open, he nearly ran into the butler. Taylor leapt backward, his face turning red, and Quint eyed him carefully. Had the servant been eavesdropping? “Taylor, show Lord Tolbert out, won’t you?”

“Wait, what—?” Tolbert said behind him.

Quint spun and strode toward the desk. “Thank you, Tolbert. I have all that I need,” he said, dropping into his chair. He reached for a letter he’d been writing before Tolbert arrived. Picked up his pen. “Taylor will see you out.”

Tolbert grumbled and departed, likely off to spread tales of Quint’s idiosyncrasies. Now alone, Quint wondered again over his butler. Had the lad been listening at the door? True, Taylor had obviously never been a butler before, but that didn’t equate to something sinister. Nevertheless, someone in the house was keeping Hudson and the rest of the Home Office well informed, and Quint didn’t like it.

Not one bit.

 

 

The brisk spring breeze cooled Sophie’s overheated skin as she moved to the edge of the terrace, away from the house. Away from Robert. The unbelievable
nerve
of that man. She would’ve kicked him square in the bollocks if she hadn’t been in these blasted skirts.

Robert was no longer repulsed by her, she guessed. Well, she was certainly repulsed by
him
. Buttoned-up, stuffy, aristocratic snob. And she’d wanted to marry him?

I would never dishonor my family by marrying you.
After all these years, that still hurt. Even though she did not want him, the idea that she was not good enough stung.

Deep lungfuls of the crisp evening air soon calmed her. She needed to get back inside and continue to watch for Lord Tolbert. Then follow him, though she would need to do it from her carriage. No chance of donning Sir Stephen’s garments in time.