The Seduction of Sophie Seacrest (3 page)

And then he saw her.

Far below and off some distance, a young
woman rode a sorrel at breakneck speed. She was not in the
conventional sidesaddle as was the accepted mode of the day, but
sat astride the horse, her lithe body bent over the animal's mane
as she urged him on. Her unpinned hair trailed behind her in a wild
mass of auburn. Tantalizing. Seductive. He had a sudden desire to
see the woman’s face.

Lightning split the sky, followed by claps of
thunder and a shift from gray to black. There would not be
sufficient time to make it back to Ellswood before all hell broke
loose. A giant slash of lightning ripped the sky in half and sheets
of rain pummeled the ground. Where had the woman gone? Holt urged a
reluctant Satan through pellets of rain in search of the woman. He
spotted her seconds before the sorrel bucked and threw her to the
ground, then bolted away. Holt inched Satan down the sloping hill
toward the unmoving body huddled in the field. When he reached the
woman, he threw back the reins, dismounted, and bent to touch
her.

Sophie sensed his presence before she lifted
her head. She noted the muddy boots, twice the size of her
father’s. Her gaze traveled the length of the towering figure to
the man’s face. His eyes were dark, his hair, long and black,
whipping around a face that was angled and stern, not at all in
keeping with the handsome dandies of the day. The man resembled a
medieval warrior more than a gentleman.

She yelped as he gathered her up in one arm
and carried her to his horse where he lifted her onto the saddle,
grabbed the reins and deftly mounted the animal behind her. They
raced into the rain with Sophie’s head tucked against the man’s
broad chest. She tried to ignore the ripple of muscle through his
wet shirt but how did one ignore a near-naked man’s chest,
especially if said chest was pressed against one’s person,
separated by nothing more than soggy garments? The situation proved
so unsettling that Sophie didn’t notice the horse had stopped until
the rider dismounted, grasped her around the waist, and swung her
from the horse’s back.

Once on solid ground, the man made no
immediate move to release her. She raised her head and good Lord,
but his eyes were captivating. What color were they? Green? Brown?
The man’s eyes narrowed and he abruptly released her and headed
toward the cottage. She followed him, surprised at the relative
cleanliness of the abode which bore no traces of musty odors or
layers of dust. It was actually quite cozy with a few hand-crafted
pieces of furniture including a rocker and a single bed. As the
stranger bent to the task of lighting a fire at the far end of the
room, Sophie was again struck by his massive size.

Her gaze flitted from the stranger’s broad
shoulders to the cottage door, then back to his shoulders. Where
was she? She’d been so absorbed in her rescuer that she’d paid no
attention to their destination. They could not have traveled far,
yet they were no longer on Seacrest property which could only mean
they were now on the closest bordering estate; Ellswood, home of
the Langfords. Strangely enough, the man had seemed quite certain
of his destination, despite the storm. As she pondered this, the
truth of his identity struck her. “You’re the Langford’s
gamekeeper.”

The muscles on his back tensed through his
wet shirt before he turned and met her gaze. “Yes.”

He was not a handsome man by society’s
standards. There was too much bulk, too much hair, good heavens,
too much man
, but there
was
something compelling
about him that stuck her to her spot. Was it the eyes that appeared
to consume her every breath? She could see them now, a deep navy.
Or the roughness of his voice that sent a tremulous shiver through
her entire body?

“And who are you?” he asked in a too soft
voice as he stepped closer.

“Lady Sophie Seacrest.”

His eyes narrowed a fraction. “Ah, a
Seacrest.”

“You must know our gamekeeper, Hodge.”

He shook his head and long strands of wet
hair clung to his shoulders. “No, I’ve only been at Ellswood a
short time.”

Which explained why she had not seen or heard
of him before today. Seacrests might be estranged from Langfords
but staff tongues still wagged and Aunt Vivian made it her business
to stay abreast of all happenings, claiming it was best to keep
one’s enemies close.

The man retrieved a blanket from a nearby
bureau and settled it around her shoulders. “You shouldn’t ride
when a storm is threatening," he said, his deep voice curling
around her.

She pulled the blanket closer in an effort to
stave off the tingling in her middle and replied, “I’m an
accomplished horsewoman.”

He lifted a brow and slivers of amusement
filtered his words. “But not so accomplished as to remain seated
during a thunderstorm?”

She shrugged and smiled. “Apparently
not.”

“
Step by the fire so you
don’t catch a chill.”

Drops of water slid from her gown as she
moved toward the fire’s heat. What would her father say if he knew
she was alone in a cottage with a stranger, an employee of the
Langford’s no less? He would not be pleased. Nor would her aunt.
But they would never know for she would keep this one scrap of
harmless adventure to herself and perhaps in nights ahead, pull it
from her memories and think of the dark stranger.

“Drink this.” The man thrust a snifter in her
hands and she took a healthy swallow, expecting brandy.

A burn captured her throat, stealing her
breath as she coughed and sputtered. “This is
not
brandy!”

“No,” he smiled and his dark eyes glistened.
“It’s whiskey.”

She coughed again and cleared her throat.
“Why on earth do men find that drink so appealing? It is much too
harsh and unrefined.”

“Some of the best things in life are harsh
and unrefined,” he commented, glancing at her lips.

“I beg your pardon?” Her lips had begun a
slow tingle, obviously a result of the whiskey.

“A kiss for example.” He moved closer and
rubbed his jaw. “There are many kinds of kisses. There is the kiss
you give your mother or the peck on the cheek for your father or
aunt.” His voice dipped. “And then there is the other kind of
kiss.”

“Oh?” The room suddenly grew very small.

He lifted a finger and traced her lower lip
with such lazy perfection she forgot the dampness of her skin,
forgot everything but the fiery tingle on her lips.

“Yes.” He worked his finger over her upper
lip in a faint caress, then dipped into her parted mouth and
stroked her tongue with the tip of his finger. “There is the kiss a
man and a woman share. Harsh. Unrefined.”

She swallowed. “Oh?”

The man cupped her chin and leaned forward,
brushing his lips over hers. “It’s part of an age old mating
ritual, a dance which begins slowly with the faintest touch of skin
to skin and escalates to,” he flicked his tongue across her lower
lip, “more primitive methods of communication.”

“I see.” But she did not. Her lips tingled
and burned where he stroked her, filling her with the need to…do
something.

“And soon, there is only touching and all
refinement slips away.” He captured her mouth once again, this time
easing his tongue between her lips. He pulled her roughly to him,
his massive arms circling her waist, sliding down her back.

A rush of heat spread through her as he
pressed his hardness against her abdomen. She eased her arms around
his neck, burying her fingers in his long hair as wondrous
sensations overtook her. Eager for more, she strained against his
chest and sighed when the velvet fabric of her soggy riding habit
heightened the pleasure.

“And then there is no more thinking.” He
cupped her buttocks with a large hand, and murmured, “Only
feeling.” His mouth slanted over hers, urging her lips apart as his
tongue delved inside. Sophie moaned when he captured her tongue and
gently sucked.

Oh, but this delicious tasting and touching
must be wrong. But did she not deserve this one small pleasure
after so many years of thinking only of others?
Yes
, her
body cried, smothering logic and common sense.
Yes!

The man eased his hand between them and
worked the tiny buttons of her riding habit. “Enjoy, my sweet.” He
unlaced her chemise and pushed the flimsy fabric aside. “You smell
like lavender. I shall enjoy devouring you.” He lowered his head
and captured a nipple in his mouth.

Sophie moaned as he licked the peak. Oh, the
rapture, the tingling delight! She longed to succumb to the
seductive powers of this stranger and revel in the sensations
pulsing through her body. She moaned when he sucked first one, then
the other nipple, skimming the pad of a callused thumb over the
swollen bud.
Oh dear Lord.
She threw back her head and
moaned again, surrendering to pure sensation. Nothing had ever felt
more deliciously right.

But this was wrong.
She could not add
to the disgrace that clouded the Seacrest name with whispered
tales, no matter how untrue. She could not do this to her family.
“Stop!” She pushed at the man’s shoulders and jerked away, yanking
her riding habit closed.

He stared at her, eyes narrowed, jaw set. Why
had she not noticed the sinister aura about him before this very
second?

“You were looking for a pleasurable way to
pass a stormy afternoon with a commoner.”

“No.”

“One you could moan and writhe about with
when he gave you pleasure.” He took a step toward her. “You would
not be able to show such zealousness with a dandy from the upper
crust, would you? But a lowly gamekeeper? After he gave you hours
of
pleasuring
, you could stick your nose up at his
manure-coated boots and walk away without fear of seeing him
again.” His breathing escalated with his anger. “I am not your
servant and I am bloody hell not your amusement. What would your
father say if he knew you were dallying with Edward Langford’s
gamekeeper?”

A rush of lightheadedness threatened to
topple her but she fought to regain control. “You would not tell
him.”
Pray, do not tell him.

He did not answer.

“Please. Can we not forget this unfortunate
incident and go about our business?”

“And should we have occasion to meet again?”
His voice dipped several octaves, almost a caress. “What would we
do?”

So, he did see the right of it and wished to
follow a prudent course should they have the unlikely occasion to
meet again. “We would pretend we did not know one another,” she
paused and floundered, “which actually, we do not.”

He lifted a brow but thankfully, made no
comment.

She must get him to agree. Not that he would
necessarily honor a gentleman’s agreement, but she must make the
attempt. She could not let a few moments of ill choice heap more
disgrace upon her family. Sophie looked into the man’s unsmiling
face and said in her gentlest voice, “I would be most grateful if
you would comply.”

“Of course you would.” He threw her a look of
disgust and said, “What an excellent schemer you are. Should we
meet again, I shall remember that.”

Chapter 3

Holt threw open the doors of Ellswood nearly
colliding with Jaffe, the butler. He stalked past the bewildered
old man and headed for the library and the crystal decanters lining
the sidetable.

“What has you in such a huff?”

Holt swung around to find his brother
studying him with blatant curiosity. How had he missed Jason when
the man sat three paces from the damnable sidetable? He turned back
to the decanters, poured a whiskey and downed it in one gulp. He
poured a second and asked with as much disinterest as he could
muster, “What does Sophie Seacrest look like?"

Jason laughed. “Do not tell me you had the
pleasure of viewing her from afar. If you did, consider yourself
among the fortunate few.”

Why the devil was Jason laughing? Holt found
nothing remotely humorous about the question. Or the answer. What
did his brother mean
viewing her from afar
, or
fortunate
few
? He didn’t know but he was damn well going to find out. “I
merely asked what she looked like.”

“Very well.” Jason leaned back in his chair
and clasped his hands behind his head. “I shall tell you about Lady
Sophie Seacrest. She has long auburn hair that shines with bits of
red and gold when she walks in the sunlight. Her eyes are the
deepest green, like a lush, velvet lawn in early morning. Her skin
is soft and creamy, perfectly flawless. And then there is her
body.” He smiled and closed his eyes.

Holt clenched the glass in his hand. “What
about her body?” Damn it all, Jason had no business noticing the
woman’s figure.

Jason’s eyes snapped open, darkening with
annoyance. “If you’ve seen Sophie, you need not inquire about her
body. You would know, even from a distance that it was perfect.
What the deuce is this all about?”

Holt studied his drink and shrugged. “I met
her today.”

“Just like that? Did you ride over and
introduce yourself as the new Earl of Westover?”

“Of course not.” He was in a foul mood and he
knew exactly who was responsible for it. Visions of the green-eyed
temptress flashed in his mind, making him angrier still. “She was
riding her horse when the storm broke,” he said in a clipped voice.
“I helped her to safety.”

“And?”

"And what?" He was not about to reveal what
had transpired in the gamekeeper’s cottage.

“And did you not find her exceedingly
beautiful and charming?” Jason continued patiently.

“I didn’t notice,” Holt lied. “She looked
like a drowned rat when I came upon her.” He pushed away thoughts
of lush curves clinging to a rain-sodden riding habit. Soft.
Lavender-scented. Inviting.