Till Dawn with the Devil (14 page)

“Very good, milord.”

She waited until the earl settled in next to her. “Reign, I must have misunderstood. Did you say that you were collecting your, uh,
bride
?”

A small cynical smile curled the corners of his mouth. “There is nothing wrong with your hearing, Sophia.”

“Me?” Her voice squeaked, forcing her to clear
her throat. “I do not understand any of this, my lord. How did you learn of Lord Mackney’s offer of marriage? Were you at the club?”

Reign patted her hand in a soothing manner. Sophia glanced down at their entangled fingers, unaware that she had reached for his hand. “I was not at the Golden Stag, but several of my friends were.”

Dismayed, Sophia’s shoulders slumped. “So everyone knows? Then you might as well return me to the town house. I cannot defy Stephan so publicly.”

“Giving up so easily?” he taunted softly.

Sophia straightened and glared at him as Reign had hoped that she would. “No! Can you not see that I have no choice? I had hoped my brother’s exchange with Lord Mackney was a private one. I should have known Stephan would have insisted on witnesses so Lord Mackney could not withdraw the offer without fearing reproach. With so many people privy to the earl’s offer and my brother’s consent, I see no other choice but to yield to Stephan’s wishes.”

Reign shook his head. “No. I doubt that Mackney’s conversation with your brother is common knowledge, and I will make certain it remains that way. Frost just has a unique skill of collecting elusive information.”

“Frost . . . You are referring to Lord Chillingsworth?”

Reign seemed to sense her unspoken question, and he gave her hand a friendly squeeze. “Do not
fret about Frost. He will hold his tongue, or deal with me.”

Sophia blinked at the controlled violence in Reign’s promise. She suspected very few people dared to risk his ire. “It is not as simple as soothing Lord Mackney’s injured feelings and my brother’s temper. Stephan needs—”

“Ravenshaw will have to figure out another way to recover from his bad investments, Sophia,” Reign said, sounding like he did not give a farthing about her brother’s fate. “If he is set on marriage, then he can hunt for an heiress.”

She shifted in her seat so her knees brushed against his as the coach wobbled down the street. “You think a betrothal will stop my brother?”

Sophia scowled, wishing the interior of the coach were not so dim. Reign’s face was cast in shadows that seemed to blend with the ones she carried with her.

“A betrothal? Not at all. Ravenshaw would merely reclaim you,” Reign said, presenting her with his profile. “What I am offering is marriage. I had to call in many favors, some that were not even mine to claim, and I have secured a special license from the Archbishop of Canterbury. With your consent, we shall be married this afternoon.”

Sophia brought her hand to her breast, overwhelmed by Reign’s generous offer. “You told me that you would never marry again.”

A particularly bone-shaking jostle of the coach’s compartment sent her colliding against Reign as the wheels dropped into a worn rut in the road.
Sophia clutched at his dark blue frock coat that matched his eyes, and stared up into his handsome face. She felt his arms encircle her as his mouth hovered inches from her.

“You need a husband, Sophia . . . but not a bounder like Mackney,” he amended. Reign teased her lips with his as he huskily whispered, “Allow me to protect you.”

“And my brothers?”

Reign snorted in derision. “You are one-and-twenty, Sophia, and of legal age. Ravenshaw cannot have our marriage annulled, and I would welcome the challenge if he tried.”

Sophia inhaled, taking the lovely masculine scent of him into her lungs. She would be lying if she denied that she was tempted. Reign had intrigued her almost from the beginning. Their first kiss on Lord and Lady Harper’s garden terrace was something she had often dwelled upon in quiet moments.

He obviously felt the same connection, though she suspected that Lord Mackney’s offer of marriage had spurred Reign to propose instead of the noble, loftier sentiment of love. “I would be selfish to agree.”

“You would be foolish to deny me!”

Now she had angered him or pricked his pride. “Reign,” she said, the muscles in her throat constricting with emotion. “This marriage . . . what would you get out of it?”

“This.” Reign lowered his head and crushed his mouth over hers. The kiss was not of a tender
suitor intent on wooing his love. Reign’s kiss was born of frustration, and a longing Sophia could not comprehend. She allowed her left palm the luxury of sliding up Reign’s chest to his shoulder. The coach bounced, and she clung to him, yielding to his drugging caresses and the hard lines of his body.

If Sophia consented, Reign would be her husband. A man like Reign would not be satisfied with kisses. He would lay claim to her body, over and over, a lifetime of living a loving born of his generous sacrifice.

Would it be enough?

Yes,
her heart whispered.

Reign felt the subtle change in Sophia as her body accepted his claim even if her mind was still conflicted. His lips parted, and he softened the kiss, drinking her in. Suddenly her corset seemed too tight and she pulled away from his mouth, gasping to catch her breath.

“Sophia?”

With a hooded glance, she asked, “Tell me, Reign, what do you expect in a wife?”

“Faithfulness and respect,” he said without hesitation. “A wife who will willingly share my bed and bear my children.”

Sophia nodded. She had already concluded that she would be giving Reign what Stephan thought he could take. “And love?”

Reign placed his large hands over hers. He gently moved her hands from his chest and placed them on her lap. “Poetic drivel. A frivolous sentiment.
I learned from my first marriage that love creates false expectations in those it infects. I loved my first wife, and both Beatrice and I were unhappy for my weakness. No, Sophia, I will not demand your love, nor offer you it in return. I will give you my protection, faithfulness, friendship, and loyalty. I swear, I will dedicate my life to ensuring that you are content in our marriage.”

His words were not the sort a young miss yearned for from her ardent suitor. Nevertheless, Lord Mackney was her brother’s choice while Reign was hers.

Despite her tender smile, she wiped away a wistful tear from her cheek. “You honor me, my lord. However, I cannot allow you to sacrifice yourself on the marriage altar for my sake.”

Sophia visibly braced for Reign’s temper, but he surprised her by laughing.

“Very well, I see desperate measures are required.”

“Desperate measures?” Sophia echoed, wary of Reign’s amusement. “What do you intend to do?”

“Live up to my reputation,” Reign said, lightly pressing a kiss to her cold lips. “Sophia, my dear lady, I fully intend to ruin you.”

Perhaps, Reign silently mused, it had been too much to hope that his outrageous announcement would have left Sophia speechless so that he could have a few moments to contemplate his remaining hours as an unmarried man.

Sophia was unwilling to appreciate the humor of their situation.

The future Countess of Rainecourt had no intention of following him meekly to the marriage altar. Reign took Sophia’s hand and helped her descend from their coach. He gave her an equal measure of flattery and threats to convince her to walk through Lord and Lady Bramsbury’s front door. Reign was afraid that if he released Sophia’s hand, she might be foolish enough to flee into the street.

“You cannot be serious,” Sophia hissed under her breath after they had paid their respects to their host and hostess, and had moved out of earshot. “Are you aware that I
slept
in my dress last
evening because Stephan refused to allow Lucy to attend me?”

Reign bit his inner cheek to keep from grinning. Poor Sophia sounded as if she were committing a grievous sin by wearing a slightly wrinkled dress.

“You look delightfully rumpled, my dear.” He nodded to people that he knew, pointedly ignoring any attempts to engage him in conversation as he escorted Sophia through the drawing room and library and outdoors.

“Where are you taking me?” she demanded, not softening her annoyance.

Reign brought Sophia’s hand up to his lips and kissed it. He deliberately lingered over the task, knowing they were being observed by the other guests.

“Reign?” Sophia pleaded huskily, unaware that her anxiety and exhaustion made her sound restless for her lover’s touch.

Only Reign knew the truth.

“Where—?”

Reign placed his hand on Sophia’s back as he guided her toward the steps. “Where all young lovers prefer to tarry . . . the lower terrace.”

Sophia could not resist glancing back at Lord and Lady Bramsbury’s lovely house. Her vision swirled as she turned her head so she gave up and concentrated on the ground in front of her.

“You are aware that it is afternoon.”

“The sun has not escaped my notice.” Reign
pointed at something in the distance. “That spot over there should suit us nicely.”

The crunch of gravel gave way to the soft padding of cut grass.

“Everyone is probably watching us,” Sophia grumbled, clearly not appreciating the simplicity of her ruination. “You were barely civil to our host and hostess.”

“No one expects the Devil of Rainecourt to be civil.”

Reign tugged her toward the two shrubs that had caught his eye.

Sophia rolled her eyes heavenward. “I suspect you and your friends relish your notoriety too much to surrender it willingly.”

“And spoil our fun?” he asked in feigned outrage. “Perish the thought, my lady!”

Reign nudged Sophia until he was satisfied that their discreet audience could still see them even though they were standing in front of the waist-high shrubs.

“Take a step closer.”

For the first time since he caught her as she headed toward Ravenshaw’s stables, Reign noted a hint of a smile forming on Sophia’s full lips. “Hmm . . . you seem to be quite the expert when it comes to ruining a lady’s reputation.”

Matching her lightening mood, he said, “Some tasks are more pleasurable than others.”

Her blue-green eyes blazed like gems in the sunlight. “Have we dallied on the lower terrace long enough? Will Lord Mackney view me as a
wanton lady with a rather unsavory acquaintance with one particular Lord of Vice?”

Sophia allowed him to guide her hands until he had positioned them on the sides of his waist.

“Soon,” he promised as he lowered his head to her parted lips. “By the time we bid farewell to our host and hostess, the gossips will guarantee that Mackney will be unable to forgive your wicked nature, my lady.”

Reign was certain their audience above saw exactly what he had staged for their benefit: two lovers so caught up in each other that they had forgotten to be discreet.

Sophia did not resist his kiss. Her lips softened beneath his as he kindled a passionate response from her. He felt her fingers dig into his waist. Reign willed himself not to respond to the siren call of her body.

While he had brought Sophia to Lord and Lady Bramsbury’s house for the purpose of despoiling her under the speculative gaze of the
ton,
Reign had no intention of making love to Sophia under the shrubbery.

Appearances would suffice.

Reign coaxed Sophia to rotate 180 degrees before he circled her waist and lowered them down on the grass so they disappeared from view. He pulled back and admired her well-kissed mouth.

Sophia scowled up at him. “Good heavens, Reign, get off me! How ever will I explain the grass stains on my skirt?”

“Trust me, my dear lady, no explanation will be necessary.” She was adorable when she was vexed with him. He leaned closer and kissed the tip of her nose. “The bits of grass on our clothes will seal our fate.”

“Reign must be addled to contemplate getting leg-shackled to Ravenshaw’s sister.”

Alexius Braverton, Marquess of Sinclair, watched from one of Reign’s library windows as his wife was conversing with Lady Frances. At Reign’s request, he and his wife had called on Lady Sophia’s dear friend and brought her to the house for the wedding. His friend had hoped to put his future bride at ease by including one of her friends.

Juliana laughed at something the dark-haired woman had said, and once again Alexius was enthralled by his wife’s beauty. A breeze caught the strands of golden-blond hair that had slipped from its confines. The ends floated like dandelion puffs. Juliana absently captured the errant strands and tucked them behind her ear.

As if sensing his perusal, his wife glanced up at the window and grinned. Her smile, artless and full of love, warmed him even at a distance. Alexius waved. Juliana blew him a kiss before she and Lady Frances continued their stroll through Reign’s gardens.

“Did you even hear what I said, Sin?” Frost inquired snottily, annoyed that he was being
ignored. “Stop flirting with your wife and pay attention. Reign tends to heed your advice more than mine.”

Frost’s expression was one of puzzlement, as if he could not fathom why anyone would prefer Sin’s advice to his. Alexius took no offense. If one ignored Frost’s arrogance and sarcastic wit, he could be a tolerable companion.