Till Dawn with the Devil (16 page)

“My friends, my lady and I bid you a good night!”

With his friends goading him, Reign swept Sophia into his arms and tossed her over his shoulder.

“Reign!” she shrieked in protest.

“Five hours married, and already sounding like a shrew,” Reign said mournfully, giving her bottom a playful smack. He strode out of the drawing room, across the hall, and toward the center staircase.

It was not surprising that the drunken merrymakers followed them into the hall. Sophia caught glimpses of white and peach, and assumed that Fanny and Juliana had joined the men.

“This is highly improper, my lord!” she said, burrowing her face into his back.

Reign realized her intentions when she nipped his skin with her teeth. The high ceilings echoed with his friends’ cheers and his own laughter. His insides were warmed by the brandy he had
imbibed, and the notion that the lady dangling over his shoulder belonged to him.

He affectionately rubbed her backside. “Behave yourself, Lady Rainecourt, or we will be spending our wedding night under the watchful eye of a surgeon because one of us is bound to crack our heads.”

“Ho-ho. If you want an audience, Frost and I will volunteer!” Vane shouted as he raised his glass in their honor. “We are not squeamish.”

A disagreeable noise rumbled in Frost’s throat. “Speak for yourself. I, for one, have no desire to see Reign’s hairy, bare arse!”

“The feeling is mutual, Frost,” Reign called out over his shoulder.

“I say, another toast . . . to Lady Rainecourt’s lovely ankles,” Saint declared, beckoning everyone to raise their glasses.

“To Lady Rainecourt’s ankles!” Dare seconded, and everyone, including the ladies, echoed the toast to his countess’s perfect ankles.

“Good heavens, Reign,” Sophia said, her embarrassment increasing with each toast. “First my lips, now my ankles . . . I am showing an indecent amount of leg if your friends are commenting on my ankles.”

His sheltered bride was unused to the frank appreciation of his friends, and he found her innocence charming. “My friends mean no disrespect. And truthfully, you do have very lovely ankles, my dear.”

“Oh, you are all impossible!” she said, or
something close to that remark. It was difficult to tell with her voice muffled by his frock coat.

Once Reign reached the top of the stairs, he strode down a passageway and nodded to the two maids leaving the bedchamber he had ordered the servants to prepare for his new bride.

“It appears that Lady Rainecourt will not require your assistance, after all,” Reign said, giving both young maids a jaunty wink. “You both may retire for the evening.”

“Aye, milord,” they said in unison, curtsying as the couple walked by them. “Good tidings to both you and your new bride.”

“Reign, you have had your fun. Set me down at once!”

He grinned at her surly tone. “Be patient, Sophia. I am yours to command.”

His outrageous remark was overheard by the maids. He and Sophia could hear their giggles as they vanished around the corner.

His valet had anticipated Reign’s arrival and opened the door. “Good evening, Lord Rainecourt . . . Lady Rainecourt.”

Reign had originally planned to retire to his bedchamber to give his bride some time alone as she prepared for her wedding night. He had done the same for Beatrice, and it had been a miserable night for both of them. She had come to her marriage bed reluctantly, and had cried at what she had described as his awkward fumbling. He had left her bed bitter and unsatisfied.

He refused to make the same mistakes with Sophia.

“Fellows, you may retire for the evening.” Reign slowly allowed Sophia to slide down the front length of his body until her feet touched the floor. He ignored the peevish look she shot him as she shook out her rumpled skirt. “Lady Rainecourt will see to my needs.”

“Very well, milord,” Fellows said cheerfully. “Good evening to you both.”

Sophia whirled around and stabbed her finger into his chest. “Honestly, Reign, was that truly necessary?”

Reign gave her an unrepentant grin. “I thought every young lady dreams of being swept off her feet by a gallant gentleman?”

Sophia crossed her arms over her breasts. She was pretending to be vexed by his actions, but she could not conceal the spark of humor in her eyes. “You tossed me over your shoulder as if I were a sack of grain and provided the opportunity for your mischievous cohorts to ogle my ankles on our ascent. This is not the stuff of romance, you annoying man!”

Sophia swung her fist at him and missed. Reign spun her and tugged her slender back against his chest. “Admit it. You like my friends.”

She leaned her head back against him. “Yes.”

Reign kissed the top of her head. “And they like you.”

None of his friends had approved of Beatrice.
He winced at the unbidden comparison. It seemed unfair to both women.

“Is it important?” Sophia asked, staring straight ahead as he rocked her slowly in his embrace.

“They are my family,” he said simply.

Sophia nodded. “Then I shall think of them as brothers.”

Her quiet acceptance humbled Reign. Her dire circumstances with her brother had forced her into a marriage that she had not wanted, and yet Sophia was not one to bemoan her fate. She was willing to accept Reign into her life and into her bed.

For the first time in his adult life, he stared at his bed with apprehension. How does one go about seducing one’s wife? There had been other ladies in his life since his wife’s death; a steady stream of mistresses to prove to himself that his failings with Beatrice could be blamed on youth and inexperience.

Sophia had taken a great risk in marrying him, and Reign did not want her to come to regret her hasty decision.

“Are you nervous?” he murmured, idly stroking his fingers down her right arm.

“Yes.” Sophia turned in his embrace and concentrated on his face. His answer seemed important to her. “Are you?”

Sophia mentally cringed at her ridiculous question. Reign was a man of the world. He had been
married once and had known loss. Why would he be anxious on his wedding night? After his wife’s death, he had probably bedded dozens of mistresses. Hundreds. It had been a foolish thing to blurt—

“Yes.”

Her eyes widened at his quiet admission.

“You seem surprised.” His hand lightly caressed her cheek. “I do not have much experience with innocents. After . . . well, it just seemed best to avoid them. I want to please you.”

Her heart skipped a beat, and then raced at his words. “Then you will,” she said, smiling brilliantly up at him.

Sophia stepped out of Reign’s embrace and offered her back to him. Although her knowledge of what transpired between lovers was sketchy at best, even she knew her dress would no longer be required.

She shyly glanced over her shoulder. “Since you dismissed the maids, you will have to assist me.”

Reign teased the tiny curl at the nape of her neck with his finger. “Are you eager to sample the delights of our marriage bed?”

Sophia brought her hand to her throat as she considered the question. “I must admit that intellectually I am curious to separate truth from exaggeration. I have been told that there will be pain.”

And blood,
she thought with a delicate shiver.

Reign unfastened her necklace, and the heavy links slipped into her hand. Sophia could feel the weight of his stare as his gaze dropped to the buttons on her dress. “When a lady takes a lover for the first time, some discomfort is unavoidable. Nevertheless, I would rather leave you a virgin than to have you fear my touch.”

Sophia suspected her new husband was grimly dwelling on the unwelcome specters of his past. She had learned enough from others that Reign’s marriage to Beatrice was an unhappy affair, long before her unfortunate accident. Would the lady always stand between her and Reign?

“You have been nothing but kind to me,” she said tenderly, suddenly understanding that he expected her to reject him now that she had secured his protection and was safe from her brother’s influence. “I trust you, husband.”

Reign buried his face into the hollow of her shoulder and inhaled the floral scent she had applied as she dressed for her wedding. “Then you are more innocent than I could have ever guessed.”

Before Sophia could question Reign on his meaning, he had moved away from her and opened the door. “It was thoughtless of me to rush you into bed. I will send Sin’s wife to you. She will know what needs to be said.”

Reign was leaving her. Dread fluttered in her stomach as she took several careful steps toward the door. “My lord—Reign, have I offended you?
If so, please forgive me. It was not my intention.” Without her walking stick, she felt vulnerable in the unfamiliar room.

“Wait for Juliana.”

He shut the door, ending the discussion.

Sophia blinked, perplexed by what had driven her husband out of the bedchamber. Reaching out to steady her gait, she slowly walked to the empty bed. She placed her palm on the dark green velvet covering and sat down.

Perhaps Lady Sinclair could provide some insight on how she had ruined her wedding night.

Sophia raised her bowed head at the soft knock on the door.

“Sophia?” Juliana entreated from the other side. She paused for a response. “May I enter?”

Without waiting for a reply, Juliana opened the door and poked her head in. The marchioness sighed as she noted Sophia’s miserable expression. “Husbands can be a trial,” she said, her soothing voice laced with sympathy. “Most wait until they have had their pleasure. Leave it to Reign to be a most unusual husband.”

Sophia burst into tears.

Juliana strode purposely to Sophia’s side and embraced her.

Unsettled nerves and disappointments are often best settled with a good cry.

“Where is Lady Fanny?” Reign asked, filling his glass with a generous portion of brandy. From the corner of his eye, he noticed that Vane had succumbed to his overindulging. Facedown, he was
sprawled out on one of the sofas. His raspy snores filled the awkward silence in the drawing room.

“Saint offered to escort her home shortly after you carried your bride upstairs,” Dare said, his arms crossed and resting on his chest.

“Speaking of your bride,” Sin said, pointedly raising his gaze heavenward. “Why are you here, and my wife upstairs?”

Frost snickered as he straddled a chair. “No steel in his velvet sword, I wager.”

Reign choked on the brandy he had swallowed. He grimaced and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Stifle it, Frost. I am in no mood for your vulgarity and insinuations.”

Sensing that the two friends could come to blows, Dare and Hunter positioned themselves in front of Reign.

“Insinuations?” Frost said, sniffing at the word. “I thought I was being rather obvious. Perhaps your cock prefers poking whores instead of virtuous deeds.”

“Frost,” Sin said, his tone clearly a warning.

Oblivious to the danger, Frost folded his hands on the back of the chair and then used them to prop up his chin. “I mean no offense, Reign. Truly. Lady Sophia is a lovely prize for a gent set on marriage. While some poor-spirited gentleman might view her damaged eyes as a flaw—”

“Arse,” Dare muttered, stepping away from Reign.

“Dimwit,” Hunter concurred.

Both gentlemen parted, content to leave Frost in the dank hole he was digging for himself.

“I believe a lady who by her very nature can turn a blind eye to her husband’s affairs is by far an asset, in my opinion,” he added in his typically candid manner.

“Did your mother drop you on your head, Frost?” Dare asked, his brows raised. “It would explain your idiocy.”

“More like a death wish,” Sin said, shooting Frost a menacing look. “Enough.”

Frost straightened his spine as his hands parted in exasperation. “What? For speaking the truth? Bollocks! Beatrice almost ruined our friend. Forgive me for expressing some concern when Reign loses his head and marries a chit to keep her brother from selling her to a scoundrel.” He stood as his indignation increased. “What prompted such insanity? Did you think sacrificing your life would cleanse your soul for murdering that duplicitous bitch of a countess?”

Reign slammed his glass down on the sideboard. “You go too far,” he said, shaking his head. “Beatrice has nothing to do with this.”

“Christ,” someone muttered.

His friends never spoke of Beatrice or their suspicions that he had killed her in a drunken rage. Frost had crossed the line by dragging his dead wife into the conversation.

Reign took a threatening step toward Frost. “Although it is no business of yours, I married
Sophia because it suited me to do so. I wanted her. Her brothers’ stupidity dropped her neatly into my hands and I took advantage of the situation.”

“You did not have to marry the chit to save her,” Frost argued. “You could have bought her a little house and a maid to keep her from tripping over the bloody furniture. With some coaxing, even a penniless virgin would have learned her place, and parted her thighs for the Devil of Rainecourt! Hell, I would have fu—”