Till Dawn with the Devil (7 page)

Stifling a sigh, Sophia whirled around and carefully crossed the library to join Stephan near the fireplace. She could feel the weight of her brother’s brooding stare, his beautiful blue-green eyes so much like her own clouded with anger and disapproval.

“What do you want from me? I have apologized more than once for dancing the waltz with our sworn enemy,” she said, her voice laced with exaggerated sarcasm.

Lord Rainecourt was not their enemy, even if Stephan had decided to name the man a villain. Like Sophia and her brothers, the earl had been orphaned when his father had brutally murdered Lord and Lady Ravenshaw before taking his own life.

“You should not have attended the Harpers’ ball without me,” her brother said mulishly.

“I would not have been alone if you had done what you promised,” Sophia said, refusing to back down as Henry had. Her unhelpful brother had abandoned her to her fate, and was currently nursing his wounds that Stephan’s temper had inflicted by raiding the larder.

“And what was that, dear sister?”

The ornate top of the walking stick cut into Sophia’s palm as she strived for patience. “You promised to escort me to Lord and Lady Harper’s
ball. Instead, you left me to rot in this house while you and Henry spent the evening drinking and gambling.”

“You are becoming hysterical.”

Sophia flipped the walking stick and slammed the end against the fireplace mantel to prevent Stephan from moving away from her. “And you are a rude, drunk, patronizing prig,” she said, her slender body seething and vibrating with suppressed emotion. “If not for the generosity of Fanny and Griffin, I would have spent another evening alone in this house.”

Stephan knocked her walking stick aside and sauntered to a side table where he had left his glass of port. “I told you that London would not suit you.”

“London suits me fine,” Sophia said stubbornly. “You and Henry are just worried that having poor, almost blind Sophia underfoot will ruin your grand plans of overindulgence.”

Stephan finished his glass of port and poured another. “You place too much importance upon yourself, Sophia,” he said, brushing by her as he sought out his favorite chair.

His careless cruelty stung. “On occasion, you can be cold, Stephan, but you are not heartless,” Sophia said, following him. “Why did you agree that I could spend the season in London if your intention was to keep me locked up in this house? I might as well have remained in the country!”

“My point exactly!” her brother said, setting the delicate stem of his glass down on the small
square table beside him with enough force to make Sophia wince. “I told you weeks ago that there was no justification for the additional expense of bringing you to London. The expense of your gowns and frills would beggar a lesser man.”

Guilt burned like acid in Sophia’s throat. Stephan had a real talent for making her feel shameful for the simple luxuries that he afforded her. “You and Henry do not fret about expenses when you desire a new coat or pair of boots.”

Stephan pretended not to hear her. “And what do Henry and I get for our investment?” His hands came together to form a steeple as he stared at her. “I will concede that your looks are fair enough for most men to stomach.”

Sophia bit the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from screaming at him. “You are too kind, brother.”

Her brother gestured vaguely with his hand. She frowned, absently wondering why Stephan was not wearing the heavy gold signet ring that was passed down to each Ravenshaw heir.

“If I thought we could make a profitable arrangement with another family, I would have brought you to London years ago and married you off to the first gentleman who offered.”

Stephan spoke as if she were akin to one of his horses or, worse, a bad investment that he could not dump on some unwary investor. “What prevented you from trying?” she asked, her temper increasing with each passing minute.

“It’s those damnable eyes of yours,” Stephan
said bluntly. “They’re practically useless. No respectable man desires a flawed wife. How can you run a house and see to your husband’s interests if you have to be led about like a child?”

“Your opinion is unjust.” Sophia had heard enough about her flaws. “I am no man’s burden,” she said tightly, unable to quell her defensive tone. “With the assistance of Lucy and the rest of the staff, I have managed to keep the household at Northam Peak running without too much fuss. You would know this to be true if you visited more often.”

Stephan sighed. He rose from the chair and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Oh, Sophia, I do not say these things to hurt you. Nevertheless, I speak of gentlemen’s needs and your limitations. I blame myself for not schooling you properly; however, you have a forthright manner that is disconcerting to most men. Both Henry and I have resigned ourselves to the notion that you will live out your life under our protection.”

She backed away, using the walking stick to steady her slow escape. “Do not mince words, brother. The term is
spinster.
In my humble opinion, it is not such a dire fate if it means that I will have one less gentleman in my life who takes pleasure in telling me that I am unworthy to be loved.”

The catch in her voice was going to be her undoing. Sophia pivoted and headed for the door. She refused to cry in front of Stephan. It was unkind for her to think ill of her own flesh and
blood, but she suspected he took perverse delight in hurting her.

“Sophia, come back here,” Stephan cajoled, sounding exasperated and annoyed at her retreat.

“Forgive me, Stephan,” Sophia said, reaching for the door latch. “I have grown too weary to continue this discussion. Blame it on my flawed disposition.”

Stephan slapped his hand on the wood surface, preventing her from opening the door. “One more thing before you take your leave.”

“You have said enough.”

“Not in this,” he said, his tone as unyielding as his stance. “Stay away from Rainecourt.”

Sophia glanced at him in disbelief. “I doubt Lord Rainecourt will bother with me now that he knows I am connected to
you
.”

Stephan appeared oblivious to her insult. “I am serious, Sophia. You cannot comprehend how dangerous this man is. If the rumors are true, he murdered his own wife and unborn child in a drunken tirade.”

Sophia trembled as a chill wafted down her spine. She thought of Reign’s strong hands that had held her while they had danced the waltz. His touch had been slightly rough and commanding. Were those same hands capable of murder? “You speak of rumors, brother. Lord Rainecourt was never accused of any crime.”

“He carries the violence in his blood. His father drove his wife into taking her own life. Then he
went on to claim the lives of our own parents before the madness burning in his brain forced him to turn a pistol on himself,” Stephan said, his body vibrating with the old pain of what Reign’s father had cost their family.

Sensitive to Stephan’s distress, she instinctively reached out and caressed his cheek, even though she was still irked with him. “You worry too much. Rainecourt has as good a cause to avoid us as we do him.”

It was hours later that Reign shed his clothes and crawled into the bed Berus had prepared for him. Bedchambers were available to all club members, but he rarely took advantage of the convenience, preferring to reside at his town house. This evening, however, he was too drunk and sore to bother. Thanks to Berus, Reign had everything he needed. If he had asked, the steward could have even procured a willing wench to warm his sheets. The tempting suggestion had been offered by Vane, but Reign had declined. His head was too full and his heart was empty.

He did not have the patience to handle a woman, even if it was for one night.

Ravenshaw.

His thoughts kept circling back to the earl. The hotheaded young nobleman
was likely cursing Reign’s name and vowing revenge. Reign had been too easy on Ravenshaw. His father had believed that fear and respect were entwined, and violence was the hammer that forged the two. It was a lesson his sire had repeatedly beaten into Reign as a child. If his father had not decided to shoot half his face off with a dueling pistol, Reign would have enjoyed returning the favor.

Like he should have done with Ravenshaw.

Christ, what a muddle!

Reign tugged the corner of the sheet and covered the lower half of his body. First, the Burrards, then Enright, and finally Ravenshaw. There was nothing more entertaining than a room filled with a man’s enemies. He had not expected Enright to provoke a confrontation. The man was too cowardly, preferring to ambush his unsuspecting quarry. The Burrards were another matter entirely. The couple simply loathed him because Beatrice and their grandchild were dead. Even if he was not guilty of murder, Reign acknowledged that he had failed his wife and unborn child. He deserved their hatred. All the same, he was not going to linger in the shadows just because his visage offended the couple. He had lost that day, too, a fact the Burrards conveniently liked to forget.

As Reign absently scratched his abdomen, he willed himself to dwell on more pleasant thoughts. Lady Sophia’s face flickered like smoke in his mind. He was not surprised. After all, the lady had an irrefutable connection to Ravenshaw. Thanks to his father, he, too, shared a regrettable and unflattering connection to the lady.

Not that Lady Sophia had seemed troubled by the Rainecourt name, Reign mused. Although
she had not formally introduced herself, she had been more upset about dancing the waltz in front of Lord and Lady Harper’s guests than the notion that she was in the Devil of Rainecourt’s arms.

Reign’s hand slid lower. He was half aroused, which was a minor revelation. Anyone branded with the Northam surname should have shriveled his flesh like bathing in a spring-fed lake. Lady Sophia seemed to be the exception. His turgid cock expanded beneath his fingers, the silken flesh smoothing and becoming rigid. The blunted length bobbed as lust took hold of Reign. Unashamed of his body’s needs, he leisurely stroked himself and thought of Lady Sophia. If she viewed dancing as scandalous, the poor lady would likely have a fit of apoplexy if she learned that by proxy she was satisfying the needs of a Rainecourt. Her brothers—no, this was not the time to think of Ravenshaw and Henry.

Instead, Reign conjured an image of Lady Sophia’s face, the feel of her in his arms. He had been too angry encountering Enright to fully appreciate the delicate bones beneath his grasp. Lady Sophia was taller than most of the ladies of the
ton
. Still, he towered over her by five inches. In hindsight, he decided that the lady had fit rather nicely. He had been too distracted arguing with her one minute and soothing her fears the next to savor the closeness of that sleek body.

He thought of those long, slender limbs wrapped around him.

Yes-s-s
. . . , he thought, lifting his hips as his testicles were pulled tight. Using his other hand, he cupped the firm sack and massaged the ache. Pleasure spread like warm honey in his abdomen as electric tingles pulsed up and down the length of his cock.

Reign mentally stripped Lady Sophia of her clothes and imagined the opinionated lady astride his hips as he plunged into her welcoming sultry sheath. He pinched the tip of his cock to delay his ejaculation, unwilling to surrender to his passion to the Greek goddess Aphrodite, nor the mortal lady who had fired his lust.

His hips pumped into the air as Reign’s hand frantically stroked the hot length of flesh in his hand. His other hand moved over the head of his cock, squeezing and coaxing the unspoken relief he craved to the point of madness.

Wetness seeped from the tip, signaling that he was close. Reign conjured in his mind the brief kiss that he and Lady Sophia had shared on the Harpers’ terrace. Her lips had been soft and moist from her nervous habit of nipping her lower lip. He had longed to bite the soft swell of her lip, and taste the hidden sweetness of her tart mouth. Reign had sensed her initial surprise when he had actually kissed her, which had gradually eased into a wary curiosity. If he had not been interrupted, he might have deepened the kiss, using his tongue and teeth to ease her toward the slow slide into seduction.

Circle . . . stroke . . . squeeze . . .

If Lady Sophia had given him any encouragement, he would have carried her down the stairs to the farthest regions of the Harpers’ sunken gardens. There, in the darkness, he would have tugged down her bodice and tasted her breasts. Small and firm, Reign could almost feel her hard nipples against his worshiping tongue. Some ladies had very sensitive breasts. He could imagine Lady Sophia as one such lady, twisting against him and moaning in delight as he pleasured her.

His mind clouded with lust and a kind of desperation, Reign could see himself unbuttoning the flap on his trousers, pushing up Lady Sophia’s skirt and petticoat, and plunging his cock through the hidden slit in her drawers and into her tight core.

Christ!

Reign’s hoarse exclamation was abruptly silenced as his lips peeled back into a grimace. His seed exploded from his cock, pumping onto his stomach in potent spurts. He curled his toes as his fingers stroked wave after wave of blinding pleasure.

His lust was sated.

Minutes later, Reign’s vision cleared and his humor resurfaced as he wiped away his seed. If just thinking about Lady Sophia could engender such powerful response from his body, making love to the real lady was likely to kill him.