Two Shades of Seduction (20 page)

T
he soft murmur of voices pierced Sophie’s sleep. Stirring beneath the covers, she yawned sleepily. Last night had been the most incredible night of her life. With each intimate possession, Quentin had marked her with his masterful brand of pleasure. She’d never felt so alive, so womanly. Her body ached from all the activity, but it was the most delicious ache she’d ever experienced.

A door closed with a quiet thud and a moment later a warm hand slid beneath the comforter to cup her breast. She opened her eyes and met Quentin’s green-eyed gaze, which was flashing with wicked amusement. Fully dressed, he exuded the air of a country gentleman not the wicked scoundrel he’d been last night. She smiled at the memory.

“Is it your habit to sleep in each morning?” He grinned at her.

“I always rise early.”

“It’s almost eleven, is that what you call early?”

“Eleven! Why on earth didn’t you wake me?” Appalled, she sat upright and the bed covers fell to her waist. When he grinned at her, she remembered her state of undress and quickly crossed her arms over her bare breasts.

“You were sleeping peacefully, and considering our athletics last night I thought you needed your rest. Of course, it seems you’re more than ready to continue our exercise program.”

Warm color scorched her cheeks as his thumb brushed over the hard nipple of her breast. Heat stirred in her belly then quickly spreading itself downward, and she drew in a quick breath. Somehow, she had to break this spell he was weaving around her. The problem was she didn’t know how. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to quench the fire that existed between them at the moment. It would burn itself out soon enough. Why not enjoy it while it lasted.

Quentin leaned into her, his mouth brushing across her shoulder as he pressed her back into the pillows. Bracing his arms on either side of her, his tongue slid down into the valley between her breasts. She moaned as need rose inside her. With a lithe movement, he stood up to stare down at her, his eyes twinkling with a wicked gleam of amusement.

“You’re a tempting package, Lady Devlyn, but work calls. I’ll arrange for Fischer to show you around the keep, and I’ll join you later for dinner.”

Suddenly realizing he’d had no intentions of bedding her and had merely been teasing her, she swung a pillow at him. Laughing, he dodged the plump missile. With a wag of his finger, he made a chastising sound as he walked across the bedroom floor. Infuriated, she flung another pillow at him, which hit the door as he closed it behind him and his laughter.

Flinging herself back into the pillows left on the bed, she glared at the closed door. As her anger subsided, she looked up at the mirrors hanging over the bed. Quentin’s bedroom had the most sinful décor she’d ever seen. The memory of how she’d responded to his touch last night made her muscles tense.

As decadent as it had been to see their bodies entwined in passion, it had also been exhilarating and erotic. Time after time, Quentin had driven her to the brink and beyond throughout the night. And with each wild, passionate stroke, she’d forgotten everything, except for his possessive touch and the way he made her feel.

The sound of the clock striking the hour of eleven made Sophie sit upright. Quentin had no doubt informed Fischer she would be down shortly, and she had no desire to present the appearance of a woman who would be of little use to her husband.

In less than an hour, she made her way downstairs where she found Fischer dusting the large mirror in the keep’s main entrance. The man greeted her warmly, and together they set out to explore her new home. Everywhere they went there was something needing attention or replacement.

As the tour progressed, Sophie began to grasp the monumental task she had before her. It would take years to restore Quentin’s family home to its former glory. Not only would the restoration of the keep be a monumentally, time-consuming task. It would be an expensive one. She winced as she realized revenge would finance the keep’s renovations.

The tour of the house ended in the main salon, which was as run down as the rest of the house. Sinking down onto the room’s worn sofa, Sophie wearily rubbed her forehead as the grandfather clock in the foyer sounded the half hour after five. There was so much to do, and she had no idea where or how to begin. Did Quentin have any idea as to the true condition of his home? Sophie nibbled on her lip as she considered the time, money, and effort that would be required to rescue the keep from utter ruin.

“If I may be so bold, my lady?” Fischer’s calm, stately voice broke through her thoughts.

“Certainly,” she said with a smile.

“I’m sure you’re feeling a bit overwhelmed by the state of the keep, and your new status as the Countess of Devlyn, but please know I shall serve you to the best of my abilities.”

“Thank you, Fischer. It
is
a bit overwhelming, and I’m certain I will ask you to make good on that offer.”

“And while it is no doubt forward of me, my lady, I wish to state that I have served his lordship for a great many years. While he is a bit irascible at times, he’s a good man.”

The fatherly love in the man’s voice made Fischer’s words all the more poignant, and a knot of emotion swelled in Sophie’s throat. What would life have been like if her father had loved her as Fischer did Quentin? Blinking back tears, she nodded.

“I think his lordship is very lucky to have someone like you looking after him, Fischer.”

“I consider it a privilege, my lady. And I’ve the distinct impression you’re the right woman to bring out the best in him.” Fischer’s praise made Sophie’s heart clench tightly in her chest with emotion.

“Thank you, Fischer,” she murmured as she struggled not to cry. As if realizing she was on the verge of tears, the manservant assumed a matter-of-fact demeanor.

“Now then, my lady. It’s quite late for tea, but let me fetch you some nonetheless. I’m certain you’re parched.”

“That would be lovely,” she said.

With a bow, Fischer left the room and Sophie stood up to inspect her surroundings. Of all the rooms she’d been in today, this one seemed the most hopeless. The wallpaper wasn’t just faded. It was also peeling away from the walls. Overhead one of the room’s saving graces was the impressive crystal chandelier.

It was well cared for and gleamed softly in the fading sunlight that poured through one of the salon’s front windows. She walked to the fireplace, her hand caressing the beautiful Italian marble mantle. Intricately carved, she suddenly realized the carvings on the beautiful white stone matched the wallpaper pattern.

She was so engrossed in her examination of the vines etched into the marble, that the sound of the salon doors flying open made her jump. Expecting to see Quentin striding into the room, her heart leapt into her throat at the sight of her father’s rotund body framed in the doorway. His face was beet red with rage as he crossed the floor to where she stood.

“You traitorous little bitch,” he snarled, and before she could dart out of the way, his hand cracked against the side of her face.

One hand cradling her cheek, Sophie darted away from her father. Fear swept across her skin leaving an icy chill in its wake. Straightening her shoulders, she inhaled a quick breath as she met her father’s furious gaze.

“I fail to see how I’ve betrayed you, my lord,” she lied. Dear lord, had he discovered her duplicity in keeping a second record of his accounts? Her heart began to race with a painful intensity in her chest.

“You know damn well how you’ve betrayed me, Sophie. Well, if you think I’m going to let this marriage stand, think again.”

“There is nothing you can do about it, Father,” she snapped as she realized it was the truth. “The marriage is quite legal, and has been consummated.
More
than once, I might add. In fact, I might even be carrying Quentin’s child as we speak.”

“
You. With child
.” Lord Townsend snorted with a harsh laugh. “You’re too old to have a child with that bastard, Sophie.”

She flinched. For the first time, she realized she wanted to give Quentin a child. A son she could love and cherish when her husband tired of her. Her hands balled into fists as her anger became a cold rage. She was no longer under her father’s roof, and she no longer had to listen to his cruel, callous words.

“That bastard, as you refer to him, is my husband, which makes me the Countess of Devlyn.”

“You’re right, my dear. How could I forget that it’s you who are the bastard. Tell me, does Devlyn know?” The savage smile on her father’s face made Sophie draw in a sharp breath of horror. Dear God, what if her father told Quentin her secret?

“I have no secrets from my husband,” she lied. “I don’t hate him as my mother certainly must have hated you.”

Fury darkened her father’s face as he stepped toward her menacingly. Trembling with fear, she stepped to one side and reached for the poker leaning against the fireplace. Fingers wrapped tightly around the tarnished brass handle, Sophie used it to hold her father at bay.

“Take one more step toward me, and I’ll make you rue the day my mother gave birth to me.”

Surprise crossed the baron’s face, and he came to a halt. The sudden light of respect in his beady eyes infuriated her. All these years she’d tried to please him, and now that she was standing up to him, he actually seemed pleased.

“Well, Sophie. It seems you have more backbone than I realized. I’m delighted to see you’re far from the meek mouse I’ve always thought you to be.”

“I’ve never been a mouse, my lord. I simply wanted…”

She couldn’t say it. It was too much like begging. She was the Countess of Devlyn. She was no longer a bastard child who had tried all her life to earn the affection of the only father she’d ever known. “I’ll ask you to leave, Lord Townsend. We have nothing further to say to one another.”

“Goddamnit, Sophie,” her father roared. “Get your belongings. You’re coming home with me.”

“I’m not leaving my husband, my lord.”

“Husband?
Husband
. That bastard isn’t fit to be anything.”

“He was good enough for your precious Eleanor,” she spat out with pent up bitterness.

“Well, we know what happened there. The man got your sister with child then refused to marry her.”

“That’s a lie, and you know it. Eleanor is a harlot.”

“I ought to beat you within an inch of your life for saying such a thing.” If possible, her father’s face turned a darker shade of purple as he glared at her “But I’ll be charitable and take you back.”

“You don’t know the meaning of the word,” she spat out with bitterness. “You simply want an unpaid bookkeeper to hide your illegal business transactions.”

With a wild cry of fury, the baron leaped forward and knocked the poker out of her hand. Fear streaked through her as she darted past him in an effort to escape. She thought she’d succeeded in her rush toward the door, when a beefy hand grabbed her hair and yanked her head back. As he dragged her toward the salon door, she caught one of his fingers and bent it back sharply.

His shout of pain shrieked through the room, and he released her only to slap her with enough force to knock her to the floor. The pain in her jaw brought tears to her eyes, but she held them back. Determined not to let him see her cower before him, Sophie crawled to her feet. Standing upright, she turned to face her father, expecting him to hit her again. She met his hate-filled gaze as he stepped toward her, but a powerful figure in dark blue followed by two wolfhounds flew between them.

Acting as a protective shield, Beast pressed his body against hers almost knocking her to the ground as he kept a watchful eye on his master across the room. Caesar stood a short distance behind Quentin, his wiry body braced for an attack and his teeth bared as his master dealt with the threat to their home.

Quentin looked like a man possessed as he forced her father backwards until the baron was pinned against the wall. His arm pressed into her father’s throat until she heard the baron choking from a lack of air.

“This is the only warning I’ll ever give you, Townsend. If you come near my wife again, I’ll kill you.” The suppressed violence in Quentin’s voice was one of cold, lethal rage. “I also want you to know that I’m going to destroy you, Townsend. I’m going to strip everything from you until you have only one option left to you, and that’s for you to put a gun to your head and pull the trigger.”

Her father had paled considerably at the threat, and when Quentin released him from the chokehold, the baron used the wall to support himself and avoid sliding to the floor. Fat hands massaging his throat, her father took in great gasps of air into his lungs as moved toward the exit. Her gaze met the baron’s and she flinched at the hate twisting his features in a grotesque mask.

Shielded behind Beast’s large body, Sophie’s hand gripped the large dog’s neck in an effort to steady herself. The moment her father disappeared through the salon, Sophie sank to her knees and buried her face in the wolfhound’s wiry coat. The dog whimpered softly, and she jerked in fear when a gentle hand touched her arm.

“Hush, Sophie. Beast, stand aside boy, she’s going to be all right.” Tender concern had replaced rage as Quentin examined her face. “Bring me some ice from the root cellar to stop the swelling, Fischer.”

“Right away, my lord.”

“
Christ Jesus
, I’m sorry, Sophie. I should never have left you alone until I’d hired a footman who could have kept that son of a bitch from entering the house.” Quentin grimaced in shame as he tilted her head to one side and drew in a sharp breath of quiet rage. “
Bloody hell
, how many times did he hit you?”

“Twice.” She winced with pain as she spoke.

“I should have killed the bastard where he stood,” Quentin ground out with fury. “If I hadn’t arrived when I did, God knows what he would have done to you.”

She squeezed her eyes shut to hold back the sudden wave of tears threatening to pour down her cheeks. Crying never solved anything, and she refused to let her father cause her any further pain. Suddenly, Quentin wrapped her in a tight embrace.