Imposter Bride (30 page)

She wanted him to make love to her. She wanted his
seed to brand her before Edward Metcalf had the chance to claim
such a victory. She wanted to lose her maidenhood to this tall dark
man who had fired her dreams ever since she’d met him, the man her
grandmother had labeled a “real man.” And now Sophie knew exactly
what Lady Auliffe had meant.

“Tell me,” Ian gasped, the sound of his voice
arousing her as much as his hands.

“Yes, yes, I want it.” Her heart burst with the
decision to share her first and only taste of passion with this
unbridled, unfathomable man. She ran her hands around his rib cage,
down his spine, and over the buttons of his frock coat at the small
of his back.

She felt him reach down, and she clung to his neck
as he lifted the many layers of her clothing and wedged them
between their bodies in a voluminous V-shape just under her
breasts. She barely took notice of the cold air on her bare
thighs.

“‘
Tis all I have thought about,” he
said, looking down at her, his eyes full of heat, dark as night,
and completely unreadable. “You, like this. With me.”

“Yes,” she replied, just above a whisper, her mouth
suddenly dry.

Then he stepped into her, lifting her up to him, his
fingers cradling her naked rump. She closed her eyes and felt the
warmth of his body nudge against her as she surrendered to the
finest, most bittersweet hour she was sure she would ever know.

“Do you think you can walk?” he asked much later, a
smile in his voice as he carefully rearranged her clothing and
buttoned her cloak. His solicitous attention touched her, for she
had heard most men fell asleep or ignored a woman after they made
love to her—at least that’s what Katherine had told her.

“I’m not sure.” She managed a weak grin. “My legs
are trembling.”

He chuckled. “So are mine.”

She glanced at him, warmed by the sound of his quiet
laugh, but trying to dampen her reaction to him never the less.
After being so sure of what she wanted from Ian Ramsay, she was
suddenly experiencing an alarming amount of despair. Now that she
had tasted lovemaking with him, she knew it would be anything but
simple to walk away and forget how it felt to be so close to this
man, closer somehow than her own skin. She had never dreamed how
intimate and binding the act of lovemaking could be. She looked up
at Ramsay’s face, wondering what he was thinking, but knew it
really didn’t matter. She had a promise to fulfill and a life to
lead that didn’t include him.

“But do you think you can ride?” he added, raising a
brow, and slanting a gaze in the direction of her now-tender
skin.

“I think so. And we’ll make better time if I
do.”

“In a hurry to get away, then?” He reached for his
discarded hat, brushed off the brim, and then set it upon his
head.

“It’s very late. I’ll be missed.”

Ramsay helped her into the saddle and looked up at
her. “As to that, you never did tell me why you are here at
Highclyffe.”

She gazed down at him, deciding that she should be
the one to replace the chilled wall between them where it belonged.
Better that she be the one to break off their stolen hour of
closeness than allow Ramsay’s usual heartless remarks to wound her
again.

“Edward and I are getting married in the
morning.”

Shocked into momentary silence, Ramsay stepped back
from the horse and gaped at her. “What?”

“We decided to come up to Scotland and elope.”

“Why, in God’s name?”

“To get it over with.”

“Why?”

“I have my reasons.” She reached forward for the
reins, busying her hands so she wouldn’t have to look at his
outraged expression. She hadn’t thought it would be so difficult to
be the cold one.

“What reasons, dammit!”

“You should know,” she retorted, refusing to look
down at him. She raised her chin. “Since you claim to know
everything about me.”

“Sophie, so help me—”

“And you have something of mine as well, I
believe.”

“What?”

“The buckle.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw
him thrust his hand into his clothing. She held out her palm,
waiting for the bauble to be returned, and still did not meet his
glance.

“I’m sure ‘tis yours,” he remarked sharply, dropping
it in her glove.

“It certainly isn’t yours.” She curled her fingers
around it. “And your meddling has cost me dearly.”

“Sophie! Why are you being like this?”

“‘
Tis the way it must be. I made a
decision, Ian. And I intend to see it through.”

“But just now you said that you—” He broke off and
then seemed to shake off something that confused him. He glared at
her. “You’re going to go through with the wedding?”

“Yes. And if you possess a shred of decency, you
won’t betray me.” She nudged her mount forward. She could feel the
hardness of his stare on her back, piercing her with his
incredulity.

He hadn’t told her he loved her. He had never once
made any mention of fondness for her. Had he said one thing, one
little word in regard to having feelings for her, she would have
stopped on the path and told him everything, all the trials that
she had been through in the last few weeks, all the difficult lies
she had told to protect herself. And then she would have told him
the truth—that she loved him, that she wanted to marry him and
return to Boston with him, where she might at last be safe and
free. If he had claimed the merest shred of love for her, she would
have told him that she would love no other man but him for the rest
of her days, and that she would treasure the past hour with him for
the rest of her life. But he had confessed only to lust and not to
love, which any man might do, and so she would remain silent.

She had learned to guard her heart against mercurial
Ian Ramsay, and she was not about to repeat the painful lessons she
had learned at his hand.

During the return trip, Sophie was thankful for the
encroaching darkness and the hood of her cloak. All the way back to
Highclyffe, great hot tears rolled down her cheeks. She kept her
head turned away from Ramsay, which she knew he mistook for scorn,
when all the while her heart broke into ever smaller, sharper
pieces.

A stiff wind had arisen when they reached the entry
of Highclyffe. Ian led his horse to the front steps and then
reached up for her.

“I’m staying at the Ram’s Head,” he said as he
helped her dismount. She didn’t look at him and he felt his heart
aching as never before as her small hands released his shoulders.
She might never touch him again. “In case you need anything.”

“Good-bye, Ian,” she replied quietly, and in a
flurry of skirts and cloak, she left him standing at the bottom of
the stairs.

Ramsay pulled up to the Ram’s Head inn where he was
staying, handed the reins to the stable boy, and stormed into the
pub, his head pounding. He had no wish to pass any time in the
company of strangers, but thought a few ales might dull the agony
of his oncoming migraine.

Only once, however, had his migraine been
alleviated, and it hadn’t been with ale. Sophie’s gentle touch had
lifted his pain, just as she had briefly lifted the bleakness of
his solitary life.

He strode through the dimly lit pub, headed for a
dark corner where no one would disturb him. It was just like a
woman to confound him, telling him she wanted him in one breath and
then announcing her wedding plans the next. Sophie’s lovemaking had
been everything he’d imagined and more—warm, passionate, and
generous—just as she had always been with him.

But something had changed her mind. What could it
have been? How could she make such breathtaking love with him and
then leave him standing at the entry of Highclyffe without so much
as a kiss of farewell? Had she not seen how his heart broke as she
slipped from the horse and walked away from him without looking
back?

Yet Sophie was young and innocent. She believed
Edward Metcalf was a rich earl who could give her the world, make
her a countess, and protect her from her enemies. Perhaps he had
misjudged her character. Perhaps she was more like the real
Katherine Hinds—grasping, cruel, and shallow—than he had ever
suspected. Maybe she was capable of making love with lusty abandon,
giving no thought to a future with the man between her legs. He’d
met women like that before. Why should she be different? Still, he
had believed her to be far different than the others. That she may
not in fact be all that he had believed, filled him with an abysmal
sense of disappointment.

“Dark ale,” he growled at the plump, rosy-cheeked
woman who approached his table. She jumped at his harsh tone, but
he didn’t care. He sank to the bench, thinking he would be an idiot
to stay another night at Loch Lemond. He would drive himself crazy,
imagining what was going on at Highclyffe. Yet he would also be
crazy to set out this late for London.

Ramsay ran a hand over his hair as a sudden flash of
memory struck him, the memory of Sophie’s small white hands
stroking him. He flushed and shut the thought out of his mind.

Just as his tankard was delivered, he spied a
familiar figure bustling his way.

“Puckett?” he called, surprised but glad to see his
assistant.

“Captain.” Puckett crossed the floor and swept off
his hat.

“What brings you north?” he asked. “Is something
wrong?”

“It’s Miss Hinds,” Puckett replied, slipping to the
bench across from him. “She’s in danger. I thought you would want
to know.”

“What kind of danger?”

“I’m not sure. But she was desperate for that buckle
you have.”

“Why?”

“She wouldn’t say.”

“Well, she has it now.”

Puckett sat up in surprise. “What?”

“I gave it to her.” He took a long draught of
ale.

“When?”

“Just now.”

“She’s here?”

“Yes. She’s marrying Metcalf in the morning. They’ve
eloped.”

“Oh, my.” Puckett’s face fell.

The waitress appeared at the table, standing at a
wary distance from the captain.

“I’ll have what he’s having,” Puckett said,
motioning toward the tankard, his face glum.

“I’ll have another.”

Puckett leaned forward, his cuffs flattening upon
the rough table top. “Do you still intend to see this deed
through?”

“She wants it.”

“But does she know everything?”

“No.” Ramsay shook his head. “But we’ll both get
what we want, Mr. Puckett. She’ll get a title, and I’ll get the
title to Highclyffe.”

“You don’t sound so happy about it, sir, if you ask
me.”

“Well.” Ramsay lifted his tankard in a toast. “Life
isn’t about happiness, Mr. Puckett.” He finished his drink, but the
ale left a bitter taste on his tongue.

He felt sick at heart, and the room pressed in on
him, circling his temples with an iron band. He dropped his head in
his left hand, more distraught than he’d been for years.

The waitress brought their drinks and Puckett
thanked her. Ramsay heard him take a gulp of ale and then the
rustle of his clothing as he sat back.

“Lady Auliffe is on her way,” Puckett said. “In case
you are interested.”

Ramsay raised his head in surprise. “She is?”

“I saw her coach along the highway. She must have
pressed on without stopping the entire way.”

“Then she must know something.”

Puckett nodded.

“She suspects the earl is insolvent.” Ramsay
scowled. “She may try to stop the marriage.”

“She is no fool, sir.”

“When will she arrive, do you think?”

“By morning. Or very late tonight, barring any
mishaps.”

Ramsay pulled his drink into his hands. There was
only one way to keep Lady Auliffe from interfering, and that was to
tell her the truth.

He had intended to get roaring drunk and spend the
rest of the night in a heart-numbing haze. But with the arrival of
Sophie’s grandmother, he knew he must remain clear-headed. In fact,
in a few hours he should find out the location of her estate and
ride out there to wait for her coach. The sooner Lady Auliffe
learned the truth, the sooner she would wash her hands of the
imposter, Sophie Vernet.

No matter what might have gone awry in his personal
affairs, he still had Highclyffe and would fight to the death for
it.

Nothing must stop the wedding now.

That evening, just as Sophie had finished packing
her travelling trunk, she heard Edward shouting down below. While
she had been with Ian at the shore of the lake, Edward must have
spent the time drinking—a fine way for a soon-to-be-married couple
to pass their last unmarried hours. Sophie draped the plaid blanket
around her shoulders and pinned it in place, glancing at herself in
the mirror to make certain it was fastened properly.

She raised her chin proudly as she noticed how stark
her white throat appeared against the dark red and black of the
plaid. Edward would wonder why she wore the blanket for a cloak.
What better way to herald her change of heart and plans? After
making love with Ian, she knew she could never go through with
marriage to Edward, no matter what consequences she might have to
face.

She had hoped to leave Highclyffe without speaking
to Edward. But there was no time like the present to tell him that
the marriage was off.

With her small satchel in hand, Sophie walked to the
top of the stairs, and was shocked to discover Edward wavering at
the bottom, one hand on the newel post.

“Where d’ye thing you’re going?” he demanded.

“Edward, we must talk.”

He scowled and lurched up the stairs. Before he’d
gone more than a few feet, he tripped and fell. Sophie dropped her
bag and hurried down the stone stairs to help him to his feet,
concerned that his drunken state would prevent him from
comprehending what she had decided to tell him about their upcoming
morning plans.