‘Felicia Gaskell will be sick, but I doubt it will be with worry.’ His Lordship replied cynically, ‘She was hoping to trick me into a match as much as Alice. The woman’s a greedy fool.’
Sophie rose to her feet, eyes flashing. ‘You may insult me, Sir but I would appreciate it if you would leave my family out of this!’
‘Oh-ho,’ Roxburghe grinned up at her appreciatively, ‘The little cousin has a temper! It becomes you. I swear, you’re looking prettier to me by the minute.’ Setting his glass down carefully, he rose to his feet. Despite the fact that he’d clearly had a great deal to drink, his body didn’t show it, movements graceful and precise. ‘Don’t waste all that passion on defending a pair of minxes that are no better than they should be girl. Save it for the bedroom.’ And before Sophie could gather her wits, he’d closed the distance between them and she was in his arms.
Chapter Three
His body was hard and warm against her own and his mouth was a revelation.
Sophie had never been kissed by a man before.
She had certainly never been kissed by a man like Roxburghe before. The moment his mouth found her own, a shock of delicious pleasure slammed through her, turning her upside down.
He started slowly, lips feather soft against her own, teasing them into life. Sophie was so surprised by the unexpected up rush of pleasure that the feel of his mouth on her own generated that she remained pliant, stunned into acquiescence as heat suffused her body in a breathtaking rush. When the pressure of his mouth became more demanding she opened to him instinctively, as if her mouth knew something that her mind did not, eagerly responding to his demands. He tasted of wine and warmth and mystery and she longed for more, for the satiation of something she had not, until this moment, known that she craved.
The delicate assault to her senses continued, his tongue seeking ingress, warm and insistent as it stroked against her own. Such an intrusion should have been shocking but she welcome it, just as she welcomed the hard pressure of his body as it pressed against her, her own softness yielding to its opposite number, melding to him.
The kiss was a revelation, igniting feelings in Sophie she had never dreamed existed and she allowed herself be overwhelmed, lighting up in a fever of need. She was so immersed in the delicious surprise of his mouth taking possession of her own that it took some moments before she registered what the hardness pressed against her hip was and the realization of what, exactly, it was caused a jolt of excited alarm to shiver through her. When one hand moved to cup a breast through the thin wool of her gown, fingers probing until they found a sensitized nipped, she moaned, the sound lost as he continued to explore her mouth with ruthless thoroughness.
The moment seemed to go on forever; Sophie held fast, a willing captive to a world of exquisite sensation she’d never dreamed existed. It was only the sound of footsteps and the creak of floorboards in the hallway beyond that brought her back to reality. The reality was that she was allowing a man – a perfect stranger! – to make free with her lips.
Swimming up from a sea of unfamiliar desire, she struggled against the delicious heat his hands and his mouth had stirred within her. Raising her own hands, she pushed against his chest, hard, taking Roxburghe by surprise. She stumbled back a few paces, as unsteady as if it were
she
who was drunk. Sophie’s legs, like the rest of her, felt as if they might give way at any moment. The warm imprint of his fingers on her breast remained, as did the feel of his mouth against her own. Like a brand, his touch had left a stain on her skin and she resisted the urge to wipe her own hand over her throbbing lips to erase the taste of him.
Roxburghe stared at her, dark eyes slumberous and heavy with desire he did not attempt to conceal. ‘My God!’ he breathed, shaking his head, ‘Cousin Sophie, you have unexpected depths! Come here so that I may explore them further…’
Sophie took a deep breath and tried to think, holding up a hand to ward him off. ‘Wait! Stop, please. This isn’t right. I… I don’t know what just happened…’
‘I do. You and I are going to get along very well together. How… unexpected.’
‘But it isn’t right! You
cannot
make love to me!’
‘On the contrary,’ he shook his head wryly, ‘I have every intention of doing exactly that. Believe me when I say, nothing has felt so right for a long time. I don’t know what just happened but I am eager for it to happen again.’
And he took another step towards her, forcing Sophie to take another step back. ‘No! It was my cousin you wanted -’
‘And yet you are here. By accident or design, it seems that it is you who will be sharing my bed tonight.’
Sophie was shaking her head, trying to block out the words. She could
not
allow him to kiss her again. She might not have the will to resist him a second time. Moistening her tingling lips, she tried again. ‘I think you have mistaken the situation, my lord. I really am not that kind of girl -’
‘My sweet,
all
girls are that kind of girl, if you touch them where they enjoy it the most,’ the velvety voice was entrancing, smoky with desire, ‘And I intend to educate you on just how you need to be touched. I will strip that gown off you and teach your body a thousand little pleasures that the flesh can know. I will make you forget every man who has ever touched you before.’
Sophie shuddered, trying to focus. He truly believed her to be soiled goods. Did he think the same thing about Alice?
Oh Alice
, she thought despairingly,
what on earth did you tell this man?
He certainly didn’t have a good opinion of either of them. ‘I don’t want to make a scene, my lord, but if you continue to come closer I will scream!’
‘Scream away.’ His lordship’s smile was far from pleasant, ‘My servants can be remarkably deaf when they chose to be.’
Which was a chilling thought. Sophie glanced around her rather wildly just as Roxburghe closed in, intent on pulling her into his arms once more. Sophie leaned back, trying to escape those questing fingers and they grazed the lace fiche at her throat. In a sudden outburst of savagery, he seized hold of it, wrenching the lace and tearing the stitching and the thin fabric of her gown. A flap of material fell forward, revealing a glimpse of creamy skin and the swell of Sophie’s breasts and she heard his sharp intake of breath.
With a chair pressing against her legs, there was nowhere left to retreat to and their eyes locked together. Sophie knew, in that moment,
exactly
what would happen to her. He would have his way, by force if necessary although her earlier reaction probably meant that force would not be required, despite her best intentions. Not that he would care, one way or the other.
Roxburghe intended to have her no matter what she might say.
All this took but a moment to flash through her head and then the Marquis was on her, face dark with the urgency of his need, a driving, primal urge to take what he wanted and the hell with the consequences. The gentleman had fallen by the wayside – if he’d ever really existed - leaving something more primitive behind and he had only one thought in mind; to repeat that kiss and then take her, claiming his prize. He was so absorbed by his lust that it seemed likely he would have her here in the dining room, oblivious to whoever might see them. Although, Sophie thought hazily, perhaps his servants were used to witnessing such scenes and had learned to be blind as well as deaf…
Dragged against him, his mouth sought her own while his fingers pursued their own diabolical quest, searching for the fastenings on her gown. There was no gentle exploration of her mouth this time, just the hard, demanding crush of his lips, forcing her mouth open so he could thrust his tongue inside, the wicked precursor to claiming her completely. For a long moment Sophie was caught up in that same wave of need that she had experienced before and heat blazed through her, transforming her into exactly the kind of woman who could meet his needs. She wanted him. As inexperienced as she was, her body craved him with a desperation that turned despair into ecstasy.
For just a moment, Sophie melded against him, delighting in the hard length of his arousal, pressed against her; insistent, compelling.
I could do this
, she thought as heat raged through her,
I could lose myself forever in this man and never ask for anything more but what he has to give…
Later, she could not say what small spark of sanity remained that made her drop a hand, looking for something to save herself. Her fingers encountered cold glass and she seized the mostly empty bottle of claret from the table beside her and, without thinking, hit Roxburghe over the head with all the force she could muster. The hungry mouth and hands stilled and he took an unsteady, half step backwards, a look of bewilderment on his face. Then the dark eyes rolled slowly back in his head and she watched in horror as her host toppled slowly to the floor.
Sophie sat down heavily on the chair behind her, legs weak, heart thumping from that bewildering mix of fear and need that had held her fast. She stared at the still figure on the floor for a long moment, waiting for the panic to pass, for the shaking to subside.
Then she rose abruptly to her feet again.
Oh dear God. What if I’ve killed him?
Hurrying forward, she knelt beside him, hands hovering without touching as she stared down at his face. He appeared to be asleep and for a brief, ignoble moment Sophie thought of, not just retreating to her room, but from the house itself, trusting her luck to the night. But her luck had not been serving her well of late and she could not leave her wretched host to simply lie here, no matter how badly he had behaved. Although, looking at him now with all the hauteur and all consuming lust gone from his face, he looked almost vulnerable, dark lashes black crescents against his lean cheeks. He was a fine looking man, all the more so when his expression wasn’t marred by a sneer. His mouth… it was, she reflected almost mournfully, a very nice mouth, well shaped and strong. That mouth reminded her just how much she had enjoyed his kisses, even in the midst of her very real fear.
Sophie pushed the memory away firmly. She would not think about that now!
Tentatively, she lay a hand on his chest and was reassured by its slow, rhythmic rise and fall.
Not dead then.
But she was certainly in a fix; alone, or as good as, with a drunk, unconscious nobleman. It wasn’t yet the middle of the night and no snow was falling outside, but more and more, Sophie felt as if she were trapped in the pages of one of the more lurid romances that her aunt liked to read and that her uncle so disliked. When someone spoke, she jumped. She hadn’t been aware that anybody had entered the room, lost as she was in miserable conjecture.
‘Why, whatever’s happened?’
Sophie looked up quickly and saw Mrs. Chambers staring at the fallen Roxburghe with astonishment. ‘He… fell down.’
The housekeeper frowned. ‘Drunk, is he? But drunk or not, I’ve never known his lordship bad enough to fall over with it.’
‘No, well, that might actually be my fault.’ Sophie gestured towards the bottle that lay on the rug close by, a scattering of red wine trailing from it. ‘I hit him, you see.’ At the woman’s incredulous look, she hurried on, ‘I know it was wrong of me but… but he would not stop and I didn’t know what to do! I suppose he is very drunk, but that made it all the worse because he would not listen to me -’
‘You hit him?’
‘I did.’
‘With that bottle?’
Sophie nodded unhappily. Heaven only knew what the woman would think of her now but it couldn’t be helped. Roxburghe might be injured and in need of help. They would have to call a doctor to ensure that she hadn’t cracked his lordship’s head open. And what if she had? What if he
died
from his injuries? Sophie flinched away from the thought… Surely men did not die from a crack across the head. Although, it had been a very
hard
crack across the head. She could remember the unpleasant
thunk
the bottle had made as it connected with Roxburghe’s skull.
Mrs. Chambers came forward and knelt on the floor beside Sophie. With far more assurance than Sophie had shown, she tilted the Marquis’ head to one side and probed the back of his skull with competent fingers. As if objecting to this rough handling, the man on the floor groaned and relief surged through the girl. People who were verging on death did not groan, did they? Perhaps she hadn’t damaged him nearly as much as she thought.
‘There’s a nice lump back there,’ the housekeeper said, gently releasing his lordship, ‘but I daresay he’ll survive. I’ll have him taken up to his room and put to bed.’
The words reduced his lordship to the status of troublesome schoolboy. Sophie climbed back onto her feet and returned to the chair, relieved beyond measure that she wasn’t a murderess. She had no idea what would happen to her now and was suddenly aware that she was famished. While hunger might be the last thing a girl possessed of delicate sensibilities should be feeling, Sophie had to conclude that she was devoid of them. For one thing, she had behaved like a complete hoyden, allowing the Marquis to kiss her. And now her stomach was making the most unladylike noises imaginable. It was hardly surprising; her last meal had been at dinner the night before and she had been so preoccupied she had merely picked at her food. She watched as the housekeeper summoned two men, his lordship’s valet and a burly groomsman brought in for his strength. They picked up the Marquis, Mrs. Chambers’ supervising the undertaking. She followed the two men from the room but was back within five minutes. Sophie had remained in the chair, too listless to move. Not only had she not obtained Roxburghe’s help in returning to London, she had compounded her folly by bashing him into insensibility. It seemed reasonable to assume that he wasn’t going to be coming to her rescue any time soon.