Authors: Moriah Denslea
“I assumed you — ah, that a lady would have no taste for, ah… Oh, hell.”
She smiled, brushing her lips against his neck. He thought the only way to bed a blueblood is on her back? She spared him the crass admission. “Well, I am no lady. By all means, exercise your creative genius.”
He raised his head to find her lips and gave her a deep, lazy kiss. “I want to curl up on this table and sleep naked with you,” he mumbled in her ear. “But then I remembered this is the kitchen. And there is an odd smell in the vicinity of the broken jars.” He released her and stretched, presenting an inspiring silhouette.
He gathered her discarded clothes but didn’t give them back. Instead he lifted her and carried her through the dark house straight to his bedroom. All the way she heard sweet strains of triumph, like some glorious Beethoven symphony unfurling a melodic theme with forty violins. And cymbal crashes, timpani rolls; plenty of percussion.
She expected a whole lot of noise.
Chapter 21
On The Benefits Of Losing A Game Of Croquet
A faint beam of light woke her, tickling her shoulder, warming across her navel and down her thighs. This unfamiliar sensation came by virtue of the curtain panel which had been pulled down. Or perhaps the incessant deep cracking sound outside had stirred her from her sleep.
She failed at her first attempt to open her eyes and dozed until the rhythmic
boom-crack-crack-thunk!
sound came again. She looked upward, and the sagging cobalt bed curtains wrapped around the splintered stump of a bedpost came into focus. The scene felt dreamlike as flame-orange light from the sunrise painted the blue room with its fundamentally opposite color. Not the Scarlet Suite, but the earl’s bedchamber.
Wilhelm was gone.
Boom-crack-crack … thunk!
Sophia rolled, since the small muscles in her belly protested sitting up, probably because of her amateur acrobatics the night before. And the broken bedpost? Well, Wilhelm had reached back to hold onto it for balance, and the narrow top joint had broken off in his hand. The loosened corner of the bed curtains fluttered around them, but he hadn’t broken rhythm even draped as a tent. Now she sat at the foot of the bed, the same spot where she had collapsed the final time, tangled in Wilhelm’s arms. She still felt the echo of a sated achy feeling like having laughed until it hurt. Beneath that was a bone-deep glow, the thrill of anticipation.
Not only was he not here, but the sheets had long cooled. What, did he mean to dismiss her like some shameful mistress? Or perhaps he had gone for his morning exercise, slave to habit. If he came through the door with a breakfast tray, she vowed she would make it worth his while; tease him into letting her try something he had been too bashful to attempt last night. Any minute now.
Boom-crack-crack-thunk!
Sophia found her crumpled shift on the desk, where Wilhelm had tossed it when he carried her through the door. Her gown had probably been dropped downstairs, now scandalizing the kitchen staff. She found Wilhelm’s robe, a luxurious oriental black silk number, and belted it around her waist. She followed the sound to the east entrance, past the courtyard, toward the riding field where the noise grew louder.
Clearer now she heard three rhythmic claps of thunder then the chaotic clatter of heavy objects tumbling together. A low, very male growl found her ears, and Sophia followed it past the stables to the gardening shed. Her eyes met a dramatic sight: Wilhelm, dressed sloppily in boots, dusty trousers, and a linen shirt unbuttoned and untucked, plastered to his chest with perspiration. Unruly hair draped across his brow, disguising his expression.
He slammed a section of log onto a wide stump and raised an axe high above his head. With a graceful swing he dashed the head of the axe into the log, neatly splintering a quarter section from top to bottom in one stroke. In rhythm he swung twice more, then knocked the cut sections into the pile.
Boom-crack-crack-thunk!
Sophia stood dumbfounded at the spectacular sight. He was not a man chopping wood, but a half-crazed demon unleashing violence with an axe. His pile of firewood already measured past her waist, and he seemed determined to make a year’s supply when the next stroke of his axe sent a wood chip flying in Sophia’s direction. She moved to dodge it, catching his eye.
Wilhelm turned slowly toward her, lowering the axe. He panted for breath and wiped sweat from his brow on his rolled sleeve. She was not ready for the electric silver of his eyes as he met her gaze. The strengthening rays of dawn glowed bright orange, framing him in fiery menacing shadows. His fearsome expression did nothing to allay her impression of a demon. A dark, temptingly beautiful one.
Sordid inspiration
… .
Struggling for a grasp on her sensibilities, Sophia spoke first, but her voice was pitifully strained. “Good morning, Wilhelm.” She couldn’t quit staring nor keep her heart from dancing in her chest. It didn’t help that Wilhelm was looking at her
that way
.
“I can feel it when you are near.” He rubbed the back of his neck. She recalled the same sensation of prickled nerves; it happened to her when he came close. “Why is that?”
Sophia did not like the first answer that came to mind and brushed it away. Too effusive, too mystical. She said instead, “A soldier’s instincts.”
He reached her in three large strides and pressed his lips to hers in a feather-light kiss. “Good morning.” His tone, his furrowed brows, did not appear to mean
Good morning
.
She turned to glance eastward at the sun peaking over the crest of a wooded hill for a reprieve from his grim expression. She hadn’t expected him to be so upset. Really, what could she possibly apologize for?
I am sorry for seducing you, for indulging in a long night of delirious pleasure we have both craved for months. Punish me, darling
. See? She could scarcely be serious in her state.
He finally stepped away, much to her relief and disappointment. “I am sorry I woke you.” He nudged a stray log into the pile with his boot.
“No matter. I found I needed some fresh air.”
“I couldn’t sleep.” His gaze met hers then followed the loose strands of her hair twirling in the breeze.
“You are upset?” she asked as lightly as she could manage. At his look of dark humor she cocked her head inquisitively and waited.
He gave a short laugh and embedded the axe in the stump. “What gave you that impression?”
“A wild guess. But if you ever tire of life as a peer of the realm, you show promise of being a fine woodsman.” She shifted her weight to the other hip, uncomfortable with the energy rolling off him in waves. “You cannot regret last night, Wilhelm?”
“Regret the best night of my life? No.” He rolled his shoulders and reached to rub the spot over his bullet wound. “The consequences are another matter.”
“You worry I will get with child and miscarry it again.”
“It was a nightmare, Sophia.”
“I know, but I am still pleased to learn I am not barren. I should be, considering my illness. All the best continental doctors said so.” She sidled closer, attempting to thaw him with a little flirting. “Or perhaps you are exceptionally virile.”
He gave a weak half-smile to show he wasn’t impressed with her flattery. “I shouldn’t have given in. It was wrong of me. And foolish.”
“I have never been so happy, Wil.”
“And I have never been so
terrified
. I can’t — ” He raked a hand through his hair. “I can’t lose you, Sophia. I am already going out of my mind at the thought.”
She could feel it; the wily spirit of a stallion that seemed to possess him this morning. His words came dangerously close to crossing the line between affection and devotion. But since he had no inclination to whisper any variation of
I love you
last night, with no less than four such opportune moments, he didn’t seem eager to do so now. But he did care for her — obviously. Deeply and genuinely, because he was a man of integrity. That should be enough, more than she had a right to expect.
Wilhelm watched her with a raw boldness; he seemed to see through her clothes, through her skin into her soul, where she couldn’t hide her thoughts. Probably reading her mind again. She had three words to say, but her instincts warned her to silence. Bad form to turn a business arrangement into a classic, pathetic case of unrequited love. How gauche to fall in love with one’s spouse. Really, surprising she found herself in love at all.
But there it is.
Can you see that too, Wil?
His gaze scoured hers until she looked at his hands — shaking. He grasped the handle of the axe again to still himself. Sophia finally comprehended what it meant: In his tumult he craved liquor but desperately tried to abstain, as he had done with general success over the past few months. No harmless glass of wine for dinner or a snifter of brandy with company would satisfy him; at the moment he wanted to get completely sloshed. But he didn’t do it.
She felt overwhelming compassion and pride for him but tried to keep it out of her expression; he would not want coddling from a woman. It came through in her voice nonetheless. “Shall I hide your cognac?” she teased softly.
He raised his eyebrows at her directness. “That would not stop me. I could go to the pub if that is what I wanted.”
“Then you must seek a distraction.” She said this innocently, without a hint of irony.
He found this hilarious; he laughed by himself and wound down slowly while Sophia glared, self-consciously crossing her arms over her chest. “Drinking
is
the distraction, Sophia.”
“Distraction from what?”
His saved his ironic smirk for his boots and kept his head down. “From the same muse who stole my sleep and put an axe in my hands this morning.”
Sophia looked at a trail leading away into the woods, then back to an uncomfortable Wilhelm, who shifted his feet and kneaded his grip on the axe handle. He was making her nervous too. “You worry too much, Wil.”
“My brain says
What if
?”
“Mine says
I want you
. And I win.”
Just then the housekeeper cracked the door open to let Fritz out and he came bounding toward them. Sophia patted his head, then Fritz nudged Wilhelm until he scratched behind his ears.
Wilhelm rolled his shoulders again, his eyes still averted. “I always want you.”
Oh my, he actually blushed, spots of pink under his morning stubble.
Their eyes locked, and the short distance between them only seemed to draw her closer toward him with potent magnetism. “I am in a bad way, Sophie,” he confessed. “After last night, I have this … insatiable appetite for you. I can’t imagine going back — living like a monk, I mean. But nothing is worth the risk. Not the pleasure, not even a child.”
“I will be more careful, now that I know. No more riding bareback and baiting gypsies, I promise.” She used her best arrow in the quiver, “I trust you to protect me, Wil.”
It worked; he squared his shoulders and puffed out his chest a little.
“Think of it: a little boy with dark hair and grey eyes — the tenth Earl of Devon. Or a little girl with Madeline’s ringlets. A tiny voice calling
Papa
.”
She had him smiling, but then the color drained from his face as it melted into a scowl. “Oh,
damn
.”
“What?”
“I never considered — my illness. It would be a crime for me to pass it on to a child.”
She nearly blurted,
Surely it can’t be inherited
, out of curiosity. What she really meant to say:
I love you just the way you are
. What actually came out of her mouth was, “Far better than what lurks on my side of the family.”
Ah, there. He fought a smile and kissed the top of her head, lingering to smell her hair, she thought. “I owe Thor a run, and then I have a meeting with Colonel O’Grady. I would invite you and Sadie to ride along, but you promised to be careful.”
She groaned in protest but didn’t argue. “Queen of Compromise, that is me.”
He slid his arm around her waist and lowered his head for a kiss that promised more later. The simple gesture shot lightning straight down to curl her toes and filled her head with a sharper blend of his leathery pine-and-musk scent. Her own skin had absorbed it last night, and she could still smell it in her nose after he walked away toward the stables. Yes, she watched him walk, appreciating how his clothes stretched over finely cut muscles, his gait a blend of jockish and feline predator.
Wilhelm turned before he swung open the door, just in time to catch her ogling his rear end. He winked and puckered his lips, earning a chuckle from her. She spun on the ball of her foot and let him watch
her
walk away, knowing the thin silk robe clung to her form in the breeze. Let him find a reason to clear his schedule.
• • •
A neighborhood tea had much in common with Waterloo: opposing forces, precise stratagem, general-sized egos, and someone always went down in a blaze of glory.
Fortunately, Elise didn’t seem the one destined for shame. She sat with her hands in her lap, smiling pleasantly, showing off her Cavendish dimples. She had yet to burst out with open-mouthed laughter, in fact she had barely spoken. But she did watch a Lieutenant Sherman, a friend of Philip’s, out of the corner of her eye. And he watched her.
The two looked like a long lost couple of Olympian titans, with their willowy golden looks. Sophia scanned the room of neighborhood acquaintances, and found she was not exaggerating. Elise and Lt. Sherman stuck out, like a matching pair. Others noticed too. Everyone seemed to expect something, and all the sideways glances and not-quite-whispering became comical. A brief introduction between the two would not suffice; everyone wanted to see what might happen if the two were thrust together.
Philip had been standing guard over Elise, grasping a snifter with one hand and the back of his sister’s chair with the other, feigning sociability but coming off more like a bulldog on a short chain. Sophia finally caught his eye and he came to her side like a faithful swain.