You’re besotted with her.
Tristan shrugged the thought aside. Besotted was a strong word. He was intrigued by her, yes, and he admired her spirit and bravery, but that wasn’t the same as—
“Mrs. Beeson’s quince preserves are delicious.” Sophia caught an errant drop of the sticky sweet on the tip of her thumb, then licked it off. “I’ve never tasted better, but if you repeat that to Mrs. Browning, I’ll deny I said it.”
Tristan swallowed, his stomach tightening with want. But then he’d never denied he wanted her. It would be rather difficult to deny it when a bit of jam on her thumb made his cock press eagerly against his falls, but desiring a lady and being besotted with her weretwo different—
“This cream is lovely, too. I daresay Mrs. Beeson doesn’t rely on Polly for her dairy. The milk sloshing about in that pail was filthy.” Sophia scooped up a spoonful of the cream, plopped it daintily on top of her biscuit, then bit into it. Her tongue darted out to lick a stray dollop of the cream from the corner of her lip.
Tristan suppressed a groan. Damn it, it would be far better for both of them if she kept her tongue in her mouth. He breathed a sigh of relief when she raised her cup to her lips for a sip of tea. Ah, that was much better. There was nothing seductive about a lady drinking a cup of tea—
“May I take another lump of sugar, Lord Gray? I have a shameful sweet tooth.” She grinned at him, her pink lips curving mischievously. “Cecilia scolds me for it, but as I’m sure you can imagine, it doesn’t do the least bit of good.”
Tristan stared at her lips, mesmerized. Good Lord, he could feel her smile all the way down to his toes.
“Is it wicked of me to be so stubborn in pursuit of my pleasures?” She sank her teeth into her plump bottom lip tostifle a laugh.
Tristan’s gaze lingered on her mouth.
“But then we’re all sad creatures when it comes to satisfying our cravings, and I daresay a bit of sugar is harmless enough.” Her eyes widened as she caught a glimpse of his face. “Tristan? Whatever is the matter? Youlook flushed.”
Tristan had never launched himself over a table before. Earls didn’t scramble over tabletops, spilling the cream and sending teacups crashing to the floor. They didn’t lose control of themselves and behave like savages. It might be the only thing they had in common with Bow Street Runners. He wasn’t even fully aware he’d done it until he’d snatched Sophia into his arms, dragged her over his lap and taken hermouth with his.
His head spun as he teased his tongue between her lips, a helpless groan rising from his chest. Good Lord, but she was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. Sugar and tea, quince preserves and her own unique honey flavor, sweet on his tongue. God, he wanted to dive into her and stay there forever, to drown in her.
Iambesotted with her.
Lyndon was right. Lyndon was always right, it seemed.
Tristan’s feelings for Sophia were tangled and confused still, but at the moment, he didn’t care. He cared only that he wanted her, and by the way she was sighing and trembling against him, he knew she wanted him, too.
“Why did you leave me this morning?” Tristan groaned, his mouth moving desperately down her neck, tasting her and dropping passionate kisses over her soft skin. “I woke wrapped up in sheets that still carried your scent, butyou were gone.”
He couldn’t stop himself from taking her mouth again, stroking her cheekbones as he drew her toward him. He teased at the seam of her lips until she opened for him, and they both moaned at the first stoke of his tongue against hers. Tristan felt her hands sink into his hair, her fingers tugging at the strands to drag him closer.
He told himself it was enough to kiss her—enough to hold her in his arms—but his control slipped further and further into the abyss the longer their lips clung together, until he stumbled to his feet with Sophia still in his arms and set her down on top of the table.
She let out a breathless laugh. “Take care with the teacups.”
He chuckled against her lips, but soon enough he was lost in the sensual glide of her tongue against his, her fingers in his hair, the soft sighs of pleasure on her lips. The next thing he knew her tunic was clenched in his fist, his knuckles grazing the smooth skin of her belly as he dragged it up, higher, then higher…
Mrs. Beeson might have gotten the shock of her life when she returned from the market if, in Sophia’s frantic scrambling to help him remove the tunic, her hip hadn’t bumped against a saucer and toppled it over the edge of the table. Tristan tore his mouth from hers, and they both cast dazed looks at the smashed china on the floor before turningto each other.
Her cheeks were pink, her lips swollen and damp from his kisses. Locks of her hair had fallen from her neat bun and were curling against her shoulders. Tristan took one look at her, and it was all he could do not to tumble her onto her back on Mrs. Beeson’s spotlesskitchen table.
Sophia buried her face against his shoulder, smothering a laugh. “Oh, dear. We’ve spoiled that lovely china set! I did warn you to takecare, Tristan.”
“Of the teacups, yes. You didn’t say a word about the saucers.” He tugged gently on a loose lock of her hair. “You haven’t told me what were you doing in the mews. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about that,Miss Monmouth.”
She patted his chest. “No. I’ve never known you to forget anything, Lord Gray. Come, I have a story for you. I’ll tell you on the way.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Whereare we going?”
Sophia took his hand and hopped down from the kitchen table. “To the Turk’s Head Coffeehouse.”
Chapter Seventeen
This conversation wasn’t going at all as Sophia had planned.
