Page 65 of A Stranger’s Gamble

Chapter Twenty-One

Sophie came awake with a heavy body on top of her. She snapped open her eyes and looked straight into Adam’s eyes. She drew a breath to scream.

He clamped a hand over her mouth, pressed his mouth to her ear, and whispered, “Someone is in our room.”

She stilled. He removed his hand from her mouth, and she was suddenly aware of the hard length that dug into her abdomen and—

“You are not wearing any clothes,” she hissed.

He clamped his hand over her mouth again. “That is what married people do, if you recall,” he whispered.

She did remember, though she didn’t remember a man’s naked body being so heavy or so hard, and his…desire was more persistent than had been Matthew’s.

Sophie caught sight of a figure through the curtains around the bed. She yanked her gaze back to Adam. He nodded. Then he kissed her. Her head spun. This kiss wasn’t soft as had been the one when the minister pronounced them man and wife. His weight pressed her into the mattress in a way that made her want to wrap her legs around his waist and rub her mons against his erection.

Over the thud of her heart pounding in her ears, she discerned the light rattle of teacups and realized the maid who’d entered their room had set a tray on the table. She wanted to tell Adam he could stop—should stop—kissing her, but she didn’t want him to stop. Sophie broke the kiss and turned her head aside. He nuzzled her neck, and the juncture between her legs tightened. The maid had halted and was staring at them. Heat suffused Sophie’s cheeks. Not because she was embarrassed.

“It is impolite to stare,” Sophie said.

The maid gasped and fled the room.

Sophie pushed at Adam, and he slid off her onto the mattress. She caught sight of his erection, thick, straight, and far more masculine than anything she’d ever seen.

She yanked her gaze away to his face. He arched a brow. Sophie shoved at him. He chuckled, then his expression sobered. He drew back the curtain and jumped from the bed. Sophie got a wonderful view of his rounded backside. Matthew had been a nice-looking man, but Adam was a sculpted god.

“We have coffee and pastries,” Adam said.

Sophie started to get up, then remembered the thin nightgown she wore. She fished the sheet from the tangled bedcovers and wrapped it around her like a towel. She stepped from the bed, and Adam looked up from the coffee he was pouring into one of the cups. He had put on the robe he’d worn last night.

He ran his gaze down her body, then straightened. He regarded her, expression serious, and she forced herself not to squirm under his scrutiny. He set the coffee pot down, then crossed to her. Sophie drew back when he reached for her. He lifted a brow in clear challenge, and she lifted her chin in response. Amusement sparked in his eyes, and she was surprised when he threaded his fingers in her hair. She braced for him to pull her against him. Instead, he mussed her hair, then pulled his fingers free.

He gave a slow nod. “Now you look like a woman who made love all night.”

She flushed. He returned to the table and filled the second cup with coffee.

He picked up one of the pastries and took a big bite. “These are delicious. How do you take your coffee?”

“Cream and one sugar,” she said. “I want answers.”

He took another bite and nodded. “After we leave.”

Sophie opened her mouth to argue, but he shoved the last of his pastry into his mouth and shook his head. It wasn’t his refusal that stopped her, but the look in his eyes that told her danger was close.

“Please sit.” He indicated a chair at the table. “You will feel better after you have eaten.”

She acquiesced and had to admit that after coffee and a pastry she did feel refreshed. The clock on the mantle chimed the nine o’clock hour, and Sophie had just begun to wonder how long they would have to wait for their clothes when a knock sounded on the door, and a maid entered with their clothes washed and pressed. She placed them on the bed, then curtsied and left.

Sophie sipped her coffee, then set the cup on its saucer. “I know this house.”

Adam’s head snapped in her direction.

“When I was young, my father used to bring me and my mother to Edinburgh every year,” she said. “I had a friend who lived in this house. Her stepfather sent her away to school in France. I haven’t heard from her in years.”

“What was her name?” Adam asked in a low voice that gave her pause.

“Imogen Rose.”

“Balfour’s sister,” he said.