Page 28
“Perfetto.”
Eleven
The exertion of kneading dough, and the heat from the ovens caused Sofia’s stiff, constricting gown to scratch uncomfortably against her slippery skin. Stoically clad in his topcoat and cravat, Christopher too suffered for his proprietary. His cheeks were flushed red and perspiration gathered on his brow.
Even his indomitable cowlick was wilting. She watched as a bead of sweat trickled down his temple. “This is ridiculous. I am not from the social class where men suffer through sweltering heat with unnecessary layers of clothing. Remove your topcoat and neckcloth before I’m forced to drag your unconscious form outside for air. At least one of us should be comfortable.”
Christopher cast her a stubborn look.
“Don’t be mulish. The boys have gone to bed and there is no one to see you but me. I assure you that the sight of your shirtsleeves will not cause me to swoon.” I hope.
His gaze dropped away, the tips of his fingers worrying back and forth across his forehead.
“Surely you are not so modest as that.”
His eyes closed. “It isn’t modesty so much as …” His boots shuffled as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
Sofia waited.
“It’s only … it’s rather hot in here.”
Sofia sighed. “Si. That is the point I am attempting to make.”
“It’s been rather hot for a long time, and I am afraid my shirt sleeves are a sweaty mess at this point.” He crossed his arms over his chest and studied his boots. Then, quietly, “It’s not exactly the picture I would like resurfacing in your dreams tonight. Me, smelling like a field labourer, with a perspiration-soaked shirt adhered to my armpits. Moreover, you deserve the company of a man who cares more for your comfort than his own.”
Her heart stuttered at his words.
One February, her father had left them without coal for a month in favour of spending their last coin on a first-edition copy of Species Plantarum. A year later, when she had swallowed her pride and begged her brother to stay, his anger at their father’s betrayal had been stronger than his loyalty to her. Dropping a kiss on the top of her head, Oliver had pried her fingers from his shirtfront and walked away without looking back. But now, this man she had scarcely known for a month cared enough for her good opinion that he opted to smother himself in a sweltering kitchen rather than risk offending her sensibilities.
It was a ridiculous, insignificant thing. She repeated it like a chant in her mind— ridiculous and insignificant. But, just as it had been that first night when he’d left fairy stories at her bedside, her heart refused to see the gesture as anything but grand.
“I suppose it’s rather too late to salvage my gentlemanly splendour at this point. Discussing my armpits is unlikely to give you enchanting dreams.” He gave her a self-deprecating smile.
“Christopher, come here.”
His playfulness evaporated in an instant. His entire body reacted to her use of his Christian name, fingers curling into his palms, eye widening, chest expanding on a deep inhalation as if he could draw the intimacy of that moment inside himself and hold it there. He blinked, then blinked again.
“Vieni qui, Christopher.” His name melted on her tongue.
Slowly, he moved one foot, and then the other, until he was standing inches from her with an expression she did not recognise on his face. What had begun as a practical suggestion had rapidly transformed into something far more sensual.
Sofia raised her hand and rested it lightly against his chest. She stroked the wilted point of his collar with her index finger. Up, then down. “I will valet for you if you will permit me.”
He answered with the slightest of nods, his lips parting. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from those lips. Pink. They looked unbearably soft, and she could imagine all too well what they would feel like pressed against hers. She had been kissed in her younger, more carefree youth, but not by anyone like Christopher. Christopher was a man, a generous attentive man, and she knew he would kiss her mouth with eager, exacting care, learning the taste of her millimetre by millimetre.
Her other hand came to join the first.
Palms flat against the muscles of his chest, she reached beneath his coat and over his shoulders. Strong, lean shoulders that flexed as her fingers slid across the soft cloth of his shirt. His coat slipped to the floor and her pulse leapt at the sound of his rough exhalation.
“Christ, I hope Gabriel’s never had this reaction to my valet services,” he mumbled, a flicker of humour still glinting in his eyes despite the delicious intensity crackling between them.
“The cravat now.”
Ensnared by his intimate, heavy-lidded gaze, she took to the task at a leisurely pace, the silk gliding between her fingers as she unravelled him. When her fingers grazed his nape, an indelicate shiver ran through him—a reaction he neither concealed nor explained away.
The cravat fluttered to the floor, and he caught her hand in his before she could retreat, pressing it to his chest over the drumming of his heart. Warmth kindled in her belly, prickling as it spread, until she was nothing more than needy anticipation.
“Better?” Sofia asked.
