Page 38

“You are a lot of trouble, Oliver,” she mumbled, unable to keep the affection from her voice despite her despair of ever finding the man he had been before.

Tucking his blankets up to his chin, Sofia turned and left the room in search of Zach and Nora. They were meant to be finishing projects for their study of medieval history this morning, but the schoolroom was empty and the nursery was too. After a fruitless search of the estate, Sofia gave up and returned to the kitchens, where many of the servants were still gathered. Christopher was exiting as she entered, but he quickly changed his direction to follow her into the room.

“Good morning.” He reached down, wrapped his fingers around her wrist, and brought the remnants of her muffin to his mouth, swiftly taking a bite. “Mmm.”

“Mr Keene, there is a mountain of muffins just there on the table.”

“Mr Keene, is it?”

“It is when you steal my breakfast.”

“I’ll remember that.” He didn’t sound the least bit chastened and wore an unrepentant grin as well.

“Have you seen the children?” She guarded the remainder of her muffin close to her chest.

“I have not, but Gabriel informed them you are to have the rest of the week to see to your brother’s health, so I imagine they are off making good use of the sunshine and their unexpected freedom.”

“That’s kind of His Grace, but entirely unnecessary. I am perfectly capable of doing both.”

“Yes, yes. You are undoubtedly capable of managing any number of complicated tasks at a time, running yourself into a state of exhaustion as you see to everyone’s needs but your own.” He leaned carelessly against the door jam, his insouciant pose in stark contrast to the quiet intensity of his words. “If you never let anyone see what you need, they will never disappoint. But they’ll also never know you, and you will never really know them. I would very much like to know you, Sofia, and not just the pretty parts you think I will like most.”

She hated the way this man made the most terrifying risks seem harmless and logical. Hated how his smiles made her question the necessity of her walls. Hated her heart’s eagerness to rewrite history and reevaluate everything she thought she knew. Hated the way he made her consider whether selfishness, so pervasive in her life before, might be uncommon in a life with him.

Sofia felt like a feral barn cat being gentled against her will, and she had the sudden urge to take a swipe at his hand just to remind him she still had claws. Her fingers tightened around the fragile muffin, muscles flexing as her spine snapped straight. He watched her. Took it all in. His eyes trailed from the crumbling muffin to the rapidly rising pulse at her throat, then settled squarely on her narrowed eyes. And then he relaxed under her glare. Bloodshed was an acceptable part of the process, his demeanour seemed to say, and he would not be made to flinch.

“Go on then. You were just about to tell me that you are none of my business and I am presumptuous and irritating.” He took a step closer, delicately teasing at the fingers still clamped around her breakfast. “But maybe don’t punish the muffin.”

One day, she would look back at these safe and comfortable weeks being courted by a nice man who wanted nothing more than to believe she was a nice woman as … as what? Something she was too afraid to enjoy? To squander the time she had left would be like closing her eyes to the vibrant colours of autumn because winter was looming just around the bend. Beauty in nature was made more spectacular by its brevity. Sunsets that faded to darkness, pristine blankets of snow transformed into grey puddle of slush, and uncommonly kissable men, there and gone from her life like a dream, sliding away with the break of dawn.

After leaving Northam Hall, she might spend every day staring at the sky, remembering the delicate pinks and golden light of dusk and wishing there was more, but she would not look away now. She would not blink until every glimmer of colour dissipated into vast, uninterrupted black. And she would kiss this man as much as possible in the days she had. More than kiss.

Sofia couldn’t picture a future in which she married, and she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life wondering what it would feel like to experience ecstasy from a lover’s touch. What it would feel like with a man who would be thorough and considerate and tender. This man. Dropping the remainer of her muffin into the rubbish bin, she took his hand and briskly led him out of the kitchen, down the hallway, and through the closest door, which happened to be the billiards room.

“I’m going to kiss you until I work up the nerve to ask for your help.”

She dropped his hand to push the door closed and then tangled her fingers into his cravat, pulling his mouth down to hers. Her eyes flicked open when, instead of his lips pressing against hers, his thumb brushed against her lower lip.

“Easy now.” Christopher’s thumb meandered back and forth, echoing the gravelly softness of his voice. A smile played within the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. “While I am not opposed to being on the receiving end of your enthusiastic manhandling—I quite like it, in fact—I thought we might try this.”

With predatory slowness, he eased her backwards until she felt the heavy wooden door at her back. Placing one hand flat against the door, he used the other to turn the lock with a quiet snick. His mouth drifted closer, lingering in the moment before contact, drawing out every heartbeat of anticipation as if her lips were the last ripe strawberries of spring before the scorching sun wilted their plants and left them barren for another year. And when his lips brushed hers, she felt that same desperation to sear the texture and flavour of him into her skin. Christopher coaxed her mouth with the same consummate determination, the same patience and ardour, with which he’d courted her friendship. She was quite unequal to the task of resisting any part of him.

Where their last kiss had been frantic and thrilling, this was more like worship than conquest. Every caress of his fingers and slide of his tongue felt purposeful. He pulled away from her mouth to kiss her cheek, the sensitive underside of her jaw, the slope of her neck … warm breath and maddening softness that drove her hands into his hair and her breath into sharp pants. The bristles of his jaw dragged across her throat and she arched into his mouth with a frustrated whimper. Still, he continued deliberate and unhurried.

Reaching up to where his arms still formed a cage around her body, she wrapped her fingers about his wrist and pulled, urging him to put his hands where she wanted them. His muscles flexed in resistance to her insistent tug and he growled against her neck, the masculine rumble provoking a surge of moisture between her thighs.

Despite his stubborn refusal to touch her body, she felt him everywhere, gradually inciting every nerve ending into a state of aching alertness until she throbbed almost painfully for the pressure of his hands kneading into her flesh. She bit back the demand, but a desperate mewl slipped from between her lips in its place.

Sliding her hands from his hair, she threaded her arms beneath his topcoat, urging him closer with the curl of her fingers into his shoulder blades. When he did not move, she canted into the space, a shiver flashing through her body at the press of her pebbled nipples against the lean muscles of his chest. A raspy groan tore from his throat and he took her face between his hands, descending on her mouth like a man half starved. Deep, hungry, unrelenting kisses, until she was breathless and boneless, without a thought in her head beyond this man and the catastrophic bliss simmering in her body.

He wrenched away, chest heaving, and nuzzled his face into her neck. “Christ, you’re lovely, Sofia, so fierce and passionate. Fucking perfect. I could come just listening to those desperate little sounds you make. Every inch of my body is aching to please you.” He growled the words into her throat, some of his finely wrought control crumbling. His hand slid down to cup her breast, an exploring caress with far too much gentility and care. “Your pulse is throbbing under my tongue. I want to search your body for all the places I can feel it drum against my lips. To taste the way you want me.”

She whimpered as his thumb strummed across her nipple. Heat and desire crowded into her veins, tingling across her skin. This man had the mouth of a sailor and she never wanted him to stop talking.

Christopher’s hand left her breast, and she nearly stomped her foot with frustration. His fingers skimmed down her arm, the thumb of one hand running circles at the pulse in her wrist. “I’d find it here.” He travelled back to the soft inside of her elbow. “Then here.”

Crowding her back to a nearby chair, he dropped to a crouch then ran one finger back and forth along the curve of her ankle. “And in this poor neglected place.” He tipped his chin up, a wolfish grin spreading across his face. “Where else, Sofia?” His palm was sliding up and down her calf, rough calluses catching on the fabric of her stockings. Her quim fluttered in response, then clenched when he exchanged the soft stroke of his palm for the scrape of his nails.

“Oh Sofia, I believe you like that.” He did it again, his nails sliding across raised goosebumps. She sprawled deeper in the chair, her pelvis canting forward.