Page 61

Violet reached for Sofia’s hand and squeezed it in her own, her gaze trailing towards her husband. Gabriel had stopped his conversation to watch her, aware of her even through the chaos of the room. “Now I will bring another child into this world, and I will have to be the brave one, Sofia. I fear every ounce of Gabriel’s courage has been exhausted in loving us.”

Still, Gabriel and Violet watched one another, the duke’s gaze soft and assessing. And then, as if he could tolerate the distance between them no longer, he crossed to her, the guests parting wordlessly before him.

“Your Grace.” He bowed deeply. “Would you waltz with me?”

Violet giggled. “This is a Scottish reel, Gabriel.”

“Is it?” He looked meaningfully toward the quartet, who halted mid-reel, much to the confusion of his guests, and struck the first notes of the Sussex Waltz.

“What a flagrant abuse of power.” Violet laughed again.

His expression shifted, changing into one of boyish mischief, and Sofia could see Oliver there in the duke’s thick lowered lashes and his sheepish grin. Thankfully, Violet was too distracted by her husband to take note of Sofia’s widening eyes. Gabriel led Violet into the dance, and other couples followed after they took a moment to admire the pair.

Christopher fell in beside her. “Your brother has retired for the evening. He seemed well enough when he departed. Would a waltz be an appropriate reward for my achievements?”

“I suppose it would be wicked of me to deny you after all your efforts to put Oliver at ease.”

“Very wicked.” His eyes slid suggestively down the satin-clad curves of her body then returned to her face. His expression virtually crackled with lust.

He took her hand then and led her to the outskirts of the dance floor. Sofia relaxed into the evening now that her brother was out of sight. As she followed Christopher’s lead, she buried her worries beneath the soft sweep of her gown, the magical melody of the violins, and the promise of effervescent glasses of frosty champagne.

Despite being a country ball, the merriment gave no indication of winding down even as midnight approached, but at ten minutes to the hour, Sofia slipped unnoticed out the doors and down the stairs towards the billiards room. Christopher had already arrived. He turned to her as she closed the door and flipped the lock with a click.

Twenty-Two

“You, madam, have been torturing me all night.”

She watched him coyly from beneath her lashes as he stepped from the shadows and ambled towards her.

“Six dances with other men and only three with me? How shall I ever recover?”

“From what I understand, you English consider anything over two dances with the same gentleman to be a declaration of impending matrimony.”

“If I thought there was any hope of you caring about English etiquette, I would hold you to that.” Christopher picked up a billiard ball and rolled it idly between his hands. “I thought I would be safe from jealousy when you partnered that bookish fellow who resembles an ostrich, but, alas, he seemed to take to the study of your décolletage with the same ardour he assigns to his reading.”

“I had no idea you were the jealous sort,” she teased, sliding close and running a solitary finger down his chest and abdomen.

“As it turns out, when it comes to you and that devastating dress, all of my British charm withers away. I feel like quite the neanderthal.” He smiled and Sofia couldn’t quite determine whether his words were in jest. She looped her index finger into his waistband and gave a little tug.

Christopher let out a deep rumble of approval and the ball in his hand tumbled to the floor with a thunk. “All those slender aristocratic hands trespassing on the swell of your hip. The accidental brushes as they led you about the floor. I ache to banish the memory. To demolish the imprint of their touch. To lick and nibble across your skin until you are mine alone.”

His mouth was slack, pupils dilated. The contrast between his hungry expression and his elegant evening wear sharpened her anticipation, flooding her nerves with tingling warmth. He hadn’t even touched her yet and already her body was alive with anticipation.

“Do you plan to talk me into an orgasm, Christopher?” She meant it as a playful jab, but it came out far needier than intended.

The whispered challenge cut him loose and he claimed her body with something like desperation. Christopher’s hands clamped around her waist where countless palms had rested throughout the night. He squeezed, long and slow. Nothing close to painful, but insistent and absolutely territorial in a way that made her feel deliciously at his mercy. He watched her through heavy lids as he branded her with his fingertips. Again, his grip tightened and released, and desire pooled at her core.

His touch lightened then, drifting across her satin gown, up and down the swell of her hips, then around to her rear. He gripped her possessively, drawing her flush against him. A delicate shiver rippled across her skin but Sofia remained pliant beneath his touch, allowing him the space to satiate himself without distraction. “So good, my Sofia, standing there so patiently when I can see your body clambering for my lips and tongue.” He stroked a finger down the column of her throat to where her skin heated and prickled. “Mmm. And your skin blushes so prettily at my compliment. You like to hear how much you please me.”

My God, but she did. She craved more of that warm satisfaction in his eyes and voice.

He stepped closer, angling to her side, one palm splayed across her stomach, his heated gaze following the rise and fall of that hand with every breath. He was still as he quietly contemplated her body. Her pulse rattled rapidly in contrast. Slowly, as if he had a lifetime to explore her, his touch travelled higher, feather light between her breasts, then stopped when his palm cradled her neck. His other hand joined the first to hold her gently in place.

A ragged sigh tore through him as he caught and held her gaze. “Easy now.”

“I haven’t done anything.” She sounded nearly as breathless as him.

He eased closer, kissing her shoulder, then her jaw, nuzzling his response into the curve of her neck. “I wasn’t talking to you.”