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“God above.” His voice was hoarse, rubbed raw by rasping breaths. “No. No. You have to …” He lurched his hips away for a heartbeat then pushed back into her hand. “I’m going to … Oh God, Sofi.” He groaned then, his entire body spasming with his climax, then he curled around her with his face pressed tightly in the crook of her shoulder.

He remained there for a long moment, the only sound between them, the quaver of his unsteady breath.

“Christopher?” She waited. “Christopher?” she repeated when he seemed disinclined to answer.

When he lifted his head, he would not meet her eyes. She caught his chin with her fingers and turned him to face her. His cheeks were flushed red.

“Are you angry at me?” she asked. She dropped her hand away, but he quickly retrieved it, wrapping it in both of his.

“Mad at you?” He shook his head. “No, love. I’m mortified. I’m tempted to hide under the billiards table, but mad? No, anything but that.”

She furrowed her brow, and he let out a shaky chuckle. “You scarcely touched me and I spent. I haven’t had so little control since I was a lad. I’m thirty-six years old, damn it.” He closed his eyes, his cheeks puffing out with air as he exhaled. “I’m sorry.” He met her gaze again and there was such embarrassment and self-reproach that she wanted to take him in her arms and cuddle it away.

“You found pleasure in my touch.” She stroked small circles with her thumb across the back of his hand. “The lightest brush of my fingertips sent your body reeling. Why would you apologise for the way your body responds to mine?”

He instantly softened at her words, a lopsided grin falling back into its usual place. “I’ll just have to hope that if the servants’ stairs are crowded tonight as I make my way back to my room, that others view my sticky trousers with the same romantic notions.”

Romantic notions. When did I become a woman with romantic notions?

He glanced down and wrinkled his nose, then looked back to her, all traces of his earlier embarrassment erased. Sofia felt a bone-deep satisfaction in her ability to find the right words to set him at ease. Shuffling to his discarded clothing, he picked up his mangled shirt and stared mournfully at the linen. A button fell to the floor and rolled into Sofia’s bare foot.

“On second thought,” he said, “I think my trousers are the least of my worries.”

Sofia found his waistcoat and shook it out. “This isn’t quite as bad.”

“Perfect. I’ll just strut back up the stairs bare-chested, with my stained trousers and a hopelessly crushed waistcoat. Surely no one will remark on it.” He winked.

Sofia linked her arms around his neck and kissed his lips. “It’s not so late. Take a walk with me.”

He glanced down at his naked chest, then back to her.

“Not right this moment. A walk with more clothes. We can meet at the entrance to the rose garden.”

It was late, but after the conversation with her brother, she didn’t want to waste a moment with Christopher. She had no idea how to move forward, but every time she thought of passing her days without him, her blood ran cold. If she did have to leave Christopher, she wanted to fill every moment remaining with his warm laughter and smiling eyes.

He watched her quizzically for a moment, then nodded. “A walk.” He slid on his waistcoat and topcoat, wadding his shirt and cravat in his hands. Opening the door, he peeked around the corner then signalled her to go.

Twenty-Three

Christopher managed to traverse a path to his room avoiding all but Jeremy, who blew him a kiss then laughed until Christopher was long out of sight. Tossing his clothes into the corner for washing and mending, he dressed quickly in loose-fitting trousers and wore a shirt open at the collar.

With his lust temporarily silenced, Christopher’s unease regarding Sofia’s exchange with her brother began to hang heavy and sour in his stomach. Whatever had passed between the siblings had been more than just a trivial quarrel. Christopher had felt her agitation as if it had been his own. Even hours later, the memory of her pallid skin and wide, distressed eyes constricted his throat. He swallowed hard and tried to convince himself that she was all right, as she’d assured him she was. That they were all right. But his body refused to settle.

Hopelessly lost in the labyrinth of his thoughts, he nearly passed Sofia by. She sat primly on a wrought-iron bench, tracing the looping acanthus scrolls with the tip of her finger. Every indication of their earlier activities had vanished from sight. He had the juvenile urge to muss her hair and kiss her lips red all over again. Instead, he clasped his hands behind his back and cleared his throat to keep from following through with the fantasy.

Her head jerked up, and she bloomed before his eyes with a soft, secret smile and warmth in her gaze. “Ciao.”

“Hello,” he returned, tucking her close when she stood, then looping his arm around her shoulders.

“Did you make it back to your room without incident?” she asked. They set off into the shadows.

“Very nearly. Jeremy accosted me on the stairs.”

“I suppose it could have been worse.”

“Indeed. It could have been Bennett.”

She giggled at his comically aghast expression.