A Most Naked Solution (9 page)

C
HAPTER
S
IXTEEN

T
he man standing in Sophia’s study wasn’t Huntford.

The beefy, ferret-faced Runner sketched Sophia and Camden a quick bow and handed him a folded sheet of paper. “Your butler said I could find you here. From Mr. Huntford, sir.”

Camden opened the paper.

I am unable to leave London at this time. The new murder mirrors my sister’s. Williamson is one of the few investigators at Bow Street I trust.

Huntford

P.S. Keep him away from your brandy.

Sophia offered Williamson a seat. The man had the build of a prizefighter and hesitated to sit in the dainty, upholstered chair, but he complied. The Runner already knew the basic details of the case from Huntford, and Camden filled him in on the rest, including the most recent attacks on Sophia.

Williamson jotted down a few notes on a small pad of paper. “I have a few questions for you, Lady Harding.”

“She’s no longer a suspect,” Camden growled. Huntford might think this man was trustworthy, but he didn’t want him anywhere near Sophia.

Williamson rubbed at a pockmark on his cheek. “She is as far as I’m concerned.”

Sophia placed a hand on Camden’s knee. “You had the same suspicions. I have nothing to hide.”

Williamson grunted, his eyes shifting suspiciously. “I must ask about your relationship with your husband.”

War had been hell, but it had nothing on the next half hour. Camden had thought his questions to Sophia had been blunt and overly personal. They were mere parlor talk compared to the things Williamson asked.

Camden tried several times to halt the interrogation. Her cool recitation of the broken ribs and nose, black eye, and dislocated shoulder roiled inside him until he feared he’d vomit.

Yet each time he tried to stop Williamson, Sophia would shake her head slightly and answer, her face as pale as paper yet perfectly composed.

Finally, Williamson stood, his gaze averted. “I’m sorry to put you through that.” And it was clear from the deference in his tone that he meant it. She’d allayed his suspicions.

But Camden had to unlock the muscles in his jaw before he could speak. “Her gardener, Wicken, is compiling a list of women in the village who had a past with Lord Harding. I’d start there.”

They sent for Wicken, but he’d gone to the village to speak to Mrs. Haws.

With a promise to report on his progress, Williamson left.

Sophia sank down onto a chair, rubbing her arms as if she were cold.

“You didn’t have to tolerate all those questions,” Camden said, hating that he’d been the one to bring all this on her. It was his fault all these wounds had been ripped open twice in one day.

“I cannot pretend my past didn’t happen.”

Camden dragged his hand through his hair. “I don’t want you to.”

“Then what do you want?” He could see the lines of strain around her mouth and the way her hands trembled on her sleeves.

How could he even begin to answer that? “I don’t want Harding to be able to control you all over again every time you have to explain what happened.”

“That’s not what happens.”

“Isn’t it? You didn’t want to answer half the questions, yet you did. Why? Why didn’t you spare yourself?” Camden asked.

“I’m tired of the lies.”

“Or were you scared?”

She rose to her feet and paced toward the windows. “I’m not a coward.”

Hell, he thought her one of the strongest women he knew. He simply wished she’d use that strength to defend herself.

Sophia’s butler bowed in the doorway. “One of your grooms delivered this, sir. He said it was urgent.” He handed him a folded sheet of paper, sealed with a red wafer and the Greek symbols of the Mathematical Society.

Camden had already torn through the wax. It was from his father. He scanned the contents and swore. Ipswith had called an impromptu meeting of the Society. Camden’s father hinted that he thought his protégé would have revolutionary information to add to the knowledge of mankind.

“Is everything all right?” Sophia asked. Even now, her concern outweighed her anger. Couldn’t she see how priceless that trait was? That she was?

“Ipswith claims to have solved the quandary.”

“Has he presented it yet?”

“No.” But he wouldn’t have called a meeting if he wasn’t close. Nothing made mathematicians bitterer than being forced to socialize for no reason at all.

Camden still had a chance to present his own solution first. If he found one.

“I think you should go work on it.” Unfortunately, her anger hadn’t disappeared completely.

“I should stay to protect you.”

She crossed her arms. “My servants have it under control.”

“Sophia—”

“You’ve made your opinion of me quite clear.”

“Apparently not. I think you’re brave.” But he was a blundering fool when it came to her—that much was clear. And he’d never stayed where he wasn’t wanted.

C
amden said he thought her brave.

After he said he thought her a coward. That’s what he’d meant when he said she wouldn’t protect herself, wasn’t it? He seemed to think there was some distinction between the two things, but she couldn’t see it.

And she did protect herself. Hadn’t she just sent him away?

The empty mahogany shelves towered over her as she entered the library. She closed her eyes and let herself picture what it would be like filled with books she wanted to read and mayhap a soft, overstuffed chair by the fireplace. Most of the images lacked focus, lacked the details she needed to give her the answers she sought.

But one she could picture clearly—Clayton laying her down by the fireplace and striping this ugly black gown from her body.

She’d been a foolish, foolish girl when she’d written the letter to Camden. She’d thought what she felt had been love. Even later, when she married Richard, she’d bittersweet fondness for memories of that love.

But she’d never loved Camden.

She’d been infatuated, fascinated, attracted. All of which had seemed like love. But it had been like oil on water, never deeper than the surface.

Now she’d plunged past that.

She wouldn’t say it was love that now consumed her either, but even the first small pangs were more magnificent, more terrifying than anything she’d felt before. And she gloried in them, proud to discover she could still feel them, that something so wondrous could still grow inside her.

Now she didn’t just want him to notice her. Now it was just as crucial that he understand her. That she sink deep until she knew his heart, his thoughts, his desires.

So why did she continue to flutter uselessly about, as uncertain of him as she was of her library?

Because she
was
certain of one thing. A terrifying, deliciously, scandalous thing.

She wanted him finish what they had started upstairs. And maybe—but she could sort with the rest of her feelings later.

Camden had said he needed her to be sure. Well, now she was.

A smile curved her lips.

But how exactly did she go about getting Camden as her lover? She’d never played the seductress before.

Well, one thing was certain; she couldn’t do it with him banished to the other side of the village.

As she left the library, she met Wicken trudging up the corridor. “If you have a moment, Lady Harding?”

She nodded.

“Lord Grey asked me to compile a list of local girls who”—he tugged on the sleeve of his brown woolen jacket—“were ruined by Lord Harding. I’ve compared my list with Mrs. Haws’s. And I hate to ask, but I wanted to check if you knew of any others.”

He held out a piece of foolscap that contained about a dozen names of Richard’s lovers. Sophia took the page and studied it. Curse him. Curse him. She hoped Richard had already been sentenced at Judgment for each and every one.

“Do you know of any more?” Wicken asked.

She shook her head. She hadn’t known of half of those.

Wicken’s shoulders sagged. “Good. I’ll take this to Lord Grey.”

Sophia kept the paper. “I’ll take it to him.” But no, if she was going to try to seduce him, she wasn’t going to hide behind an excuse. She’d go because she wanted to.

She handed the paper back. “On second thought, there is a Runner investigating in town. Take the list to him.”

Wicken’s eyes widened as he tucked the page in his pocket. “A Runner?”

“Lord Grey hired him.”

“I’ll go find him right away.” Wicken gave a jerky nod, then folded the list and jammed it in his pocket.

“Would you have the coachman bring the carriage around? I have a matter to discuss with Lord Grey.”

C
amden arranged the papers on his desk and set out his ink. Perhaps if he altered his approach to the theorem slightly . . .

Two pages of worthless scribbles later, he glanced up at the clock. It had to have been longer than ten minutes. He’d never been bored by his work before. He watched the clock for a full minute just to be sure the hands were moving.

They were.

The problem wasn’t with the clock, it was with him. Something was missing.

A beautiful woman in the chair across from him. Her feet tucked up under her. Her hair falling over her cheek. Her velvety voice reading his numbers. Her lips smiling at his inane attempts at humor.

With a sigh, he searched through his desk, pulling out a filthy, creased paper he’d buried in the bottom years ago. He hadn’t looked at it since he’d returned home from the Peninsula, but neither had he been able to throw it away.

Dear Captain Grey,

You are no doubt surprised to hear from me. In case you do not recall, I am the younger sister to Lord Darton Prestwood, whom you tutored earlier this year. But I hope you do recall who I am, for I haven’t been able to stop thinking of you. I know war is an uncertain time, so I could not go another day without confessing the depth of my affection. I am in love with you, Captain Grey. I have been since you sought me out to bow over my hand even though I assumed I was hidden in the shadows. I realize you might not return my affection. If that is the case, I beg you ignore this letter and we shall both pretend its delivery unsuccessful. But whatever our fate may be, know that I hope fervently for your safe return.

Yours forever,

Sophia Prestwood

Could he reclaim this? Could he somehow remind her of the feelings she’d once had for him? What they’d shared in the library had been about passion. It had been sparked by the heat that had simmered between them the past few days. But physical desire wasn’t enough. He wouldn’t be satisfied with anything less than her heart

He shoved the letter away. No matter what he wanted, he had to wait until she was ready.

Returning to his work, he slowly built a list of roots from the lower equations, trying to figure out the difference between them and what he was unable to do, trying to lose himself in the tedium.

But numbers held no attraction now that he knew the gleam of triumph in her eye before she’d kissed him in the coach. The weight of her body nestled in his lap, stockinged feet peeping out.

His quill snapped in his fingers and he tossed it away. Why did she overtake his mental facilities precisely when he needed them the most?

With a sigh, he sprinkled sand on the page before he smeared the numbers. Perhaps that was the crux of his crisis. This strange fascination was all his.

And he wasn’t sure he could free himself from it.

In fact, he didn’t want to free himself from it.

He put the stopper in his bottle of ink. Hell, he couldn’t focus anyway. He might as well go ensure Sophia was safe. Perhaps she could even help him with some of his work. How uncouth would it be if he not only showed up on her doorstep uninvited, but brought his work along with him? But at least it would keep him occupied if she refused to let him inside.

His butler appeared in the door.

“Lady Harding.” Rafferty stepped aside revealing Sophia, her eyes narrowed, lips pursed.

C
HAPTER
S
EVENTEEN

“I
s something wrong?” Camden asked.

Sophia blinked. Apparently she needed to work on the whole wanton, seductress look. “I need to speak to you.”

“That will be all, Rafferty,” Camden said. He pulled off his spectacles and set them on the desk next to him. “You didn’t come here on your own, did you?” He strode to her side, taking her shoulders in his hands and twisting her slightly as if inspecting her for injuries. At least he was touching her. This was a step in the right direction.

Even if he looked like he wanted to throttle her.

“Concerned for your virtue?” She tried to lighten the intensity in his expression, but when it didn’t work, she sighed. Yes, a fine coquette she made. “The coachman and two grooms accompanied me. All armed.”

“In a closed carriage or open?”

“Open. The coach has a broken axle, if you recall.”

“You cannot—”

“No.” She cut him off before he spoke the words she could not forgive. “I make my own decisions. I will not be ordered.”

Camden’s brows drew together. “I only want you safe.”

“Because I’m too weak to protect myself?”

“No, because I care about you.”

He spoke softly yet each of his words planted deep within her, rooting in the places she’d feared dead. The remnants of her anger drained. Camden had been trying to do his duty. That was nothing like Richard. Was she going to fight against breathing just because Richard had breathed too?

Camden’s thumbs rubbed slow circles on her shoulders, robbing her knees of strength and reigniting the longing that had driven her here in the first place. She’d wanted to see him again, craved it like the girl lurking outside her brother’s lesson. Did that mean she’d managed to save some of her innocence from Richard?

But the feelings twisting in her chest were anything but innocent.

She traced her hands up over his shoulders, lingering over the broad strength and the hard muscles before twining them behind his neck.

She could hear his rough swallow, felt it ripple along his throat.

“Why are you here, Sophia?”

“You said to come when I was sure.” She walked to the door and pushed it closed, then returned and rose on her tiptoes to press a kiss to the line of his jaw. “I’m certain now. This is what I want.”

“When I said we’d wait until you were certain, I was anticipating it taking more than a few hours.”

“I’m ready for this.” She’d been ready for this moment since she was fifteen.

But when he backed away for the third time that day, she almost staggered from the blow. “If you don’t want me, tell me outright. Apparently, I don’t take hints well.”

He wrapped his arm around her waist before she could escape. “I want you.”

“Then why are you backing away?”

“Because I want more from you than this.” His hand dropped to caress her breast, but then it stilled over her heart. “I want this, too.”

She was the one who took the step back this time, breaking his hold.

“I—” She retreated again, the back of her thighs colliding against the desk. She put her hand down to catch her balance and froze when she saw what she touched.

“My letter.” She picked it up, tracing her finger over the curvy, girlish script. When he hadn’t replied she’d preferred to assume it had become lost somewhere in the middle of the English Channel. But he
had
received it.

“Why did you keep it?”

A flush inched up his cheeks. “It was the only letter I received.”

“The only love letter.”

“No. The only letter.”

She stared at him. “Your father—”

“Never wanted me to waste my intellectual talents by going to war. But how could I stay home with my head buried in numbers when I could be saving lives with them? He never agreed. Mathematics should be pristine. Theory alone. Practical application taints me.”

“But you’re working for your father, aren’t you?”

“Solving this problem was simply a side interest of mine until he decided to pit Ipswith, his golden boy, in a race against me. He thinks I’ve wasted my talent helping out Thorp with his locomotive design. Or the city of Grundton with plans for their new well. My failure is his way of proving it. I thought perhaps if I beat Ipswith, I could convince some of the mathematicians to join me.”

“Do you think they will? It sounds quite noble.”

He gingerly took the letter from her fingers. “It also pays well. I’d hoped my success would sway them.” He dropped his eyes to the letter, but not before she recognized loneliness, a bitter sore that had wounded his young heart. “So you see, I rather liked the idea that someone cared whether I lived or died.” He folded the paper with practiced ease.

She closed the distance between them, her finger rasping over the rough stubble on his chin. “I did care. I still do.”

Dropping the letter back on the desk, Camden’s lips claimed hers, bold, fierce. No hesitation. “See, I’m not noble,” he whispered. “I’m trying to have all these good intentions. Yet I say the say the things that I know will draw you to my side. Bring the words of affection I crave to your lips.”

His hand stroked her breast, robbing her of the ability to respond. Besides, he was giving her what she’d come here for. Nothing else mattered. Heart thrumming in her ears, she dragged his head back down until she could reach his lips, exploring them as his hands explored her body.

The books for her library could be forgotten; she’d fill her life with this. With him.

Her blood sped so furiously through her veins that colors swirled at the edges of her vision, but she kept her eyes open, not wanting to miss a single moment as she unbuttoned his waistcoat and tugged his shirt free, slipping her hands underneath to the hard planes of his chest. Her hand slowed over his heart. Did he love her, then? She moved her hand and pressed her lips against that spot, reveling in the warmth and vibrancy in his hot, firm skin.

After she’d married Richard, she’d spent months trying to make him love her. It was heady and freeing to think that Camden might love her, not because she’d pandered and scraped but because she was herself.

But then his fingers found her nipple, gently rolling it, and her musings scattered.

So different. With Richard it had been all about trying to please him, to keep him happy, at least while she still bothered to try.

But this . . .
This
.

Camden gave as much as he took. His eyes never left hers as he caressed her, watching her as she watched him. Gauging her pleasure, driving it higher. But there was something more in his expression, a tenderness. As if she were precious and he couldn’t bear to look away.

His fingers danced over her breasts, her neck, her face. When he his mouth followed, it was too much and at the same time not enough. She’d been married three years. How could her body react so differently to this man?

She shoved his jacket from his shoulders, wanting him bared, wanting to ignore the question she’d just asked herself.

He let his coat slip to the floor, then helped her lift his shirt over his head. She stopped for a moment, unable to do anything but relish the sight of him. She’d mourned as the days turned into weeks without a response to her letter. She’d finally given up, heartbroken and resigned to the fact that he would never be hers. But now he was. At least for the night. All of him was hers to claim. The thickly muscled shoulders that tapered to a ridged, narrow abdomen.

Unable to resist, she laid a kiss again to the center of his chest, loving the rapid intake of breath pressing his skin more tightly against her lips. His fingers tucked under her chin, lifting her face to his. Her name on his lips sweetened the caress.

She’d been lying when she told herself having him in her bed might satisfy her. Now that she had him, she wouldn’t give him up. Perhaps deep within, her heart had never intended to.

Suddenly she didn’t know where to look. She couldn’t hold his gaze. She wasn’t ready for him to see what she’d discovered, yet she was afraid if she closed her eyes, she’d no longer know where she ended and he began.

So she settled for the waistband of his trousers. She fumbled with the buttons there, her attempts slowed by the temptation to run her fingers up and down the length of him. Finally, she focused long enough to free the buttons and take him in her hand.

Camden’s hands dug into her shoulders. “We can be in my room in less than a minute.”

She had to speak between gasps. “Too long.”

With only a brief pause, Camden locked the door, scooped her into his arms, and carried her over to the fireplace. When he would have laid her on the rug, she shook her head. “The desk. You have no idea how many times I pictured us there last night.”

C
amden cleared the desk with a single sweep of his arm. The ink bottle flew through the air and clattered onto the rug. He hoped it remained stoppered.

He set Sophia on her feet, turning her away from him so he could have access to her buttons. Whose idea was it to have so many buttons on dresses?

Her breathless chuckle trembled under his fingers. “You should write a paper on the ability of buttons to multiply exponentially.”

Camden couldn’t help his chuckle any more than he could help the fierce exaltation at sharing the jest with her. “Ipswith could not compete with that.”

She’d admitted she cared for him. While that was nothing compared to the depth of his feelings, it was enough to ignite hope that he’d be able to earn more.

As the last button popped from its mooring, he slid the black dress from her shoulders, reveling in the dark fabric giving way to the creaminess of her skin. It pooled on the floor like the ink from the jar. Sophia kicked the garment away, leaving her clothed as she’d been this afternoon.

“You have no idea how the image of you dressed like this has tormented me.” Camden’s fingers shook slightly as he unlaced her stays. “How much I regretted not finishing things.”

“It’s only been a few hours.”

“I know. I will be forever grateful you rescued me in time to save most of my mental faculties.”

She tipped her head back onto his shoulder, jutting her breasts up for his view. “Only most?”

“Indeed. Coherent sentences seem to . . . escape me.”

She turned toward him. With one fluid motion, she pulled off her shift and let it slip from her fingers. “You can still form sentences?”

No longer. Perfection—slender and delicate, yet sweetly curved. Pale skin. Soft like sweet silk. Camden lowered his mouth to the tip of one breast to sample the peaked, rosy nipple.

Her hissed breath ended in a throaty moan.

He loved this, the pleasuring of her. There was simplicity in such an action. Two separate variables joining to create a rational solution. He’d made love to other women, but never had there been this completeness. Like he’d restored a piece of himself long missing.

He lowered his hand to the softness between her legs, his body clenching at the wet, molten heat that met his fingers. He gently parted her folds, pleasuring her until she bucked wildly in his arms. He took each motion, each sound, and tucked it deep in his heart. The knowledge of her pleasure drove his own until he groaned with the impossible intensity.

Her head tipped back and she cried out his name. She arched against him as she climaxed, her breath coming in ragged gasps. In that moment, he gently caught her chin, holding her gaze. Her eyes were wide, unguarded, vulnerable, yet she didn’t look away.

Camden forgot how to breathe. He forgot everything but the connection burning between them.

But then her head dropped to his chest, breaking the bond. He traced his lips down the side of her neck, not willing to let her go.

Her head lifted, her expression wary as if her more rational self hadn’t decided whether to trust him. But her passion was unchanged. “Shall we try the desk?”

Before he could answer, she’d lifted herself onto the edge and spread her legs, drawing him between her knees, stroking him until it took every ounce of self-control he had to keep sane.

Her teeth bit her lower lip when he caressed up and down her inner thighs. “Please, I want—”

He paused there at her slick entrance, allowing himself only small teasing movements, tormenting them both. “Want what?” He didn’t know what he’d do if she said she just wanted to see if she could make love to someone. He’d seen more than that in her gaze. He needed her to be willing to admit it.

Yet despite all his pride, he didn’t think he’d be strong enough to back away no matter her answer.

“I want you, Camden. I want all of you.”

That was close enough to what he needed to hear. Camden plunged forward, claiming the ecstasy of her body. He tried to slow his movements, but she wouldn’t let him, lying back on the desk, her legs wrapping around his waist, urging him on.

“I love you,” he whispered. She might not be ready to hear the words, but he had to speak them. Loving her with his body couldn’t be separated from loving her with his soul.

When he dropped his hand to the place where their bodies joined, she cried out again. “I think I’ve always loved you” was the reply he heard before his body lost to the brutal release that thundered through him, deluging every nerve ending with utter satisfaction.