Lord Will & Her Grace (12 page)

She looked at his expression and saw
devotion.

And then he was embracing her. He kissed her
cheeks, then her nose, her eyelids and finally the sensitive corner
of her lips. Sophie tried to regulate her breathing, and
failed.

He brushed his mouth against hers once,
twice, three times and then enveloped her lips with his own. She
was aware of the heated inner flesh of his mouth and opened herself
to him.

His tongue brushed against hers and she felt
as if she was falling, falling. The taste of brandy, and cheroots
and of him entered into the maelstrom playing havoc with her
senses. Sophie could barely control the feeling coursing through
her as he left a trail of kisses from her mouth to her neck, to the
edges of her gown.

She breathed deeply as he nudged the lace
fichu at her neckline aside and ran his hand over the curve of her
breast.

For a moment, sanity almost returned and she
thought about the necessity of putting an end to this. It occurred
when he readjusted their seating. But it was only the briefest
instant. He swept her onto his lap in one powerful motion. And then
she was lost again in a sea of the most potent longing she had ever
known.

Sophie tried to stop the trembling of her
body but could not. She was unable to resist the sensations he
released each time he was alone with her.

"Stop me," he whispered. "For God's sake,
Sophie, stop me."

She shivered. There was such intensity in his
command. But his poignant expression begged for just the
opposite.

She shook her head slowly.

She would give of herself to him because of
the intense need she read in his gaze. And so she overcame her
shyness and did not resist her innate desire to soothe those who
suffered. She had never seen such a raw ache as she glimpsed deep
in the loneliness of his soul.

What had happened to him? What had put that
pain and piercing cynicism in his true spirit, the one beyond the
jaded aristocratic façade? Sophie responded to his anguish the only
way she knew, by offering comfort and love.

Again, he passed his hand over the low bodice
of her gown, this time easing the corner buttons from the hollows
of her shoulders. The front flap of the gown opened and he brushed
away the chemise. Sophie watched as he took the rosy tip of her
breast between his full lips.

Oh, his mouth was so warm, and wet, and he
was making a pulling sensation and doing something with his tongue
and teeth that made her want to faint.

His dark hair slipped through her fingers as
her head dropped back in mute acquiescence. He kissed and caressed
her breasts in ways too sinful to contemplate. All the while, the
coarseness of his whiskers teased her sensitive skin.

Sitting in his lap, she slowly became
conscious of a thickness jutting from him. With deep embarrassment,
she sensed dampness and an ache between her limbs. What was
happening to her?

When she dared to reopen her eyes, it had
become so dark in the room. All but one candle had guttered on the
wall sconce beside her.

He abruptly lifted his lips and gently blew
on the tip of her breast, sending tingling sensations throughout
her body. His hands caressed her as gently as newly unfurled
butterfly's wings.

He raised his eyes to hers and looked at her
for a long moment, appearing starkly coherent, and deadly serious.
A searing tension filled the air between them, pulling her
inexorably closer to him.

She could not look away. She stared back at
him, drinking in the sight of his impossibly handsome and
mysterious face.

He looked as if he was about to say
something, but at the last minute, he said nothing at all. Instead
he continued to stare at her while he began a more intimate
exploration of her body.

Sophie felt the large warm imprint of one of
his large calloused hands on her ankle. He was gathering the fabric
of her gown in bunches to her lap. His hand touched the underside
of her knee, then her thigh, raising gooseflesh along the way.

She felt her grip on the reality of the
moment loosen as he lightly, oh so lightly, caressed the top of her
thigh and lowered his lips to her own, finally, once again.

Sophie was lost.

WILLIAM was lost. Perhaps he could have
stopped himself if he had not looked at her wide gray-green eyes
every few moments. He felt drunk, looking at the depths of feelings
he found reflected there.

He knew without a doubt they were sharing a
moment out of time. A moment they would never forget the rest of
their lives—when they had both let down the last of their defenses
to find an equally shared joy in their passion for one another.
This was not an encounter sexual in nature. It was entirely more
intimate and unnerving.

He had come home. She was his home, now and
forever more. The one he had lost as a young boy—for home was not a
place, but a feeling.

He pushed aside the thin white shift fabric
with his palm to caress her inner thigh one last time. Then he
gently, tenderly slid his hand forward to the place that was sure
to drive them both to madness.

She made the smallest sound in her throat and
trembled. "Sophie, you must stop me now. I cannot do this to you. I
don't want to hurt you, my love."

"No, my—my dearest William. It is I who do
this to you." She whispered it so quietly he had to dip his head to
catch her words.

The sound of his name broke him. He gathered
her tightly to his chest and stood up. His glance swept the room,
searching for a place for them. In five long strides he found
himself before a long, brown velvet chaise lounge where upon he
placed his Sophie.

She was so beautiful, the creamy expanse of
her breasts, her long, slender legs, the dreamy, loving expression
on her face. She reached her hand out to him, looking every inch
like Venus reincarnate.

There was a certain desperate nature to his
wanting her. Gone from his mind were all the subtle seduction
techniques he had used with much success over the years. A primal
need to possess her surged through his body, refusing to allow his
mind to function in its steady, methodical manner.

He fumbled with his buttoned flap, a curse
under his breath. He lay between her long, slender thighs and
rested his forehead against her shoulder, gulping a great lungful
of air.

His hand sought the entrance to her and he
stroked her, gliding along the folds and finally pressing his palm
firmly against her. He gently entered her with one long finger and
felt her inner muscles clench against him. Moving rhythmically, and
slowly inside of her, he listened to her sighs.

And suddenly a sort of cold calm invaded his
body. He kissed her, and raised his head to look down at her. "My
Sophie, I am about to take possession of you, you know that, don't
you?"

"That is what we have both been doing to each
other all along, isn't it?" Her voice, so innocent and yet womanly
did not waver for a moment. "Come to me, my love. Let me hold
you."

She touched him then, urging him to take her.
Her fingers, timid and unsure, were more erotic than any skilled
courtesan's and his manhood had never felt so swollen with need. He
squeezed his eyes shut and didn't move. His size often overwhelmed
women and he had never dared to lie with a virgin. He hated the
idea of hurting her.

William felt a warm, constant pressure on his
back and the backs of his legs and finally understood that it was
Sophie's long arms and legs urging him to mount her.

He raised himself to meet her and
instinctively placed just the tip of himself inside her. He felt
heat and wetness, and his groin tightened to a pressure unknown in
its intensity.

Yet he could not make himself move.

Again, he felt the pressure of Sophie's arms
and legs, and heard soft cooing in his ear.

He pushed just the slightest fraction of an
inch more inside of her and realized he was having great difficulty
breathing. His heart raced and he couldn't speak to her, comfort
her, tell her all the sentiments he should.

She was not only his love, she was everything
he had forgotten about in his thirty-five years.

Her soft sounds of encouragement stopped and
her breaths came in short gasps. He had placed too much weight on
her. Oh, everything was going all wrong. He was hurting her. She
was so moist and warm, yet his size was much too large for her
untried passage. He forced himself to speak. "Sophie, my love, I'm
so sorry."

Her response was to pull him tighter toward
her, deeper within her. There was an awful sensation of slow
tearing while his length forged its way past her maidenhead to the
very core of her.

He suddenly felt very much like crying for
the only time in his life.

"I am yours, William. Now and forever," she
whispered into his ear.

His seed burst from him in an endless, long
series of spasms. It felt like a transferal of part of the essence
of his spirit.

It had not been remotely like any encounter
he had ever had with a female. For a few fleeting seconds he had
removed the iron curtain he used to cover his true self. And he
revolted against the idea of revealing any part of himself to
anyone. That involved trust, a certain vulnerable weakness he had
discarded early in life. No, this had not been pleasant.

The times he had had carnal relations with
women in the past had been slow, sensual, pleasurable, mutually
satisfying, invigorating. He had explored and exceeded every
delight that could be performed on the body. He had mindlessly
pleasured his bed partners and they had eagerly pleasured him in
return, filling him with an ill-gotten sort of satisfaction.
Fornication, in short.

But, this had been a release. It had
liberated him from his past connections and it bound him to a
future unlike anything he had imagined.

Yet, he had hurt her. He had not taken her
innocence in the proper, least painful way. He should have touched
her, tasted her, massaged her for many, many long minutes. Instead
it had been she who had comforted him. He felt indebted to her— an
uncomfortable, weak sensibility.

When the long pulses of his body stopped, he
gathered her in his arms and rested against her. She smelled
faintly of roses.

She was gliding her palms up and down the
length of the back of his coat. Good God, he hadn't even removed an
article of his clothing. She quietly said his name, and a stream of
soothing words spoke of loving devotion.

It was so tight and inviting inside of her,
he could not stop his arousal from hardening again into a need more
familiar than before. He grasped her hand and moved it to his lips,
kissing it and noticing the deep fire of the sapphire now resting
on her finger.

His took his first full, long stroke within
her and felt her quick intake of breath. This would be all for
her.

His mind had returned and he used every last
skill he knew to bring her to the brink of pleasure. He touched her
with his deft fingers, and his mouth, always stroking into her
slowly, expertly, for a very long time until he knew, without
doubt, that she would find her release.

He pushed himself as deeply as he dared,
filling her completely and yet encouraging her body to take even
more of himself inside her. And when he felt the pulsing of her
muscles, he held himself rigidly still, then stretched her even
more to bring her fulfillment for as long as possible.

When she was quiet, he raised himself on his
arms and looked down at her. She was dazed and exhausted, on the
brink of sleep. He kissed her forehead and gathered her back into
his arms, making sure to take as much weight off of her as he
could.

She sighed and was asleep in moments.

His arousal was now painful and still deep
and full within her. He regulated his breathing and slowly, ever so
slowly withdrew from her. He did not even try to understand why he
refused himself this second release.

He understood so little of what had overcome
him. There was only one thing he understood with crystal clarity.
He had been entirely wrong to think that he was master and
commander of this match.

Sophie tiptoed up the servant's stair in the
darkness to avoid the dozing footmen at the main staircase. Shoes
in one hand, touching the thin banister railing with the other, she
silently crept to her bedchamber. Each step proved an effort as
she was swollen and sore where William had been.

Sophie prayed her smug maid had refused to
wait up as she would be unable to bear Karine's knowing eyes.

The chamber's latch screeched long and loud
when she moved the intricate brass lever. Sophie peeked around the
edge of the door to find Karine seated before Sophie's little gilt
table, littered with articles from Sophie's personal toilette. Her
maid was trying the new subtle rouge she had forced Sophie to buy
in London. The one Sophie had disdained to wear. Karine's
appraising glance reflected from the oval looking glass.