The Reluctant Countess (24 page)

Patrick subjected her to a steady look, which had her squirming in her slippers in seconds. Unlike Sophie, he understood the ways of society, knew how gossiping women like the one before him worked. And he would do everything in his power to protect her from their vicious tongues. Sophie was everything that was innocent and sweet and he would make sure she stayed that way.

“I am marrying the Countess of Monmouth in two weeks because I can wait no longer to have her as my wife. She is a beautiful woman whom I care for greatly and I will not allow vicious innuendo to state otherwise. I hope I can rely on you to squelch any slanderous comments that may
arise about my betrothed, Lady Quentin, because I shall be most displeased if anything other than good wishes reaches her ears.”

Patrick wondered how a person could lose every ounce of color in her face and still be standing.

“Of course, my l-lord, you can count on me.”

“Excellent.” Tweaking his cuffs, Patrick walked away.

“You look happy; obviously being engaged improves your humor.”

“Good evening, Stephen. Is Miss Pette speaking to you yet?” Patrick said, stopping beside his friend so he could look for Sophie.

“Only to hiss at me like the she-cat she is. Otherwise she looks right through me as if I were an insect for her to stomp one cloven paw on.”

Patrick laughed at his friend’s sullen expression. “Does you good to taste a bit of humility, you’ve been far too cosseted your entire life.”

“Have not!”

Patrick found Sophie dancing with Lord Chalmers. She turned toward him and his throat went dry. Christ! What the hell was she wearing, or as the case may be, not wearing. She looked like a sea nymph, all that green and ivory fabric swirling around her body as she moved. Hell! Did she even have anything on beneath it?

“Your betrothed is creating quite a stir this evening. Old Dumple trod on his partner’s foot as he caught sight of her considerable …”

“Say one more word and it will be your last!”

Ignoring Stephen’s laughter, Patrick headed through the throng toward Sophie as the dance ended.

“Ah, Coulter, I was just telling the countess how lucky you are to have secured her hand in marriage,” Lord Chalmers said, with his eyes on Sophie’s cleavage.

“Quite,” was all Patrick said as he wrapped his fingers around her arm and led her back to the dance floor.

“Hello,” Sophie said, smiling up into the eyes of her soon-to-be husband as he swung her into his arms for the waltz. They were so dark, almost black as they looked down at her.

“That dress will incite a riot before the evening is out, my love,” Patrick ground out.

Amused at his stony expression, Sophie said, “Letty forced me to wear it.”

“That explains a lot,” Patrick said, relishing the feel of her in his arms and the scent of her wrapping around him. He always felt good when she was near.

“I don’t suppose you’d allow me to take my coat off and wrap you in it?”

Her laugh was like a small set of twinkling bells.

“I thought not,” Patrick said, looking down at her chest and then away. He was becoming aroused just holding her.

Sophie felt warm and safe with him so near. He had called her “my love” and while she knew it was just a term of endearment and meant nothing, she still felt little shivers of excitement inside.

“You look a trifle flushed, my sweet,” Patrick said as the dance ended.

“No,” Sophie frowned up at him. “I am quite all right, my lord.”

“Of course I will take you out for some air,” Patrick said loudly. “All this excitement … you need to rest for a while, Countess!”

“What are you talking about?” Sophie whispered as he pulled her toward the doors that led outside.

Walking her through, Patrick headed for the stairs and hurried down them. He found the path he wanted and made straight for the gazebo. Lifting Sophie into his arms, he carried her up the steps, nudged the door open, and stepped inside.

“Patrick!” Sophie squealed. “Have you taken leave of your senses?”

Closing the door behind him, Patrick lowered her legs but held an arm around her, pulling her hard against his chest.

“You wore that dress; now you pay the consequences,” Patrick said, running one hand up her waist to cup her breast.

Closing her eyes, Sophie moaned as his fingers traced the edge of her bodice, each stroke heating her body. She felt her nipples tighten against the restrictive fabric as she wriggled to ease the pressure.

“Tell me what you want, Sophie.” His breath brushed her lips, so close yet not close enough.

“This,” she said, grabbing a handful of his hair and tugging until their lips met.

His hand stayed trapped between them as she kissed him. They muffled one another’s cries and kissed until she didn’t know where one ended and the other started.

Her breasts were freed and Patrick broke from their kisses to take a nipple into his mouth.

“Dear God!” Sophie cried as exquisite sensations spiraled through her body to settle between her legs. Opening his jacket and waistcoat, Sophie undid the buttons of Patrick’s shirt and slipped her hands inside. He shuddered as she ran her nails up and down the broad expanse.

“Christ, Sophie!”

Lowering her head, Sophie dared to place a long heated lick up the center of his chest. He shuddered, so she did it again.

“Not tonight, love, I can’t take that tonight, not when I need you so much,” Patrick said, turning her around.

“Kneel on that chaise and place your hands on the wall.”

She didn’t hesitate, just did exactly as he asked. Moving in behind her, Patrick slowly caressed her legs as he slid her skirts to her waist.

“Patrick?”

“You’ll like it, Sophie,” he said, praying it was true. Because since that day he had found her headfirst in a box of dolls, he had fantasized about doing this. Tracing the crease of her sweetly rounded bottom, he teased the entrance of her sheath. She was wet and ready for him. Freeing his erection, he slowly nudged forward, and with every inch he felt her clasp around him until he was buried to the hilt.

“Sweetheart, Sophie, are you …”

“Don’t stop!”

Gripping her hips, he withdrew and drove into her again. It was bliss, torture, sheer heaven all wrapped in one and he had never wanted anything more. Her cries increased until she was calling his name with each thrust until she shuddered and clenched around him. Patrick followed one thrust later. Spent, he reversed their positions and slumped onto the chaise.

Sophie slowly became aware of her surroundings; she was sprawled in Patrick’s lap in a very unladylike pose.

“We must go back.”

“Why?” Patrick said.

His head rested against the wall, eyes closed, and he looked like a large sated beast, her beast, Sophie thought with a little thrill. His shirt hung open, revealing the broad expanse of chest she had just run her mouth over. She couldn’t resist the lure of stroking the skin of his stomach; his muscles tensed beneath her fingertips.

“That will definitely not get us back to the ballroom, my sweet,” Patrick drawled. Eyes open, he now looked down at her.

Placing her lips where her fingers had just touched, Sophie brushed a soft kiss over the surface, then reluctantly she regained her feet.

“Unfortunately, we must.”

Patrick grabbed her hips before she had a chance to evade him. Pulling her closer, he forced her to straddle his thighs, not an easy feat in long skirts, but he managed it.

“Someone could see us, Patrick,” Sophie said, struggling against his hands.

“
Now
you’re worried someone can see us, when seconds ago you were licking my chest, which by the way I enjoyed.”

“Please, we must get back,” Sophie said, not really wanting to; yet knowing it was the right thing to do.

“Kiss me as if you mean it and I will take you back.”

His dark eyes were so close to hers—she could clearly read the challenge in them and knew there would be no escaping until he allowed it.

“You promise to take me back immediately after the kiss?”

He nodded but remained silent.

“No touching, Patrick, only kissing.”

He nodded again.

Sophie kept her eyes open as slowly she moved closer. At the last minute, as he anticipated her lips on his, she licked his mouth and followed it up with a nibble of his lower lip.

“You’re playing with fire, love.”

“You promised,” Sophie whispered against his mouth as she continued to torment him with her tongue and teeth. By the time she joined their mouths, they were both breathing heavily.

She took the lead, then he wrestled it from her, and it became a duel that neither was willing to yield. Tongues melding, teeth clashing, it was all the sweeter because only their mouths touched. Finally, Sophie pulled free and rested her head on his shoulder.

It took long minutes before either was breathing easily. Only then did they regain their feet, adjust their clothing, and leave the gazebo, once again the immaculate earl and his beautiful fiancée.

Patrick stayed close to her side for the remainder of the evening. They scandalously danced three waltzes together, and when he helped her into her carriage at the end of the night, he gave her a smile that warmed Sophie to her toes.

“I must make a short visit to one of my estates tomorrow, but will be back in a few days, love. Stephen will watch over you until I return.”

She wanted to tell him she loved him but could not find the words, so instead Sophie pulled off her glove and he kissed her hand, pressing it to his cheek.

“I love you,” she whispered as he closed the door with a gentle click.

* * *

Much to the horror of society and all of those who were not invited, the marriage ceremony of Lady Monmouth to the Earl of Coulter was to be a small service held in a church on the outskirts of London.

Amelia was to stand up with Sophie as her bridesmaid, and had arrived red-eyed at Letty’s home earlier, which Sophie suspected was due to another altercation with her mother. The drive to the church was not overly long and by the time they had arrived, Sophie’s nerves were stretched tighter than piano wire.

“We are here,” Letty said, stepping out into the sunshine, followed by Amelia and lastly Sophie. They took a few seconds to smooth out the folds of her pale rose satin wedding dress. Madame Fontaine had outdone herself, sewing tiny pearls into the neckline and hem; the soft fabric swished and swirled around Sophie as she moved. Ivory slippers and gloves completed the outfit.

“You look beautiful, darling,” Letty said, wiping her eyes. Sophie, however, merely nodded her thanks and clamped her teeth together to stop them from chattering. They could have put her in a flour sack and she would have been none the wiser. Her hair was bundled into a soft knot and fixed with several diamond pins and tiny rosebuds. She wore a necklace that was a gift from Amelia, a simple gold chain with a tiny locket, and around her arm was draped a rose silk wrap.

“Tell me this is right, Letty?” Sophie whispered, gripping her hands.

“This is right, Sophie, you must trust him,” Letty said, taking Sophie’s arm and leading her up the path to the church.

“I do trust him; it’s my past I fear.”

She felt ill. Her hands shook, her stomach rolled, and she was fairly sure that at any moment her knees would give out completely and someone would have to carry her up the aisle. It wasn’t that she didn’t want this or him; it was just all so frightening for a woman whose life had changed so drastically in the past few years.

“Countess.”

“L-Lord Sumner,” Sophie said as he appeared in the doorway of the church. Dressed in a dark blue jacket with a pale blue satin waistcoat, he looked very handsome.

“It would be my honor to escort you down the aisle,” he said, giving her a gentle smile that reached his eyes.

“Really?” Sophie whispered, clutching Letty’s arm. “I … I had thought to walk down there by myself.”

“Really.” Stephen moved to her side. He gave Amelia a scowl which she returned tenfold and gently took Sophie’s hand from Letty and placed it on his arm.

“I have her now, Lady Carstairs,” Stephen added, winking at Letty as she reached up to kiss him on the cheek.

Letty kissed and hugged Sophie as well. “Be happy, my love,” she said, taking Amelia’s hand to walk inside the church.

“D-dear lord,” Sophie sobbed, putting a trembling hand to her lips. “I … I am so scared,” she confessed. She couldn’t move her feet; they appeared to have fixed themselves permanently to the ground.

Stephen could see how terrified Sophie was; it was there in the short breaths she struggled to draw and the tension that gripped her body. Her fingers unconsciously clenched and unclenched on his sleeve and small white teeth nibbled her bottom lip.

“He told me once that he would marry only when he found someone who wanted him as an equal, not because of his title or wealth, but because she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him, Patrick, not the Earl of Coulter.”

Sophie heard Lord Sumner’s words and felt a small flicker of something warm begin to unfurl inside her stomach.

“I said to Patrick,” Stephen continued as he walked her in slow circles around the garden, like he had seen trainers at racetracks do for temperamental fillies, “that he would need to wed one day to produce an heir.”

“What did he say?” Sophie whispered, needing to hear his reply, almost needing it more than the next breath of air she drew.

“He said that after the hell of his youth and a life spent catering to a bunch of selfish people, that when the time came he would know if he had found the right woman, and when that time came he would wed her with haste.”

“Why?”

Stephen sighed loudly; where did one start when describing Patrick? He had known him for many years, knew his strength, and had watched others challenge and pursue him, but he had also seen his loneliness and fears. Like all great men, he bore his burdens alone.

“Patrick is the very best of men, Sophie, a man whom I am privileged to count as my friend, a man whom I and many others lean upon. Yet I fear that sometimes it is he who needs another, a mate to share his burdens, someone with whom he can be himself, and this I believe is what he wanted in a wife. Do you understand, Sophie?”