Trapping a Duchess (26 page)

“Define ‘things,’” Andrew said, taking a threatening step towards him.

The viscount looked to Sophie. “Perhaps the lady would prefer to be the one to reiterate?”

The lady would prefer to fold herself in half and slip through the crack in the seat of the chair, thank you very kindly
. Sophie shook her head and burrowed deeper, too humiliated to utter a single sound.

“One of you had better explain what is going on this instant.”

“All right,” Lord Winterley said, holding his hands up in surrender as he leaned his hip against the desk. “I’m paraphrasing, mind, but I believe this should suffice. Firstly, she wanted to thank me, or you, rather, for taking her innocence in your carriage.” With her gaze focused in her lap, Sophie couldn't see the viscount's expression, but judging by his tone, it was faintly scolding. “Secondly, she is concerned that your secret will be revealed should you continue to spend time in each others company. I believe there was a third point, but she didn't get to it before she realized I wasn't you. Did I miss a pertinent detail, my lady?” His voice held unconcealed amusement. She shook her head quickly, even more at a loss for words now he had coated her monologue with wit. “I didn’t think so.”

“Leave us.”

To her surprise, the viscount did not immediately obey, but instead crouch down before her, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Is that what you wish?” he asked, his expression serious. With a humiliated, but thankful, smile, she nodded. “Guess I'll be on my way, then,” he said as he straightened. Had Sophie not heard his amused chuckle echoing down the hall, she would have thought she had found an ally.

* * * *

Andrew locked the door and took a bracing breath in a concerted effort to tamp down his ire. It had taken every ounce of willpower he had not to let suspicion overrule the obvious. Charles was his friend and would never, ever betray him by dallying with Sophie. He moved to his desk and braced a hip on the edge. Sophie stood very still, her gaze trained on the floor. He found her silence disturbing. The Sophie he knew would have railed in defiance and accused him of invading her space, even though the study belonged to him.

“I never said,” she started at the same time he said, “What was it—” They both stopped.

“Ladies first.”

“No, you first,” she said, her eyes meeting his via a defiant lift of her chin.

“All right. What was it you came here to say?”

Her gaze returned to the floor. “You heard already.”

“You will humor me, of course, since I heard a second-hand and no doubt poorly summarized version.”

“Lord Winterley spoke the truth, mostly, except for the part where I thanked you for last evening.”

“You did not come to thank me, then?”

“You know that is not why I came.” Color filled her cheeks.

“Does my sister know you are here?” His efforts to keep the decision to marry him in her hands would be undermined by a mere whisper of her presence. She shook her head. The reins of Andrew’s anger slipped a touch. “So, you came to my house without her company, or that of a maid, for that matter.” His words roused the warrior. The flash in her eyes rippled down to lift her chin and turn her posture rigid.

“I am four and twenty, Your Grace. I do not require the presence of a maid to make the journey to a friend’s house.”

Rising anger squeezed veins flowing equally hot with desire. “There is no danger for you then?”

“No,” she said, gesturing out the window. “It is broad daylight in the middle of Mayfair. The streets are perfectly safe.”

“You should not be worried about the streets, my lady. The danger lies in no one knowing where you are.” He took a step towards her.

She held out her hands, as if it might stave off his advance. “Do not come any closer.”

“This is my house and my study.”

“Which does not give you rights over my person.” She receded a step, starting as her back hit the wall. “Stay away from me.”

“Or what, Sophie? You’ll scream?” he asked, ignoring her warning.

“Yes.”

“Do it,” he dared as he closed the distance and cupped her head in his hands.

“What?” The question came out little more than a whisper.

“Scream,” he taunted as his breath mingled with hers. “Or do you need me to make you? I haven't forgotten how, love.” Her lips parted and he took them in a teasing kiss, a triumphant thrill tearing through him when she responded in kind. Her tongue met his, demanding and sensual as her hands roamed over his arms and chest. He forced his hands to his sides, trying to remain impassive, even when she pulled him to her and ground her body against his. She unbuttoned his trousers and tugged them down; his cock sprang free, swollen and ready. Her triumphant smile sent awareness washing through him. He reined in his control, nails biting into his palms. She had refused to marry him last night; had ventured, unchaperoned, into his home to labor the point today.

“Touch me,” she said, her lips tracing along his neck.

“Not until you agree to marry me.”

“Don’t be foolish. This,” she wrapped her fingers around his throbbing cock and moved, exploring the length of him with hard, unrefined strokes, “is what I’m offering. I am not interested in anything else.”

He stared ahead as she sank down to her knees, her fingers continuing their exquisite torture. He had just congratulated himself on holding his ground when he felt her soft lips brush against his tip. He glanced down at the same time she took him into her mouth. Against his will, his eyelids dropped closed. She sucked hard and his knees buckled; he had to brace his hand against the wall for support.
Where the devil had she learned that trick
? He grabbed her by her hair and tugged her head back, staring down into her clear, blue eyes. “Why are you doing this?” he asked through shaky breaths.

Sophie stood, meeting his gaze with unnerving directness. “Because I want to, Your Grace.”

He grasped her arms and pulled her to him until they were nose to nose. “Say my name.” She shook her head and he pinned her against the wall, plundering her mouth with all the desire she’d stirred to life.

“Yes,” she said when he lifted her skirts.

His fingers moved to her slit, conquering the wet flesh with expert caresses. The harder she fought to remain unaffected, the harder he stroked her. Their kiss turned incendiary, no longer a melding of lips and tongues, but a battle for acquiescence. He pressed two fingers inside and she spread her legs. The feel of her hand guiding him to her entrance snapped him out of his trance.

“No,” he said against her lips as his hands moved her to grasp her hips. Her frustration reached him a second before she tried again. He held his ground. “Marry me,” he said, grabbing her hands and pinning them to the wall.

“Never.” She arched her body until her breasts brushed against his coat.

“Damn you, woman,” he said, whipping her around and walking her to a nearby armchair. He bent her over its back, pinning her hands. She went eagerly, wantonly. He lifted her skirts and rubbed the tip of his cock along the cleft of her arse and down to where her moist, warm flesh pulsed against him. “Do you want this?” he asked as his hands roamed over the small of her back and over the swell of her hips. He wanted to bury himself deep inside her, to hold her hips in place and pound into her until they were both boneless, satiated heaps of flesh on the floor. She bit down on her hand as if to mute her answer, but her writhing body betrayed her. Andrew was torn between forging onward and surrendering. He wanted to defeat and be defeated. But most of all, he wanted to reap the rewards he was currently using as a weapon. He slid the head of his cock inside, then stopped. Her flesh contracted and throbbed, and she moaned.

“More?” The question was barely more than a guttural moan. She ground against him in response. He pulled back until his head was barely penetrating her and marshaled his control. A single push and he’d be buried inside her. . .so much more pleasurable than this torment, except that he would be giving up his only leverage.

“If you want more, then say yes, Sophie,” he said, brushing against her. “Say yes and you can have it all.”

She let out a low growl, followed by a fervent shake of her head. “No.”

With a strangled curse, he straightened and forced his body a step back. By the time she rounded on him, he was already yanking up his trousers. Time seemed to stop. Andrew had not thought she could be any more furious than she already was, then a white-hot look of hatred flashed across her face, stealing her desire with it.

“You bastard,” she said through clenched teeth. He waited for her hands to ball into fists and pound against him. This time he would allow it, for he knew he deserved it. Her breathing hitched, a painful sound that transformed the unfilled desire in her eyes to darkened rage. She stormed around him to the door and tried to yank it open. “Open it. Now.”

“Sophie,” he said, hoping that a calm tone might prompt an equally calm response. It was, in retrospect, the most asinine thought he’d had all day. “You cannot leave my home looking like that.”

“Open the damned door immediately, you son of a bitch.”

He strode over and unlocked it, but pressed his hand against the heavy wood so she couldn’t pull it open. “I am not letting you go anywhere until you calm down.”

She took a long, fractured breath and a seething mask of civility settled over her face. Every word enunciated in a scathing tone, she said, “I am calm. Now open the door.”

“I've seen men brawling in the streets who looked calmer than you do right now.” She shot him a warning look. Reluctantly, he let his hand drop to his side. As soon as he released the door, she jerked it open and fled. He heard her mumble an apology to Weston. Andrew wanted to follow, wanted to ensure she arrived home without mishap, but couldn't. Helpless, furious and sexually frustrated, he could only stand there and wonder what in the hell was going to happen next.

“God damn it,” he said as he slammed the study door shut.

Chapter Fifteen

Sophie claimed a headache and stayed in her room the entire next day. When she awoke, her first order of business had been to inform Simon and mother she would not be attending the evening’s ball. She ordered trays be brought up for all three meals. She spent the rest of the morning sobbing while first her Gracie, then her mother, then finally Simon scratched on her door begging an audience. She denied them all, comforted that in her bedchamber, at least, she could dictate the rules. Within the confines of those walls there was nothing she couldn’t overcome, no overbearing duke who, for all his antagonistic behavior, held her captive in his presence. Her feelings defied logic. How could she not contain her passion around a man she despised? She hated how he could wear down her resistance with a little more than a seductive whisper, and that even in a fit of anger, she was helpless to refuse him.

She longed to make him pay for her embarrassment, but did not know how to accomplish such a thing. While she’d been all but panting and begging him to take her like some street-corner harlot, he’d been a wall of control, using her weakness to coerce her acceptance. She snapped closed the book she’d been pretending to read and threw it against the wall. The loud thump provided her with momentary satisfaction as she imagined his shocked face in the exact spot where the tome connected. A gentle knock sounded on the door. “Go away.”

“Sophie?” The muffled voice sounded apprehensive.

She stormed over to the door, unlocked it and jerked it open, a vicious set down forming on her lips. Alexandra stood just outside, her hands raised in surrender, her smile conciliatory. To Sophie's surprise, Lady Abigail stood just behind her.

“Don’t throw anything,” Alexandra said, peering out of one eye in an awkward, joking manner.

Sophie forced her expression to soften. “Why are you here?”

“Because you've given your mother quite a fright and Simon believes you have gone mad. I brought Abby along to push the odds in your favor.”

Sophie rolled her eyes, but stopped short of sighing. “I guess it is considered rude to shoot the messengers.” She stepped back inside and, with as much grace as she could muster, waved them in.

As Alex and Lady Abigail took seats on her bed, she wandered to the window, gaze roaming over the lawn below. “Should I ring for tea?” she asked without turning.

“Only if you are thirsty.”

She plastered a smile on her face as she joined them on the bed. “I must apologize, but I’m afraid I’m not the best company at the moment.” A moment passed, silent and heavy.

“What on earth has happened?” Alex asked softly.

“Your mother said she had no idea what was going on,” Lady Abigail added, looking genuinely concerned. “And we couldn't leave you without the support of friends.” Sophie felt a pang of regret. She had treated Lady Abigail poorly, even if only in her own mind, and yet the girl rallied by her side without hesitation.

“I know. It was horrid of me not to see her, but she and Simon have been driving me to distraction with their constant inquiries.”

Lady Abigail laughed. “You can hardly blame them. Anytime a woman locks herself in her bedchamber, it usually indicates trouble of a dreadful sort.”

Sophie offered a chagrined smile. “I suppose I might have been more forthright, but honestly, I really just needed a bit of time to myself. We’ve been so busy these last few weeks, I feel like I haven’t had a moment to breathe.”