Perfect Kisses

Acknowledgments

Thank you to my critique partner, Annette McCleave (www.AnnetteMcCleave.com), for her help, and to my friend Renee Luke for the much appreciated support.

Chapter One

Northamptonshire, 1817

For most men, spinsters were a breed of female to be avoided at all costs, and under any other circumstances the Marquess of Fontaine would be in hearty agreement with that sentiment. But not in this circumstance. And not in regard to this particular spinster.

“The years have been kind to her,” the Dowager Lady Fontaine said, peering out the window beside him. “She is more beautiful than before, despite all that she has suffered.”

“It pleases me to hear that,” he murmured, his gaze locked on the willowy figure strolling through his rear garden.

He wished he could see her face, but it was shielded from the sun by a wide brim hat and the distance from the second floor window to where she stood made the cataloging of finer details impossible. Lady Sophie Milton-Riley had been barely a woman the last time they met, soft and sweet with a penchant for mischief that had once goaded him to say, “Why can you never be serious?” To which she had replied, “Why can you never relax?”

She seemed too serious now. She once traversed rooms with an elegant glide that forced him to stare and covet, but her present stride appeared to be confident, sure, and firmly grounded.

“How long will they be visiting?” he asked.

“Presently, a fortnight. But this is the first occasion Lady Sophie has ventured away from home since the scandal. I cannot be certain they will stay the duration.”

Sophie had come with her grandmother, who was in collusion with his mother in this poorly veiled matchmaking scheme. The two women had been the best of friends for as long as he could remember. He was certain that in their minds the joining of their progeny in marriage was absolute perfection. Once, he had thought so, too. Back when he was a young lad hopelessly infatuated with the vivacious Sophie. Her feelings for him had been nowhere near as amorous, however, and when she had come of age, it was Lord Langley who had won her favor and her promise to wed.

“If you had not been so rude as to avoid their arrival,” his mother said with undisguised chastisement, “you might have made her feel more welcome.”

“You told me of their arrival only moments before the fact. It would have been far more appalling for me to greet them when I was mud-stained.”

His mother could say nothing to that without admitting more than she wished to. The truth was, she had feared his refusal and so had hidden her actions. He understood why she had resorted to subterfuge, but the precaution was unnecessary. Sophie was welcome here. He held no ill will toward her and wished her nothing but happiness.

The marquess turned away from the velvet-framed window. “My presence is required in London, so I will be departing tomorrow.”

“You will not.”

He arched a brow. His blond hair was a maternal trait, as were his blue eyes. His mother’s angelic features were hardly touched by time and she remained a lauded beauty, the liberal strands of gray in her tresses adding maturity to her youthful appearance. Today she had dressed in soft pink, and she looked not much older than his score and ten years.

“Why must you be so difficult?” she lamented, shaking her head.

“You had a spouse and two sons. How can you not understand the duress placed upon a male alone in the company of three females?”

The dowager mirrored his raised brow. “My dear boy, if you think I am unaware of how often you pay for the dubious privilege of spending time alone with multiple females, you are sadly mistaken.”

“Lord save me,” he said dryly, moving to sit in the nearby gilded chair with its elaborately carved arms and curved legs. “The horror of discussing my carnal proclivities with you is upsetting my sensibilities. The urge to flee is now overwhelming.”

She snorted. “Nonsense.”

“I am departing tomorrow, Mother.” He lounged, stretching his long legs out and crossing one ankle over the other. “This evening will be sufficient enough time to renew our acquaintance.”

“And if is not sufficient,” she asked with obvious hopefulness, “will you stay?”

Justin sighed inwardly. “I am not inventing the affairs I am required to attend to. I was not expecting visitors, so I made no accommodations for any.”

“But these affairs could be delayed, yes?”

“I refuse to speak any further on the matter,” Fontaine muttered, “to avoid saying something I may later regret.”

His mother joined him, sitting primly on the edge of the opposite cream and gold settee. Her gown was showcased to advantage in the setting of the family parlor, which had been spared the attentions of a decorator for many years.

The baroque style of the room with its elegant moldings and lavish abundance of gilt soothed him. His lineage was old and a source of great pride. This room reminded him of those who had preceded him and strengthened his desire to do justice to those who would follow.

“I was so hopeful when you were courting Lady Julienne,” she said morosely. “A shame she is a bit touched.”

“Oh?” Both brows rose. “Desiring a love match is a sign of insanity?”

She lifted her chin. “Wedding for love is all well and good, but the girl hadn’t the sense to fall in love with you, instead of that Remington scoundrel. I still cannot collect it. What was she thinking?”

The marquess looked away to hide his smile. “That is your maternal pride talking.”

“It’s common sense,” she retorted, “which she is obviously lacking. It is in a female’s base nature to choose the strongest, handsomest, most established male in the herd.”

“Ah, my day improves,” he drawled. “What a relief it is to learn that I am the most impressive bovine in the marriageable lot.” He refrained from pointing out that Sophie hadn’t selected him either, choosing to betroth an earl of far lesser circumstance.

“You are incorrigible.” His mother shook her head, setting the pale gold and silver curls at her nape to swaying.

“And you wish to marry me off to your dearest friend’s granddaughter. What does that say about you?”

“I never said anything about marriage,” she argued, but her blush betrayed her.

Justin knew when it was best to let a matter rest, so he said nothing, choosing instead to think about Sophie and the scandal that ruined her.

“You have no cause to be nervous,” the Countess of Cardington reassured under her breath. “We are among friends.”

Lady Sophie Milton-Riley managed a shaky smile against the lip of her sherry glass. “Nervous, grand-mère? Never.”

She was very nearly terrified, but refused to say so aloud. Her memories of Lord Fontaine were clouded by years and the distorted memories of a child. What she had were mostly impressions, those of a tall youth whom she’d fancied as a golden prince, albeit a rather stern one.

The countess shook her head and shot her “the eye,” the look filled with love that said she did not believe a word she was saying. Sophie leaned over and pressed her lips to a wrinkled cheek. “I intend to enjoy myself. I promise.”

“Good. Oh!” The countess straightened and her voice lowered. “Here he comes.”

Sophie glanced up as the Marquess of Fontaine entered the lower parlor. Her breath caught, and when his gaze sought her out, she reached quickly for the pianoforte behind her for balance.

Dear God, had he always been so handsome?

He smiled, and she set her glass down before she spilled its contents.

How the devil could she have thought he was a prince? Princes were mortal. Fontaine was a golden god, with a body built for carnal sin, wrapped in the chilly infamous English hauteur she had never forgotten. How he used to intimidate her with that steely-eyed stare!

And how very different was her reaction to that same stare now.

Who knew aloofness and aristocratic arrogance could be such a potent lure when mixed with the body and face of Apollo?

There was a very substantial reason why the Marquess of Fontaine was not suitable husband material for her. Sophie was willing, however, to set aside such vital concerns for a moment so that she could admire him properly.

It was one of the few benefits to being a woman with a scandalous reputation. She did not have to lower her eyes and pretend that she wasn’t struck nearly witless by his appeal. She could, instead, openly appreciate the male form approaching her with thoroughly masculine feline grace.

Sophie blew out her breath. Her childhood friend had grown into a man well worthy of the many hours Society dedicated to discussing him. He had always been an avid sportsman and his physique proved that he still was. His dark blue velvet jacket required no padding to enhance his broad shoulders, and his breeches were just tight enough to reveal powerful thighs, muscular calves, and…

She blinked.

Good heavens! She should not be staring there, scandalous past or not.

Jerking her gaze upward, Sophie focused on his lips instead. They were somewhat thin and given his inclination for…imperiousness…she had remembered them being rather stern. But they were nothing of the sort. Instead they were shamelessly sensual, curved in a way that teased a woman to make him smile. Or whisper shocking things.

Sophie’s problem was that she enjoyed shocking things. They were much more fun than nonshocking things, hence the present state of her existence.

The moment he came to a halt before her it became extremely difficult to breathe properly. She bowed her head as she curtsied, hiding her confused frown. After all these years, he still unnerved her.

With a furtive gaze, Sophie watched as the marquess charmed her grand-mère into blushing, then he returned his attention to her. She hoped that she managed a semblance of a smile, but with her heart racing, she could not be sure.

“Lady Sophie,” Fontaine murmured, lifting her gloved hand to his lips. “A pleasure to see you again.”

She took note of his voice, which was deeper now and warm, so at odds with his rather formidable, icy exterior. How like him to be so starch-stiff and formal. And how like her to be so irritated by it. His composure had always goaded her to do rash things to break through it, and tonight was no exception. She set her hands on his chest for balance, lifted to her tiptoes, and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

“You look well, my lord,” she returned, meeting his shocked gaze directly. Her lips tingled, forcing her to wrinkle her nose. She recalled suffering similar reactions to him when she was younger, which had prompted her to tell him that she was allergic to his arrogance. His reply, if she remembered correctly, had been a snort.

“Shall we?” the dowager marchioness asked, gesturing across the hall to the dining room.

For a moment longer, Fontaine stared at Sophie with a narrowed gaze, then he gave a curt nod and offered his arm to the countess.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of casual discourse and more serious discussion regarding Lord Hastings and India. The meal was impressive and served over many courses. From the marquess’s jest comparing the meal to the prince regent’s now legendary banquet at the Brighton Pavilion back in January, Sophie collected that his lordship recognized the aim to keep them seated and talking as long as possible. She wondered how he felt about her visit and if he realized, as she did, that they were being paired. She needed to speak with him privately to know, and also to enlist his help. The dissuading of the countess and dowager was too great a task for one individual.

And so it was that Sophie found herself pacing outside Fontaine’s private rooms after everyone retired. As apprehensive as she was about meeting with him alone, she forged ahead out of necessity. There was no other solution. She required his assistance in extricating them from this shameless matchmaking. They could not marry-a man of the marquess’s station would never accept a woman in her circumstances, regardless of their past friendship-but neither could they simply point that out and be done with the business. The dowager and the countess knew everything, and it apparently had not swayed them. But if Fontaine was willing to work with her to prove her point, they could prevail.

She sighed and came to an abrupt halt before the door.

Fontaine was known for his impeccable deportment and faultless manners. She could not predict how he would respond to the gross deviation of propriety she had committed so many years ago. He had been polite and dryly charming at dinner, but they had witnesses then. Now they would be alone and perhaps his true feelings would be aired. She had suffered and survived malicious gossip and been ostracized. But Justin…

Sophie swallowed hard. Dear God, how would she bear it if he was cruel?

Of course, there was only one way to find out.

Sophie lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and knocked on the paneled door.

Chapter Two

The moments that passed after Sophie knocked seemed an eternity. She forced herself to breathe in and out with slow, deep breaths and wait, rather than scamper back to her room and find another way. Finally the door was opened by a manservant who was most likely Fontaine’s valet. The smile she gave him was both a greeting and an expression of relief.

“Good evening,” she said cheerfully. “I wish to speak with his lordship, if I may.”

There was a pause as the man blinked wide eyes at her, then a large hand curled around the top of the door and pulled it open further.

Fontaine came into view looking even better than he had at dinner. Then he had been fully, faultlessly dressed. Now he was sans coat, waistcoat, and cravat, the opening at his collar revealing honey-colored skin and a light dusting of pale blond hair. He looked relaxed and far less rigid than he had earlier, a softening her female sensibilities enjoyed far too much.

“Lady Sophie,” he murmured, in the deep voice of a pure male. “An unexpected pleasure, to be sure.”

“Might I come in, my lord?”

“This is my bedchamber,” he pointed out.

She gave him a wry look. “Yes, I know.”

His mouth twitched at the corners. “If you wish to compromise me, I must tell you that asking permission first is a rather odd way to go about it.”

Sophie blew out her breath and tapped her foot impatiently. “Why must you always be so difficult? Have you any notion-”

He reached out and hauled her into the room.

Dismissing his valet, he then shut the door, enclosing them in a space that smelled strongly of him, a delicious blend of bergamot and tobacco that stirred her in ways she wasn’t prepared for.

Needing distance between them, she stepped farther into his space. Her gaze drifted across the large, well-appointed chamber. Decorated in dark woods and shades of gold and brown, it reminded her of a lion’s den and suited its master perfectly, as did the two matching, fully grown mastiffs who approached her.

“You’ve no need to fear them,” he assured her. “They are quite gentle.”

“Well, hello,” she greeted, extending both hands. The massive fawn-colored beasts pressed their great muzzles into her palms and sniffed. Apparently finding her acceptable, they welcomed her with copious amounts of viscous drool. She glanced over her shoulder at the marquess. “What do you call them?”

“George and Edward.”

“Truly? How unusual.”

“They share their names with the two gentlemen who were with me when I purchased them as pups. Since both men felt the need to jest at length about salivating animals, I deemed them appropriate monikers.”

“Lovely!” Sophie laughed, pleasantly surprised by his sense of humor, which she did not remember ever seeing much of.

She watched him step behind the screen in the corner and when he returned, gratefully accepted the damp cloth he offered to wipe her hands. “They are beautiful dogs.”

“I think so,” he said easily, watching her with a stare that made her feel slightly breathless. His intensity had always frightened her a little, although she could not collect why. He would never hurt her; she knew that like she knew the sun would rise in the morn.

Moving to one of the two wingback chairs in front of the fire, Sophie sat and tugged a footstool closer so she could set her slippered feet upon it.

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” he teased, taking a seat opposite her. The way he filled the chair caught her attention. He did not sit with any sort of straightness to his spine, as she would expect. Fontaine lounged like a king of the jungle, his long legs stretched out and his back angled into the groove between the chair back and the wing. George and Edward studied him a moment, then shuffled over to the footstool and set their giant heads atop each of her feet.

“They like you,” he said.

“I like them.”

“I thought you hated dogs, or were afraid of them. Some such. You could not tolerate Lady Cardington’s pet. His name eludes me now…”

“Max, and he was a beast. I like dogs, truly. But Maximillian was not a dog; he was a demon. He chewed up my best shoes and lifted his leg on my bedpost at every opportunity.” She smiled suddenly. “But I am grateful for him now, because he works in our favor.”

“Oh? How so?”

“Grand-mère refused to see how horrid that animal was. I tried to tell her, but my complaints fell on deaf ears. He was wickedly clever and always on his best behavior for her.”

“So you invented a fear of canines?” The chastising shaking of his head was tempered by obvious indulgence.

“The feigned phobia served its purpose,” she said. “And now it will be one of the many points of contention between you and me.”

He grinned, and she was riveted.

Tilting her head to the side, Sophie contemplated her old friend with new eyes. How dashing he looked in his inelegant sprawl with his throat revealed to her gaze. He had always been uncommonly handsome, but the intimate pose made him seem overwhelmingly so. Where once he had been lean and youthful, he was now large and mature. His features were more angular, his gaze more knowing. Sophie could not shake the feeling that she had just walked into a predator’s lair.

“So we are to be contentious.” His lips twisted wryly. “I am not certain how to feel about so much effort being expended to avoid marriage to me.”

“Relieved?” she suggested blithely. “If I left the matter to you, you would most likely pronounce that you’d never marry a woman such as me, and that would goad them to dig in their heels. I am saving you endless trouble.”

“You believe I would never wed you,” he repeated, frowning.

Sophie drummed her fingers restlessly against the end of the armrest. “Of course not. I would drive you to insanity.”

“Perhaps I would like that.”

“Stuff,” she scoffed.

“Hmm…”

“Hmm?”

“Never mind. So tell me, how are you faring, Sophie?” The low, intimate timbre of his voice was slightly distracted, as if part of his mind was occupied with other thoughts.

She offered a small smile. “As well as can be expected, my lord.”

“Justin,” he corrected.

“Justin.” Her gaze lowered to his throat, which she could not seem to resist looking at. “How are you? You look…well.”

He tilted his head in acknowledgment. “Thank you. I am.” There was a short pause, then, “How is your son?”

“Thomas is wonderful.” Sophie smiled at the thought of him. “He’s quite the loveliest thing in my life. But I shan’t bore you with the details.”

“If a topic interests you, it interests me. Does Thomas look like you?”

“No.” Sophie frowned, startled by the marquess’s words, which were delivered without inflection. “He looks like his father, thankfully. A blessing I appreciate immeasurably.”

Lifting her hand, she rubbed at the space between her brows where an ache was building. She had been plagued with megrims in the months after Langley’s passing, and the stress of her first outing and her unexpected reaction to Fontaine were bringing back echoes of that pain.

“I am sorry for your loss,” he murmured.

“Thank you.” Her hand dropped back into her lap. “But I have my son and I am tremendously grateful for him. He has been a brilliant light during a very dark time.”

She had been faced with people who intimated that it would have been better had she lost the babe. The very suggestion angered her in a way nothing else could. To propose that the loss of her child would have been preferable to the loss of social standing was so heinous she could not credit it.

“Where is the boy now?”

“With Langley’s younger brother-the current Lord Langley-and his family. Thomas visits with them often. He is a tangible piece of his father, and they cherish him.”

“You are very brave, Sophie.”

She studied Fontaine, attempting to discern if he was being facetious or not. She saw only sympathy. “No, I am not brave. Not at all. I have survived. That does not make me courageous; it is merely a testament of my stubbornness.”

His mouth curved. “Call it what you like. I admire you a great deal. I doubt I would have weathered the storm near as well.”

The combined effect of that smile and his praise left Sophie speechless. She was taken aback by how it affected her, warming her from the inside, loosening the tight knot of apprehension she had not known was there. When had his opinion become so important? Or…perhaps it had always been important.

“I would not have expected you to be supportive,” she admitted, her damp palms wrapping around the end of the armrests.

“Why not?”

“Because you were forever chastising me when we were children.”

The marquess’s eyes widened. “I was not.”

“Yes, you were. I remember the incidences quite clearly, especially that day in the garden when you shouted at me and I nearly fell. Scared me witless.”

“Are you referring to the time you were attempting to climb to the top of the pagoda?” He snorted. “It was you who scared the wits from me! I rounded the corner in search of you and there you were, hanging some distance from the ground by only your fingertips. My heart stopped beating altogether. You could have killed yourself.”

She snorted back. “As if you cared for my health. It simply offended your aristocratic sensibilities to see a female engaged in such sport.”

Outwardly, Justin was fairly certain he maintained his composure. Inwardly, he was stunned. Sophie could not believe that. Not truly. “Are you daft?”

Sophie blinked her thickly lashed green eyes at him. “Beg your pardon?”

“If you believe I wished to hold you back due to your gender rather than out of concern for the safety of your person you are sorely mistaken.”

As she continued to stare at him as if he had grown two heads, Justin in turn stared at the ravishing creature who sat across from him and felt a bit…addled. In his mind, he had held an image of her as she had looked the last time they met. She had been ten and nine, slender yet lushly built, her hair a riot of dark chocolate curls shot with striking strips of burgundy. Full red lips and those lovely eyes had rounded out the picture of a beauty on the verge of blossoming. He had watched her grow from a child to a woman, accompanying his mother on every visit to Lady Cardington’s just to witness the transformation. Biding his time. Waiting for the day when she would be his.

A day that had never come.

His mother had been the one to tell him that Sophie had accepted Lord Langley’s addresses. After that, he never returned to the Cardington dower house again.

In the years since, his memories had not aged her. She had been arrested in that moment in time. Because of this, the vision who greeted him in the parlor before dinner took him completely by surprise.

His mother was right. The years had been kind to Sophie, turning her youthful attractiveness into an intoxicating blend of innate sensuality and fully ripened curves. When she had kissed his cheek, the smell of her and the feel of her warm body so close to his had thrust home an undeniable truth-he still wanted her. This time with a man’s desire, not a boy’s infatuation.

And dear sweet Sophie apparently had no notion of the hunger she had awakened. Otherwise she would not be visiting his private rooms and reclining in a way that bared her ankles. He was in a riot of lust over that view, such as many a naked woman had been unable to incite in him. The desire to press his lips to that tiny part of her rode him hard. He wanted to push up the hem of her skirts and follow the length of her lithe legs with his mouth. He wanted to spread her thighs wide and lick inside her, drink her in, hear the sounds she made when lost in climax.

“My lord…Justin.”

She squirmed slightly, and he realized his lengthening silence was making her uncomfortable. He forced himself to look away. “Yes?”

He heard her sigh. “I feel as if we are strangers.”

“Does that disturb you?”

“Yes, it does. Is it possible that you might stay a few more days?”

Justin refrained from smiling. That had been his intent ever since she kissed him in the parlor, but it was fortuitous that she asked. “Why?”

He could see that she was attuned to the growing sensual awareness he felt building between them. Her gaze roamed often from the top of his head to his polished Hessians and back up again, the green irises dark with female appreciation.

But the rapid lift and fall of her chest betrayed her unease. She had not expected to desire him, and therefore had no defenses in place to manage the attraction.

Which worked perfectly for him. He would ensure that she remained unsettled and unguarded so he could slip inside her…in every way possible.

“Because grand-mère will never believe we are ill-suited if she doesn’t reach the conclusion on her own.”

His gaze narrowed. “Are we ill-suited, Sophie?”

Again she looked at him as if he were an anomaly she could not classify. “Don’t tease, Justin. You know my circumstances make me unacceptable for you. Besides which, I would never marry a man who did not love my son as much as I do.”

“I am curious,” he said softly. “What type of woman would you deem ‘acceptable’ for me?”

Sophie tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and waved her hand, both gestures betraying her nervousness. “Someone such as Lady Julienne Montrose, I suppose.” A flush spread across her cheeks.

“Interesting.” Pleasure filled him that she had kept apprised of his activities. “Perhaps it will surprise you to learn that the qualities I most enjoyed in Lady Julienne were ones that reminded me of you-her ability to disregard the opinions of the ton, her mischievous nature, and warm sensuality.”

“My lord!” Her hand lifted to her throat.

He offered a wolfish smile, relishing the chance to shock her for a change. “I am quite serious.”

Her cheeks flushed. “You are not.”

“Who are you trying to convince? You can save your breath if you are attempting to sway me. I know a passionate woman when I see one.”

“This conversation is ridiculous.” Her arms crossed over her chest. “I am trying to extricate you from this mess, and you are making things difficult as usual.”

“As usual? I have always been accommodating,” he said smoothly.

She snorted. “You have been driving me mad for years.”

On this particular occasion, Justin was fairly certain that the reason why she was maddened was for just the reason he’d like and if assisting her kept her within his grasp long enough to act upon it, he had no objections. “How can I help you?”

“If you could manage to delay your departure for a few days, we could contrive ways to demonstrate how we are completely inappropriate for one another-such as your love for dogs and my dislike of them. Not simply because we are contrary progeny who refuse to heed the wisdom of our elders, but because we are a disaster together.”

“A disaster?” By the time all was said and done, he would know every reason why she had never considered him for marriage. He would know everything about her, including all the ways he could make her come.

“Well,” she shrugged, “something similar to that, if we have any luck at all. Imagine the fun! Eventually, they will retreat from their plans, hopefully before we cause any permanent damage.”

Justin laughed.

And Sophie was captivated.

Merriment transformed him, thawed him. Fine lines spread out from the corners of his eyes, revealing how often he found amusement in his life. Suddenly, Sophie wished she knew the man who had earned those laugh lines, the private one. Someone he had recently become. Or perhaps he’d always had a hidden side? One she had failed to see?

The prickle of sexual awareness she had felt all evening intensified to the point where she was forced to rub her arms. She stared at him, unable to look away. His smile slowly faded, his expression altering to become fiercely intent. It made her shiver, that look. And he had been giving it to her ever since she’d entered his bedchamber.

“Have you been alone since Langley passed?” he asked in an intimate murmur.

“I have my son.”

“That is not what I meant, and well you know it.”

Sophie tugged her feet out from under George and Edward’s great heads and stood. “Heavens, it’s late.”

Fontaine rose as well, and followed her to the door. She reached for the knob and was startled when he came up behind her, his palm pressed to the panel over her head preventing her from leaving. Caged by his big body, there was no way to avoid breathing in the scent of his skin. It was delicious, as was the warmth that radiated from him. He moved closer, pressing his front to her back. She began to pant. The knowledge that he was fully, impressively aroused was inescapable.

She was tormented by her confusion. Reconciling the seductive male behind her with the aloof boy she knew from the past was beyond difficult. There had been a measure of safety in the distance inherent in friendship. Now, the imaginings in her mind of the two of them as lovers bridged that gap.

“Your heart is racing,” he whispered, his breath hot against her skin. His tongue swept across the vein that fluttered madly at her throat. Her back arched and a startled cry escaped her.

“A portion of your response is desire.” His open mouth brushed behind her ear and she shuddered violently. “But a portion of it is fear. Why? You must know that I would never hurt you.”

Unable to speak, Sophie agreed with a jerky nod. His teeth bit gently into the tender flesh where her shoulder met her neck. Her knees weakened and his free arm came around her, banding at her waist to support her. Taking further liberties, his thumb stroked the side of her breast in a soothing rhythm that did nothing to calm her.

Sophie’s eyes closed and her damp forehead rested against the door. His chest labored against her back, the heat of his body set hers on fire. Her nipples peaked hard and tight, aching. As if he knew, he cupped her breast and kneaded it. Her sex clenched in rhythm with his grasp and she grew wet, slippery and hot.

“Oh dear God,” she moaned, quaking. How did a woman manage a desire such as this? She had lusted for Langley and relished his lovemaking, but those emotions had not reached this depth. She hadn’t the experience required to control her responses. “You overwhelm me. I cannot think or breathe.”

“And I am undone.” His mouth was moving over her bared skin. Nipping, licking, biting. “This is passion, Sophie. Need and hunger.”

“It is insanity, my l-lord.” Her voice broke as he continued to fondle her intimately. “With a small ch-child dependent upon me, I cannot afford to go in-insane.”

“There is only one cure,” he murmured. “Shall we administer it?”

She shook her head, but lack of energy gave the movement no strength. “I do not understand…what is happening.”

Justin breathed deeply. “We are becoming lovers, sweet Sophie. Finally.”

He tilted his head and took her mouth. She gasped at the contact, the tingling of her lips urging her to press them hard against his. Her angle was awkward, but she did not care. The kiss was perfect, his lips so soft, yet firm, the taste of him dark and delectable. She could not temper the ardent way she answered him. Her response was instinctual and greedy.

The groan that left his throat made her shiver, so filled with rough longing and ravenous need. He licked deep inside her, his tongue gliding back and forth against hers, the measured tempo blatantly erotic. She whimpered softly as tension coiled in her womb. He pulled back at the sound, breathing harshly. “Stay with me tonight.”

Her lower lip quivered, her thoughts scattered and unable to settle. Justin licked the soft curve of her mouth, his touch so reverent it coaxed a tear to blur her vision, then slip down her cheek. He wrenched himself away. She felt his loss keenly; the lack of his warmth left her cold, the lack of his support left her shaky.

“Damn you.” The look he gave her scorched. “I can make you stay. I can make you beg me to allow you to stay. But that is not what I want. You will give yourself to me. I will have you no other way.”

Sophie turned to face him, lifting her fingers to press against her kiss-swollen lips. “You have always…” She reached behind her and gripped the knob.

“Always what?” he asked gruffly, the lust within him a palpable thing, barely leashed.

“Always been too much.” With a quick pivot, she opened the door. “Good night, my lord.”

She fled, leaving him standing there staring after her.

George whined softly. Edward paced at the threshold.

Justin knew just how they felt.

Chapter Three

“Lady Sophie said something to me last evening that perplexes me,” the marquess murmured to his mother the next morning as they descended the stairs to the lower floor for breakfast.

“Oh?”

“Yes, she said I have always been ‘too much.’ I’ve no notion of what that is supposed to mean.”

Her mouth curved innocently, an affectation reinforced by her pale ringlets and light blue gown. “Interesting.”

He glanced aside at her. “Do you know what she is referring to?”

“Hmm…Perhaps she means to say you are overwhelming.”

“Yes.” Justin scowled. “She said that, too.”

“Truly? How did I miss this discussion? I recall you two sat quite some distance from each other in the parlor after dinner.”

“Never mind that,” he muttered. “Can you explain what the devil she is talking about?”

She linked her slender arm with his. “When you both were children, she used to make up stories about you. You were a ‘prince’ most often, though sometimes when you were surly, you were cast as a toad or an ass.”

He choked.

“I noted something in her stories. You were usually set atop an intimidating pedestal. A character who ruled over all with an iron fist and nary a smile. She would speak of you with awe.”

Justin shook his head, frowning. “I was a boy.”

“A very serious boy,” she corrected. “You changed a great deal after your father passed on.”

“I have a great deal of history to live up to.”

“Yes, you do.”

“She has a bastard child.”

“Yes, she does.” The dowager patted his arm. “Your father and I didn’t wait either.”

His eyes turned heavenward. “I could have lived my entire life without that knowledge, Mother, and been quite content.”

“Stuff. Don’t be prudish.”

Heaving out his breath, the marquess prayed for the rest of his day to improve upon his morning. He had spent restless hours the night before contemplating Lady Sophie and her circumstances, and how he could have her.

Had she stayed the night with him, it would have been something he would have regretted as much as she. A man of his station could not marry a woman in her circumstances, she was absolutely correct about that. Which left him with only one option-to take her as his mistress. It was an offer he could not make to her, not to Sophie. He respected her too much to suggest such an arrangement; the mere thought sickened him.

But not having her at all was impossible. He would have her. He only needed to discern how.

His mother shot him a narrowed side-glance as they reached the parquet floor of the foyer. “I should like to see a man retain his virginity until marriage.”

“How progressive of you,” he murmured.

“With all your rumored excesses with females of unsavory reputation, I would think you’d appreciate a woman with a healthy appetite for sexual congress.”

“I will not discuss anyone’s sexual appetite with you, not mine and most definitely not yours.” He steered her toward the dining room.

“Why not?”

“I would rather go to the tooth-drawer’s,” Justin muttered, “or wear a hair shirt.”

He assisted her into her chair at the end of the table. “I had decided to remain in residence for a few more days, but that does not mean you should send for the parson. Do I make myself clear?”

The startled, yet hopeful glance the dowager bestowed on him over her shoulder made him smile and bend to kiss her cheek. God help him, he adored her, daft as she was.

That same kiss-when witnessed by Sophie as she entered the dining room-inspired tender feelings of a different sort. Her stomach fluttered madly in response. She came to an abrupt halt in the doorway, her grand-mère’s arm wrapped around hers.

“See?” Lady Cardington whispered. “A good man. Do not let that stiff-as-pudding exterior fool you.”

Sophie could say that she wasn’t fooled, not after visiting his rooms last night, but she held her tongue and shivered when he straightened and caught sight of her. The look he gave her flared instantly from innocuous to indecent.

“Good morning, my lord,” she greeted, in a voice remarkably composed.

He approached them with that animal grace that made her breathing shallow. All the incongruities about him intrigued her so much. The unflappable deportment mixed with latent sensuality. The dry wit mixed with the wicked gleam in his eyes. Arrogantly arched brows over glances filled with pure male appreciation.

Such as the glance he was heating her with right at this very moment.

Sophie took a deep breath. She had chosen her day gown of soft green trimmed in darker green ribbon because it was her best. The long sleepless night had been spent wondering if the marquess’s attraction to her had been spurred by the late hour or if he would still desire her in the light of day. Now that she knew the answer, she had even more to consider.

She held no illusions. Nothing could ever come of this attraction. A man of Justin’s station could not marry a woman in her position and mothers did not become mistresses, at least not this mother. Despite this, she worried that she would succumb to his seduction if she remained under his roof. He had awakened a hunger in her that had gnawed at her all night. She could not take the chance that feeding it would not appease it.

“Lady Sophie,” he murmured in that warm, rich-as-honey voice. “Lady Cardington.”

Fontaine took her grand-mère’s arm and led her to the table. Sophie followed. Once the countess was seated, he turned to her. “Shall we?”

He gestured toward the covered salvers on the buffet. She nodded and joined him, taking in his fine form so elegantly displayed in brown breeches and coat, with a multi-colored embroidered waistcoat to counter the austerity. It suited the man he had become, somber yet possessed of a more colorful side that he showed only rarely.

“You steal my breath,” he whispered.

She looked away, afraid her expressive face would reveal too much. “Thank you.”

“Thank you. Already my day is complete, now that I have seen you.”

As Fontaine reached for a plate, Sophie reached for the pepper with a shaking hand. As she sprinkled the spice into her palm, she glanced at the two women at the table and noted that they were engrossed in a discussion. She exhaled sharply.

“Do you remember the time we picked flowers and I had a reaction to one of them? The pollen or some such?”

He stared at her quizzically. “Of course I remember. You sneezed for hours.”

“Do you recall the treatment?”

“It was long ago.”

“I changed my garments, blew my nose, and applied a cold compress.”

“Are we reminiscing?” His mouth curved fondly and she was struck by guilt. “If so, I remember more pleasant memories.”

“Forgive me,” she whispered. Then she lifted her hand and blew him a kiss, which also served to blow pepper-

– right up his lordship’s aquiline nose.

“Good God!” he shouted, staring at her in wide-eyed horror. Then he sneezed.

And sneezed.

And sneezed.

“Dear heavens,” the dowager cried, pushing back from the table in a rush. “What is the matter with you, Fontaine?”

His reply was a sneeze. Then another. And another. He doubled over, sneezing like a madman.

Patting his back sympathetically and ignoring the fulminating glare his reddened eyes shot in her direction, Sophie said, “I cannot be certain, my lady, but it appears he is having on olfactory fit of some sort.” She leaned over and stared at him, then leapt back when he sneezed violently.

“Heinous!” he gasped at her, covering his mouth in a vain attempt to curb his pulmonary spasms.

“What could it be?” the dowager asked, as she hurried over to them. “I have never seen him like this.”

“He is having a paroxysm, obviously,” the countess pronounced, joining them at the buffet. “A violent reaction to something that does not agree with his constitution.”

“If he has never been this way before, perhaps it is my presence that distresses?” Sophie suggested.

“Ridiculous!” the countess and dowager negated in unison.

Sophie shrugged. “Of course you both would know better than I, but it seems that the offending smell would have to be recently introduced, and I just thought-”

She was cut off by more sneezing and offered a sympathetic glance that was met with a scowl. “It would probably be best for me to break the fast in my room. If his lordship improves, then we shall know it’s me. Perhaps my perfume? He told me yesterday evening that it was-” she winced-“not to his liking.”

“My lord!” the two women chastised, sounding every bit like offended mother hens.

“Vixen,” Justin hissed.

“Fontaine!” the dowager protested. “It is not Lady Sophie’s fault that your olfactory sense is overly sensitive. Personally, I think she smells lovely.”

“He could be allergic to me,” Sophie continued, raising her voice to be heard over the noise the marquess was making. “The removal of my person should rectify the problem. If he worsens, then we will have to search for another culprit.”

Stepping gingerly away, Sophie noted the watery eyes and reddened nose of the Marquess of Fontaine, and felt odious. But an hour or so of discomfort could spare them a lifetime of regret. When considered in that light, her actions were somewhat less reprehensible.

“I do hope you feel better soon,” she said to Justin, meaning every word.

His lordship replied with a galvanic sneeze.

“Has Lord Fontaine’s condition improved?” Sophie asked her grand-mère as they sat in the private sitting room that bisected their two chambers. Decorated in pale blue and white with delicately carved furniture, it was a relaxing retreat, yet Sophie was anything but soothed.

“Yes.” The countess sighed. “He felt better soon after you retired.”

“Oh, good.”

“It is not good. Not at all.”

Sophie looked down at the book in her hands and felt awful to have caused the disappointment she heard in the beloved voice. “You can still enjoy your visit with Lady Fontaine. I can keep myself occupied.”

“That is not the point. Fontaine is a powerful man who occupies the highest strata of society. His friendship is extremely valuable, and he has a tendré for you.”

“He does not!” Sophie felt the blush sweep up her cheeks and into her hairline. How obvious was the attraction between them?

The countess shook her head. “Child, he may have grown past it now, but he was once quite smitten with you. Affection for first loves lingers for a lifetime.”

“He was not smitten!” she denied vehemently, even as her heart leapt at the thought. “I would have known if he was.”

“I wondered if you were blind to it.” Her grand-mère sighed. “Why do you think he accompanied his mother so often? A man of his station had more important matters to attend to.”

Sophie snapped her book closed and rose to her feet, agitated. “You are mistaken. He…he…”

“Do not think to say that he came because of his mother. Fontaine is not the type of man to be tied to any woman’s apron strings.” The countess abandoned her needlepoint on the small walnut table beside her, and linked her fingers in her lap. “Did you never wonder why he ceased to visit after your betrothal was announced?”

Sweat misted Sophie’s forehead. “He was always so critical…so chastising…he-”

“Critical? Or concerned? You were forever involved in some scrape or another. You were angry and unruly, most likely due to the premature death of your parents. You took unnecessary risks and defied convention. I was worried about you, but knew that the more I intervened, the more you would resist. I expected you would outgrow such behavior, which you did. However, Fontaine was less patient.”

“He wanted me to be someone I am not!”

“He wanted you safe. Did he ever ask you to curb your mischief? How often did he depart with ruined attire from following you into another mess?”

Spinning away, Sophie found herself breathing with difficulty, images from the past rushing forward in a deluge. “I don’t know…” Her hand lifted to her chest and rubbed ineffectually at the ache there. She wondered if she had hurt him in her ignorance. It pained her dreadfully to think of it.

“He appears to hold no ill will toward you, and his support could do much to improve your circumstance. It is unfortunate that he has acquired intolerance for your person.” Her grand-mère studied her a moment and then offered a smile. “Perhaps you could refrain from wearing your perfume?”

Sophie rubbed the back of her neck. “That will change nothing. We are completely unsuitable. He prefers blondes, such as Lady Julienne-”

“And you prefer brunettes such as Langley.”

“Yes, well…” She had adored Langley, loved him madly, had thought him the most charming man in the world. But she lusted for the golden marquess. Hungered for him. Ached for him in unmentionable places. When he entered the room, her body hummed with energy that wanted spending in a bed.

But she was also frightened by that need for him. How could she, a woman of so many faults, live up to the expectations of a man who seemed to have no faults at all?

“Regardless,” Sophie cleared her clenched throat, “I have Thomas, and Lord Fontaine requires a woman as different from me as night is to day. Even Rothschild washed his hands of me.”

“Your brother is a self-centered idiot.” The countess patted the vacant seat next to her on the gilded settee. “He will have his comeuppance one day. That is the way fate works.”

Sinking into the proffered space, Sophie leaned into her grand-mère and set her head on the frail shoulder. The scent of jasmine made her eyes water, the memories of a less complicated time bringing sadness. Now she was looking at the past with new eyes, remembering earlier conversations with new ears, feeling new emotions.

Wondering what she would have done then, if she had known what she knew now.

Chapter Four

When the knock came to Justin’s bedchamber door after dinner, the smile that curved his mouth was mirrored inside him. George and Edward immediately rolled to their bellies from their previous positions on their sides, then they padded over to the door at the same time Sophie’s husky voice drifted to his ears.

Justin rose from the chair before the fire. “Show her in,” he said to his valet, “then you may go.”

Inside him, something wild coiled tight, prepared to spring. But when Sophie came into view with sad eyes and her lower lip caught nervously between straight, white teeth, it quieted abruptly. She was wound up as well, but not for the same reasons he was.

“Who knew such mischief could hide beneath the exterior of an angel?” he murmured, attempting to calm her with gentle teasing.

She was dressed in deep blue this evening, the cut of the bodice and sleeves so painfully simple that on a lesser woman, it would have been plain. On Sophie, however, it allowed her lush figure to take the stage. She had kept herself sequestered all day, tormenting him with the knowledge that she was under his roof, yet unreachable.

With her head bowed, she said, “I meant no harm.”

Her palpable unhappiness disturbed him. “Why do I feel that you are upset about more than my inability to smell a blasted thing all day?”

“I am sorry about that, too,” she said contritely, startling him by stepping closer and running the tip of her index finger down the bridge of his nose. The innocent touch nearly undid him. It was the first intimate connection she had ever initiated. “I thought only of escape.”

“Escape?” he asked gruffly, his body reacting to her proximity and the scent of her skin.

She stepped back and clasped her hands. “Did I misunderstand our previous relationship?”

Justin arched a brow.

Sophie looked deep into his eyes, searching. “Have you ever contemplated walking on the surface of the moon?”

The other brow rose to meet the first.

“I never have,” she continued, her tongue flickering out to wet her lips. “Not until this afternoon when grand-mère suggested that perhaps you once cared for me beyond mere friendship and I attempted to conceive of something more impossible.”

“Sophie-”

Holding up a hand, she halted his speech. “If I wounded you, I never meant to. I was simply unaware. It never occurred to me that a man such as you would ever find me…would ever find anything-”

“Sophie-”

“You were always so damn perfect, so poised, so rigid…so…so…so arrogant!” She pointed an agitated and accusing finger at him. “Always ordering me about and correcting me and…and…and-”

Justin glanced heavenward, then snatched her to him and kissed her full on her indignant mouth.

“Mmpf…!” A weak protest died before it was born. She melted into him, all soft warm passionate woman.

Heat flared instantly, burning across his skin and setting his blood on fire. Cupping her nape, he held her still, fitting his mouth to hers. Taking it. Possessing it. As he should have done years ago.

Her hands pushed at his shoulders, then slid up and over them, thrusting into his hair. He growled, maddened by the simple contact, aroused to bursting, his cock hard and throbbing. Cupping her hip, he urged her closer, grinding his erection into the soft flesh of her lower belly. She surged into him in response, feverish and ardent, her body writhing in his grasp. Her grip on his scalp began to hurt and he welcomed the pain. It grounded him. Otherwise, he feared he would pull her to the floor, push up her skirts, and show her how far beyond friendship his feelings went.

Sophie yanked her head to the side, panting. “I cannot breathe.”

His mouth moved to her throat, then to her shoulder.

“Justin.” Her hands roamed over the length of his back, caressing through the fine linen of his shirt. “You entice me to give what I shouldn’t.”

The sob in her voice struck him with the force of a blow to the gut and pained him as deeply.

With a growl, he pushed her away.

They stood apart, breathing harshly, flushed and disheveled. He ran his hands through his hair, feeling the sweat that dampened the roots. His entire frame was tight, tense, hard, his jaw clenched.

“I am at a loss,” he said, his hands fisting. “I cannot have you, and yet I cannot conceive of not having you. Not when this,” he gestured between them, “is all I can think about.”

“I am so confused.” Her green eyes were dark and fathomless. “I feel…for you…”

“Say no more. I am a man, not a saint.”

“I loved him. He made me happy.”

“It pleases me to know that you were content.”

“I know it does.” Her hand lifted and came over her heart. “I would not change my past because it gave me both beautiful memories and my son, and yet all day I have been haunted by imaginings of what could have been. Where would we be in our lives if I had known?”

“All this time, I thought you were aware and chose differently regardless.”

“No.” She held her hand out to him, but he did not take it, afraid of what he would do if they touched again. Her arm lowered slowly. “I have no wish to hurt you.”

“This is not your fault, Sophie. Any guilt you might feel is unwarranted.”

“There is no way for us to be together, is there?”

“No way that we could both live with,” he said gruffly.

Cursing, he turned from her and crossed to the grate. He rested his arm on the mantel and stared into the fire, willing his burning blood to cool. He could taste her on his lips, smell her on his clothing. She was in the palm of his hand, yet he could not hold on to her. “I will leave in the morning.”

“I cannot run you from your own home.”

“I prefer it.” His eyes closed. “I would smell you here. See you here. Want you here.”

“Why? Why me? I make every misstep and you walk true.”

Justin looked over his shoulder. She stood where he had left her, watching him, so heartrendingly beautiful in her yearning. “Who can explain the attraction between opposites?”

Her lower lip quivered, yet she stood tall and proud, undaunted by the unkind turns in her life. He wished he could shelter her from more pain and tragedy, but fate was cruel to him as well, mocking him for his youthful caution. He should have made clear how he felt years ago, and left no room for doubt or misunderstanding. All this time, he had thought she was never meant to be his, that she was not capable of deeper affection for him. Now he realized that he might have had his heart’s desire, if only he had disregarded his pride and opened himself to her.

“You should return to your room,” he murmured, looking away, resigned.

Silence filled the space between them. Only the sounds of the crackling fire and his rapid breathing offered relief.

“Justin…?”

He heard the soft plea in her voice and his back tensed.

She cleared her throat, causing his mouth to twitch. He knew that sound well. It was the sound of her gathering courage.

It was also the herald to mischief.

“I cannot be your wife or mistress,” she said in a low, husky voice that warmed his blood like strong wine. “But for tonight…I can be your l-lover.”

Justin spun to face her, flushing with avid lust and soul-deep longing. “Bloody hell.”

Her lovely face took on that obstinate cast he adored. The tapers around the room burnished her, their golden glow gleaming off her creamy skin and glossy curls. “I want…I want…”

“Christ,” he muttered, lacing his fingers at the back of his neck, “I know what you want. Do not give voice to it, or I may not have the strength to resist giving it to you.”

Sophie stared at the marquess displayed in the alluring pose, his throat bared to her, his shoulders so broad, his arms flexing powerfully. She licked her lips, and moved toward him. “Why resist?”

“You owe me nothing.”

“This is not about the past. This is about now, this moment, when I feel as if something in me is dying. I came to you tonight knowing this visit would lead to farewell, and yet now that we are agreed, I mourn. I haven’t the strength to sleep alone tonight, aware that in the morning you will leave and I will not see you again.”

His gaze narrowed. “You ask too much from me, Sophie. Better to wonder how it would be, than to know.”

“Is it? Would it not be better to live on real memories, than it would be to live on fantasy?” She rounded the wingback.

“And what of tomorrow?”

“We can worry then.”

He snorted and dropped his hands to his lean hips. “It is exactly that sort of thinking that lands you into trouble so often.”

Lowering her voice, she moved with what she prayed was a seductive sway to her hips. “This time, I hope it lands me into your bed.”

The groan that rumbled in his throat made her breasts swell further until they ached.

“I have a confession, my lord.”

He waited. Alert. A predator crouched for the pounce. Sophie shivered, then embraced the driving urge she had to touch him, hold him, clasp him deep within her. Here, in his lair, with its earthy colors and dark, masculine appeal.

Dressed only in his shirtsleeves and trousers, he revealed a glimpse of the man he was in his private hours. A man she could have had. She regretted the loss, although she would not alter her past decisions.

“You see, my lord,” she stepped up to him, coming to a halt a mere inch away, “your supreme self-possession is an irresistible lure. I want to crawl beneath it, see inside you, slip under your skin.”

Lifting her hand, she set it over his heart and felt its frantic tempo. She was in much the same state; short of breath with raging blood. “When we were younger, I would sometimes shock you deliberately just to see beneath your exterior.”

“You have always been under my skin,” he murmured, pulling her into his embrace, where she wanted to be. He seemed to consider her carefully, then he cupped her cheek, staring down at her with a starkly intense gaze. “Be certain, love. Once we walk down this path, there is no turning back.”

Sophie soaked in the warmth of his hard body and the rich, spicy scent that clung to him. Just days ago, the thought of him had set her insides aflutter. She felt the same now, but for an entirely different reason. It was no longer the anxiety of reacquainting oneself with someone who had once been dear. It was anticipation and pure, heady desire.

“I have always admired you,” she confessed, nuzzling into his palm. “My life has been in such disarray since the death of my parents, but you were so solid and immutable. Even as I provoked you, you strengthened and motivated me. Over the years, I often found myself imagining what you would do and considered that carefully before acting. I would not be the woman I am today had you not been in my life.”

Heat flared in his eyes, and he pressed warm, firm lips to her forehead. “I am glad you thought of me.”

“I never forgot you. And now…how easily you have turned my childhood awe into a woman’s fascination. I was told you had the appearance of a god amongst men, but the tales failed to convey how seductive you are.”

He snorted.

“Scoff all you like,” she said. “It’s true. Your voice makes me shiver and your presence inspires shockingly carnal musings.”

“Do you imagine my mouth on you?” he asked roughly. “Everywhere? Do you imagine being taken on your hands and knees? Or bound and restrained for my pleasure?”

Her exhale was shaky and she clung to him for balance. Dear God, he sounded so primitive, blatantly defying his civilized exterior and reputation.

“I will know you, Sophie,” he warned darkly. “I will know every inch of you, every curve and crevice. I will know you as no one else has ever known you. I will own you. Are you prepared to accept that?”

Sophie wondered at the change in him, the sudden seriousness of his bearing. “I want to be with you. However you would have me.”

She turned her head and pressed her lips into his palm. The flutters in her stomach were riotous, causing her to quiver against him, but she was not afraid.

“My love,” he murmured, his gaze bright with fierce adoration.

Following her heart, she surged into him, her lips bumping awkwardly into his.

A low, delighted chuckle rumbled in his chest at her eagerness. Then he cupped her nape and fitted his mouth over hers. Perfectly.

Sophie stopped breathing, arrested by the kiss. Her lips tingled and her ears rang, her skin flushed and her toes curled. As the world spun behind her closed lids, she leaned heavily into him. He paused, his lips moving along her cheekbone to her ear.

“Breathe, love,” he admonished in a deepened tone that made her breasts swell.

His hand came up and squeezed the full, aching flesh. She inhaled sharply as he kneaded her, and then he took her mouth again, teasing her with gentle flicks of his tongue. Dizzy and unbearably aroused, she opened wider with a moan, shivering as he accepted the invitation with lush, deep licks.

The smell of his skin intoxicated her. She was beginning to love that unique combination of bergamot and tobacco. She already loved the feel of his body, so big and powerful. He dwarfed her, made her feel as if she was enveloped in warm, tangible safety. He was not pulling her under or drowning her. He was revealing the depth of his desire, and she was empowered by his admission.

With his hand on the curve of her hip and a low sound of encouragement, Justin urged her closer. Unresisting, Sophie slipped her fingers into the silky strands of his golden hair. The simple touch seemed to affect him strongly, made him shudder, and crush her slender body roughly to his hardness. Their mouths sealed together, so that each labored breath was shared.

Heat swept across her skin in a prickling wave. Perspiration dampened her forehead. She began to writhe against him, goaded by a physical sense of urgency she had never felt before. He hummed soothingly and attempted to calm her, but there was no help for it. She wanted his bare skin pressed to hers, his body straining over and inside hers.

Her arms fell to his hips, then her hands slid up the length of his spine. The muscles of his back tensed to rock-hardness beneath her fingertips, despite the linen that separated her touch from his flesh. Her returning kiss became more feverish, the rushing of blood in her ears near deafening.

All the while his mouth drank from hers, the frantic movements of her body in stark contrast to the deep, luxurious pace of his kiss. He cupped her buttocks and rocked her into him, the lewd, blatant carnality of the gesture shocking her and inciting her further. Tension coiled tightly in her womb, becoming a deep hunger that fueled her growing desperation.

“Easy,” he rasped, gentling her with calming strokes of his large hands. “Or we won’t make it to the bed.”

Part of Sophie’s mind comprehended that he was threatening to make love to her in this very spot. Her body, however, clearly felt the venue was not an issue, blindly seeking to appease the insane need she felt to eat the man up like a tasty dessert. To nibble on all the hard lengths of muscle she felt beneath her palms, and to lick across what she imagined was rough satin skin. She nipped at his jaw and he groaned, the provocative sound filled with lustful longing. Tugging at his clothing, Sophie attempted to work her way to the man within.

“Sophie.” Emotion thickened the normally clipped accents of his voice. He continued to fondle her breast and she whimpered as she grew wet with desire.

His thumb stroked across her thrusting nipple, and she released a thready cry. Her knees gave out and his arm at her waist tightened, locking her against him. His erection strained into her lower belly, goading her to rock into it. His responding growl excited her unbearably. The expert manipulation of her breast became more aggressive as one thickly muscled thigh intruded between her legs.

“Justin,” she breathed.

“Tell me what you want.”

“You.”

Lifting her feet from the floor, he carried her to the bed.

Chapter Five

Justin found his hands shaking as he worked to release the buttons that held the sapphire gown to Sophie’s lush body. She was fidgeting with impatience, as she was often wont to do, and he smiled, his chest filling with a deep, tender ache.

“Hurry,” she urged, glancing over her shoulder at him, her green eyes heavy-lidded with passion.

“You still have no notion how to wait for the things you want.” He softened his statement with a quick, hard kiss to the top of her shoulder.

“Would you prefer me to have patience when I want you?”

“I have waited a lifetime.” Sliding his hands into the gaping back of her gown, he cupped her shoulders, then pushed the garment off and onto the floor. “Perhaps you should know a little of what it feels like to want something and be denied.”

She turned into his embrace, clad only in a sheer chemise and silk stockings. He inhaled harshly at the feel of her pressed against him. “I never denied you,” she murmured, nipping at his chin with her teeth.

Crushing her soft curves into his painfully aroused body, Justin buried his face in her short-cropped curls and breathed her in. The smell of her was delicious and he laughed softly.

Sophie pulled back slightly to look up at him.

“The way you smell appeals to me,” he replied to her silent query.

She blushed, but her eyes sparkled with mischief. “What would you do if you were truly allergic?”

“Make love to you in a bath. Or pin my nose.”

“You would not!”

“You doubt me?” Cupping her buttocks he tugged her into him, pressing the throbbing length of his cock against her.

Her gaze lowered to his throat and her hands lifted to pluck at his collar. “Would you…undress for me?”

“Of course.” Justin smiled. “Will you assist me?”

Nodding, she reached for the placket of his trousers.

“Ah, love,” he murmured, exquisitely tormented by her proximity and the knowledge that in moments she would be naked and arching beneath him. “You always did move directly to the point.”

“I want to see you.” She was nervous. He could see it in the way she worried her lower lip between her teeth. But she was eager, too. Open. Curious. He cupped her face in his hands.

“I am yours,” he promised, his thumbs brushing over her cheekbones. “You have no need to be uncertain with me.”

He tensed as the backs of her fingers brushed tantalizingly over the bulge of his erection. He was so hard for her it was painful and he groaned in relief when his cock sprang free of its confinement, coming to rest heavily within her palms.

“Is this mine, too?” she whispered, tracing the veins that pulsed along the length of him.

“Does it please you?” He grit his teeth as she stroked him with both hands.

“Yes. It suits you.”

Justin managed a choked laugh. “How so?”

“It is large, proud, and arrogant.”

“How the devil can a penis be arrogant?”

Sophie looked up at him from beneath long, dark lashes. Her thumb slid over the head of his cock, the journey eased by the drop of semen that collected there. “Look how ready he is. I am not certain he will wait for me.”

“Continue fondling me like that and he might not.”

He began to disrobe, but she did not release him, her fingers caressing him with such gentleness he was amazed he didn’t come. By the time he was bared to her, perspiration covered his skin in a fine sheen and his seed leaked copiously, coating her hands.

“Undress,” he said urgently, tugging his aching ballocks down to stave off an imminent release. He watched in an agony of lust as she removed her stockings, then frowned as she crawled on top of the bed. “The chemise, as well.”

She shook her head. “I would rather wear it.”

“No.” Justin did not intend for the word to come out so harshly, but damn it all, he wanted her naked beneath him. Her skin to his.

Sophie arranged herself like a sensual feast, her lithe body sprawled across the many pillows that piled against his headboard. The last remaining vestige of her attire was so sheer, he could see the shadow of her areolas and the impatient thrust of erect nipples. Between her legs a dark triangle lured him, enticed him. But it was not enough.

“You deny me?” He frowned, hating the material that separated him from his deepest desire.

The fingers of her right hand fidgeted with the lace that framed the neckline. “I am not young. And I have had a child. In this instance, I believe wondering is better than knowing.”

Sophie knew the moment understanding dawned. Fontaine’s eyes widened and he stilled, taking stock before acting, as was his way. She leapt before looking. He looked before leaping. It was one of the many things she appreciated about him.

She watched him move to the bed, eyeing his powerful masculine beauty with hunger and infatuation. He was so lean, yet muscular. Perfect. Everything about him was perfect. And she was so imperfect.

He took a seat on the edge of the bed, and cradled one of her hands within his own. “I am grateful for your beauty,” he murmured. “It arouses and amazes me.” His mouth curved in a slow smile. “But I adored you when you were gangly.”

“I was never gangly!”

“You were.” His smile widened into a grin. “No breasts or hips. Just tall and reed-thin. And I adored you. I adored you with mud on your face and food on your chin and twigs in your hair.”

“I never had food on my chin!”

“You did.” He crawled over her, his knees resting on either side of her hips, his cock right where she wanted it…if only he would lower his body six inches or so. “It is you who captivates me, love. Your impulsiveness, your vitality, your lust for life. You have no fear. You see what you desire and grab it with both hands. I admire those qualities about you because I lack them myself. I am overly cautious and sometimes take too long to act, a fault that has cost me dearly.”

Her hand lifted to cover her mouth and hide the trembling of her lips. She knew he referred to losing her to Langley and her heart ached. She made it a point to regret nothing in her life. If she proceeded with an action, it was because she was decided. But she regretted having caused him pain, even though she had done so unwittingly.

“So you see,” he continued, collecting the hem of her chemise and tugging it upward, “while I am thoroughly smitten with your exterior, it is your interior that won my deeper regard.”

Sophie arrested his movements with her hands over his. He met her gaze squarely, his brows lifted in silent challenge. She knew that look well, and it made her smile. She took a moment to marvel over how comfortable she felt with him, as if they had been lovers forever, then said, “Allow me.”

With her heart full, she sat up and pulled her chemise over her head. It was not as easy as she would hope, her insecurity around the marquess a lifetime habit. The change in position put their torsos in close proximity, and she shivered slightly as she felt the heat of his skin. Releasing a deep breath, she settled back against the pillows and lifted her chin.

His gaze was so hot it made her perspire. Her eyes closed as Justin touched her stomach just above her pelvic bone. She did not have to look to know he followed the mark left by her pregnancy. The mattress dipped and swayed as he moved away from her, and her eyes burned at the unbearable intimacy. A moment later she jerked in surprise when his open mouth pressed to the spot, then moved upward, his tongue slipping into her navel. One hair-dusted leg hooked over hers and tugged it aside, opening her thighs to his avid touch.

“Justin!” she gasped, arching as he parted her and stroked her with his fingertips.

His mouth moved to her breast, brushing along the side, kissing the faint marks that marred the under curve. “Christ, you are so beautiful.”

Her arms lifted, embracing him, as he found her nipple and engulfed it, suckling strongly. A callused fingertip circled her clitoris, then dipped lower to slip inside her. She cried out and bowed upward, straining, her body echoing the contractions of his mouth around his plunging finger. Aroused by his praise and gentle ministrations, Sophie felt herself softening, opening, becoming slick with welcome so that every thrust of his hand sounded wetly in the room.

Lifting his head, Justin watched her, giving her no room to hide. His skin was flushed, his eyes fever-bright, his lips parted with harsh, panting breaths.

“I used to imagine you like this,” he confessed in a husky whisper, withdrawing from her depths, only to return with two fingers. Stroking along her inner walls, rubbing, caressing, making her writhe. Her nails dug into his forearms, her nipples peaked hard and painfully tight.

He kissed her, absorbing her cries into the heat of his mouth. “If you open your legs wider,” he whispered, “I can fuck you deeper.”

His crude wording first startled her, then inflamed her. Squeezing her eyes shut, she spread her thighs shamelessly, hungrily accepting the deluge of sensation after the last few years of numbness.

“No, look at me,” he murmured, his throbbing erection a hard pressure against her leg. “Let me watch you.”

Sophie relented, unable and unwilling to deny him, feeling safe with him in a way that made such sharing possible. Her eyes locked onto his, her body quivered against his, her gasps mingled with his, until she cried out. Falling into orgasm with a hot rush of tears. Clinging to his big, hard body with all her strength. Grateful he was with her, just as she had always been grateful when he was at her side.

“Justin,” she whimpered, rubbing her tearstained cheek against his. “Darling Justin.”

He came over her, the ripples of his abdomen glistening in the candlelight, the muscles in his arms flexing as he held his weight aloft. “Put me inside you,” he rasped, his chest heaving as if he had run a great distance.

Touching his lips with the fingertips of one hand, she reached down with the other and positioned him. His breath blew hot against her skin as he rolled his hips and eased into her.

She tensed as he breached her, her lungs seizing as the first thick inches spread her wide.

“Hush,” he murmured, freeing one hand to stroke down her side. Reaching beneath her thigh, he pulled it up, anchoring it on his hip so that the pressure lessened. “You were made to hold me.”

He settled more of his weight on top of her, pinning her down, forcing her to accept his leisurely pace.

Senses that had been dazed by her recent climax, flared to renewed life. “Please,” she begged, squirming. “Please hurry.”

“You never had any patience, love.”

She moaned as he sank deeper. And deeper. So slowly. Taking his time. Finally, with a breathtaking lunge, he filled her to the hilt, his thighs shaking violently against hers.

“Christ, you feel good.” His forehead pressed to hers. “Perfect. No! Don’t move…be still…allow me a moment…”

Near mindless with lust, she rocked her hips restlessly, pushing him deeper into her, but it wasn’t enough. Not nearly.

Justin brushed her damp curls away from her forehead. She stilled, staring up at him, arrested by the sight of the deep hunger and longing in his eyes. He made no effort to disguise it. Here, in this moment, Sophie saw inside him such as she never had before, finding the man beneath the collected exterior.

“Kiss me,” she whispered. “Please, kiss me.”

“Yes,” he murmured, his lips lowering to hover over hers. “Yes.”

As their open mouths met in a passionate mating, he withdrew from her drenched sex and then slid home, the thick head of his shaft rubbing inside her just as his fingers had. Her kiss grew frantic, her desire near maddening. Her nostrils filled with the scent of his skin and their joint arousal, urging her to action. She pressed her heels into the mattress and lifted to meet his next downward thrust.

He growled when he hit the end of her. “I want this to last.”

“No! Dear God, no.” Sophie grabbed his buttocks and urged him to pump faster. His firm ass clenched within her palms on every downstroke, the feel of him propelling his cock into her so erotic she began to plead softly.

“Whatever you want,” she promised in a rush, desperate to give him pleasure, desperate to break through his iron control. “Anything you want…please…faster…”

Justin pulled back and lunged hard, pounding deep. “Is this what you want?”

“Yes! Yes.” She writhed upward, straining with him, her body moving as a thing separate from her mind, driven by an animal greed that should have shocked her. Instead, she was empowered by it.

Embracing her need for him with all the passion she possessed, Sophie took him as hard as he took her, accepting the fierce driving thrusts of his cock with no restraint. Relishing the sounds of his guttural cries of pleasure.

Then he plunged into the root, swiveling his hips to grind against her. Her neck arched, her eyes flew wide. “Justin?” she gasped, taut as a bow, suspended on the edge of something wonderful.

“Come, Sophie,” he crooned breathlessly, stroking in measured rhythm. “Come, and I will come with you.”

Arms around his neck, she pressed her cheek to his and shivered into orgasm with his name on her lips. As he promised, he followed, holding her, loving her, supporting her.

Just as he always had.

Chapter Six

Justin sprawled naked atop the counterpane, one arm tucked behind his head, the other holding Sophie close to his side. The fire in the grate burned low, the tapers extinguished. Her fingers wandered idly across his chest, and her leg was tossed over his. As far as heaven went, he was fairly certain this was it.

“What is your life like with your son?” he asked.

“It’s wonderful.” Her tone held a soft breathy quality of happiness. “Every day is an adventure. You never know when you will find a toad in your bed or a grasshopper loose in your dining room. Some nights there are monsters in the armoire and on others, there are faeries in the air.”

“I would enjoy that, I think.”

He felt her smile against his skin. “You will be a wonderful father, I’m sure. I realize now that it was only my own insecurities that made me feel as if you looked unfavorably upon me. You were merely trying to protect me from myself. I think you will be somewhat of a mother hen, fussing after your progeny and taking great pains to ensure their safety.”

He snorted.

“And that snort,” she commented. “I used to think it was arrogant and dismissive. Now I collect that you make that noise when you are embarrassed by praise.”

“Provoking wench. Is the only way to keep you from teasing me to make love to you? You are much more agreeable then. Tractable even.”

She hugged him tightly. “You are quite good at the business, you know. I did not know that I could…feel like that…” she exhaled in a rush, “while you are inside me.”

He looked down at her. “An orgasm?”

“I have had them before,” she amended quickly, lifting her head to look at him. With her face framed in a riot of short, dark curls, and her eyes bright, she looked younger and happier than when she had arrived. Pushing his fingers into her hair, he massaged her scalp, finding deep joy in his right to touch her as he wished.

“But not during intercourse?” He smiled. “I hope you enjoyed it. I intend to repeat the experience as often as possible.”

She sighed forlornly. “I would love to stay, but time draws short. The sun will rise soon.”

He cupped her cheek. “Only hours separate my body from yours.”

Sophie pushed up, baring her curves to his gaze. In the faint orange glow from the banked fire, she looked like a pagan sexual goddess. His cock twitched in appreciation of the view.

“What are you saying?” she asked with a frown.

“I am saying that I will have you again tonight, if not before then. Do not be startled to find yourself in a secluded corner with your skirts around your waist.”

“You said you were leaving!”

Justin arched a brow. “That was before you asked me to bed you.”

She gasped. “I will not be your mistress! I have a child who shares my life.”

“You insult me,” he said, swinging his legs off the edge of the mattress and standing. “I would never ask that of you.” Collecting his black silk robe from the armoire, he shrugged into it, then moved to the grate. “Do you truly believe that I would think you were sufficient for fucking, but not for wedding?”

“I cannot marry you!” she protested.

He blew out his breath and kept his face averted to the fire. It would not do for her to see him wounded. Though it was ridiculous to feel that way, he knew. He had known from the moment he acknowledged what he must do, that she would fight him tooth and nail. “That sounded like a refusal.”

“Oh, do not be daft!” she muttered. “Marriage to me would ruin you.”

“Allow me to worry about that.”

“What is the matter with you?”

He finished stoking the new coals and rose from his crouch. “Sophie-” His voice fell to silence as he faced her. She had pulled on her discarded chemise and knelt on the bed with her hands cupping both knees. He thought her the most glorious creature in the world.

His gaze moved away from the flashing green eyes and came to rest on the Fontaine crest carved into his headboard. Immutable resolution filled him. Sophie was where she belonged and he would fight to keep her with every breath in his body.

“You are a model of respectability,” she continued, warming into a full-blown heated debate, “and an admired member of the aristocracy, and I am an example of how far one can fall from grace.”

Justin crossed the distance between them, caught up her hands and pulled her from the bed. “Lady Sophie Milton-Riley,” he said with all due seriousness, “would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”

She stomped her foot. “No, no, no, you mad fool. You said there was no way for us to be together that we could both live with, and you were of sound mind then. Obviously sexual congress disturbs your brain functions in some way. You need sleep,” she pronounced. “Once you wake, you will see how insane your proposal is.”

“I love you.”

“Dear God.” She gasped and bent over slightly, as if struck.

“I have always loved you.”

Sophie shook her head violently. “You are mistaking the remnants of orgasm with elevated feelings. You did not feel that way before sex.”

“My love.” He pulled her into his embrace. “We would not have had sex, if I did not intend to marry you. I asked you, quite clearly, if you were prepared to be owned by me. You agreed.”

“That is not what you meant!”

“It was. Kindly remember that you are the impulsive one in this pairing. I am the one who considers all aspects in great detail.”

Sophie pushed at his chest in a bid for freedom and he released her, knowing that she would pace in her agitation. It was quite comforting to know her so well.

“You might grow to love me,” he said, watching her.

“I already love you,” she snapped.

He grinned.

She glared. “But that is the worst of all reasons to wed!”

“I will marry you, sweetheart, so you should accustom yourself to that fate posthaste. I lost you once. I refuse to lose you again.”

“Justin.” She heaved out her frustration, striding back and forth in front of the fire, oblivious to the way the back-lighting revealed every inch of her delectable form. “Why must you always be so difficult? I will not allow you to sacrifice yourself for me.”

“Yet you intend to sacrifice our love for me?” He shrugged out of his robe and went to her, tossing it about her shoulders to keep her warm. “Where is the fairness in that?”

She stopped, her gaze dropping between his legs. He saw her swallow hard. “You would resent me after awhile. Society will never accept me, and that would reflect upon you. I would become a great hindrance. That would be unbearable for a socially active man such as you.”

He lifted her chin so that their gazes met. “Not having you would make me more wretched.”

“You’ve no notion.” Her eyes were luminous with unshed tears. “It is not pleasant to be relegated to the fringes.”

His hands settled on her shoulders, then slid down to her elbows. “Do you trust me?”

“You know I do.”

“Then trust me to manage this.”

“How?”

“I will find a way,” he promised, sliding his hands beneath his robe to circle her waist and lift her off her feet. The feel of their bodies touching made his heart leap and then race madly. His cock swelled between them, and her breathing quickened. The instant, intoxicating, wildly uncontrollable hunger that flared between them was delicious.

To feel so alive, to be loved by the one woman whose affection he had needed for so long, to have the opportunity to correct the greatest error of his life…it was all together nearly enough to make him shout with joy.

But the weight of their dilemma hung over them like a dark cloud. They were both highly aware of the imminent thundercrack and the downpour of censure that would follow. The only certainty was this moment, these last hours before dawn.

So he determined to relish them. He stepped toward the bed with his precious Sophie in his arms. She clung to him, her mouth at his throat, kissing and nibbling in a way that drove him to madness.

Laying her on the chocolate velvet counterpane, he followed her down, brushing the edges of the robe aside so that he could cup her breasts. His open mouth lowered, surrounding her nipple through her chemise, his tongue flickering across the tightened peak. He rested on his side, freeing his hand to slide down between her thighs. She opened without reservation, baring her cunt to his reverent caresses. A deep sound of praise rumbled up in his chest, vibrating against her skin as he continued to suck deeply at her breast. He parted her and stroked through the slickness he found, both hers and his. With two fingers he pushed into her, feeling the soft-as-satin walls tighten and release as he pumped in and out.

The sounds she made as he pleasured her were music. Her breathless pleas were aphrodisiacs. The feel of her hands in his hair and on his shoulders made his heart clench with longing. Wrapping his leg around hers, Justin ground his cock into the soft flesh of her outer thigh in a vain effort to relieve the desperate ache.

Then he gave up and levered over her. Kneeling, he draped her legs over his thighs and pushed her chemise up over her breasts. “My God,” he breathed, undone at the sight of her dishevelment. The wanton pose was the realization of his deepest carnal fantasies. “You are so beautiful.”

His fingers caressed her from breast to cunt in feather-light adoration.

“Please,” she cried, wiggling delightfully.

“Shh,” he soothed, gripping his cock and angling it down to the tiny slitted entrance to her body. “You should watch, love. It will excite you.”

Sophie pushed up onto her elbows and stared at where they almost joined. Rolling his hips, he eased into her, sinking into hot slick silk. The sight of his penetration moved them both. He hardened and grew thicker, she began to pant and flooded with moisture so plentiful it bathed his cock. As he had before, he took his time, memorizing every moment. The final surge to the root made him groan and grind against her, shoving himself as deep into her as he could go. She was stuffed full of him, a fit so perfect it made him want to howl with pleasure.

Her cunt fluttered rhythmically, betraying how close she was to coming. His thumb to her clitoris, he pushed her over, gritting his teeth as she milked his tortured cock with strong pulses.

“Yes,” he growled, watching the orgasm move through her, watching her fall helpless to the passion that had gripped him alone for so long.

Only when she settled limply into the pillows did Justin begin to fuck her. Holding her hips, he withdrew to the tip, then thrust hard and deep. Out. In. Powerful, driving strokes straight into the heart of her. Hearing the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh, feeling the heavy weight of his balls striking the firm curve of her ass, listening rapturously to Sophie’s sobbing pleas for more. Always more. He made no effort to coddle her sensibilities. She had to know how it would be between them, had to understand that while he loved her with a gentleman’s heart he would fuck her with a man’s primitive desire.

And she loved it. Loved him.

Justin’s skin misted with sweat, then dripped with it, and still it went on, his fingertips bruising her flesh as he held her down. Pumping her to orgasm again so he could see the startled pleasure drift across her features and the way her green eyes dazed in the throes. As she convulsed around him, he released his control, tossing his head back with a guttural cry. The climax shook him, making him shudder and jerk violently with every hard, thick spurt of his seed inside her.

His jaw ached with the force with which he clenched it and he lowered into her open arms with gratitude. Nestled against her breast, he listened to her heart’s desperate beating.

“I love you,” she whispered, stroking the perspiration-slick length of his back. “Whatever happens, know that I return the depth of your affection.”

“I will marry you,” he returned, kissing the nipple closest to his mouth. “And I will know how you feel, because you shall tell me every day.”

She said nothing, but her silence spoke a sad farewell.

Justin closed his eyes, and began to plan.

Chapter Seven

Freshly bathed with his hair still damp, the marquess paced in his study with his hands clasped at the small of his back. The hour was early, Sophie was still abed in her own chamber, having left his rooms just before dawn. He had hated that parting, temporary though it was. Hated that they could not be lazy and lie abed all day, wrapped up in each other.

“My lord, you summoned?”

He paused, turning to face the countess and his mother as they entered. He greeted them, gestured for them to sit on the settee, and then leaned back against the front of his desk.

With his arms crossed, he asked, “When you both conceived of this matchmaking scheme, did you consider all of the many impediments to marital bliss?”

The women shot furtive glances at one another.

“We’ve no notion of what you are talking about,” his mother said finally.

Narrowing his gaze, the marquess studied his mother’s gown, a near garish mix of flowery profusion that she somehow managed to make attractive. “Lady Sophie has declined my proposal of marriage.”

Twin smiles spread across the two faces before him. “Bright girl,” the countess said with laughter in her voice, “I would not wish to be sneezed upon for the rest of my life either.”

His mother grinned. “And this will spare your dogs from certain separation from you.”

“I’ve no notion,” he said dryly, “how I have retained even a modicum of sanity after spending most of my life around you three troublesome females.”

“Forgive us, my lord,” Lady Cardington said, blinking in an exaggerated show of innocence. “You must collect that we were under the impression that you and Lady Sophie did not suit.”

His mouth curved. “If you think I am too proud to admit that you were correct, you shall be disappointed.” Justin knew the effort his mother must be exerting to contain a crow of delight.

“So you wish to wed her?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“And what of the boy?” the countess asked.

“He is a part of Sophie. His position in my life will equal hers.”

“Oh, this is wonderful!” his mother said, clapping her hands gleefully.

“Yes, yes!” agreed the countess.

Affording the two a moment to relish their near success, Justin’s gaze drifted around the room. Decorated in various shades of gray and blue and filled with stained walnut furnishings, it reminded him of a stormy day. He found himself contemplating what Sophie would think of such a somber setting. He wondered what shades she might have chosen. A lighter palette, he imagined. One more cheerful to suit her carefree personality.

He was madly in love, obviously. When a man spent his quiet moments reflecting on a woman’s taste in decor, there was no denying it.

His mother’s spine straightened and her face took on a suitably serious mien. “Does she display a similar interest in you?”

“Yes.” He rubbed his jaw, remembering the feel of Sophie’s mouth moving across it with ardent kisses. “But she refuses to wed me with her tattered reputation. Somehow, we must make her acceptable. I assume you both would have considered this before pairing us.”

The countess sighed. “She requires a great deal of support and something that would make her irresistible.”

“You must first begin with Lord Rothschild,” his mother instructed. “Restoring her brother’s favor to her would be of immense help.”

Justin nodded. “Yes, of course.” He had considered that this morning while bathing, and believed he knew how he might convince the earl to bend in this.

“Then we must find something sensational, something that will make it much more advantageous to accept her than it is to snub her. Truly, if that Princess Caraboo creature can manage the task, our darling Sophie can do the same.”

“Dear God.” He cringed. “We want her to be acceptable, not a blasted curiosity!”

“No, no, of course not,” Lady Cardington agreed. “We are simply pointing out that nearly anyone can become a welcome and celebrated personage under the right circumstances.”

“I will leave those machinations up to you,” he said, shaking his head. “That part of the affair sounds as if it needs a female mind to concoct it. But whatever mischief you conceive of, I want to hear of it before you act. Do I make myself clear?”

Two heads nodded in unison.

“I am departing shortly to attend to the matter of Rothschild.” He pointed a chastising finger at both of them. “Keep Sophie out of trouble until I return.”

“Yes, my lord.”

He moved toward the door, pausing to kiss his mother and the countess on their cheeks. “Thank you,” he murmured. “I owe you both a great deal for your meddling.”

“We do not meddle!” the dowager protested, affronted.

Shaking his head, Justin departed.

A sennight later, impatience was riding the marquess hard as he vaulted down from his carriage in front of the impressive three-story columned entrance to Remington’s Gentlemen’s Club in London. Taking the steps two at a time, Justin strode swiftly through the watered glass double doors held open by black and silver liveried footmen. As he handed his hat and gloves to the waiting attendant, he took stock of his surroundings. Lucien Remington was acknowledged as a man of impeccable taste, and he ensured his establishment’s position as the most exclusive in England by continuously updating the decor. Remington did not follow prevailing inclinations in design. He set the standard for them.

Justin noted the multitude of improvements with a suitably appreciative eye. The lay of the rooms remained the same. Straight ahead was the gaming area, which was the center of all business. From there, one could access the stairs to the fencing studio, courtesans, and private rooms above. The pugilist rings were on the lower floor. To the left, the bar and kitchen. Justin’s destination-Lucien Remington’s office-was to the right and he turned in that direction without further delay.

“Good afternoon, Lord Fontaine,” the secretary greeted, leaping to his feet from his position behind a desk. He reached for the knob of the nearby door and opened it, ushering Justin in with due haste.

Remington glanced up at the intrusion and stood upon recognizing his expected visitor. “My lord.” He bowed slightly in welcome.

“Remington.”

The marquess’s gaze swept across the room. The first thing one noticed upon entering was the carved mahogany desk that directly faced the door. The second, was the massive painting that hung above the fireplace. From there, the lovely Lady Julienne smiled, her dark eyes bright with happiness and love. Two strapping lads with the dark hair of their father stood behind either shoulder, and a young girl with the golden hair of their mother sat at her feet.

“Your wife grows lovelier by the day.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” The softening of Remington’s features as he glanced at the portrait revealed how deeply he loved his wife, a gently bred earl’s daughter who had rejected Society in favor of a love match with a bastard. Once Remington had been a gazetted rake, his black-as-pitch hair and irises a unique shade of near purple had been irresistible to most women. Now he was known as a man unfashionably devoted to his spouse.

“You are a fortunate man,” Justin said, feeling no ill will. Julienne had made the best choice for her happiness. Yes, marriage to him would have afforded her the social status due a woman of her breeding, but he knew that he would not have made her as content as Remington did.

“Yes,” Remington agreed, “fairly impressive for a mongrel, some say.”

Justin returned his attention to his host, finding Remington’s lauded eyes filled with laughter as he alluded to the time when they had been rivals for Julienne’s affections and Justin had disparaged Remington for his common breeding.

“You have not yet forgotten?” Justin asked, taking a seat before Remington’s desk. The surface was littered with piles of paperwork, betraying the breadth of Remington’s empire. The product of a long-standing romance between a demimondaine and a duke, his obscene wealth had been hard-won and was a source of great envy.

“I will never forget it, my lord.” Remington moved to the row of decanters on the nearby console. “The moment those words were spoken, it was an uphill battle for you to win Julienne. I am not usually grateful for aristocratic arrogance, but in this case, I have made an exception.”

Accepting the proffered libation, Justin smiled. “You will be surprised to learn the reason why I am here today, Remington. I do wish I could preserve the look on your face when I tell you.”

“Hmm…” Remington resumed his seat, held his snifter in both hands, and arched both brows expectantly.

“Lord Rothschild is a member of your club, is he not?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“Excellent. Perhaps you have extended credit to him in the past?”

Remington’s gaze narrowed. “Where is this leading, my lord?”

“To a file of information, I hope,” Justin said blithely. “You see, I wish to marry his sister, who is quite ruined. I would wed her regardless, but the obstinate woman refuses out of concern for me. She was disowned by Rothschild when the scandal broke and I am certain that adds to her reticence. Therefore, I must persuade him to accept her back into the fold. Publicly and dramatically.”

His smile turned into a grin as Remington’s face took on a noticeably shocked cast.

“For clarification, Fontaine: Are you asking me to disclose private information about a peer so that you may extort his cooperation in order to marry his scandalous, ostracized sibling?”

“Exactly! Extraordinary, is it not? Who would have guessed that I would one day do something so dastardly? And with such glee?”

“Not I,” Remington said wryly. “I begin to think I was lucky that you conceded Julienne so easily.”

Justin considered the man across from him carefully. “Oh?”

“You said you would fight for her, yet you never truly did. You could have been a grave threat to me, had you chosen to be.”

“She was in love with you and you made it clear that you reciprocated her feelings. You both had my reluctant sympathy. I did think she was daft to choose you, however. Gads, to think of the social heights she could have achieved as my wife!”

“Ah, now I recognize you, my lord,” Remington said, laughing. Setting down his snifter he pushed to his feet and moved to the shelves on the wall to the left of the grate. Some action on his part exposed a hidden doorway, which in turn led to a hidden gallery. Remington disappeared into the opening, and a moment or two later he emerged with a thick file. He whistled low. “For your first effort at extortion, you selected a fat bird.”

“Truly?” Justin stood, startled to realize how relieved he was. “Is there information I would find useful?”

Remington’s mouth curled slightly at the corners. “Plenty.”

The marquess crossed the room, set his glass down on the small table near the settee, and accepted the file. As he skimmed the contents, his mouth fell open. He shot a glance at Remington. “Damnation, how do you acquire such knowledge?”

“I have my ways,” Remington said evasively.

“Have you such detailed observations about others?”

“When necessary.”

“Bloody hell.”

“The information I hold is quite safe, I assure you. Aside from my man-of-affairs, you are the only person I have ever allowed to see a personal file.”

Justin nodded gravely. “I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

Remington waved the comment away with a careless gesture. “Consider it my debt paid for doing your least to win Julienne.”

“I should like to take some notes, if I could.”

“Certainly.”

A few moments later, after an attendant was summoned with fresh parchment and quill, Justin sat on the settee before the grate. A brief flash of light caught his eye, and he bent to investigate. When he straightened, he held aloft a lone tin soldier. The mental image of Remington’s children here with Lady Julienne made him smile.

“Remington?”

“Yes, my lord?” Remington glanced up from his paperwork.

“Would you be so kind as to compile a small list of merchants I might visit to purchase amusements for a small boy?”

Remington’s gaze moved to the toy and he grinned. “Certainly.”

Justin nodded his gratitude, then returned his attention to his most pressing task and began to write.

First, to his mother:

…plan a dinner party. Make certain Lady Cardington and Lady Sophie are in attendance. Also invite the following…

Then, to Lord Rothschild:

…requires a discussion regarding a matter of grave importance to both of us…

And finally, he began to transcribe the most grievous, valuable, and intriguing information of that held in the file. All the while he thought of Sophie, wondering what she would think of the man he had become-one willing to go to any length for love.

Chapter Eight

Fontaine pulled his mount to a halt before the Earl of Rothschild’s London townhouse. He imagined he should feel out of sorts or ill-at-ease at the very least. Instead he was determined and sure of his intent. In an hour or so, his life would be firmly set upon the path of his choosing. There was no way to avoid feeling triumphant about that.

Passing the reins to the waiting groomsman, the marquess climbed the short stairs with a decided spring to his step. Within moments, he was announced and shown into a large sitting room that boasted walls of pale gray woodwork inset with panels of grayish-green damask and a ceiling that was the canvas for an impressive mural featuring fat cherubs frolicking amongst fatter clouds. The overall impression was one of affluence, but Justin was well aware that, in this instance, appearances were deceiving.

“Lord Fontaine.”

Turning his attention to the man who approached him, Justin noted the assured stride and uplifted chin of Sophie’s brother. They were very much alike, the two Milton-Riley siblings. Physically similar in coloring and bearing, both tall and slender, yet there was a gulf between the two so wide they were nearly strangers to one another. Justin suspected it was due to the fact that they had been raised apart. Rothschild had been sent away to school, while Sophie resided with her grand-mère.

“Lord Rothschild,” he greeted.

“An unexpected call,” Rothschild said, returning the avid scrutiny with narrowed green eyes.

“Though not unwelcome, I hope.”

“That remains to be seen, does it not? Grave matters are rarely pleasant.”

Fontaine smiled and sank into the nearest chair, a narrow settee covered in soft green fabric and backed with intricately carved wood. “I have come bearing honorable intentions toward Lady Sophie.”

The earl’s eyes widened. A brief shocked silence filled the room, and then he threw his head back and laughed.

Bending down, Justin reached into the leather satchel he had set on the floor at his feet. He carefully withdrew the documents his solicitor had drawn up at his behest and passed them over. Rothschild’s amused gaze turned to one of bewilderment as he accepted the proffered packet and settled into the seat opposite.

For a time, the only sounds in the room where those of pages turning and the ticking of the clock. Justin waited out the earl’s reaction to his demands by studying the contents of the room, looking for any item that might match the articles mentioned in Remington’s file.

“Dear God. Who arranged this farce?” Rothschild asked finally.

“I beg your pardon?”

Lifting his head, the earl blinked in obvious confusion. “I would not have thought you likely to be involved in a mockery of this magnitude. What wager did you lose to be pressed into this?”

“I am entirely sincere,” Justin assured. “I wish to wed your sister and you shall make that possible.”

“Are you serious?”

“Quite.”

“Bloody hell.” An incredulous silence filled the room for a long moment, then the earl snorted. “Have her, if you so desire, but the stipulations you make in this agreement are the ravings of a madman. I am free of her as it stands. I’ve no need to part with anything of value in order to accomplish that.”

“True. I appeal to your gentleman’s honor.”

“You waste both of our afternoons with this nonsense.” Rothschild stood, tossing the packet onto the small table between them.

“I ask only for the items that belong to Lady Sophie. I’ve no desire for anything beyond that.”

“I will not simply hand them over to you, Fontaine, which will necessitate a lengthy courtroom drama while you attempt to prove ownership. You may have lost your head over Sophie, but I think there are limits to the amount of scandal you are capable of tolerating.”

Justin’s mouth curved grimly as he reached back into his satchel. He watched as the earl crossed the room to stand before the window. Rothschild appeared irritated, yes, but his frame also vibrated with a barely perceptible anxiousness that betrayed his concern. The earl was not ignorant. He would know that leverage of some sort was involved. The man was bluffing, as all gamblers were wont to do.

“I had hoped to keep this exchange on pleasant footing,” Fontaine said easily, leaning forward to set a sealed document atop the table. Although he was completely focused on the nuances of the earl’s physical reactions to his increasingly aggressive salvos, he kept his own exterior relaxed and innocuous.

Rothschild glanced over, his verdant gaze dropping to the tabletop. His hands were clasped at his back, stretching the dark broadcloth of his coat across his shoulders. Unlike many who found that addiction to gambling and the drinking of strong spirits went hand-in-hand, the earl was trim, fit, and known only as one who liked to wager on just about anything. Sadly, he wasn’t very good at it.

Sighing, Sophie’s brother returned to his previous seat to inspect the new offering and Justin turned his attention to a small statue that graced one of several artfully arranged bookcases. The many volumes that lined the shelves were displayed in every possible fashion-on their sides, spine outward, and front-facing. In between, various antiquities waited to be admired and coveted.

It was not long before the earl made some hideous noise that was something between a strangled gasp and a sob.

“By God!” Rothschild sputtered. “Where did you get this information?”

The marquess shrugged. “I have my ways.”

“You cannot prove any of this!”

“Do I need to?” Looking at the earl, Fontaine raised both brows in silent query. “What a deucedly nasty business that would be. Of course, it might be worth it. Your scandal might take some of the attention away from mine. Yours is decidedly more lurid, I think you will agree.”

Rothschild’s face flushed with anger and embarrassment. “You do not understand my position.”

“Oh, I think I do. You and Sophie were bequeathed a modest collection of Egyptian antiquities by a French relative, and you are presently using them to guarantee your markers.”

“So, you see, I must retain them.”

“No, you must see that I do not care about your predicament. I might have been more accommodating had you shown even a modicum of support for your sister when she needed it most, but you did not, so I shall not.” The marquess rocked back on his heels. “Instead I shall drag you unwillingly up to my estate in Northamptonshire where you will dine with your sister and several highly esteemed members of the peerage who happen to have a fascination with antiquities. You will support her now, as you did not previously.”

A cold, hard edge entered Rothschild’s eyes. “You think you can make her suitable? You are delusional.”

“I think I can make her an Eccentric, and that, Rothschild, will make her acceptable to other Eccentrics. It is a beginning.”

What followed was a tedious hour of complaining, cajoling, and conniving that resulted nevertheless in Rothschild ordering his valet to prepare for a journey north. With such a disagreeable companion in tow, Justin anticipated a miserable trip, but as he watched the loading of the earl’s trunks onto the rear of his coach, he was grinning from ear to ear regardless.

“Dear heavens, he’s done it!” the dowager Lady Fontaine cried.

She lifted her gaze from the boldly slashed penmanship of her son, and smiled at her dearest friend. She had gratefully accepted the invitation to join the countess and Sophie on their return to their residence, despite her concern that her removal from Northamptonshire would delay word. She should not have worried. Fontaine had written directly to the Cardington dower property, having anticipated her inability to wait out news alone. “He has convinced Lord Rothschild to assist us.”

Lady Cardington clapped her hands, the tension that had gripped her slight frame upon the arrival of the post dissipating with a relieved smile. “His lordship has hidden depths. Of course, we both knew that.”

“Yes, we did.” The dowager refolded the short missive carefully. “But now we have work to do, Caroline.”

Blowing out her breath, Lady Cardington set her shoulders back. “What is required of us?”

“We are to arrange a gathering.” Leaning forward, the dowager passed the letter over. “I have no notion how we shall manage the guest list he has demanded.”

Caroline rose from her floral slipper chair and moved to the walnut escritoire in the corner where her spectacles waited. “We shall lie and elaborate.” She gazed out the window to where Sophie walked beside Thomas in the rear garden. “We need only to entice them to come. The rest we leave to Fontaine and Sophie.”

“Did you truly attempt to climb to the top of the pagoda?”

Sophie glanced down at her son with a sheepish smile. “I did.”

“I am glad I was not here to see it,” Thomas said, gazing up at her with Langley’s dark eyes. “I would have been frightened for you.”

“Then perhaps you can understand why I was so frightened when I found you attempting the feat yourself.”

“I thought you were angry.”

She set her hand atop his unruly chocolate brown waves. “No, not angry, darling. Terrified.”

Looking at the structure, she remembered fragments of the day when Fontaine had caught her hanging from the roof’s edge.

“By God, you mad creature!” he’d cried, just before he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her free, spilling them both to the grass in a tangle of limbs.

He had been shaking with fury, or so she had believed at the time. Now she realized how he must have felt and her heart hurt. How could she have been so blind to his feelings for her?

She sighed. She suspected she knew why. Confusion at the loss of her parents and the lack of connection to her only sibling had made it difficult for her to perceive affection. She had been angry at the world, and therefore saw only anger returned to her.

“I have been invited to visit the Fontaine estate again,” Sophie said, dropping her hand to link fingers with Thomas’s grubby ones. They rounded the corner and she gestured to a crescent-shaped marble bench beneath a tree.

“I like Lady Fontaine.”

“So do I.” Although it was Justin who had requested her return in a short but sweet note that offered a chance at happiness. However, there was more at stake than her feelings. “Would you be upset if I went?”

Thomas appeared to consider the question carefully. “You have been sad since you returned.”

Sophie blinked, startled that he had been perceptive enough to notice. “I miss a friend.”

“Will you see your friend again when you go?”

“Yes.”

“Then I will not be upset, though I will miss you.”

With watering eyes, Sophie pulled Thomas into her lap and hugged him tightly to her. He wriggled and squirmed, protesting indignantly. And then he settled into her arms with an exasperated sigh.

“Thank you,” she said, when she had collected herself.

He squeezed her back and then climbed off her lap. “Since I cannot climb, can we catch insects?”

“I suppose.”

With a whoop of joy, Thomas led the way to the nearest bush. And for the first time in a very long time, Sophie felt hope.

Chapter Nine

Sophie jumped when the knock came to the door of her guest chamber in the Fontaine manse. She was not high-strung by nature-energetic, yes, but prone to nerves, no-but on this occasion she could not help it. When she had arrived that afternoon she’d taken note of the Rothschild crest on the travel coach in the drive. For the first time in many years she was sharing the same roof as her brother. In fact, she was fairly certain it was the first time they had been in the same province since their parents had passed on.

She rushed to the door and pulled it open. “Lady Fontaine,” she greeted as she saw who called on her.

The dowager was already dressed for dinner, her slender figure encased in cream colored satin skirts capped with a forest green bodice. Her blonde hair was artfully curled and her wrists, ears, and throat were adorned with brilliant emeralds rimmed with diamonds. Altogether, she presented a picture of elegant, affluent, mature beauty, and the care she displayed in her choice of attire was a vivid reminder of how important tonight would be.

“Lady Sophie.”

Dipping into a swift curtsy, Sophie hoped she hid her disappointment. As focused as she was on Rothschild, she was equally focused on Fontaine. To know that he was so close…to imagine him relaxed in his den, the place where he had loved her so ardently and so skillfully…

Her body thrummed in response to her yearning, and she released her breath in a rush. She had hoped to find him on the opposite side of the door, although she had known it would be far too risky an action for him to take with so many guests about. Her silly heart did not care about the reasonableness of its expectations. It cared only about its infatuation with Justin.

“Do not tax yourself worrying,” the dowager said with a reassuring curve to her lips, misunderstanding. “I am duly impressed with Fontaine’s arrangements and feel comfortable advising you to leave everything within his capable hands.”

Sophie nodded. “I trust him.”

“Of course you do. He is a most trustworthy man. He does nothing in half-measure. You can be certain that he has no doubts regarding the outcome of this evening. He would not risk your unhappiness.”

Sophie lifted her chin and smiled. The thought of her love for Justin straightened her spine and strengthened her determination to make the night a success, whatever he had planned. “I will make him happy.”

“I know you will.” The dowager gestured down the hall. “I offer you the use of my abigail and my rooms for dressing. Everything you need awaits you there.”

It was odd that the dowager would see to such a task herself, rather than sending her maid to Sophie, but Sophie didn’t question the offer, or how it was presented. She simply expressed her gratitude and followed Lady Fontaine down the gallery until they reached their destination.

Stepping into the lovely suite of rooms decorated in varying shades of gold, wine, and pink, Sophie was immediately arrested by the profusion of boxes set atop the chaise. Big and small, it appeared that every size and shape imaginable was represented.

“I took the liberty of peeking,” the countess confessed. “Fontaine has excellent taste. I hope you agree.”

The thought of wearing garments selected by the marquess caused a low quiver of excitement in Sophie’s belly.

“He also spent much of this afternoon upstairs in the nursery,” Lady Fontaine continued, “finding and setting aside his favorite toys from childhood for Master Thomas.”

Sophie’s eyes stung at the mental image those words evoked. The countess seemed to understand. After a gentle squeeze of Sophie’s shoulder, she departed the room in silence.

Riveted in place, Sophie allowed the tears to fall. She could not have foreseen that she would fall in love again, but there was no doubt. She was giddy with it.

The door reopened and then closed behind her. The sudden flare of awareness across her skin revealed the identity of her visitor.

She inhaled deeply, then turned to face him. Justin lounged against the closed portal in a sultry pose so rakish it aroused a hot, carnal longing. He had loved her body long and well, and she craved more of the same.

“My lord,” she breathed, dipping into a slow curtsy. She could not move any faster. The sight of him made her heart race until she felt dizzy. She stared, drinking him in, unable to do otherwise. He was different now than he had ever been. The infamous, chilly hauteur was nowhere to be found. He was warm and vibrant, the air around him charged with energy.

“My lady,” he returned, the corner of his mouth lifting as he straightened and came toward her. Dressed in tight breeches, white waistcoat, and artfully tied cravat, he was devastatingly handsome. The effect he had on her was so powerful that despite the gloves he wore, when he lifted her hand to his lips, her skin tingled.

“You mustn’t look at me in that manner in front of the others,” she whispered.

“In what manner?”

“As if you are besotted.”

The slow curving of his sensual mouth made her heart race. “I have always looked at you this way. After all these years, I cannot change it now.”

“Justin…”

“You must be unaware of how you look at me. I may look besotted, but your returning perusal is indecent.”

“Indecent?”

“As if you wish to lick me from head to toe, and nibble on everything in between.”

The scent of starch and bergamot teased her nostrils. He was so close, she could feel the warmth that radiated from him.

“I do wish to do that,” she admitted.

Her confession elicited a groan from deep in his throat, followed immediately by the banding of his arms around her and the lifting of her feet from the floor. Tilting his head, he took her mouth with a passion that stole her wits. Sophie could only cling to his broad shoulders and kiss him back with like desperation.

He pulled back with a deep timbral laugh, turning his head when she pursued him for more. “I did not come here for this, love.”

Sophie stuck her lower lip out in a pout, and he nipped it playfully with his teeth. “Did you miss me?” he purred.

“Sometimes.” He arched an arrogant brow and she wrinkled her nose. “Most of the time.”

Fontaine grinned.

“All of the time,” she amended, blushing.

“How lovely you are when you blush,” he murmured in an intimate, possessive tone that made her toes curl. He pressed his lips to the tip of her nose and then set her down.

“What have you planned?” she asked, studying him for signs of unease. She found none.

“In the family parlor, you will find Lady Cardington entertaining an elderly gentleman who is endlessly fascinated by a small statue, which I collected along with Rothschild from his London residence. In return for promised access to study the thing, he has agreed to school you on its finer points.”

“A statue?”

“Yes. A small part of a larger collection of valuable antiquities that belongs to you.”

“To me?”

“Yes.” His blue eyes laughed at her. “My darling, I adore you.”

Sophie shook her head with a smile. “You must.”

“Once you feel comfortable enough discussing the subject, the three of you will join us in the lower drawing room where your brother will greet you as if you are both fond of one another. Can you follow along with the ruse?”

“I can do anything if it means you will be mine.”

Justin reached for her again. In the decidedly feminine surroundings of his mother’s suite, his blatant masculinity was even more compelling. “I have waited a lifetime for you to want me.”

“I will want you for a lifetime.” She cupped his cheek, her thumb drifting across the cleanly shaven skin. “Will that make up for the delay?”

“Hmmm…”

“Something else, then?” Her hand slid around to cup his nape. There, the silky smooth ends of his hair curled around his collar and tickled her knuckles. She pressed her lips to his ear and whispered, “Some licking and nibbling, perhaps?”

“Yes,” he said hoarsely, his body hard and tense against hers. “That might do it.”

“So…I am to greet Rothschild as if we are the closest of siblings,” she repeated, “and discuss my heretofore unknown antiquity with feigned knowledge, and then?”

“Then we will spend the evening listening to Rothschild enlighten us about your collection while pretending that we knew everything he is saying prior to him saying it. The other esteemed gentlemen will weigh in with their thoughts and eventually one of them will have the poor manners to yawn, freeing us to retire.”

Sophie wriggled seductively. “And then?”

“Minx.”

“Will you be mine then?”

“I have always been yours.”

“You will make me cry,” she sniffled.

“No.” His smile was wicked. “I will make you limp with pleasure. Then I will make you my wife.”

Chapter Ten

Justin slouched before the fire in his bedchamber with a brandy-filled goblet in one hand and George’s head nuzzled in the other. He watched the blue flames in the grate and thought of Sophie, so dazzlingly beautiful in the gown he had wheedled out of the modiste. It had cost him a bloody fortune to convince the woman that the garment would receive more attention on Sophie than it would on the woman for whom it was originally made. But he would gladly pay the amount a hundred times over to have the same result.

The countess and his mother had wanted something sensational, and he would like to think he had managed to accomplish that.

The soft knock he waited for finally came. Leaping to his feet, he startled the dogs and spilled his libation as he set it hastily on a table as he rushed past. Justin threw open the door and his heart clenched.

“Sophie.”

She said nothing, but words weren’t necessary. Her dazzling smile was enough. He looked quickly to the left and right, to be certain she was not seen, then he caught her hand and pulled her into his bedchamber.

He locked the door and shooed the dogs into the sitting room. When he turned back, he found her waiting where he had left her. With great, joyful strides Justin caught her up and lifted her high. She set her hands on his shoulders and threw her head back, laughing as he spun them about.

“I began to despair,” he said, setting her on her feet so that he could pull her into his embrace. “I thought perhaps I would not see you until morning, a delay I would find unbearable.”

Sophie’s eyes gazed luminously up into his. “As if I could stay away,” she whispered. “I was near desperate to be alone with you all evening.”

“Well then, I forgive you for making me wait,” he said magnanimously, making her smile.

“I love you, you arrogant man.” Cupping his nape, she pulled his head down to steal a kiss.

For a moment, he allowed her the lead, then the scent of her skin and the feel of her body inflamed him. Her soft mouth was parted and moving feverishly against his.

Breathing hard, he somehow managed to wrench his head away. “Will you consent to marry me now?”

“How can you ask questions at a time such as this?” she complained. “We have been apart for weeks on end.”

“I’ve learned extortion has its uses. My title, which usually lures women in droves, is a deterrent to you. But you seem to enjoy my body well enough. If I have to withhold it from you to gain your acceptance, I will do it. Much as it will pain me.”

The soft glaze of lust in her eyes turned to rich amusement. “I still cannot collect how you extorted that performance out of Rothschild this evening.”

He grinned. “What do you think of that?”

“I think my influence is already corrupting you.” She cupped his cheek in the palm of her hand. “Was he telling the truth?”

“About the value of the antiquities bequeathed to you? Yes. Rothschild has been using them to guarantee his markers, which are not inconsiderable.”

“All that excitement displayed over that little statue…Incredible!”

“Quite. Adventurers such as Belzoni have fueled the great interest in such things, fortunately for us. Your collection, while small, is priceless.” It took some clever maneuvering on his mother’s part to lure both lauded experts in the field and members of the peerage who were avidly engaged in the topic to his estate in Northamptonshire on such short notice. But somehow the task was managed, resulting in a dinner party that would not be forgotten for some time. “You are now an eccentric collector of some means, which grants you a bit more license.”

“And my once barren social calendar has become filled with numerous invitations to display the rest of my private collection.”

“Once word spreads, you will scarcely be able to keep up. As long as those items can be seen only through you and not a museum, you shall be in some demand.”

She shook her head. “How did you learn of Rothschild’s deception?”

“I have my ways.”

“My darling.” Sophie lifted to her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his chin. “How will I ever do you justice?”

“Never mind that nonsense. Simply say yes.” He rocked his hips suggestively against her. “I have something you want and I am quite desperate to give it to you.”

Her laughter was music to his ears. “Yes, you wicked man. Yes!”

Sophie rubbed her breasts into his chest, brushing his lapels open so that only the material of her bodice and chemise separated her nipples from his skin. The brazen advance undid him, bringing to life fantasies he had cherished in his youth and again as a man. She gazed up at him seductively beneath long, thick lashes. “Now, will you take me to your bed?”

He growled and lifted her, taking the few steps necessary to reach the nearest wall so he could pin her roughly against it. She gasped softly at the impact, her arms at her sides, her hands pressed palms down against the damask.

“The bed is too far away,” he said gruffly, shrugging out of his robe.

“Dear God,” she breathed when he stood naked before her.

He stroked himself, lengthening and thickening his cock, watching her pupils dilate with a similar desire to the one that raged within him.

Impassioned, he caged her between his arms, his mouth at her throat, his teeth nipping the sensitive skin. “Pull up your gown.”

He felt her swallow hard beneath his lips. “Here?”

“Yes, here. I want to lick you, Sophie love,” he purred, his hands moving all over her, rediscovering all the curves and valleys of her body. “I want to put my mouth on you, eat at you, kiss you between your legs-” he took her mouth with lush, deep flicks of his tongue-“just like this.”

“Yes.” Her head fell to the side, baring her throat to him. He felt her hands between them, pulling up her skirts. Her movements brushed against his cock, and his jaw tensed. His gut cramped tight, lust warring with deeper, more powerful emotions.

He reached down and cupped her, parted her, finding her cunt slick and hot and soft as satin. He tested her with a gently probing finger, the feel of her grasping tissues pushing him beyond any hope of restraint.

“Bloody hell.” Sinking to his knees, he lunged for the pulsing flesh between her legs and covered it with his open mouth.

Sophie jerked violently at the shocking sensation of a lover’s kiss in her most intimate place. Her senses were overwhelmed with the sight and smell of him, her heart racing at the boldness of his actions. The growling sounds he made as his tongue flickered desperately over the clenching opening of her sex made her knees weak. He held her upright and draped her leg over his shoulder, giving her the support she needed to bear the exquisite torment while opening her further to his relentless demands.

Her fingers dug into the wall. The sounds of the ticking clock and her labored exhales were muted by the blood roaring in her ears. She looked down, watching the way the fire reflected in the golden strands of Justin’s hair. He held her open with his fingers, nuzzling his parted lips against her, worshiping her with reverent kisses. The sight of her gown held to her waist and the beautifully built man on his knees before her was deeply, searingly erotic.

“I need you.” Her eyes slid closed and her hot cheek pressed against the cool damask. “Please…”

Justin tilted his head and pushed his tongue deep, the slight roughness of early stubble on his chin rasping against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. She keened softly at the shallow, teasing plunges, nowhere near satisfying, but wonderful nevertheless. In and out. Piercing her hard and fast. He ate at her with near ravenous hunger, groaning in a way that made her cup her breasts and squeeze, fighting the aching swelling.

“Please,” she begged, twisting and arching, rocking into his mouth. “Please…”

He altered position, moving higher, his agile tongue fluttering rapidly over the tight bundle of nerves that begged for his attention.

The surge of release hit her hard.

She cried out and clung to his perspiration-slick shoulders as the climax stole her wits. He continued to torment her, to lick her on the outside and the inside, pushing her to orgasm again. This time she could only whimper as her sex spasmed madly.

“Beautiful,” he praised, his voice husky and low. “I believe I shall do that every day.”

Flushed and panting for air, Sophie was still quivering violently when Fontaine pushed to his feet and carried her to the bed.

Laying her on her side, he exposed the back of her gown and began to free the long row of buttons. The task was a lengthy one, giving her the time she needed to return to herself. When she was finally nude and he was levering over her, she was ready, her arms and legs opening wide in welcome. His lean hips settled against her, and his arms-so strong and warm-embraced her in a cocoon of bergamot and tobacco-scented male that she never wanted to leave.

How quickly her need had reached this level. And yet she did not doubt her feelings. Or his. They were simply there, inside her, feelings of connection that had made separation a misery. Talking with him and being with him were gifts she had always enjoyed. Now lusting for him was a state she had come to crave in her life. Waking in the morning and knowing that the new day would have him in it brought her a kind of joy she had thought never to feel again. It was not the same sensation as she had felt for Langley, but it was every bit as wonderful. She knew Justin so well, and more important, he knew her so well. Better than anyone, she thought. And he loved her in spite of her faults, or maybe even because of them.

“Share your thoughts,” he murmured, as the broad head of his cock lodged at the entrance to her body.

She set her hands on his shoulders. “I want to make love to you in the sunshine so I can see every inch of you without shadow. I so love to look at you when you are inside me.”

The smile he gave her was warm and wicked. It made her breath catch and her heart leap. “Ah, love. Promise me you will always be wild.”

“Because of you,” she breathed. “You make it safe for me to take risks. You always have.”

He pushed the first thick inches of his beautiful cock into her and she gasped, her back arching upward as her body attempted to contain such pleasure.

“Sophie…” A violent shudder coursed the length of his frame.

She panted, writhing beneath him. “Th-that feels delicious.”

It was more than Justin could take, that throaty praise. He held her hips down, and plunged deep.

Sophie’s broken cry as he hilted had him groaning in near pain. She was tight as a fist around him, and swollen from his previous ministrations.

“Hold still,” he ordered hoarsely, sucking in air like a man too long under water. Her cunt was rippling along his cock, sucking him deeper, luring him to forgo courtesy and fuck her until neither of them had the energy required to go on.

“I can’t bear it,” she sobbed, scratching him, struggling in her impatience, urging him to ride her to the finish.

Christ, but he loved it. Loved her. Had always loved her. He relished having her, owning her, and the way everything in his world had altered irrevocably because of her. His future, so orderly and well planned just weeks ago, was now an adventure waiting to happen.

His thighs flexed against hers as he kept her pinned, and fucked her slow and deep. Rolling his hips. Making her beg more, because it drove his lust higher to hear how desperately she craved his body inside hers.

“Justin,” she moaned, arching her breasts upward to press against his chest, their skin sticking together with the sweat of their exertions. His head lowered, his lips fastening on a tightened nipple, his cheeks hallowing as he drew on her in long pulls that mimicked the stroking of his cock inside her.

He rode her at length, thrusting between her spread thighs in a lazy, sensual rhythm, feeling her climax again. And again. Such a passionate woman. Her body quaking beneath his, stirring his ardor further until the sheets were fisted in his white-knuckled grip and he was driving powerfully into her. The tension coiled in his shoulders, slid down his spine, and gathered at the base of his aching cock. He was so hard, so ferociously aroused, he almost feared the impending orgasm.

When it came, it tore guttural cries from his throat. Killing him. He shuddered violently and she clung to him, his darling Sophie. She whispered to him, anchored him, so that the violent spewing of his seed inside her was not the loss of his soul, but the merging of hers to his.

He pumped hard and fast into her, taking her over the edge with him.

Fitted to him, the other half of a whole.

With her cheek on Fontaine’s chest and her legs intertwined with his, Sophie spoke of her son. Countless moments of joy and discovery.

He listened quietly, his hands stroking down the length of her spine. “I wish I could alleviate your concerns.”

“You will,” she said, her mouth curving against his skin. “I adore you. I fail to see how anyone could not.”

She felt his cock twitch against her thigh and raised her head to meet his gaze. Sprawled against a pile of pillows and lying amid monogrammed white sheets, the marquess was unbearably handsome. He looked disheveled and thoroughly sated, an appearance that flattered him so well she found her passions rising along with his. His big, hard body was a finely wrought instrument of pleasure, and the golden skin that covered the lean lengths of muscle was so sensitive to her attentions. She could make him groan with the slightest of touches. “Will I always be able to rouse you with a compliment?”

“You rouse me by breathing, love.” He winked and scratched at the center of his chest. “And I adore you, too.”

Sophie stared at him a moment, comparing the warm man whose bed she shared with the cooler, more reserved boy she remembered.

“We should depart as soon as possible,” he said. “I would like to meet your son.”

“How soon?”

“As soon as we can urge our guests to depart.”

She kissed his jaw in silent gratitude. “Good. I miss him.”

“I know.” He hugged her tightly. “You will be together again as quickly as I can manage it.”

She heard the faintest trace of worry in his tone, and understood how hard this must be for him. How would she feel, were he to have a child to win over? Knowing how deep the bond between parent and child was, and wondering if she would ever be even a small part of that connection, or if she would forever be an unwanted intrusion. It made her love him all the more that he was willing to make so many changes to his life and take so many risks just to be with her.

Pinching the sheet with two fingers, Sophie tugged it downward until the edge reached his upper thighs and his cock was bared to her gaze. A quick glance upward found him watching her with eyes that glittered in the near darkness.

“I want to kiss you here,” she said, circling his cock with gentle fingers. “Such as you did to me.”

“Feel free.” A hint of laughter had replaced the apprehension in his voice.

The sound made her smile.

“I’ve come to be wary when you wear that mischievous look,” he said.

Sophie fluttered her lashes innocently. “Mischief? Me?”

“Ha!”

She crawled over him and settled between his spread legs. The pattern of his breathing changed, became faster as the muscles in his thighs tensed. Her breasts brushed against his skin and his breath hissed out between his teeth. The power she held to give him pleasure was heady, as was the sight of his body, which aroused her to a fever pitch. Her hand closed around him and angled his throbbing cock to meet her eager mouth.

“Christ!” Justin arched off the bed as Sophie’s soft, wet lips surrounded him.

He had been serviced this way countless times, yet it had never felt like this. He was ready to blow. After his recent galvanic orgasm, he should be able to enjoy a lazy climb to the peak. Instead, he was gritting his teeth to prevent toppling over.

“Umm…” she purred, lifting her head. “I like this. I believe I shall do this every day.”

He choked. The sight of her mouth poised just above his cock was a fantasy he had cherished for years. To think of such pleasure daily…“You’ll kill me.”

“You’ll bear it.” Sophie pumped her hand and his hips jerked.

“Bloody hell!”

Cum beaded the tip of his cock. He watched in an agony of lust as her tongue came out and licked up the drop. The sound she made, one of deep pleasure, made his balls draw up.

“Suck it,” he groaned, reaching for her, cupping her cheeks so that he could feel her mouth open. He felt his hardness through the softness of her cheek, and gasped as her tongue lifted and stroked the sensitive underside of his shaft.

The next he knew he was writhing atop the linens, his jaw aching with the force with which he clenched it, his arms tense and fingers cramped as he forced himself to hold her gently.

Sweet Sophie was driving him insane, her hungry mouth sucking and sucking, her cheeks hollowing with every drawing pull, her head bobbing in a wild, unrestrained rhythm as if loving him this way was for her pleasure alone.

Dear God, he was going to die. He was muttering and cursing and begging, wanting her to stop. Wanting her never to stop.

Her gentle fingers cupped his tight sac and squeezed gently, rolling his balls, heating them with the warmth of her palm. His eyes widened with the knowledge that he was about to come, his throat working to warn her, but no sound came out.

With the last of his strength he pushed her away. Her response was a growl and hard, deep suction.

He came like a geyser, groaning, blasting deep into the welcoming depths of her mouth. Her hand urgently stroked the length of him that would not fit inside her, pumping his cum up the shaft to spill over her working tongue. She wouldn’t stop, the demented female, taking to him to heights of pleasure he’d never reached, then carrying him back down with long, savoring licks.

The mattress cradled him as he sank into it, devastated. Then it was Sophie who cradled him, her lush body coming to rest over his, her cheek settling over his madly beating heart.

“I love you,” he whispered, his damp face nestled in her fragrant hair, his arms hugging her close. “Christ, I love you so much.”

He felt her press a kiss into his chest. He gazed up at the canopy above them and basked in his contentment. The days ahead would bring challenges, but if the nights ended thusly, he would bear them all with nary a complaint.

“I will make you happy,” he promised. “I will do my best to make Thomas happy.”

“I know, my love,” she crooned.

“But,” his tone was a warning, “if you ever blow pepper up my nose again, I will take my hand to your arse.”

“Perhaps I shall like that,” she teased mischievously.

His cock twitched wearily, insanely interested despite being spent. “Bloody hell.”

Chapter Eleven

The day promised to be bright and beautiful the morning Justin began his campaign to win over the young Master Thomas. His mind was occupied with possible things to say, suggestions for activities they could share, answers to questions that may be asked of him. It was a dreadfully taxing business, this. The happiness of his fiancée rested on his ability to bond with her child. It therefore meant a great deal to him.

He intended to give the boy an active and prominent role in the wedding, but that plan would only succeed if the child was willing. To that aim he intended to make a nuisance of himself until they were friends. Of course, the emotions behind the plan were nowise near as simple as that.

He was nervous such as he had never been. Standing before the mirror that morning, he had rejected several cravats and coats, trying to picture himself through a five-year-old child’s eyes. Would Sophie’s son find him distant and hard to approach, as some adults did? Would Thomas resent him for winning some of his mother’s affection?

Filled with concerns and doubts, Justin took a deep, fortifying breath as the golden-bricked manor house came into view. Despite his mental preparations, he felt in need of a stiff drink by the time he reached the end of the front drive.

He dismounted and handed the reins to the waiting groomsman. Then he took the steps to the front door two at a time. Before he could knock, the portal swung open and Sophie was launching herself into his arms. His heart stuttered at the feel of her and he crushed her close.

“My lord,” she greeted, lifting to her toes and kissing him full on the mouth.

“Stop that,” he admonished, glancing nervously over her head. “What if he sees you?”

“My darling.” Her eyes sparkled. “How I love you. Thomas is in the nursery and cannot witness my affection.”

“You might be surprised. When I was his age, I was never where anyone would expect.”

Common courtesy dictated that they share tea with the countess first and so they did, both of them enjoying the obvious happiness Lady Cardington felt over their union.

And then it was time.

With her fingers linked with his, Sophie led him up to the nursery on the upper floor.

“Ready?” she asked when they reached the closed door.

“Yes.” As he would ever be.

She pushed the portal open and entered. “Tommy,” she called, her voice pitched sweetly.

“Hmm?”

The distracted sounding reply made Justin smile. He stepped into the sunshine-filled room and found the source of his anxiousness seated innocuously on an English rug surrounded by a legion of tin soldiers. Nearby, on the window bench, a governess knitted quietly.

“I would like you to meet someone,” Sophie said, sinking to a crouch.

The small, dark head lifted, revealing handsome features and big brown eyes. Justin tensed as Thomas turned his head and found him, steeling himself for an unknown reaction.

Sophie made the introductions.

“Hello, Master Thomas,” Justin said carefully.

“Hello, my lord.” The boy’s inquisitive gaze dropped to the marquess’s riding boots. He frowned, then looked back at his toys.

Justin thought he had been summarily dismissed, which tied his stomach in knots, then Thomas picked up a soldier and held it out to him. “This one has boots like yours.”

“Oh?” Bending at the knees, Justin accepted the offering and remarked, “So he does. How lucky I am to have such boots.”

Thomas smiled. The gesture was Sophie’s in miniature, and Justin’s chest tightened. He sank the rest of the way to the floor.

“You can play with the red ones,” Thomas said magnanimously. “I shall be blue.”

“Thank you. I should like that very much.” Justin glanced at Sophie. She blew him a kiss that went straight to his heart, then rose and moved to the bookcase.

“Shall I read you both a story?” she asked, in a voice huskier than usual.

“Yes! The fables.” Thomas glanced at him. “You do enjoy fables, don’t you, my lord?”

“I do.”

The child beamed. “Excellent.”

And so it was a beginning. Auspicious, to be sure.

Epilogue

Tiptoeing carefully through the maze in the rear garden, Sophie shivered slightly at the thrill of being hunted. Somewhere, her husband was searching for her. She knew that the longer she kept him waiting, the hotter his blood would run. Just a sennight ago, she had managed to evade him for almost a half hour, and when he’d caught her…

She stifled a moan as sudden lewd images filled her mind and made her lustful. She would never look at the alcove near the music room in quite the same way again.

A twig snapped, and Sophie dropped to a crouch. She waited with bated breath, then, when she felt certain the way was clear, she crawled through a small gap and emerged in the neighboring row.

“Caught you!”

Screeching, Sophie flailed slightly as she was hauled to her feet, then the maze fell silent as Justin smothered her protest with a deep, possessive, toe-curling kiss.

“Umm…” she moaned, rubbing against his big, hard body. “You, my lord, give perfect kisses.”

He pulled back far enough to reveal his silently chastising arched brow. “Do not attempt to distract me from your mischief, Lady Fontaine. A woman in your condition should not be crawling through bushes.”

“Nonsense!” she protested.

“It is not nonsense. Shall we ask Thomas how he feels about your activities?”

Sophie pouted. “You have me at an unfair advantage. The two of you are always joining forces.”

“Because we love you. He is desperate for a sibling, as you well know since he has plagued us for one since the day we wed.” Justin pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead. “You mustn’t overtax yourself, love.”

Wrapping her arms around his lean waist, she rested her cheek against his heart and sighed. “I am only a few months along. Besides, I feel the need to point out that sharing your bed can be far more strenuous.”

That comment earned her a gentle swat to the derriere. “Insatiable wench.” He linked his fingers with hers and led them out of the maze. “I beg to service you with my mouth and have you plead for my cock until I can either do as you ask or never manage a moment’s rest.”

“You have a divine mouth,” she murmured, hugging his arm. “I love it, as I love all of you. But that other part you mention is…” Sophie purred softly. “Well, it is quite irreplaceable.”

He shot her a scorching side-glance, and she grinned impishly in reply. They approached the manse with rapid strides, their eagerness to be alone and as close as two people can be goading them to haste.

“My lord! Come swiftly!”

They paused at the sound of Thomas’s cry. Turning their heads, they found him standing at the edge of the garden.

Just beyond him was the stream and by the looks of his wet pants, muddy sleeves, and beleaguered-looking tutor he had been enjoying himself immensely there. George and Edward sat on their haunches to the left and right of him, guarding him as they’d been doing since the first night the three had slept under the same roof. They shared his room now, which suited everyone perfectly.

Justin lifted his hand and waved.

Thomas rimmed his mouth with both hands to amplify his voice and shouted, “I found a five-legged frog!”

The deep pride revealed on her husband’s face brought tears to Sophie’s eyes. Being enceinte, she was more emotional than usual, but the depth of affection Fontaine bore for her son had moved her from the beginning. It was one of the many reasons she loved him as she did-with every breath in her body.

“We must go see this wonder of nature,” he murmured.

“Yes, my love.” She lifted their linked hands and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “We must.”

“Pregnancy suits her,” the dowager marchioness said to her dearest friend as they admired the handsome family from their vantage on the rear terrace.

“Most decidedly,” Lady Cardington agreed, stirring sugar into her tea.

The gentle summer breeze pressed Sophie’s golden muslin skirts to her body, revealing a softly swelling belly. “I cannot tell you how it affects me to see her so happy. She was deeply grieving when she carried Thomas. It was difficult to see such a happy event marred by such despair.”

The dowager offered a sympathetic smile. “She is an admirable woman, Caroline.”

“And your son is an admirable man, strong enough to make decisions with his heart and disregard those who have smaller minds. I knew they would be perfect together.” Shaking her head, Lady Cardington rearranged the cashmere blanket that warmed her legs. “Those two. You do realize that I have never looked at pepper the same way again?”

“Oh, dear heavens, neither have I! But you did warn me.”

“Yes. She was a fanciful child. Always concocting some mischief or tall tale. I had thought that light within her had died with Langley, but Fontaine’s affection has restored it.”

“And Sophie has shown him a different view of the world that has altered him for the better. They are well-met. Of course, you and I knew that from the beginning.”

The two women leaned back in their wrought-iron chairs and shared a secret smile.

“Beautifully done,” one said to the other.

The laud was apropos of both of them.