Chapter Twenty-Six
So very cold. Sophie briskly rubbed her arms as her heels tapped upon the floor. The unforgiving stone radiated a piercing coolness that penetrated her layers of clothing. Richly woven tapestries on the walls muted a bit of the chill, but the comfortable warmth of her modest room at Mrs. O’Brien’s boardinghouse suddenly took on a new appeal. She had not anticipated how stark and cold it would be within the castle walls. No wonder Gavin’s mother had demonstrated no fondness for this place.
Gavin lit an oil lamp, casting a soft light over the surroundings. He served as a guide to the massive structure, leading Sophie, Rebecca, and the men through the maze of corridors and rooms. Finally, they came to a large dining room with an enormous table that might have comfortably accommodated a dozen hungry men.
A massive brick fireplace filled the far wall. Gavin removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and set about building a fire. Lamplight gleamed against the reddish-brown hair dusting his muscular forearms. Crouching before the hearth, he efficiently went about his task. His shoulders tensed, the sleek muscles flexing as he kindled the first budding flames.
“Each room has a fireplace, though they are not all as substantial as this one. The groundskeeper has done a fine job of stocking each room with an ample supply of seasoned firewood, though I do not anticipate the bedchambers will grow cold before bedding down tonight.”
“Groundskeeper?” Sophie asked. Odd, she’d seen no trace of anyone aside from their party.
“The gent does not live on the premises. He owns a farm a mile to the east, as the crow flies. He’s looked over Hunter’s Folly for years. I expect you’ll make his acquaintance tomorrow. He’s generally quite vigilant and will wish to verify no unwelcome intruders have come upon the place.”
Henry unpacked a large basket he’d brought in from the coach. “Mrs. Edson insisted on packing a cloth for the table. Says it’s only civilized.”
“How very nice,” Rebecca said, and for a moment, Sophie wasn’t sure if she referred to the cheerful linen Henry spread over the table or the man himself.
Sophie blinked. Truth be told, Rebecca’s interest should not have surprised her. Henry might’ve been Sophie’s age, perhaps a year or so older. Tall and broad-shouldered, his thick, dark hair barely brushing his collar, he was a fine specimen of masculinity. His dark eyes met Rebecca’s, and he smiled, a slight, genuinely pleasant curve of his full mouth.
But in Sophie’s eyes, he could not compare to Gavin. His gaze did not possess the subtle wit that lent character to Stanwyck’s eyes. The younger man’s face seemed somehow less defined, his features less chiseled. Years from now, she might well forget the look of the assistant.
She could never say that about Gavin. When she was an old woman rocking on a porch, conjuring sweet memories of the passion of her life, she’d see Gavin’s eyes. She’d dream of kissing his mouth. She’d close her eyes and savor the thought of his touch.
Gavin washed his hands in a porcelain basin, then turned to them. “I anticipate having the kitchen functional tomorrow morning. For tonight’s meal, Mrs. Edson prepared provisions that do not require cooking. I trust you will find them to your liking.”
“Rather like a picnic.” Rebecca flashed Henry another smile.
A comment rose to Sophie’s tongue, but she thought better of it. She’d never seen Rebecca Beddingham so animated, so enthusiastic. The departure from her typically serious, somewhat tense manner seemed a bit abrupt. Had she become enamored of the young Scot so quickly?
Supper provided an opportunity for their spirits to be lifted. All in all, the meal of sliced roast beef, cheese, bread, and apple tarts provided a jovial experience. Bertram and Fitzhugh imbibed in a bit of whiskey and traded humorous, brotherly barbs, while Henry’s shy looks proved Rebecca’s attraction was not a one-sided affair.
After the meal, Gavin led Sophie into a smaller, cozier room. A blazing fire had been stoked in the fireplace. Leather wing chairs faced the crackling flames.
“Please, make yourself comfortable,” he said.
Sophie positioned herself on the edge of the cushion, soaking up the fire’s warmth.
Gavin selected a crystal wine goblet from the sideboard. He poured fine Chardonnay into the glass and extended it to Sophie. “I understand the need to keep our wits about us, but this may take the edge off.”
“Thank you.” She accepted the glass, tasting the crisp flavor against her tongue.
For his part, Gavin poured two fingers of Scotch into a tumbler, then took a seat in the opposite chair. He stared down at the crystal before raising his gaze to take in her face. “So, Miss Devereaux…if that is indeed your name…I do intend to learn your secrets. Shall we begin tonight?”
A heated flush crept over her cheeks. “I fear you will be disappointed. I intend to sleep well tonight in a plush feather bed…alone.”
“That is indeed disappointing news, though I wager I could change your mind.” He took a drink. “In any case, that’s not what I had in mind. Not now, at least.”
“Really? You’ve given up on convincing me of your rakehell ways?”
“Now, where would the fun be in that?”
How very unfair that his eyes should twinkle like that, blue as the most precious sapphires. When he smiled that wicked smile, it seemed her own heart conspired against her.
“Need I remind you we are not here for fun,” she said, summoning her primmest tone.
“I’ve always been an advocate of mixing business with pleasure. It makes life so much more interesting, wouldn’t you say?”
She couldn’t help but smile. “Given I am anticipating a rather tedious series of days ahead, I am willing to adopt your philosophy…at least, for the moment.”
“Good enough. In the interest of fairness, I will share one secret. Challenge me, dear Sophie.”
“Very well. If you insist.” She took a sip of wine, considering her question. What did she wish to learn about him—aside from the feel of his skin against hers, that is? She pulled in a breath, banishing the utterly wanton thought. “A deep, dark secret…hmmm…what might I ask? I know… What is your greatest fear?”
His expression shifted, so very serious. “The beastie that lurks under the bed in your chamber.”
She smiled despite her best efforts. “Am I supposed to believe that is not a ploy to frighten me into spending the night with you?”
“Of course not.” He swirled the liquid in the tumbler. “Now that you mention it, would that tactic work? If so, I will tell you all about the beast of Hunter’s Folly.”
“Absolutely not. Now, that’s not fair. You need to tell me a secret, a genuine truth. What do you fear the most?”
“Heights.” The word came out blunt and unvarnished.
“Truly? That’s it?” She sighed. “That’s not much of a secret.”
“You’re quite wrong there, Sophie. My father would’ve viewed that as a weakness. I never uttered a word of it to anyone. Even my mother does not know how I detest the feeling in my gut when I stare down from anything higher than a second-story window.” The subtle note of pain in his voice was a thorn piercing her heart.
“That’s certainly not a weakness. In fact, it’s quite common.” She took another sip. “When did the apprehension start? Did you suffer a fall as a child?”
“No. Not me.” He hesitated. “My cousin. We were only lads, still in short pants, and we’d defied our governess and climbed a creaky old tree. He dared me to go higher, and higher. And I did. We both did. Until he lost his footing.”
“Good heavens, how horrible.”
“He survived, but at first, I feared he wouldn’t make it. Of course, there I was, clinging to this rickety branch, terrified I might also tumble to the ground. My father refused to assist me. Only my brother, Cameron, came to my aid, coaxing me down from that blasted limb. He was always the brave one, the strong one. Not me.”
“Well, then, that certainly explains your wariness. Now, I suppose it’s my turn.”
“You’re sure you wish to go through with this?”
“Quite so.”
He took her hand in his, his touch light, so very gentle. “As you know, I enjoy a good scandal. What is the most scandalous thing you’ve ever done?”
“Besides kissing you?”
“That was only the beginning of a scandal. Tell me, Sophie.”
“Very well.” She pulled in a breath, stalling as she collected her thoughts. “There was an incident, at my coming out, when I was eighteen.”
“An incident?” He planted his elbow on the arm of the chair and his chin on his fist. “I’m listening.”
“My aunt Mildred had pegged a respectable young barrister as the ideal husband for her daughter, my cousin Lottie. She’d hoped Felix might propose that evening, but I…I put a bit of a pall on the night.”
Interest lit his eyes. “Ah, Sophie, what did you do, my wicked girl?”
“Felix had a brother, you see. Nigel had been away at university, but he’d returned home on holiday. He took an interest in me, one that Aunt Mildred thought of as rather promising. If she’d had her way, I would’ve been married off and out of her way. I tried to go along with her plan. Truly, I did.”
“What happened?”
“Nigel fancied himself to be a sophisticate, but he was an utter boor. He believed himself to be far above my station in life. After all, I was an orphan, with a roof over my head only through my uncle and aunt’s good graces. He thought I’d be flattered by his attentions, repugnant as they were. He touched me…quite inappropriately. So, I punched him.”
Gavin’s brows rose, nearly to his hairline. “You punched him?”
“I landed a blow right on his piggy nose.” Ah, the memory was satisfying, even now. “Bloodied it good, I did.”
“Somehow, that does not surprise me.” Was that pride in his tone?
“As you can imagine, it caused quite the stir. Aunt Mildred was utterly distraught. Thank heavens Felix did not hold my behavior against Lottie. He did ultimately propose. My cousin is now a wife and mother to an ever-growing brood.”
“Sophie, you are quite the original.”
“That’s not how Aunt Mildred would’ve put it.”
“I don’t give a damn about Aunt Mildred’s opinion. I’d have paid good money to see you put that brute in his place.”
“I’ve never quite fit anyone’s expectations of me. Lottie was thoroughly content to learn the latest dance and await her prince on a steed. Sadly, that prince turned out to be Felix, but that’s another story.”
“Their expectations were far too narrow to encompass your spirit. What is it you want most in your life?”
No one had ever asked that of her, had ever cared about what would make her soul sing. How very ironic that this confounding man would be the one to pose the question. Had she ever considered what she truly desired, which experiences would bring her joy and create memories to last a lifetime?
“I suppose if I were to be honest, I desire an adventurous life. That is not to say I do not treasure the simple moments, such as a rousing hand of cards with my uncle and his mates, but when I’m gray and bashing people with my cane, I wish to look back upon my years and recall my fair share of adventures.”
“Adventure, is it? I’d say you’ve already achieved that, to a point.”
“Quite so. But there’s more. As I’ve told you, I want to venture away from England. I do so envy your explorations—the sights you’ve seen, the aromas you’ve smelled in exotic bazaars. What I wouldn’t give for the chance to experience something beyond the comfort of tea and scones and a warm fire in the hearth.”
His eyes turned stormy again. “Knowing you, Sophie, you will find that opportunity. And you will seize it when it presents itself.”
Something in his expression made her stomach do a little flip. She pulled in a slow breath and took another sip of wine. She needed to change the subject, if only to ease the sense that he contemplated her words far too intently.
“Right, then,” she said. “Well, it’s my turn again.”
He tipped his tumbler to his lips. “Fire at will.”
“How is it that some marriage-minded miss hasn’t snagged you? Despite your efforts to act the scoundrel, I’ve no doubt you’re considered quite the catch.”
“That’s an easy one.” He set the glass on a side table and came to his feet. For a long moment, he stared into the blaze of red and gold and amber in the fireplace. “None of those women were you.”
…
Hell and damnation, he was a fool. Gavin met Sophie’s rounded eyes, seeing the shock she could not hide. He’d blurted out the truth. He couldn’t even blame it on the whiskey. He’d been careful to keep a tight rein on his imbibing tonight. Damned shame he hadn’t kept as tight a rein on his mouth.
He’d wanted to learn her secrets, but he hadn’t anticipated her confessions would make him want her all the more. Her scandalous incident was tame by his standards, but the aftermath had wounded her. That much was clear. And her desire to expand her horizons beyond the familiarity of London intrigued him with its possibilities. What would it be like to have Sophie at his side as he embarked on some new exploration? To awaken beneath the Egyptian sun with her in his arms? To love her under skies where the stars had not been blurred by smoke and the ever-oppressive fog?
In the fireplace, flames licked at the logs, casting a warm, soft light over the hearth. Would Sophie believe him a cad if he took her in his arms and peeled the proper white blouse from her body? The firelight would glow like gold against her creamy skin, over the delectable curves he longed to touch, longed to adore.
Since his fiancée had cast him aside for a husband with far better prospects, a chap who had not been dubbed the spare, Gavin had never desired a woman to share his life for any longer than the hours when she warmed his bed. He’d never craved quiet moments devoted to sharing hopes and dreams and fears, to recounting pivotal moments that had indelibly marked their lives.
Until he’d looked into Sophie’s warm brown eyes.
He’d give her the world on a platter, if that would bring her happiness. Somehow, he knew that wouldn’t be enough. A woman like Sophie did not crave things. She did not seek wealth, or power, or flamboyant jewels. No, she’d demand a far more elusive prize. One he could not offer. After all, one could not give what one did not possess.
Love. One syllable, four letters. A simple word a child entering the schoolroom could read. And yet, it held the power to cut him to the bone. He could not tolerate such weakness. Not this time.
As a younger man, he’d given love a go, hadn’t he? And where had that gotten him? He’d been cast aside, all in the name of securing a more beneficial match.
He’d learned his lesson a decade before he’d first laid eyes on Sophie. One could cherish a woman. He might treasure her company and value the challenge in her debate. He’d make love to her through the night, if she wanted him. But he could never allow himself to cast aside his shields.
Opening his heart to a woman was a fool’s game.
Especially, if the woman in question was Sophie. She was magnificent. And mysterious. Her secrets intrigued him. He would protect her to his dying breath.
But he knew better than to trust her.
He took her hands in his. She watched him. Silent. Waiting. A glimmer of anticipation in those gorgeous eyes.
“I want to kiss you. You know that, don’t you?”
She gave a sly nod. “I suspected as much.”
“Would you like that?”
“Yes. Very much.”
Lowering himself to one knee, he framed her face between his hands. Allowing himself a few breaths to simply take in her loveliness, he brushed his thumb over her plump bottom lip, tracing the soft curve. She was a beauty. Incomparable. The temptation of her mouth beckoned him. God above, he wanted this. Wanted her.
He kissed her, feeling a surge of triumph as she responded to his caress. Parting her lips, she moaned softly as her arms curled around his neck, and he deepened his possession.
So damned delicious. He’d never tire of the taste of her. A subtle whiff of roses filled his senses, and he drank it in.
“I want you, Sophie. In my arms. In my bed.”
She nibbled her lower lip, as she did when she was nervous. Her throat tensed, and she swallowed. When she spoke, her reply was cheeky, not at all what he’d anticipated.
“Do you now?” Her voice had gone softer, its notes velvety, slightly husky.
He dragged in a breath. His hungry cock issued its own demands. Perhaps he should strip her bare and love her right here, on the brink of the hearth’s heat.
“More than you know.”
Damn it, Sophie deserved more than a tussle on a braided rug. She deserved luxury and fine cotton sheets. Someday, he’d pamper her in a suite, bathe her in a tub filled with rose-scented oils, and love her in a plush feather bed. Someday, he’d show her the life he could offer.
But tonight, he could love her in a rugged four-poster bed warmed by a humble stone fireplace.
He’d learn the texture of her skin and stoke the fire of passion in her eyes. He’d give her pleasure. He’d drink in the sight and sound and delicate aroma of her skin.
If she wanted him.
“Come to me tonight, Sophie.”