My Once and Future Duke (The Wagers of Sin #1)(63)

“If every night at Vega’s ends this way, they won’t be able to keep me out,” he muttered.

She giggled. “It’s the first time I’ve ended an evening at Vega’s in bed with a duke.”

He started plucking at the pins in her hair, which was in a terrible state. “As long as I am that duke, I heartily recommend you do it more frequently.”

She smiled, but with a tiny clutch of apprehension at her heart. She put back her head so she could see his face. “What does that mean? We agreed it was over when we left Alwyn House.”

“Yet here we are.” He’d got all the pins out, and now he swept them off the mattress onto the floor. Her hair unbound, she settled more comfortably against him, her cheek pillowed on his arm. “It means . . .” He paused, searching her face. “It means what we want it to mean,” he finished. “What you want it to mean. I’ve already admitted I have no command of myself where you’re concerned. Whatever you will give me, I will take.”

The words Take all of me blazed across her mind, but only for a moment. Her sense and reason were slowly reasserting themselves as the fever--tide of passion receded, and she chose her words with care. “I want to see you.”

“Done,” he said at once, a lazy smile softening his face.

“As often as we can manage,” she went on. “I realize you don’t wish Philip to know—-”

Pique flashed over his features. “Only for your sake. For my own sake, and for his, I don’t give a damn.” Her eyes widened, and he brushed a stray wisp of hair from her temple. “I am well aware that this is not so easy a choice for a woman. The only thing that would keep me away from you is fear of what consequences you would suffer if it were well--known. Philip’s pride will mend in time, but I won’t let him ruin your reputation in a fit of bitterness.”

Her reputation mattered because she was trying to attract a respectable husband. If she became Jack’s mistress, that would no longer be an option. Even though she had already dismissed that idea, it swirled around her brain like a fog, obscuring all reason and logic. Perhaps her Grand Plan would never come to fruition; perhaps she would be happier as Jack’s mistress than as the wife of any amiable squire. Would she spend the rest of her days regretting it, if she gave up Jack in hopes of a respectable but passionless marriage?

Sophie didn’t know. She had trusted her own instincts since she was twelve, but no longer felt sure of anything. Follow her heart and hope all turned out well? That begged the question of what “turning out well” would mean in this case. She’d spoken truly when she told Mr. Carter she had no expectation of snaring herself a duke. A duke would not marry a woman like her, a woman with a false name, an imaginary late husband, and a deeply ingrained sense of survival. Georgiana had moaned about her chaperone’s strictures on her behavior enough for Sophie to understand just how far on the fringe of respectability she was already. To boldly step off that edge by becoming a mistress, even Jack’s mistress . . .

Could she risk it?

Jack was not promising her anything more than an affair. Sophie made herself face that plainly. He—-like she herself—-wanted their affair to continue, but as it had at Alwyn House, a hidden private thing. Even as she admitted that it was too tempting to refuse—-like that wager—-she reminded herself she must savor it without expecting anything more.

“Sophie,” Jack said softly. She blinked, realizing her thoughts had veered off course. “Whatever you’re contemplating, stop. You look so grim.”

She spread her hands on his bare chest. Savor this. He was back in her arms, and she would drive herself mad if she dwelt on how and when it would end. “You don’t appear frightened off.”

His grin flashed again. The lamp Colleen had left beside the bed lit his face with a warm glow and turned his hair to burnished brass. “On the contrary, my dear. It only makes me determined to make you forget whatever it is.”

If only he could. She swirled her fingers over his bare chest, her somber thoughts fading as she refocused on having him near again. “It’s not the sort of thing I could forget.” She ran her hands up his arms to link her fingers behind his neck. “I was only scheming how I might maneuver to meet you outside Vega’s every night . . . how we might share a hack, or chance to walk the same way, and wind up here, like this, every night.”

He laughed again, the low wicked laugh that made her toes curl. “I shall contrive to make it exactly as you say.” He flipped her onto her back and rolled atop her. “Beginning now.”

He made love to her again, slowly this time, until her mind was blissfully blank. She drifted off to sleep, curled against his chest with her cheek over his heart and his arms around her, and only woke when he slid from the bed. She made a quiet sound of discontent as he separated his clothing from hers in the garments scattered on the floor and began dressing.

“The hack will return soon.”

“I wish you wouldn’t go,” she whispered without thinking.

Jack’s head came up, and his fingers paused in the act of buttoning his shirt. His eyes met hers, and for one endless, charged moment he stared at her as if waiting for something, some word or expression that would keep him here. In that moment, the familiar calculations and consequences ran through her mind once more, and this time she wavered in her determination. Just as she drew breath to say the fateful word—-stay—-he looked away.