Lady Sophia's Lover (Bow Street Runners #2)(55)

Thankful that the party would be over on the morrow, Ross bade his valet to pack most of his belongings in preparation for an early departure. While the man was folding clothes and laying them neatly in the trunk, Ross wandered around the darkened mansion. A few pockets of activity remained: a couple embracing in a shadowy corner, a card game in the billiards room, men lounging in the library with half-finished cigars.

Sophia was probably in her room by now. Ross longed to go to her. He had never been in such a disturbing situation before, having wounded someone he cared for, wondering how to make amends, realizing there was nothing he could do. Nothing short of raising John Sydney from the dead would make things right.

The fact that Sophia had forgiven him afforded no relief. The knowledge of his past actions would always exist between them. With a harsh sigh, Ross continued to walk aimlessly, reflecting on the events of the past twenty-four hours. His feelings for Sophia had so intensified that he could settle for nothing less than complete possession of her. He wanted her permanently, irrevocably. If she accepted him, he would try to make her so happy that the memory of her brother would not interfere with their feelings for each other.

He found himself in front of the housekeeper’s door near the kitchen, the small room where Sophia was staying. Twice his hand raised to knock at the wood panel, then dropped without striking the surface. He knew that he should go back to his own room and wait patiently until he had uncovered the truth about the past. He should think of her needs rather than his own. But he wanted her so badly that scruples and conscience didn’t matter anymore. Torn between duty and desire, he stood at the door with clenched fists, his body seething with sexual heat.

Just as his reluctant conscience prompted him to leave, the door opened, and Sophia’s heavy-lashed blue eyes stared into his own. She was dressed in a prim nightgown, high-necked with a row of buttons. He wanted to unfasten them slowly, trace his tongue over every inch of pearly skin.

“Are you going to stand there all night?” Sophia asked softly.

Ross braced his hand on the doorjamb, his gaze raking over her. Desire exploded inside him, making it difficult for him to think straight. “I wanted to see if you were all right.”

“I’m not,” she said, one small hand catching at the front of his waistcoat and tugging him forward. “I’m lonely.”

Breathing hard, Ross let her pull him into the room. He closed the door and looked down at Sophia’s serious face. Her lips were plum-colored and velvety in the soft candlelight. “There are reasons why we should wait,” he began gruffly, giving her one last chance to retreat. But the words were knocked from his throat as she pressed her slim body against his, standing on her toes to mold herself against him.

“For once, don’t do the right thing,” Sophia whispered, her silken arms sliding around his neck. He felt the delicate nip of her teeth on his earlobe just before she whispered tenderly, “I dare you.”

The few memories Sophia had of her first lover were soon dispelled like smoke in the air as she was consumed by the deliberate fire of Ross’s caresses. He undressed both of them leisurely, pausing often to possess her mouth with languid kisses. Bemused, Sophia wondered how a man who conducted his life at such a breakneck pace could make love so slowly, as if time had lost all meaning. When he finally removed her chemise and she was naked, she pressed herself against his body with a whimper of relief. His skin was warm and satin-smooth, his chest covered with thick black hair that tickled her br**sts. She felt the strong upthrust of his sex against her belly, and she touched it cautiously, still very much a novice in the art of lovemaking.

The shaft was ridged with veins, the thin silken skin slipping a little over the steely hardness beneath. At the hesitant clasp of her fingers, the heavy organ moved as if it had a will of its own. Sophia’s breath stopped. “Oh.”

Ross’s voice was thick with desire and something that sounded suspiciously like laughter. “Don’t be afraid.” He guided her fingers to the head of the shaft. “This is where it is most sensitive.”

She stroked and played with the broad tip, and the small slit in the center, until she felt a drop of moisture emerge. It made his skin slippery, and she circled the head with her fingertips before sliding down to explore the tight, cool pouch nestled beneath.

Suddenly he caught her wrist in a gentle grasp. “That’s enough for now,” he said raspily.

“Why?”

“Because I’m about to lose my self-control.”

“That was my intention,” she said, and he laughed low in his throat.

“We’re going to do this my way,” he murmured, scooping her up and depositing her on the narrow bed. “And I intend to make it last a long time.”

Ross’s body settled beside hers, more than six feet of hard, powerful male, and she rolled toward him with trembling eagerness. He pushed her back down and bent over her, his hot breath fanning her breast. The tip of his tongue teased her nipple, and she grasped his broad shoulders, straining upward in supplication. He nibbled and sucked lightly at the hardening peak, then moved to the other breast, making her writhe beneath him.

“Ross,” she said desperately.

“Mmm?”

“I need more… more…” She felt his hand descend to her stomach, and her h*ps lifted in an eloquent arch.

He raised his head, his passion-bright eyes glinting with satisfaction when he saw the flush on her cheeks. She moaned in gratitude as his fingers slid through the triangle of curls, finding the feminine crest that ached so sweetly. To her dismay, the touch was only fleeting. “Oh, Ross, don’t stop, please—”