Surrender of a Siren (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #2)(72)

“Gray, I can explain.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“I’m waiting.”

Sophia tensed at the sudden edge in his voice. Surely he couldn’t be angry. Not after the pleasure they’d found, the connection they still shared.

“Gray,” she murmured, stretching her neck to kiss him wherever she could reach. His hard chest, his powerful shoulders bracketing hers. She wanted to thank him, to bless him for the gift he’d given her. Such tenderness, and such pleasure.

Her mother, her sister, her married friends—in the weeks leading up to her wedding, there had been no shortage of women warning Sophia that her first experience in the marital bed would be painful, awkward, and blessedly quick. The ladies had varying opinions on whether the activity would improve with time, but predictions of an unpleasant wedding night were universal.

None of them, she thought with a secret smile, had met Gray. The power in his strong body, the passion he aroused in her, all tempered by such patience, the innate tenderness he hid so carefully from the world. There had been pain, yes. But the pain had been chased away by indescribable pleasure, intense and overwhelming, beyond anything she’d ever imagined. And Sophia’s imagination was vast.

Embers of desire still smoldered under her skin, on her lips, between her legs. She tightened around him, wanting to preserve this moment forever. Lacing her fingers behind his neck, she attempted to pull him down for a kiss.

He wouldn’t budge. “I’m waiting,” he repeated tersely. “Explain.”

She stroked the hair back from his face. “I promise I’ll tell you everything. But for now … please, just hold me.”

He swore, his coarse tone scraping against her nakedness. “I don’t even know who I’m holding.”

He released her abruptly, and Sophia gasped as he withdrew from her body. Somehow it hurt more than when he’d entered her. He rolled away, leaving her uncovered. Damp with rainwater, sweat, and tears. Cold.

“Of course you know me,” she whispered. No one had ever made her feel so accepted as this man did. She feared no one else ever would. He sat up, turning away and dropping his head in his hands. Sophia rolled onto her side and reached out cautiously to stroke his back. When her fingertip snagged on a sharp obstacle, she winced. “You have splinters in your back.”

“Do I? Well, you have a small fortune between your br**sts.”

Sophia struggled to sit up, move closer. “Really, Gray. These must be painful. Let me—”

“Leave it be.” He jerked away. Sophia curled her hand and let it fall to the bed. His voice measured, he continued, “Your name isn’t even Jane Turner, is it?”

“The name Turner is … borrowed. Jane is mine.” And it was truly hers, if only her middle name. That part could not count as a lie. Minimizing the number of her falsehoods seemed of sudden importance.

“You weren’t ruined.”

“But I was.” Perhaps she had been a virgin until today, but her reputation was surely in tatters.

“Don’t lie to me.” He shot her a hard look, his eyes awash with anger.

“You were a virgin.”

Sophia didn’t understand his ire. Yes, she’d deceived him, but shouldn’t he be happy, that he’d been her first lover? Her only lover, if she had her wish? “Yes, but—”

“Then you weren’t ruined. Though you are now, thanks to me.” He swore again. “You lied to me. You knew I didn’t want to take your innocence, so you tricked me into it. God, what a conniving little thing you are.”

His words chilled her to the core. Sophia smoothed the fabric of her dress back down, covering her shivering legs. “Gray, it was not like that. You have to give me a chance to expl—”

“You’re not even a governess, are you?”

She chewed her lip. “No.”

“Of course not. No woman with those assets”—he gestured brusquely toward her br**sts and the money strapped beneath them—“need seek employment. How much is there? Two hundred pounds? Three?”

“Nearly six.”

“Bloody hell.” He ran his hands through his hair, then curled them around the edge of the bed. “No one comes by that kind of coin honestly. Who are you then? A thief? A fugitive? Some sort of swindler?”

All of the above. Sophia clutched the blankets around her, as if they could protect her from his angry words. She knew this was a tangle of her own making, but she’d never dreamed it would be so difficult to make straight. Once he embraced her, she’d imagined, he would happily embrace the truth as well. She’d even expected he’d be amused, to hear the full story at last. But now … his obvious displeasure suggested otherwise. Fear built within her, swift and treacherous.

“Does it really matter?” she asked, her voice weaker than she’d like.

“After all that we’ve shared?” She slid one leg toward him, until her thigh grazed his fingertips.

“What we’ve shared?” He pulled his hand away. “What have you shared with me, but lies?”

How could he say such a thing? She’d shared everything with him. Her artistry, her most secret fantasies. Heavens, she’d touched herself in front of him. Now she’d given him her virtue, in a moment of passion and tenderness surpassing anything she’d ever known. And he was rejecting that gift, as though it were nothing. Rejecting her.