Loving The Lost Duke (Dangerous Deceptions #1)(42)

‘If you had not married her you would not have Isobel,’ Sophie suggested tentatively.

Cal smiled, a quizzical twist of the lips. ‘Very true. And it wasn’t all rows and sulks and frosty silences, as Isobel is evidence. We learned to co-exist and she had courage. She thought she had caught a well-off Englishman visiting America and that I would take her back home and she would live in the lap of luxury. In fact she ended up travelling the globe in luxury one week, in extreme discomfort and some danger the next.’

And the whole experience has left you with no sympathy for girlish dreams of romantic wedding days, or blushing brides and their wedding nights. But he does seem to value honesty. Sophie took a deep breath. ‘I would like to make our wedding night the first time, for us.’

Cal shifted to sit beside her on the end of the bed, took her lightly by the shoulders and turned her towards him. ‘I like that you are honest with me, Sophie. That you tell me what you want, what you think is right, not what you imagine will please me.’

‘It would please me to make love with you now,’ she admitted. ‘But I think I would always regret it, just a little.’

His smile was rueful. ‘I am not certain that I like the results of all this frankness though. Would a kiss be a cause for regret?’

She had been at arms’ length when he had begun speaking, now, by some magic, she was against him, both of them twisting to face each other where they sat. It would not take much to fall back onto the bed, to twine themselves together, to find themselves at the point of no return. ‘Not a kiss, no,’ she said, as much to herself as to Cal.

He was holding himself back with an effort that was palpable, now she was coming to know him. His body where she pressed awkwardly against him was tense, the body of a fit man, a horseman, a swordsman. His hands, one splayed on her back, one in her hair, betrayed his urgency and his desire by their very stillness as much as his mouth on hers by its heat.

Even though her experience with Jonathan had been unpleasant it had been an education and her body knew what was happening, knew what it wanted from his. And, heaven help her, so did she and if she knew that if she yielded, if she leaned into him, let her hands stray from his shoulders down his chest, down to his waist, his hips, then they would both lose control of this.

Sophie freed her mouth, let her head drop to rest on his shoulder and finally allowed herself to encircle as much of his torso as she could. Cal gathered her tight against himself, his lips moving in her hair.

Finally he released her, set her on her feet between his knees. ‘I want you.’

‘I know. I want you too.’

‘Don’t look so grim about it, we will remedy the situation soon enough. Your hair is coming down.’

It broke the spell as it was doubtless meant to. Sophie went to the dressing table and managed to restore some order. At least when she rang for her maid it wouldn’t look as though she had been embracing a duke on the bed.



This new duchess of his would do well. Very well. Cal lounged against the bedpost, willing his over-interested parts to shut up and calm down. He liked her honesty, even if it was leaving him decidedly uncomfortable. He liked the way she moved and the way she looked and the way she had dealt with his staff. Modest, honest with them too, and yet quite clearly in control. She might be inexperienced at running a household, let alone one this size, but she would not allow herself to be taken advantage of or duped by the servants.

And Sophie had dealt with Isobel’s tantrum with a calmness that surprised him. He suspected it was going to surprise Isobel too, once she experienced more of the steel spine that he fancied Sophie’s curves and femininity concealed.

She tamed a wayward curl with a determined jab of a hairpin and swivelled round on the stool.

‘Will you show me the rest – my other rooms, yours?’

‘Very well.’ He led her across to the door to the dressing room which had a bath with moulded swans’ heads and necks for taps set half way along its length.

‘Hot running water?’ She was into the room, trailing her fingers over the taps. ‘What luxury. I will never get out of it.’

‘You will have to take turns with me. They haven’t finished mine yet. I swore that after washing in everything from glacial melt-water streams to a bucket on a ship that I was going to have running water in my houses.’

‘And you did my bath first?’ Sophie whirled round, came up on her toes and kissed him, a swift, lightening-strike on the mouth, then she was off exploring the clothes presses.

‘Of course.’ Cal considered running a cold bath there and then. ‘Obviously, I didn’t know it would be for you, exactly, I just sent orders for a start to be made here.’

Did he detect a slight stiffening in her shoulders at that tactless reminder that he had wanted a duchess, right away, and she just happened to fit the bill? His imagination, surely? She had wanted a husband without emotional strings attached, she had been clear about that.

But all Sophie said was, ‘And what is in here?’ She opened a door. ‘Oh, my. It actually flushes with water?’

‘It does. Come and see your sitting room.’

She slid her hand under his elbow and he thought again that she was just the right height for him. Madeleine had been a pocket Venus, gorgeous to look at, lush, feminine, but she had never felt quite right on his arm. Or in them, come to that. Sophie seemed to… fit. Ah well, he was a duke, he could afford to order made-to-measure.