Never Courted, Suddenly Wed (Scandalous Seasons #2)(68)

“With pleasure, my lady.” With a guttural groan, Christopher flexed his hips, and then Sophie was screaming, twisting under him, running her hands along the small of his back.

Her body stiffened, her eyes went wide as she hovered at that precipice of desire, and then she was hurtling over, and he deepened his strokes until his body exploded and he, pumped his seed deep inside her.

Christopher collapsed atop her. His chest heaved up and down as he struggled to draw in air. Christ, he’d never before experienced anything like that. Every experience before this moment had been an empty meeting of desire. With his wife, he at last knew a soul-reaching hunger. He…

“Christopher?”

He grinned, waiting for his wife’s high-praise. “Yes, Phi?”

“I can’t breathe.”

“Yes, it was rather magical, wasn’t it,” he said.

“Uh, yes. It certainly was. But can you move off me a bit. I’m struggling to breathe.”

A startled bark of laughter escaped him and he rolled sideways, pulling Sophie against his side.

He never imagined he could know happiness like this. Had never known his life was missing something. Until now.

On the heels of that, was the realization that he needed to speak to Sophie about his earlier deception. He told himself that Sophie was a reasonable woman; an intelligent one. When he confessed the truth, she would certainly understand the motives that had driven his actions to that point.

Sophie inched away from him. She propped herself up with one elbow and stared down at him. Her eyes roved a path over his face.

“What?” he asked, unable to read that indecipherable expression she wore.

“I love you,” she said the words as though she were testing the way they rolled off her tongue.

Her declaration filled him.

Tomorrow. He’d tell Sophie everything.





Lady Ackerly’s Tattle Sheet





Miss S.W. was heard conversing with the distinguished hostess, Countess L at which point Miss. S.W. concurred with Tsar Alexander’s belief that the Countess would have made an excellent diplomat. Though the Countess demonstrated the proper outrage, some observers noted that she did not look wholly displeased by Miss S.W.’s words.


20

Christopher yawned and reached over to pull Sophie close. His fingers met with cold, emptiness an indication his wife had taken her leave some time ago.

He rolled onto his back and stared up at the mural painted upon the ceiling. Wide-eyed cherubs danced about fluffy, white clouds, while the robins-egg blue served as a tranquil background. A grin played on his lips, and he’d wager if he caught sight of himself in the mirror, he’d have the look of the jester who’d made off with the king’s crown.

He’d spent the better part of the night making love to his wife. By the sunlight streaming through the window, he’d wager it was well past noon. Apparently his wife hadn’t been as sated as he’d expected.

Christopher swung his legs over the side of the bed and picked up his hopelessly rumpled clothing. He pulled it on and then set out in search of his wife.

He’d reached the main foyer when Barker stepped in his path.

“Christ,” he said, a hand to his heart.

Barker bowed his head. “My apologies, my lord.”

Christopher made to step around him but the old servant cleared his throat.

“Yes, Barker?”

“If you don’t mind me taking the liberty, my lord, of telling you that Lady Waxham can be found in the Yellow Drawing Room.”

Christopher grinned. “I’m going to see that my father doubles your wages.”

“Very well, my lord.” With a bow, Barker shuffled off.

Whistling, he set out for the Yellow Drawing Room. As he neared the room, strains of the pianoforte spilled down the hall. The rapid, staccato rhythm echoed off the walls. He entered the room to find Sophie with her head bent low over the keys. Her fingers danced wildly upon the pianoforte and he stared on, marveling at her mastery of the instrument.

Her head bobbed in time to music that built to a steady crescendo, until Christopher felt like he was soaring.

And then she looked up.

Her fingers struck a discordant note. She shoved back the bench and jumped to her feet. “Christopher!”

A red blush stained her cheeks.

He entered the room. “Phi.”

“I was just…” Her words trailed off and she studied the tips of her slippers.

“What were you playing?”

Her head snapped up. “A piece by Beethoven. My mother and brother say it is nothing but noise. Mother is forever asking me to play Handel or Mozart, but there is something so powerful, so very different in Beethoven’s work. I like that his compositions are unlike the orderly arrangements Society expects.”

Christopher stared, transfixed by the sight of her gesticulating wildly, a shimmering sparkle in her eyes. In that moment, he was almost jealous of the music that had roused such a passionate response in his wife. The music she loved was not unlike her personality; bold and colorful when Society was a dull palette of whites and pastels.

“You play magnificently, Phi.”

A smile wreathed her precious, heart-shaped face. “I’m no longer deplorable?”

He cocked his head.