For Love Alone (38 page)

“I agree, but I had not held out much hope for it.”

Leaning back in his chair, Roxbury regarded his godson. “So,” he asked quietly, “when do you intend to approach Grimshaw?”

Ives hesitated. It was now or never. Logic told him that Sophy was right in her conclusions. He was also painfully aware that if he did
not
consent to her suggestion—if he imposed his will and went ahead as he had originally planned—that something extremely rare and fragile in their relationship would be shattered.

His gaze met Roxbury's, and he realized bleakly that when he had invited her to meet with his godfather this afternoon, he had already made up his mind.

“Actually,” he said grimly, “I have decided that it is not I who shall approach Grimshaw, but Sophy.”

R
oxbury's explosion was every bit as violent as Ives had suspected it would be, but in the end, his godfather, with much dire muttering and fulminating glances, had agreed that Sophy did have the correct reading of the situation: She
should
be the one to approach Grimshaw.

Ives had never won an argument which gave him so little pleasure—or filled him with such stark terror. But while Ives might have won one argument, Roxbury remained determined that Sophy know no more than she needed to, and that included anything about
Le Renard
!

Sophy, of course, was delighted that Ives had shown such excellent sense by agreeing with her, and to Ives's consternation, she seemed not the least fazed by the possible danger she ran. Sitting primly in a green-leather chair near Roxbury's massive rosewood desk, her jonquil-muslin skirts daintily arranged around her slim ankles, she had glanced brightly from one grave male face to the other.

“Oh, good gad!” she finally exclaimed in exasperation after Ives had again reiterated how treacherous their quarry was, how incumbent it was upon her to take the greatest care, and Roxbury had urgently seconded his words.

“I am not a goose!” she said forthrightly. “And it is not as if I am going off alone to some secluded place, where no one knows where I am or what I am doing!” She looked at Ives. “You have already assured me that when I approach Grimshaw it shall be in a public place of our choosing, and that you and Forrest are going to be hovering nearby. If I let out one little squeak, both of you will come thundering to my rescue.”

Stiffly Ives said, “I did not say ‘hovering.'”

Sophy smiled kindly at him. “Perhaps not, but that is what you meant.”

“Lady Harrington,” Roxbury began unhappily, having had more than second thoughts about the entire plan, “you do understand how dangerous this man is? That he will let nothing stop him? That while we will do all within our power to keep you safe from harm, that plans, er, sometimes go wrong?”

Ives cast him a stony glance. “Nothing,” he said in icy accents, “will go wrong.”

Sophy beamed at Roxbury. “You see, my lord? My husband shall not let anything happen to me. Besides,” she added with an engaging twinkle, “I shall have my pistol with me—I will not be totally at Grimshaw's mercy should something, er, go wrong.”

“Nothing,” Ives repeated through gritted teeth, “will go
wrong.”

“Of course not,” Sophy replied soothingly, lightly patting him on one lean hand. “You shall keep me safe.” She was startled when his fingers curled around hers as if he would never let go.

Feeling he was making a fool of himself, Ives tried to relax, gradually lessening the almost brutal grip he had on her fingers. He was overreacting. But damn it all, it was
Sophy
who would be facing the Fox!

Once it was settled that Sophy would indeed be the one to approach Grimshaw, Forrest arrived shortly thereafter, having been summoned by Roxbury, and quite some time was spent by the four of them working out a final plan.

Hugging the sweet knowledge that Ives had trusted in her judgment, Sophy listened with only half an ear to what the gentlemen were discussing. Ives had agreed with her! she thought giddily. And on something that he had clearly not wanted to! It warmed her and brought a glow to her eyes. Despite the gravity of the conversation, a little bubble of delighted laughter kept rising in her throat, and only the certainty that the other three would think her mad if she allowed it to escape, kept it locked inside of her. And of course, she admitted cheerfully, she was mad, quite mad, to be so happy about having won the right to risk her neck!

Something Ives said caught her attention and sitting up in her chair, she interrupted, “Do you know, I disagree with that idea. I think that it might be better if we did not actually make a blackmail threat.”

Three pairs of male eyes fastened incredulously on her. A little flush stained her cheeks, and she went on doggedly.

“I am quite certain that it would suit our purposes just as well if I were merely to, er, accidentally reveal the pin to Grimshaw, tease him with it as it were, without putting any specific threat into words. He is not
un
intelligent—if the pin is his, he will know what I am about, and if he is
not
our killer, the pin will mean nothing to him. I will not have made a fool of myself by tossing about ridiculous threats that mean nothing to him.”

Roxbury looked at her approvingly, reluctant admiration warming his cool gray eyes. “Upon my soul! She is right!”

Ives nodded, a wry smile curving his mouth. “If you will remember, my lord, I told you so.”

A laugh sputtered from Roxbury, and, dipping his head in acknowledgment, he admitted, “So you did, my boy. So you did.”

 

Riding home a short while later, Sophy slanted a glance up at Ives, who was seated beside her in their coach, and remarked, “Your godfather is really a very nice man, isn't he?”

Ives grimaced.
“Nice
is not a word I would usually associate with Roxbury, but yes, I suppose in his way, that he is nice, upon occasion.” He looked at her, a warning in his gaze. “He is also ruthless, cold-blooded, and single-minded. Remember that, will you?”

She nodded and, dropping her eyes from his, stared at her gloved hands where they rested in her lap. “I want to thank you for what you did today,” she said in a low voice. “I know that you did not want me involved.”

Ives lifted her hand and pressed a hard kiss upon it.

“I know,” she said softly, “you would prefer to keep me wrapped in cotton wool ... but while it is sometimes very pleasant to be coddled, it can also be stifling and feel like a prison when one is
always
treated so.”

Their eyes met, her heart leaping at the expression in his. Pulling her to him, he kissed her passionately. Blissfully, Sophy gave herself up to the magic of his embrace, his neck.

“I would never,” he said against her mouth, a dreamy time later, “ever want you to feel as if marriage to me was a prison.”

Brushing back a lock of raven black hair from his forehead, she murmured, “Do you know that since we have been married I have felt freer than I ever have in my life?”

“But not too free,” Ives said thickly. “Remember always that you belong to me.”

His mouth caught hers again and it was very quiet in the coach. If Lord and Lady Harrington looked slightly disheveled and breathless when they emerged from the intimate confines of the vehicle at the Grayson town house, the footman who greeted them was trained well enough to avert his eyes and keep a smooth face.

Not that Ives or Sophy would have noticed since they had eyes only for each other. With hardly an acknowledgment of the footman's presence, Ives blindly followed Sophy up the stairs and into her bedroom, shutting and locking the door behind him with a decisive movement.

Wordlessly, Sophy turned to face him, her pulse thudding, her entire body rejoicing at what she saw in his dark, intent face. There was a distinctly carnal slant to his mouth and his devil green eyes were glittering with suppressed hunger. His strong arms crushed her against him as his lips urgently found hers. Her soft mouth was his to plunder, and he did so boldly, leaving her in no doubt of his intentions. A shudder went through her at the explicit thrust and demand of his tongue, the sweet hunger already simmering between them, suddenly sharp and intense.

Ives's greed for her was uncompromising, his lips hard, almost ruthless against hers, his hands moving with savage need over her as he swiftly walked her backward toward the bed, his intentions plain. He
needed
her.
Now.

Even through the fabric of her gown and his breeches she could feel his fierce heat and his bulging, powerful shaft as it pressed insistently against her lower belly. She shivered suddenly when he roughly grasped the skirts of her gown and plunged a questing hand underneath to find her buttocks, to fondle and caress the firm flesh.

Progress toward the bed halted momentarily as he pulled her closer to him, making her even more aware of his arousal. Sophy was dizzy with desire, her breasts, her lower body, her entire
being
aching in anticipation of his possession.

She moaned and wriggled with pleasure when his fingers traveled around to her stomach and then lower, to the juncture of her thighs. He stroked the soft, swollen flesh he found there. Now his tongue mimicked the motions of his fingers, and Sophy shuddered as the now-familiar demand, the sheer erotic hunger, flourished. Oh, mercy! She wanted him.

Driven by the most elemental of emotions, Ives was oblivious to anything but the sweet, soft, yielding shape in his arms, and the clothes separating them became intolerable. Heedless of the damage he did, he single-mindedly disposed of every scrap of material preventing him from reaching the one thing he wanted, Sophy's warm, naked body next to his. When the last shred of expensive garments had been mercilessly dispensed with, he gave a groan of pure sensual satisfaction as he crushed his yearning flesh against the welcoming softness of hers.

Her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, her slender body pressed eagerly next to his, Sophy reveled in the touch of his hair-roughened chest against her tender nipples and the probing jut of his shaft between her legs. Their lips locked together, his tongue filled her mouth, his blunt motions stoking the fire which already raged between them.

Half-cradling her, Ives parted her thighs and deliberately sank two fingers deep within her. She twisted wildly in his embrace, his invading fingers bringing her to the brink of ecstasy.

Sophy's response shattered the last hold Ives had on his emotions. With something between a growl and a groan, he lifted her and almost threw her on the bed. For a moment he stared with frank appreciation at the unknowingly wanton picture she made against the emerald-silk coverlet, her golden hair spread out in wild disarray, her pink nipples taut and tempting, her alabaster skin gleaming against the brilliant fabric.

Her eyes slumbering with passion, their golden depths promising the most exquisite ecstasy, Sophy stared back at him, her breath deepening as her gaze drifted over his big body downward to the bold length of his shaft.

“Come to me,” she said softly. “Come to me.”

“Oh, I intend to, sweetheart. Believe me, I intend to,” he replied thickly.

Bending over, he trailed kisses down the center of her body, caressing and nipping gently at the silky flesh until he found the warm, musky core of her. Nuzzling and tasting, he teased her, tormented her until she was gasping and writhing under his caresses.

It was unbearably sweet, powerfully erotic, and Sophy was completely under his thrall. She
never
imagined such sensations, such intimacy, such
pleasure
could be shared between a man and a woman.

When Ives raised his head, and said huskily, “Touch me, sweetheart. Touch me as I am touching you,” she did not hesitate. She
wanted
the power, the joy of exchanging this shockingly intimate caress. Rising to her knees, her lips sliding down his broad chest and across his flat belly, unerringly she found the hot, rigid length of him. Wonderingly she explored him, marveling at the velvety feel of him, reveling in the helpless groans she wrested from him as her tongue and lips tasted him.

“Dear God,
Sophy
!” Ives suddenly ground out in a nearly unrecognizable voice.

Tipping her back onto the bed, he fell upon her, his mouth crushed against hers, his fingers sinking urgently into her yielding flesh. But the time for mere play was past, and, shifting his body, he kneed her thighs apart and sank heavily into her.

Mindless, searing pleasure cascaded over him as he felt her slick heat close around him. Her welcoming flesh clenched him tightly, driving him to the brink of ecstasy as he began to thrust wildly, hurtling them both into the abyss and an explosive climax.

And when the fierce tempest ebbed, when reality gradually intruded, they were still locked together, their lips tenderly touching, their hands moving in lazy pleasure over each other. They remained that way for a long time, until finally, with a regretful sigh, Ives slowly slid from her body and lay beside her on the bed.

Dazed,
stunned
by the power of the pleasure that had stormed through her, Sophy was astonished at what they had just shared. So
this,
she thought languorously, was what it was like to make love to a lover.

Her head twisted slightly, so that she could glance across at Ives, who was lying collapsed by her side, apparently as shaken as she was. She smiled tenderly as she considered his bold profile: the arrogant nose, the aggressive chin, and the hard mouth. He was her lover. The one man who could turn her into a shameless, demanding wanton.