Authors: Eloisa James
Potent Pleasures (45 page)
And when Patrick pulled her into his arms, the moment had the rightness of inevitability. But the purely carnal, fevered urgency of that kiss was a shock. Sophie had been kissed before, so many times that her mother would faint if she even suspected, but this kiss was not the adoring, gentle compliment that she was used to.
This kiss began as an exploration and flared into summer lightning, began as a simple meeting of lips and ended with burning touches and whispered moans. Patrick broke off the kiss with a surprised curse and then instantly bent his head again, his hands walking a firey line down her back to the curve of her bottom.
It was unfair to say they were kissing when Lady Sarah Prestlefield walked, or rather tiptoed, into the salon, Sophie thought bitterly. They had kissed, and kissed, but at that moment they were merely standing very close together, and Patrick was rubbing his finger across the curve of her lower lip. She was looking at his face in a rather bewildered way, conscious that her cultivated urbanity, her sophisticated manner of dalliance, had entirely deserted her and that in fact she couldn’t think of anything clever to say.
“Merde!”
Sophie whispered, shaking off the memory. She could hear her father’s distant bellowing from the antechamber of the Brandenburg house, undoubtedly shouting for her to hurry. She knew exactly why he was in such a rush. Her father had started a new flirtation with a young French widow, Mrs. Dalinda Beaumaris, and probably had an assignation at the ball.
The thought steeled her resolve. It didn’t matter that she had been sobbing every night for a month since rejecting Patrick Foakes’s hand. The important thing was that she was right to reject him. Remember the shadow of relief that crossed his eyes when she disengaged her hands in the library the next morning and politely said no, she told herself fiercely. Remember that.
She was not going to have her heart broken by a libertine, the way her mama had. She was not going to turn into a bitter old woman, watching her husband circle the floor with Dalindas and Lucindas. She might not be able to stop her future husband from chasing other women, but she could certainly control the extent to which she cared about the matter.
“I am not a fool,” Sophie said to herself, not for the first time.
Hearing a scratch on her door, she stood up.
“Enter!”
“His lordship would be very pleased to greet you in the antechamber,” said Philippe, one of the footmen.
Sophie had no illusions about the wording of the actual message. Her father had bawled to Carroll, “get that chit down here!” and Philippe had been dispatched by a nod of the butler’s head. Carroll’s portly demeanor and his French sense of dignity precluded delivering messages of this sort.
She smiled. “Please inform my father that I will join him directly.”
As Philippe backed out the door, Sophie picked up her fan from the dressing table. She paused again in front of the mirror. What looked back at her was an image that had set fire to gentlemen’s hearts all over London, had inspired some twenty-two proposals of marriage and numerous intoxicated compliments.
She was small in size, only coming up to Patrick’s shoulder, Sophie thought absently. And her wispy silver dress emphasized every curve, especially those of her breasts. The fabric stiffened above its high waist, making it look as if she might fall out of the inch of material.
Sophie shivered. Lately she couldn’t even look at herself in the mirror without thinking about the melting softness of her breasts pressing against Patrick’s muscled chest. It was time to go. She grabbed her wrap and left the room.
About the Author
ELOISA JAMES
loves to receive mail from readers, and can be reached through her publisher, Bantam Dell, at 1540 Broadway, New York, NY 10036, or directly through her website at
eloisajames.com
.
ISLAND BOOKS
Published by
Dell Publishing
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Random House, Inc.
1540 Broadway
New York, New York 10036
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1999 by Eloisa James
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. For information address: Delacorte Press, New York, New York.
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eISBN: 978-0-307-56993-6
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