The Scoundrel Takes a Bride: A Regency Rogues Novel (29 page)

He lifted his mouth from hers and tucked her close as he struggled to maintain his
composure.

Sophia turned her head and brushed openmouthed kisses against his throat.

Nicholas fought to tamp down his desire, the warm, damp movement of her lips over
his skin torturous.

But then she stirred, planted her palms on his chest, and pushed back. He swallowed
a groan as her bottom shifted seductively over his thighs. Her eyes were lambent with
unhidden need as she reached for his cravat, her fingers busily unknotting the starched
linen. He caught her hands in his, stopping her.

“Wait,” his voice rasped, the tone deeper. “What are you doing?”

“I’m undressing you.” She looked up at him, her green eyes dark with heat and need,
before she gently tugged her hands from his and pulled the linen cravat free.

“I promised Mrs. Kirk that I would do nothing inappropriate.” His words were strained
and his hands
restless where they gripped her waist. “I’m desperately trying to play the gentleman,
Sophia.”

“Please, Nicholas.” Her soft voice trembled. “I need you.” She slipped the buttons
of his shirt free, pushed the edges back, and settled her hands against his skin.

The press and stroke of her fingers and palms against his bare skin was a brand. Fire
and heat built beneath her touch.

“Tell me what you need from me, Sophia,” he murmured, unbearably aroused by her touch.

She glanced up at him, her eyes gleaming through half-lowered lashes. Color flushed
the high arch of her cheekbones and bloomed on her throat and the upper curve of her
breasts, visible above the neckline of her night rail.

“I want you to touch me.” Her gaze flickered to his chest, where her fingers stroked
compulsively against his skin. When she looked back up at him, her eyes were smokier,
clouded with need. “Like I’m touching you.”

It took all his control to keep his hands on her waist.

“Where?” he murmured. “Show me.”

The flush coloring her cheeks deepened. Nicholas felt her fingers tighten, pressing
harder against his skin. But then she slowly lifted one hand, as if reluctant to break
contact completely with him, and skimmed her fingertips over the swell of her breast,
pausing over the silk-covered nipple.

“Here,” she said softly, her voice husky with desire.

Nicholas shuddered, barely controlling the urge to rip the silk from her body and
ravish her with no regard for finesse. But this was Sophia and she deserved more than
a swift, hot ride. He refused to give in to the urgent demand.

“Whatever the lady wants,” he murmured as he took her hand and placed it back on his
chest, closing his eyes
briefly at the sheer pleasure of her skin against his, “the lady shall have.”

He nudged the tiny sleeves of her night rail off her shoulders and tugged the bodice
lower until the ribbon-trimmed edge rested below her breasts. If he hadn’t already
been seated, the sight would have driven him to his knees.

“You’re so beautiful.” He heard the gravelly, barely audible words and knew she might
not have understood him. He wasn’t capable of pretty words at the moment. He would
have to show her what the sight of her did to him.

He bent his head and brushed his lips over the satin-smooth curve of her breast, taking
his time. The world narrowed to the woman in his lap, the feel of her in his arms,
the taste of her skin beneath his mouth. Sophia murmured, her hands sliding around
his neck to clasp the back of his head and press him closer.

“Please …” Her voice was desperate, fractured with need.

Nicholas closed his lips over her nipple drawn tight with desire, and Sophia gasped,
holding him closer.

Long, heated moments passed, the silence in the room broken only by soft sighs of
pleasure. When her slim body shifted restlessly in his arms and her breathless pleas
demanded more, he caught the hem of her night rail and tugged it higher, up over her
thighs until it pooled around her hips.

He lifted his head and took her mouth with his just as his hand closed over her mons,
his fingers brushing the soft folds between her legs.

Sophia surged against him, her hands fisting in his hair before moving unerringly
down his chest to stroke the rock-hard arousal beneath his breeches.

Her silent demand drove him over the edge, dissolving his careful restraint as if
it had never existed.

Nicholas lifted his head, muttered an oath, and brushed her hand aside. Buttons gave
easily beneath his impatient tugs and he shoved his breeches and smalls down, freeing
himself.

Sophia brushed her tumbled hair out of her eyes and looked down. The thick head of
his erection rose from the opening of his breeches, flushed with deep, rosy color.
She closed her hand around the heavy length, rubbing her thumb over the moisture pearling
on the top. Fascinated by the silky smooth skin over iron-hard muscle beneath, she
stroked the length, feeling it stiffen even more as she caressed. Several more drops
of the clear liquid gathered on the head and, curious, she brought her hand to her
lips and licked a fingertip. The warm, faintly salty taste intrigued her.

Nicholas’s harsh groan barely registered. Compelled to explore further, she closed
her fingers around him once more but his muscles bunched and he brushed her hand aside
again. With one easy, fluid movement, he caught her waist and lifted her, shifting
her astride him. She caught her breath as the hot, heavy length of his erection slid
between her legs.

Then the blunt head nudged her soft entry and she gasped, eagerly pushing back against
his silent demand. He slid home, sealing them together, and Sophia shuddered with
relief. Nicholas’s mouth covered hers and he swallowed her cries as he lifted her
and thrust upward, steeping her in pleasure again and again.

Sophia frantically obeyed the tight coil of demand building within her. She quickened
the pace, sinking herself again and again onto the length of his hard penis. His buttocks
came off the bed as he matched her speed and the coil broke, sending the heat of a
thousand flames spiraling throughout Sophia’s body. She cried out, small moans of
both pleasure and peace shaking her.

Nicholas wrapped his arms about her and pulled Sophia
down to his chest. “You’re mine.” He flipped her over to lie against the mattress,
his penis still buried within her.

His mouth rested near her ear. Sophia heard his breath falter as he began to move
his hips. She wrapped one leg around his waist and held on tight. Nicholas moaned
deep in his throat, each ensuing thrust coming harder and faster than the last. Suddenly,
every muscle in his body clenched and he stilled, his arms tightening about Sophia
until they truly felt as one.

“No matter what happens, Sophia,” he whispered, brushing his lips against her ear.
“No matter what.”

21

June 10
D
RURY
L
ANE
C
OVENT
G
ARDEN
W
ESTMINSTER

Sophia’s hackney slowed to a stop in front of Drury Lane’s Gloriana Theatre. Nicholas
stood with his back settled against the brick façade. He pushed off from the wall
and sauntered toward the conveyance, opening the door and holding out his hand.

“I apologize for being late,” Sophia blurted out, accepting his assistance and stepping
from the coach. “The moment I received your note I made preparations to come.”

Nicholas waited for the hackney to move into traffic before speaking. “Do not worry
yourself. I only just received the information this morning. You’ve not delayed us
more than an hour at the most.”

“Nicholas Bourne,” Sophia said skeptically, “no more than an hour? Really?”

“Are you calling me a liar?” Nicholas asked, settling his hat brim lower on his brow
in an attempt to escape the light drizzle.

Sophia considered his question. “Well, yes, I suppose I am.”

“I’m glad we’ve cleared that up,” he replied with a wink. “Now, shall we continue?”

A fat drop of rain landed squarely on the end of Sophia’s nose.

Nicholas reached out and tenderly wiped it away. “Come along,” he urged, offering
her his arm.

Sophia shivered. Even the slightest touch and she could feel him surrounding her,
the memories more than mere images in her mind. It was as if her entire body had recorded
their lovemaking—every touch, smell, taste, sensation.

Sophia slipped her hand through the crook of his arm and allowed him to gently guide
her down the sidewalk. “As to these ‘sources’ you mentioned in your note … Are they
truly reliable enough to warrant a visit to Drury Lane?”

“Really, Sophia,” Nicholas grumbled, drawing her protectively nearer as a carriage
rolled by and splashed the sidewalk with muddy water. “You are far too inquisitive
today. Know that my sources are ones I trust. They tell me there are only three companies
who’ve performed
Dido Queen of Carthage
within the last fifty years.”

Sophia peeled a clinging, wet panel of her humble dress away from her leg and attempted
to discreetly ring it out.

Nicholas cast a critical eye over Sophia’s dress. “Now, are you prepared to play your
part?”

Sophia shook out the soaked fabric and inspected her appearance as best she could.
Lettie had done a fine job of finding a serviceable gown suited to the daughter of
an actor. “Of course. I am Annabelle Farnsworth. My father, James Farnsworth, the
wildly talented actor and equally errant sire, has inherited a tidy sum from his brother.
It is my understanding that the last company he was known to work for was …”

“The Gloriana Acting Troupe,” Nicholas prompted.

“The Gloriana Acting Troupe,” Sophia repeated. “Therefore, I’ve started the search
for my missing father in London, with you by my side. And you are …?”

Nicholas adjusted the garish blue and red scarf tied about his neck. “Lucius McVeety,
the toast of Edinburgh theatre and a dear friend of your father’s.”

“Your accent is spot-on,” Sophia marveled, “I wonder, though, do you think it wise
to adopt a persona so unlike your own?”

Nicholas arched one eyebrow in response. “And who says it is, lassie?”

Sophia attempted to smile at his antics, wanting to forget the real purpose for their
masquerade.

“What is it, Sophia? What troubles you?” Nicholas asked, the tenderness in his voice
catching Sophia off guard.

“I cannot decide whether I am excited or frightened by the prospect of finding the
Bishop,” she answered honestly, dodging the edge of a passing woman’s parasol.

Nicholas pointed up ahead to the wooden sign marking the Gloriana Theatre. “Because
once we find the Bishop, we’ll be forced to tell Langdon? Yes, I feel precisely the
same push and pull. But right now I need you to play your part, Sophia.”

Her steps slowed as they neared the sign, watching as it swung lazily in the wind.
“I always did enjoy a good play.”

“Your answer, Sophia. Are you ready?”

She purposely slumped her shoulders slightly and scraped the side of her boot along
the filthy walkway, smearing the cheap leather with mud. “There, now I am.”

Nicholas patted her hand in silent approval and they walked the remaining distance
to the theatre entrance. “And just in time,” he replied, pulling the scarred door
open and waiting for Sophia to enter.

“It’s about bloody time, you two,” a man barked, taking Sophia’s arm and dragging
her across the lobby. “Stratham said he’d have you here before ten. Last time I take
the dishonest bloke’s word. Go on with you. They’re waiting in there,” he said, nodding
at the door he was about to push open. “You’ve cut into Beaton’s morning pub call,”
he warned. “He’ll be mad as a breeding bull by now. Best have your lines memorized.”

Sophia looked over her shoulder at Nicholas for help, only to see him waving her on
as he followed. “I’m sorry, sir. My lines?”

“From the balcony scene, love. Don’t tell me you haven’t got them memorized?” The
man shook his head in disbelief, dramatically rolling his eyes at the very thought
as he pushed the door wide. “There’s scripts on the stage for you—’course you’ll be
lucky if Beaton allows you to finish. Interrupted ale and unprepared actors? I don’t
think his tiny little heart can take it. Still, you might as well have a go.”