Till Dawn with the Devil (17 page)

Reign rammed his clenched fist into Frost’s jaw, ruthlessly ending the conversation.

“Feel better?”

Sophia smiled and nodded. “You have been very kind, Juliana. I feel like a fool for crying all over your beautiful dress.”

Thankfully, Sophia’s tears had been fierce, yet brief. After she had sobbed out her frustration with Reign, her new friend had acted as her personal maid. The marchioness had helped Sophia undress so that only her chemise remained to protect her modesty and had tucked her into Reign’s bed as if she were a child. Together they had removed the pins from Sophia’s hair.

“Nonsense. I am glad Reign asked me to join you while he was called away.” Juliana retrieved small tortoiseshell comb from her reticule and returned to the bed. Settling in next to her, Juliana set about smoothing Sophia’s tangled blond tresses.

Sophia gave Juliana a wry look. “Reign was not called away. He practically ran out of the room.”

“I do not mean to pry—well, maybe I do,” Juliana hastily amended. “Can you tell me what happened?”

A soft hiccup escaped Sophia’s parted lips. “I confess, I am as bewildered as you. When we spoke of the discomfort of—of . . .” She trailed off, unable to speak of intimacy.

Fortunately, the very married Juliana understood. “Ah, yes. Well, that is a disconcerting subject for most gentlemen.”

“No, that was not what upset him,” Sophia said, closing her eyes. She found Juliana’s gentle strokes with the comb soothing. “I told him that I trusted him, and he accused me of being too innocent.” Her eyes snapped open. “Honestly, how can one be
too
innocent? One is either innocent or one is not.”

Juliana paused midstroke. “Men are complicated beasts.” She resumed her tender ministrations. “I highly doubt Reign would appreciate us gossiping about his past. Nevertheless, I am certain you have heard the rumors.”

“I know the
ton
believes Reign murdered his wife,” Sophia said cautiously. “I do not believe it.”

“Neither do I,” Juliana said staunchly, increasing Sophia’s respect for the marchioness. “Still, others believe he had good reason to murder the lady, and there are those who keep the scandal alive.”

Lord and Lady Burrard.

Satisfied with her efforts, Juliana gave Sophia’s hair an affectionate stroke with her fingers and laid the comb in her lap. “According to Sin, this was not the first scandal Reign has endured.”

“You speak of his father’s death—and my parents’,” Sophia said bluntly.

Even before she had met him at Lord and Lady Harper’s ball, her life and Reign’s had been entwined by murder and scandal.

“And his mother’s suicide,” Juliana reminded her. “Reign has lived in the shadow of speculation and scandal for so long, it is a part of him. He knows no other way to live.”

“I have not asked him to change.”

“Of course not. You possess too much intelligence to waste your time on a fool’s endeavor,” Juliana said, clasping Sophia’s hand in a gesture to reassure her. “However, like my Sin, Reign has many admirable traits. Both of them are honorable gentlemen. I cannot speak for Reign, but I would not be surprised if he concluded that he is unworthy of you.”

“What rubbish!” Sophia sputtered.

The bed bounced slightly as Juliana shrugged. “He has pulled an innocent into his dark world. An honorable gentleman might belatedly question his selfish decision.”

“Reign was not selfish,” Sophia protested. “I do not expect you to understand. He spared me from being sold off like the rest of my family’s possessions.”

Juliana’s grip on Sophia’s hand tightened. “I understand the horror of what your brothers put you through more than you know, but we will put that sad tale aside for another day.”

Juliana was merely attempting to assuage Sophia’s humiliation. Good grief, the lady was the Marchioness of Sinclair. She was beautiful, articulate, and she had married well. What could they possibly have in common?

“Sophia?”

She and Juliana had been so immersed in their conversation, they had not noticed that Reign had returned to the bedchamber. There were some notable changes in her husband’s appearance. In his absence, he had discarded his coat and waistcoat. The tails of his linen shirt had been pulled out of his trousers, and the perfect folds of his cravat had been undone. Even his dark hair was in disarray as if he had been scrubbing his scalp with his fingers.

“I was concerned, my lord. Is all well with you?” Sophia inquired demurely.

“I am fine.”

Juliana slipped off the bed and crossed the room to Reign. Sophia lifted the covering to join them, but quickly realized that all that she wore was a chemise.

“And my husband; is he fine as well?” Juliana asked, stuffing her comb into her reticule.

Reign casually braced his arm against the open door. “Sin is in good health. He and the others are helping Frost into his coach.”

From the bed, Sophia asked, “Is Lord Chillingsworth ill?”

“Do not fret, my lady,” her husband said, seemingly unconcerned about his friend. “Frost is merely paying for his numerous sins.”

Juliana nodded, her gaze meeting Reign’s as she completed her task. “Alexius has often told me that Frost has an unfortunate habit of speaking before good sense has a chance to catch up with his tongue. It is often a painful lesson to learn.”

“I did my best,” Reign said, showing plenty of teeth.

Juliana’s eyes crinkled in merriment. “I would imagine so.” She walked back to the bed and impulsively gave Sophia a quick hug. “When you have settled, I hope you will think of calling on our household. If it is possible, I will introduce you to my sisters.”

Sophia smiled at the marchioness’s generous offer. “Thank you. I would enjoy such a visit.”

“Your friend Fanny is welcome, too.” She waved farewell as she walked to the door.

Reign stepped aside and widened the opening for the marchioness. “You also have my gratitude, Juliana,” he said, clasping her hand and bowing. “Thank you for staying with Sophia.”

Juliana brushed her fingers against his cheek in a loving gesture. “My pleasure. You did well for yourself, Reign. Take care of her.”

“I will.”

He shut the door and twisted the lock.

Sophia glanced pensively at her discarded dress,
her petticoat, and the corset that Juliana had laid over the back of one of the chairs. Reign walked over to the table and extinguished the lamp. Next, he crouched in front of the small hearth and tended the glowing coals.

The silence that stretched out between them as her husband went about the mundane tasks was straining her nerves. “My lord—Reign?”

“Yes, Sophia.”

He seemed content to linger at the hearth. “Juliana insisted that I undress and rest during your, uh, absence,” she said, in an attempt to explain why she had climbed into his bed without his permission. “The hour grows late. Would you mind terribly if I asked you to escort me to my bedchamber?”

Reign straightened and slowly turned to face her. “I would, actually.” At her blank expression, he said, “Mind terribly, that is.” He seized the ends of his shirt and pulled it over his head as he approached the bed.

Sophia’s lips parted in amazement as her ruined eyesight gave her intriguing glimpses of Reign’s bare chest. He carelessly tossed his shirt over her garments on the chair.

“You belong in my bed.”

Reign was encouraged when his new bride did not begin shrieking at his brazen declaration. After he had rushed her into marriage, and then by all appearances had abandoned her on her wedding night, it was not unrealistic to assume that his bride had spent the past hour and a half contemplating the notion of having their marriage annulled.

“All of this must be awkward for you,” Sophia said, clutching the edges of the sheet that covered her bare legs.

What the devil had Juliana and Sophia discussed in his absence?

Reign gave her a wary glance before he sat down on the edge of the bed. Leaning forward, he concentrated on the task of removing his boots. “No more or less than it is for you, I would wager,” he said, dropping, in turn, each boot onto the floor.

Her eyes cast downward, Sophia smoothed
the edges of the sheet in a nervous gesture. “The night I first met you, someone explained the origin of your nickname. He—I was told that it had something to do with a vow you had once made.”

Reign’s jaw tightened with annoyance. Of course she had heard the rumors. “Since my nickname is simply a variation on my title, the conversation must have been short and rather boring.”

With unexpected stubbornness, she persisted, “You once boasted to a crowded ballroom that you would rather reign in the lowest bowels of hell than bind yourself to another lady.”

Reign’s hand curled into an impotent fist on his thigh. He had been bitter about his marriage to Beatrice, and more than a little drunk the night he had silenced the ballroom with his derisive statement. At the time, he had embraced the declaration as a vow.

“That was many years ago. Besides, my friends were calling me Reign long before my marriage to Beatrice.”

Sophia tucked an errant strand of hair from her cheek. “I forced you to break your vow, did I not?” She gave him an anguished glance. “And now you regret it. Am I responsible for you having to put Lord Chillingsworth in his coach, too?”

The soft breathy catch in her voice spurred Reign into action. He refused to endure another wedding night in which he helplessly watched his bride sob out her regrets in their marriage bed. Sophia gasped as he crawled across the mattress
and pulled her from the warm confines of the bedding.

“My lord—Reign,” she began.

“Pay attention,” Reign said, giving her a slight shake. Her startled blue-green eyes locked onto his face. He held her close, savoring how the gentle swell of her breasts flattened against his bare chest. “I made that drunken boast long ago. It is no secret that my first marriage was not a happy pairing. The entire affair left me embittered, and I was determined not to embrace such a blunder again.”

“I understand.”

“Not likely,” he muttered under his breath. “If a vow was broken, it was mine to break.”

“And Lord Chillingsworth?”

Reign was not going to reveal Frost’s true feelings about the couple’s marriage. Sophia was already skittish and likely seeking reasons to refuse him. “The man bedevils everyone. I usually ignore him, until it is impossible to do so.”

Still skeptical, Sophia raised one delicate eyebrow. “This evening was one such night?”

“Exactly.”

Reign lightly stroked her long blond hair. Sophia grew still in his arms, but did not cringe away from him. It was the first time he had ever seen her glossy tresses unbound, and he took a moment to appreciate its beauty. Her hair was longer than he had guessed, the ends curling teasingly at the lady’s elbows. He cupped one of the curls in his hand and marveled that such a
magnificent bounty was as light as a plume. The texture reminded him of the finest silk.

“My God, you are beautiful,” Reign murmured, his hand reverently brushing her silken hair aside until it settled down her back.

Sophia shivered as his fingertips delicately scraped the bared flesh at her shoulder. “You are generous in your praise, my lord.”

She was lovely and guileless, and unlike the ladies he usually consorted with when he ventured from his lands. “I cannot decide if it was carelessness on your brothers’ part or a bloody miracle that some gent did not carry you off to a vicar during your first season in London.”

“The first year my brothers deemed me old enough, a chill settled into my chest on the journey to London,” she confessed, hesitating when Reign slid the chemise lower and exposed more of her shoulder. “I-I had to endure a month in bed. By then, Henry was responsible for some unfortunate incident and the entire family was obliged to return to the country.”

“And the following year?”

Sophia sighed.

Reign’s temper flared to life on her behalf. Her brothers were not only reckless, they were cruel. Stephan, in particular, sparked Reign’s ire. In some ways, young Ravenshaw reminded Reign of his callous sire.

“Carelessness, then,” he said, nuzzling her temple with his chin.

The gesture was intended to be soothing, a balm for the ills wrought by her brothers. Nevertheless, Reign felt the muscles in his abdomen tense as the desire to claim his bride could no longer be ignored.

“Stephan and Henry—” she began.

“Will be dealt with, I promise you,” Reign said flatly. “However, I do not wish to bring your brothers into our bed.”

Sophia blushed. “Oh. You are quite right.”

“I can think of more pressing issues,” Reign said, circling her left nipple with his finger. The sensitive nubbin puckered in response.

“Such as?”

“Kissing my bride.”

Reign lowered his head, brushing his lips against hers.

After Reign’s scuffle with Frost downstairs, Sophia was bemused by the gentleness of Reign’s kiss. His tenderness seemed at odds with his size and temperament, and it added an intriguing facet to her husband’s character. With her eyes closed, Sophia concentrated on the tantalizing contact of his firm lips moving leisurely over hers. The sensation was almost unbearable. No man had ever kissed her in such a manner!