Till Dawn with the Devil (26 page)

“Pardon me if I do not see you getting shot as something that I should count my blessings over,” she said crossly.

Reign grinned. Sophia was delightful when she was vexed. He favored the tiny indentation that formed between her brows whenever she was on
the verge of scolding him. Reign placed a small chaste kiss on the dent. “It slowed the bullet down,” he explained as he picked up the ragged edge of her chemise and corset. “The boning in your corset protected you further.”

Reign began to lift the cloth to show her that most of the bleeding had stopped, but decided against it. Sophia had seen enough blood. “Trust me when I say that you will be back on your feet in a day or so.”

Then he and Sophia would return to London. Reign longed to put some distance between the house and the memory of Sophia tied to a chair with a madwoman aiming a pistol at her head.

His mother.

Christ. It was going to take some time for Reign to think of that troubled woman as his mother.

Lady Colette had had every intention of killing Sophia, and she might have succeeded if his wife had not distracted the countess long enough for Reign to lunge for the pistol.

Reign looked up and met Ravenshaw’s solemn eyes. The two men had come to a tentative truce for Sophia’s sake. He did not particularly like Ravenshaw. The brash young lord had often reminded Reign of his father in temperament, so he had despised the man on principle. It had been one of the reasons why Reign had gone out of his way to provoke the man.

“Gabriel,” Sophia said, attempting to sit up, only to be forestalled by her husband’s hand. “You might think you have distracted me, but I
will not be dissuaded. What of Lady Colette? Was she hurt in the struggle?”

Only Sophia would care about the fate of a murderess. Reign’s throat hurt as he stared down at his wife’s beautiful face. He idly wondered if he could pour enough brandy into her that she would sleep.

“Lady Colette is dead.”

“Dead.”

The word had been echoing in Sophia’s brain since Reign had dispassionately explained that Lady Colette had broken her neck. Her husband had not been forthcoming with the details, and Sophia could not help but think Reign might have used his bare hands to end his mother’s suffering.

Reign pulled the white nightgown over Sophia’s head. After he had told her about Lady Colette, he had carried her up to her bedchamber, insisting that she needed to rest. “There is no point in dwelling on it.”

“It is not a matter of dwelling . . . ,” she said, scowling in frustration as Reign swept her exposed legs under the bedding. He was treating her like a child, and she resented it. “We need to talk about this.”

“Do we?” Reign gently pushed her back into the pillows, and pulled the sheet high above her breasts. “I would rather not.” He turned away as
if searching for something. He found what he desired on her dressing table.

“Here, drink this.”

Sophia grimaced as the brandy burned her throat. “Ugh, no more,” she said after a few swallows. “Horrid stuff.”

“It will help you sleep.”

“I do not want to sleep!” Sophia shouted at him, surprising both of them with her outburst. “Gabriel, I am not a child. Stop treating me like one!”

Reign plucked the glass of brandy from her hands and emptied it. “My apologies, madam. I thought I was being considerate.” With a guttural cry, he pulled his arm back and smashed the glass against the opposing wall.

Sophia flinched, but she preferred her husband’s temper to the detached automaton. “Please, we have to talk about what happened.”

“Do we?” Reign sneered. “What precisely do you want to talk about, wife? Shall I tell you how helpless I felt when I saw you tied to that bloody chair while a madwoman stuck the muzzle of a pistol in your ear? Or do you want to talk about our family histories?”

“Gabriel,” she said sadly.

“Let’s talk about how my father might have attacked your mother.”

Reign thought to shock her with his ugly revelation. Sophia bowed her head. “I think your mother was a very jealous and confused woman.”

“You may be correct,” he said, unimpressed
with her calm demeanor. “My father once told me that he had fancied himself a little in love with Lady Ravenshaw, but the truth is, my father was incapable of loving anything but himself.”

Sophia shuddered. “Your mother was very ill, Gabriel.”

“Yes,” Reign said, staring at her with an inscrutable expression.

Sophia sighed and sought to change the subject. “You left this evening to confront my brother, did you not?”

Reign’s face darkened. “I do not want to talk about Stephan.”

“Then what do you wish to discuss?”

“What do I wish to discuss?” Reign echoed, his voice vibrating with anger. “Well, let me ponder this a moment since there are so many fascinating choices. Oh, I have a grand notion! Why do we not talk about my mother, Lady Colette . . . who has risen from the dead like some modern-day Lazarus!”

“Hardly dead, Gabriel,” Sophia retorted. “She may have been walking the Rainecourt lands as a ghost, but her deadly deeds were quite real.”

She peeled back the sheet covering her and sat up. How could she talk to her husband when she was cowering in the bed like an invalid?

“Damn you, stay in bed!” Reign roughly seized her by her elbows and gave her a hard shake. Sophia squeaked in protest, and it was enough for him to recall her injury.

Instead of releasing her, he pulled her closer
and hugged her. “Forgive me. I keep hurting you . . .”

“No . . . no,” she murmured, her face buried against Reign’s chest. “None of this is your fault.”

The wound above her breast burned and throbbed at the contact, but Sophia ignored it. She relished the feel of Reign’s strong arms around her. For the first time since she had awakened and found herself bound to that blasted chair, she felt safe.

Sophia tipped her head back and tenderly touched her husband’s cheek. The pain in his eyes cut through the mist and shadows that obscured her vision. “I am not fragile, Gabriel.”

The corner of his mouth curved almost into a smile. “So you keep telling me.”

“And I will continue to nag you until you believe it!”

Reign leaned closer, pressing his lips against her temple. “By God, it sounds like an impossible task.”

“I expect it will take years and years, my lord,” Sophia said, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Fortunately, I am steadfast when the endeavor is worthy.”

Reign lifted his head as his fingers dug into the soft flesh of her upper arms. Awareness and heat flared to life in his dark blue eyes. “Oh, Sophia, I need—” he murmured achingly before slanting his mouth over hers.

Sophia parted her lips, and Reign deepened the
kiss. His tongue tangled with hers, claiming and demanding more of her. She grabbed the front of his shirt and held on, opening herself up to his ravenous sensual onslaught.

Reign instinctively rocked his hips against her as he blindly reached for the hem of her nightgown, and missed. Sophia knew what her husband needed. He wanted to cover her, claim her, and lose himself in the soft sweet depths of her body. After everything they had endured, Reign craved a physical declaration that Sophia still belonged to him.

“Yes,” she said breathlessly.

He had discarded his coat and cravat hours earlier when Stephan had helped to bandage his upper arm. There was a bold spot of blood on the left sleeve of her husband’s shirt, reminding her that the bullet could easily have struck his heart or some other vital organ. However, Sophia refused to drive herself as mad as Lady Colette dwelling on things that had not come to pass.

Reign was fine, and so was she.

Sophia tugged at Reign’s shirt to get his attention. Choking on laughter, he released her long enough to pull the unbuttoned shirt over his head. Her gaze lingered on the bloodied bandage on his left upper arm before it dropped to the front of her nightgown. Since it was only fair, Sophia mirrored his efforts and discarded her nightgown.

“My God, wife, are you trying to kill me?”

Sophia laughed as she watched her husband hastily unfasten and strip out of his trousers, stockings, and drawstring drawers until there were no more barriers between them. The man could move fast, and the long, rigid staff rising from the thick patch of hair between his legs left no doubt in her mind that Reign was properly motivated.

It was only when his brooding, dark gaze drifted to the strip of bandages he had fashioned above her breasts that Reign hesitated. Sophia brazenly circled her fingers around his swollen manhood and said, “Little more than a scratch . . . remember?”

Reign shuddered as she stroked him from his testicles to the tip of the hard, commanding length. “I remember,” he said huskily.

Effortlessly, he lifted her up, and Sophia wrapped her legs around his waist. Her mouth sought his, and Reign responded by crushing his lips to hers. With his manhood prodding her bottom, he carried her toward the bed. Reign placed his knee on the mattress, and in one fluid motion she felt the mattress cushion her back as his manhood filled her.

“Forgive me, love,” Reign said, grasping her hips and deepening the penetration until she arched her back to ease the stretching fullness of his claim. “I am rushing you. But I need—I need.”

No explanation or apology was required.

“Yes,” Sophia said, scraping her fingernails across Reign’s lower back. She was rewarded with a low growl.

Their coupling was rough and frenzied. It was unlike anything Sophia had ever experienced in her husband’s embrace, and she reveled in it. She was discovering that she liked this side of Reign’s nature. He was wild, enthusiastic, and it thrilled her all the way down to her toes that she had caused him to abandon the reins on the admirable control and patience he seemed to exude on her behalf.

Pleased with herself, she craned her neck forward and bit Reign on the chest. Hard. His response was swift and full of delicious retribution. Reign pulled out of her, and before she could protest, he flipped her over onto her knees, shoved her onto all fours, and mounted her from behind.

This was the scandalous gentleman the
ton
called Reign. One of the decadent Lords of Vice who indulged all of his appetites, and was drawn to the forbidden.

Uncertain of her part, Sophia clutched a fistful of the bedding as Reign pounded his manhood into her welcoming heat. He spoke low, guttural words of approval and carnal promises. He cupped her uninjured breast and squeezed. Her breasts, much like the womanly folds between her legs, were swollen and ached to be touched.

Sensing her need, his hand slid down her flat belly until his fingers found the sensitive nubbin within the drenched folds. Sophia bit her lip as he lightly pinched and rolled the hidden flesh. Her nipples hurt and she longed to rub away the dull pain.

“Gabriel . . . please!”

Reign’s thrusts pummeled her backside. The musky scent of their lovemaking filled Sophia’s nose as she listened to the energetic slap of flesh against flesh. She tightened her grip on the sheets and leaned into each thrust, needing to feel the full measure of him.

And, oh, how Reign filled her! Well-endowed and thick, his manhood stretched her while her slick arousal beckoned him to bury himself to the hilt.

“You know what I want,” Reign growled. “Give it to me.”

Sophia felt his manhood expand inside her, the telltale sign that Reign’s release was upon him, and the awareness triggered her own. Pressing her face into the bedding, she cried out as her womanly sheath convulsed with wave after violent wave of sensation. She barely heard Reign’s low keening response as his rhythmic thrusts disintegrated and his grace and strength left him. He seized her hips in a bruising grip and shuddered, surrendering his seed and passion.

Sophia smiled as she savored Reign’s weight on her back. “If this is your reaction, I will have to bite you more often.”

Her cheeky comment earned her a hoarse chuckle from her husband.

“I intend to hold you to that promise, wife.”

Reign could not leave her.

He had not planned on remaining in Sophia’s
bed. His wife needed rest and patience while she recovered from her ordeal. Instead, Reign had torn off his clothes and mounted her like a mindless brute. He might have summoned some disgust over his behavior if Sophia had not matched his lust.

With Sophia curled up against him sound asleep, her head using his chest as a pillow, Reign rubbed the mark she had left with her teeth and grinned. His back stung from the scratches she had made with her fingernails, and the mild discomfort made him long to wake her so they could continue their love play. The tireless flesh between his legs seemed to agree. His cock twitched just contemplating the thought of plunging into Sophia’s snug channel.

“You should be sleeping,” Sophia murmured and placed a kiss against his bare chest.

Reign tried to quell the rising excitement that Sophia might crave him again. “I thought I had done a fine job tiring you.”

“An impressive effort, Lord Rainecourt.” She yawned. “I confess, one of your best.” Sophia stretched her arms and sat up. “However, when I close my eyes, I keep seeing Lady Colette. I was dreaming of her.”