Too Dangerous to Desire (4 page)

C
olor and spice.
There was no denying that the vast Vauxhall pleasure gardens were a completely different world from the small town of Terrington. Sophie gazed at the central esplanade over the rim of her wine glass, fascinated by the parade of people filing in from the river landing. Shopgirls and tradesmen dressed in cheap calico and canvas were rubbing shoulders with aristocrats and ladybirds swathed in expensive silk and merino, the universal language of laughter and jests rising above the hodge-podge of dialects.

“Ooooo, this is so exciting.” Georgiana leaned out over the railing of their supper box, determined not to miss a single detail of the surroundings. “I must describe everything to Anthony in my next letter.”

Hermione smiled fondly. “I am sure that the two of you will come here together when you are married.”

Her sister let out a fluttery sigh.

“Yes, and you will not have plot on how to steal a kiss in the bushes,” said their uncle, a twinkle lighting his eyes. “A married couple is allowed to indulge in a peck or two.”

“But doing something just a little naughty adds an extra edge of excitement.”

Sophie raised a brow.

“Not that I have any experience in such things,” added Georgiana hastily. “I—I have simply heard it said.”

“Don’t believe all you hear,” murmured Sophie, as she held back a smile.

Her sister turned in her chair to hide the flush of color rising to her cheeks. After watching the ornate lanterns bordering the square blaze to life, she asked, “Might we take a walk through the gardens before the fireworks begin?”

“Come, Edward, the girls must not miss seeing the Oriental Pavilion,” said Hermione, pushing aside her empty plate. “And of course, they are eager to explore the pathways.”

“Very well.” He rose and straightened his waistcoat. “We’ll have a look at the buildings first, and then…” A wink “…move on to the shadowed walkways, where young ladies must guard against the temptation to stray down the path to Perdition.”

Georgiana stifled a giggle.

“Oh, do stop your teasing and lead on, Edward,” said their aunt. “I daresay our level-headed nieces are safe enough from Sin.”

Sin.

Sophie tested the word on her tongue as she dutifully fell in step behind her uncle and Georgiana. It had a rather seductive sound, the soft hiss mimicking the ruffling of a summer breeze through meadow grasses.
Sin.
The whisper stirred a memory from somewhere deep inside her head—the fragrance of fresh mown hay, the texture of fescue against bare skin, the taste of sun-warmed kisses—

“Sophie?” Hermione cleared her throat. “Are you coming down with the sniffles?”

“No, no, I am quite well. I was simply woolgathering,” she apologized. “There is so much to stimulate the senses.”

“Uncle Edward is suggesting that we pass by the Pillared Saloon and then make our way to the statue of Handel in the Great South Walk,” volunteered Georgiana. “From there we can turn into the gardens.”

“That would be lovely.” In truth, the sights were barely more than an amorphous blur. Her mind was elsewhere.

Sailing over an azure-blue sea with a laughing pirate at the helm of ship made of spun gold.

“Has the wine gone to your head?” asked her sister in an undertone, linking arms and leading her around one of the exotic columns.

She shook her head.

“It isn’t like you to be so distracted. I wish you would tell me what’s wrong.”

Oh, where to begin?
Dudley and Morton’s threats, their father’s retreat from reality, the dark specter haunting her peace of mind—despite all her hurried stitches, it felt as if her life were unraveling at the seams.

“Come along, girls, and stay close,” called Hermione. “All jesting aside, we don’t want to lose you. The gardens attract all sorts of unsavory characters who prowl the grounds after dark, looking for trouble.”

Grateful for the interruption, Sophie quickly rejoined her aunt. For the few remaining hours of the evening, she would try to put aside her troubles and enjoy the devil-may-care spirit of Vauxhall.

“After all, she sighed under her breath. “My troubles will still be here come morning.”

Cameron adjusted his silk mask and slipped out from the niche between the colonnading. His soft-soled leather boots skimmed noiselessly over the dew-dampened grass as he glided through the dense shrubbery. Laughter drifted up from the hidden benches, its rumble turning softly smoky in the flickering lantern light.

Sophie and her family were walking leisurely down the main path, their faces well illuminated by the blazing torchieres lining the way. She appeared amused, and yet her smile did not quite reach her eyes. Beneath the fire-tipped lashes hung a shading of delicate shadows.

Sadness?
Perhaps pensive was a better choice of words, decided Cameron. Sophie had a tendency to let her head overrule her heart.

For a moment, he found himself thinking back to a time when they had shared their laughter, their hopes, their dreams, their kisses…their hearts.

Or maybe I am just flattering myself to think that her heart was ever mine.

They had been young. Too young—she had been sixteen and he had been just a year older—and he had been far too naïve. At that age, he had foolishly believed that love could conquer all…

A raucous laugh rang out from the nearby shadows, snapping him back to the present. There was still time to slink away. He was good at leaving no telltale tracks, no sign that he was anything more than a black-on-black shape flitting through the darkness.

Uncertainty warred within him, making him feel weak, vulnerable. The fleeting reminder of his former self was uncomfortable—he wasn’t much given to introspection. He had toiled damnably hard to live only in the present, trusting in only his own cleverness and his own mordant sense of humor for survival.

“And that won’t change,” he vowed softly. “It’s only a momentary meeting.” Two ships on two vastly different courses, passing briefly in the night.

Sophie’s group paused at the entrance to the Dark Walk, an unlit pathway notorious as a trysting place for illicit lovers. After a short discussion, Edward gave in to Georgiana’s pleas to venture just a few steps into its inky shadows. He offered her his arm and extended the other to Sophie, who edged back and insisted that her aunt take precedence.

“I’m not nearly as curious as Georgie. I’ve no need to venture into the unknown,” she announced. “I’ll wait for you here.”

Hermione hesitated. “All alone?”

“Good heavens, it’s nearly bright as day, and there are plenty of people close by.” Sophie shooed them away. “I’m perfectly safe.”

A breeze from the river shimmied through the overhanging leaves, and the low rustling seemed to spark the red-gold flames to swaying in a slow, sinuous dance.

Twining her shawl a little tighter around her shoulders, Sophie moved closer to the bushes, as if entranced by the shimmering patterns of light cast by the fire.

“That, my dear,” intoned Cameron through his teeth, “is exactly the wrong thing to say when a predator is lurking nearby, just waiting for the right moment to pounce.”

“Ssssssss.”

Surely it was only her over-stimulated imagination that was turning the whisper of the wind into the flutter of her name. Sophie stepped back but then froze as it came again, this time a little louder.

“
Sssssssophie
.”

She peered left and right along the line of bushes. “Who’s there?”

No answer, save for a faint chattering among the long-leaved rhododendrons.

“Be you demon or
djinn
, I refuse to be played for a fool.” Drawing a deep breath, Sophie parted the greenery and pushed deeper into the thicket, determined to find the teasing, taunting voice. Perhaps it was the wine fueling her recklessness, but she was suddenly sick of being cautious, sick of being timid.

A hand gloved in black leather caught her wrist. “Brave girl.”

Somehow she managed to swallow a scream.

“Brave,” repeated the voice, “but foolish, despite your assertions to the contrary. I could be a mad murderer.” His long, lithe limbs unfolding in a whisper of expensive wool, the Pirate—yes, it was her Pirate—rose from a crouch. “Or worse.”

Sophie’s first flare of fear died away as she recognized him—his touch, his scent, and something she couldn’t quite put a name to. “What could be worse than death?” she asked, trying to match his note of cool cynicism.

“Ah, well, there are some who value their virtue above all things,” he answered.

A lick of fire—or was it ice?—teased down her spine. “Is my virtue in mortal danger?”

His deep-throated chuckle stirred the leaves. “That depends.”

“Are your answers always so cryptic?” she countered.

“I thought it was quite obvious what I meant. You were supposed to ask ‘On what?’”

“Very well.” She drew in another steadying breath. “On what?”

“On a number of things.”

“Oh, fie! You are mocking me, sir, and I don’t find it amusing.” Sophie tried to pull away, but his grip kept her captured. “Let me go, you…you cutthroat pirate.”

Releasing her wrist, he swept off his hat and inclined an ironic bow. “I prefer ‘corsair.’ It has a more elegant ring, don’t you think?” The breeze ruffled his long hair and as he straightened, a few silky strands tangled around the gold ornament dangling from his earlobe.

It was, she saw, a tiny sword.

“And by the by,” he added. “Allow me to point out that your lovely neck is quite unharmed.”

Her freed hand flew to her throat, and once again he laughed.

She narrowed her eyes as a flicker of the faraway torchiere passed over his face, confirming her first impression of unremitting black. Hair, mask, coat—even his upswept shirtpoints were made of midnight silk. However, the wink of light also caught a spot of color.

Bond Street—the flash of pink beneath a gentleman’s dark coat.

“You,” she said tightly, pointing at his carelessly knotted cravat. “You have been following me, and I demand to know why.”

“Have I?” He took a half-step closer and suddenly the chill night air felt very warm. “Who knows, perhaps you have a legion of devoted swains dogging your steps.”

“D-don’t be absurd,” stammered Sophie. “I’m a nobody. A simple country spinster with no connections, no money, and no beauty. I’m hardly the sort of woman to attract any attention.”

“And yet I know your name, and all about your background, Miss Sophie Lawrance of Terrington, a small town on the Norfolk coast.”

She swallowed hard.

“Does that frighten you?”

No, it intrigues me, though I can’t explain why.

The Pirate seemed to take her silence as an invitation to come even closer. “No,” he murmured, “I’ve noticed that for all your quiet ways, you don’t frighten easily.” His hands set on her shoulders and slowly drew inwards, until his thumbs were lightly touching the hollow of her throat.

Sophie felt her pulse skitter and kick up a notch. Her flesh began to throb against the butter-soft leather. “I could scream,” she whispered.

“True. But I don’t think you will.” His mocking mouth was now but a hairsbreadth from hers. “I think you’re hoping I’ll kiss you again.”

“Th-that’s absurd.”

“Why else wander down the Dark Walk, if not to indulge in your wildest desires?”

“I…” Sophie couldn’t bring herself to go on. Lies and longings—both were sinfully wrong.

The Pirate seemed to read her thoughts. “Confused? Life rarely offers black-and-white answers, Sophie. It’s mostly a muddle of shapeless grays. Only you can decide what form you want them to take.”

“Why are you following me?” she asked again.

“Call it curiosity. It’s clear you are involved in some very dangerous dealings, and as someone who is intimately acquainted with skullduggery, I can’t help but wonder why. Lord Dudley is not a good choice of friends.”

“Good God, he is
not
a friend,” she croaked.

His hands moved up to frame her face. “Perhaps you need one.”

Need.
Her whole body was suddenly all aquiver. “Oh, I wish…I wish—”

A kiss feathered over her lips, lightly at first, but the sweet friction sparked a fierce flare of heat inside her. All sense—all sanity—seemed to go up in smoke.

Moaning against his mouth, Sophie clutched at his strong, sloping shoulders and let her body melt against his. Beneath the finespun layers of cloth, she could feel the chiseled contours of his muscles.

A rumbled laugh turned to a feral groan in the Pirate’s throat as their tongues touched and twined. Through the slitted eyeholes of his mask she saw a flash of green-gold fire.

Dear God. Dear God
. She felt herself drowning in the swirling depths. Desperately in need of something solid to cling to, she hitched her hips, forcing his legs apart. Her fingers tangled in his hair, drawing him down, down.

Without breaking their kiss, the Pirate spun her around, and suddenly his warm weight had her pinned against the trunk of a tree. Liquid heat spiraled to her core as the hard ridge of his arousal thrust against her belly.

Oh, this is wicked
, thought Sophie, even as she opened herself to his lush embrace.
Wicked.
How to explain the heady sweetness of his mouth, the mad surrender to primal lust? It must be a potent Pirate spell, a Corsair’s concoction made of fire-kissed rum and demon desires.

The real Sophie Lawrance would never give in to temptation…

So I must be somebody else.

“Sophie…Sunbeam.” The words were barely more than a sigh, yet they hit her with all the force of a physical slap. Only one person in the world had ever called her by such a pet name. A boy on the brink of manhood, bristling with uncontrollable passions.

Dear God, it couldn’t be
…Her head began to reel and her throat was suddenly dry as dust. She stared in mute shock for a long, dizzying moment before managing to make a sound.

“
Cameron?
”

“Ah, at last you’ve puzzled it out. I was beginning to think you had quite forgotten I ever existed.”