He set her free and withdrew as far as the cupboard allowed. “Forgive me.”
To his astonishment, she caught his shirt. “You took me by surprise.”
“I had no right—”
“You’re a very chivalrous rake, Harry Thorne,” she said drily.
Her tone piqued his curiosity. Ignoring common sense and self-preservation, not to mention the gentleman’s code, he placed his hand over hers. “Don’t you want me to be chivalrous?”
“Not right now.”
“You deserve better than a furtive courtship,” he said helplessly, even as his other hand snaked around her slender waist to arch her against him. “But since the day we met, I’ve dreamed of you.”
Her sigh conveyed wonder. “Really?”
His voice deepened into urgency. “I’ve dreamed of kissing you.”
And other things, but he couldn’t sully her innocence with his wanton fantasies.
“I’d like to make your dreams come true.” She leaned closer, her breasts grazing his chest. “Will you kiss me, Harry?”
“Sophie—” Her scent filled his head like wine, overwhelmed thought. His hand tightened around her waist.
“Don’t you want to?” she asked in a small voice.
“Of course I bloody want to,” he said roughly, then dragged in a breath. “I’m sorry. I’m not acting the gentleman.”
This time her sigh was disgruntled. “You’re acting too much the gentleman.”
“Sweetheart—”
She interrupted before he pointed out that he cared for her reputation. After all, how convincing could any avowal sound when he embraced her in a cupboard in the middle of a ball?
“I don’t want to hear it.” Her voice softened. “Unless it’s ‘Kiss me, Sophie.’ “
Oh, hell. How could he resist? “Kiss me, Sophie.”
Harry lashed her to him and pressed his mouth to hers. Her lips trembled beneath his. Her fluttering uncertainty hinted that this was her first kiss. Tenderness stabbed at his heart.
Automatically he gentled, nipping and licking at her, until her breath hitched and she leaned closer. His tongue slid into her mouth, tasting her fully. Her flavor blazed through him like lightning.
The world beyond Sophie’s clumsy but ardent responses vanished. All Harry knew was her warmth and the way her tongue danced around his. Her broken moans. Her soft, quivering body pressed into his.
It took him longer than it should to realize that she’d stopped participating. He raised his head and struggled to see her through the darkness. “What—”
“Shh!” Her hands formed claws in his shirt. Now she trembled not with passion, but with terror.
There were voices outside. Damn. His arms tightened and he drew Sophie against him. Anyone within a mile’s radius must hear his heart. He wasn’t frightened for himself but for her. Only a bloody fool would risk this encounter.
He strained to hear if the people outside mentioned the Marquess of Leath’s sister. They discussed supper arrangements. If Harry hadn’t been thickheaded with delight, he’d have recognized his hostess’s voice immediately. She seemed to be talking to her butler.
Fleetingly, he relaxed. Until he wondered if the butler needed supplies from this tiny storeroom.
In vibrating silence, Harry and Sophie clung together until the voices faded. Eventually he whispered in her ear. “I need to get you out of here.”
With a trust he didn’t deserve, she laid her cheek upon his chest. “I thought I’d die when I heard them.”
“I shouldn’t have brought you in here. But I’ve been desperate to see you, and your brother’s like a collie with a ewe lamb.”
“He’s terrified of fortune hunters spoiling his plans.”
“To be fair, that’s his duty.”
“But you’re not a fortune hunter.”
“I’m not.” He paused. “I’m not?”
“A fortune hunter wouldn’t hesitate to ruin me to force a marriage.”
Marriage? The word clanged through him like a great bell.
The malaise dogging his heels disappeared in Sophie’s company. The sight of her turned his day to brilliance. That left the choice of taking himself off and leaving her to the man her brother chose. Or ruining her. An idea which made every cell in his body revolt.
Or marriage.
“Harry?” she asked on a thread of sound. “What’s wrong?”
It was too early to mention lifelong commitment. Already she’d surrendered more than he’d hoped. His heart kicked as he remembered those wondrous kisses.
He eased his grip. “We’ve been here too long.”
“Yes.” Regret weighted her voice. “Will I … will I see you again?”
Despite the last fraught moments, he couldn’t contain a laugh. “What do you think?”
“I don’t know. I’m not experienced with flirtation.”
Another pang of painful tenderness. He wasn’t experienced with love. In this glorious new world, they were both innocents. “When can I meet you?”
“The park.” She sounded relieved. “I ride tomorrow morning.”
“With your brother?”
“He’s away this week.”
“I’ll find you.”
“I hope so.” He caught a quiver of uncertainty.
“I swear it,” he said.
“I don’t want to leave you.”
How he basked in hearing that, however difficult it made this parting. “I don’t want to let you go. But I must.”
He kissed her quickly. He meant the contact to be sweet and brief, but he found himself drowning again.
Luckily for failing willpower, she broke away and opened the door a crack. “Tomorrow,” she whispered, slipping outside.
“Tomorrow,” he confirmed, then waited in the dark while she shut the door with a soft snick. Right now he wasn’t fit for civilized company. He hoped Sophie was. He had a horrible feeling that she’d look mussed and thoroughly kissed.
Fontana dei Monte, Italian Alps, February 1828
It was snowing again. As this purgatorial week proceeded, Pen began to think that the world contained only snow and ice and wind. And flea-ridden inns. And rude servants.
And men who tried to push her around.
Or more accurately, one man who pushed her around. His overbearing Grace, the Duke of Sedgemoor.
Pen and Cam traveled as Lord and Lady Pembridge, using the Sedgemoor heir’s courtesy title. She supposed that now they left the mountains behind, the inns would become busier. She and Cam would need to be more discreet than ever in case they met someone who knew them.
Their coach bumped its way