Finlay glanced at Sophia, remembering the warmth of her snug channel, soft as silk, hugging his cock like a glove. “Enlightening.” He could hardly say earth-shattering.
Sophia returned his gaze. “Stimulating on all levels.”
Mother of all saints!
D’Angelo wasn’t a fool. He was a master of innuendo.
“That good, eh? Presumption, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Is the creature as monstrous as the novel suggests?”
“Monstrous, yes,” Sophia said, “yet one cannot help but feel an ounce of pity for his plight.”
“Indeed.” D’Angelo’s curious brown gaze scanned the blonde tendrils escaping Sophia’s coiffure, then drifted to the faint red mark on her neck. He inhaled. The man could smell a woman’s arousal from a hundred yards. “I imagine one might almost feel the impassioned struggle.”
“The performance certainly stirred the senses.”
D’Angelo noticed Sophia’s bare hands. “What happened to your gloves?”
They were covered with the evidence of their lovemaking and folded in Finlay’s pocket as he’d somehow lost his handkerchief in the dark.
“I left them in the carriage,” Sophia replied, her cheeks glowing as hot as the fire blazing in the hearth.
D’Angelo smiled. “Such a stimulating performance can play havoc with the mind. So, you didn’t stay to watch the farce?”
“We went to the theatre to question Lord Adair,” Finlay said, sounding somewhat defensive, “not watch fools dance around the stage.”
D’Angelo’s expression turned mischievous. “And did the evening bring the desired results? I presume so, as you both seem a little flustered.”
Hellfire!
The devil knew damn well they’d shared more than a liking for the play. “I’ll explain what we learned once Sloane has finished his game.”
“I doubt it will take long.” Sophia lowered her voice. “Jessica rarely plays and is easily distracted. I must thank Mr Sloane for his patience.”
D’Angelo frowned. “Madam, Miss Draper has won every game. From the pieces lined on the table, she has a clear advantage.”
“That’s impossible.” Sophia glanced at her sister, whose grin stretched from ear to ear. “She used to play when we were children but hasn’t played for years.”
D’Angelo shuffled sideways, blocking their view of the players, and whispered, “It appears Mr Blent refreshed her memory. She said he taught her to look at the board strategically, to imagine she’s defending herself from those scoundrels who mean her harm.”
It was a rather odd approach to a game, but echoed Blent’s reason for giving Jessica a book about wastrels with wicked tempers, men who married for money, not love. Finlay sensed Blent knew more about the situation at Blackborne than he would have them believe.
“Blent? Blent plays chess?” Sophia wrinkled her nose in surprise. “But I’ve not come across a chessboard in the house. Jessica has made no mention of it before.”
“Perhaps because she visits Blent’s cottage to play the game, has done for years.” With some hesitation, he added, “She didn’t mention it because she said you would worry. She said you worry too much.”
In the silence that followed, Finlay almost heard Sophia’s heart sigh. Sadness hung in the air. She had given everything of herself to help Jessica. It must hurt to have her sister find fault, no matter how small.
“And rightly so,” Finlay whispered through gritted teeth. “Dr Goodwin is a liar, a skilled manipulator. Blent is equally devious for keeping secrets from his mistress.”
D’Angelo shrugged. “Don’t scold the messenger.”
“Checkmate!” Jessica suddenly cried. She jumped from the chair and clapped her hands. “That’s another new gown you owe me, sir.”
“Damnation.” Sloane shook his head as he scanned the board, puzzled. “Miss Draper, you seem intent on gaining a whole new wardrobe. One might think you could read minds.”