“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m only making love to you with my mouth. If this is our last night together, I intend to make it memorable for you.”
Her sweet, musky scent rose to tease him, stirring his arousal even more savagely. He wanted to know what she tasted like there
, wanted to savor her.
His control no longer steady, Jack set his mouth to her softness. Instinctively, Sophie whimpered and arched her back.
“That’s it … let me see your pleasure,” he murmured, flicking her with his tongue.
He felt her body strain with renewed hunger. Clamping her hips firmly between his hands, he went on nibbling and suckling, circling and stroking. Soon her hips began moving in a primitive, needful rhythm and her head fell back in ecstasy.
Jack savored the tiny cries she made when she shuddered, then shattered against his mouth.
In the aftermath of her climax, her sobs echoed softly around them. Jack looked up the length of Sophie’s body to her flushed face. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks wet with tears—from passion or sorrow he couldn’t tell. Perhaps both.
It wrenched his heart to think of hurting her. Rising, he stretched out beside her and gathered her against him. Pretending a calm he didn’t feel, desperately wanting more of her, he pressed a tender, soothing kiss to her hair. Yet his thoughts were still in turmoil. Lovemaking for him was never desperate. At least not until he had met Sophie.
Embracing her tonight—tasting her kisses, feeling her soft flesh under his searching fingers, watching her sensual explosion—had only conflicted him further. He still felt scorched by her passion. She was a fever in his blood, without a doubt.
It was the question of love and marriage that troubled him.
The truth was, his feelings for Sophie were far more intense than he’d ever felt for any other woman. Yet he couldn’t promise her love unless he was certain, couldn’t offer her marriage unless it was fitting and right. And the only thing he knew for certain was that he wasn’t willing to let her go just yet.
His dilemma was the same, regardless. The major impediments to his courtship were still present, only now they were even greater, since her father’s opposition had been compounded by her official betrothal.
Jack felt his resolve harden as he contemplated his last-gasp options. Ordinarily he was a master at winning over hearts, but in this instance, only an illustrious title would succeed in converting Oliver Fortin’s heart, and perhaps not even that.
He still had an ace to play, though.
The question was, could he stomach the effort it would take to gain an illustrious title? Reflexively Jack clenched his jaw. He’d vowed he wanted nothing to do with his own father, but he might be forced to reconsider.
And whatever he decided, he needed to do it quickly. At the very least he had to buy himself some time while he wrestled with his own feelings—which meant conferring with his allies. As soon as he left Sophie tonight, he would seek out Mrs. Pennant and speak to her, even if it meant waking the cantankerous old lady and dragging her out of bed. He needed to develop a plan immediately.
Whether or not love and marriage was in his future with Sophie, he had only one choice now, Jack reflected. He had to act at once or he would lose her—and he had no intention of losing her just yet.
A feeling of gloom hung over Sophie when she woke the following morning. After her bittersweet parting with Jack, her fate was now sealed. To make matters worse, when she descended the stairs for breakfast, she discovered that he and Skye had already departed Pennant Hall for London, unceremoniously, without another word of farewell.
Fierce disappointment swamped Sophie. She should be delighted that he’d abandoned his courtship of her, since she could now properly concentrate all her attention on her betrothed. But Jack’s abrupt exit only confirmed that he cared little for her. If he’d given up so easily, especially after she’d practically bared her soul to him, he had clearly concluded they had no future together.
During the next two days, it also became clear that without the lively Wildes present, all the life had drained from the house party.
Her great-aunt was not pleased with the turn of events either, for on Monday after tea, she summoned Sophie to her rooms for the express purpose of criticizing her decision to marry Dunmore.
“I wish I could persuade you to reconsider,” Mrs. Pennant said after taking her seat. “Marriage is a grave undertaking, Sophie.”
“I know, Aunt,” she murmured.
“But you do not know the utter misery of being shackled for life to a husband you cannot care for or respect.” Her great-aunt leaned forward in her chair, an earnest expression on her wrinkled face. “I was forced to wed for wealth instead of love, and I regretted it profoundly.”
Sophie had heard similar arguments voiced before but was surprised by her great-aunt’s passion this time. “I don’t believe I will be miserable with the duke.”
“Perhaps not, but you will not be happy with him. At a minimum, he will bore you to tears. If, as I suspect, you don’t wish to wed Dunmore, I will support your withdrawal wholeheartedly.”
“Thank you, Aunt, but I know my duty.”
Mrs. Pennant made a sour face. “You should have considered taking Lord Jack as your husband. He would suit you far better, and he would certainly never bore you.”
“But he has no real desire to wed me, and I don’t believe we would ever have a love match.” Jack’s own cousin had warned her about his guarded heart, she wanted to explain.