“Please, please,” she moaned, rippling toward him.
He fluttered his tongue and felt her clench. The sounds of her pleasure filled his ears. Despite his fantasies, he’d never imagined how powerful this act would prove. Holding her thighs, he plunged his tongue into her. He increased the pressure, biting gently at the sleek, swollen flesh until she moaned. Then he drew her into his mouth and she convulsed on a choked cry of completion.
Eventually he raised his head. With one shaking hand, he wiped his mouth. Pen sprawled sideways across the bed, looking completely debauched and more beautiful than he’d ever seen her. Her face was rosy. Her extravagant blue gown was rumpled. Her ebony hair tumbled about her shoulders. Her long white legs spread in ungainly abandon.
Surely a woman who gave herself so wholeheartedly to physical satisfaction could hold nothing back. He placed a kiss on one smooth white thigh and rose above her, his hands flat against the mattress.
Her black eyes found his immediately and he read warmth and trust and affection. And pleasure.
And far away in the starry darkness, a closed door.
Harry stirred from his doze. At his side, Sophie curled, warm, soft, and boneless. His hand idly traced patterns over her bare shoulder.
For two, the chaise was delightfully cramped. In the grate, the fire burned down. He should tend to it. The idea drifted into his mind and drifted out again. His contentment left no room for anything but the beautiful girl who had just shown him the shining path to ecstasy.
A carriage rattled past on the quiet street and like that, the imperatives of real life jabbed him to alertness. He had no idea what time it was and his pocket watch was in his coat across the room. But he knew that the hour approached when Sophie must return to Leath House if she meant to continue the pretense that she’d been at the British Museum.
“Why are you laughing?” she asked drowsily, snuggling closer and setting her slender hand over his heart in a possessive gesture. Why shouldn’t she touch him like she owned him? She did.
“You missed Lady Harmsworth’s lecture about Cistercian Abbeys.”
“What a pity.” She laughed too.
He buried his face in her tangled hair. Her scent made him drunk. Love surged up, choked him, made it impossible to speak. She was a total joy. He couldn’t live without her.
When he caught his breath, he loosened his hold, although she hadn’t complained. “Sophie, you distract me.”
She sent him a look that jolted heat through him. “Shall I distract you again?”
For a moment, he stared at her, lost in the glorious thought of making love to her once more. Then the clock outside struck ten, reminding him how soon she must leave. He sat up and drew her beside him.
“Sophie, we need to talk. I didn’t bring you here to ruin you.” He waited for a twinge of guilt, but he was only happy and grateful.
She sobered and stared at him. “Are you sorry?”
He shook his head. “I should be, but I’m not.”
She smiled at him. “I’m not either. I must be wicked.”
“No, you’re wonderful.” He couldn’t resist kissing her, but he stopped before they distracted one another again. “Perhaps you’d better get dressed.”
To his relief, she rose and collected her scattered undergarments. Manfully he strove to ignore the sight of her moving naked around the room with an ease that made his heart somersault.
In between helping her back to respectability and dressing himself, he calmed down enough to think beyond the unforgettable moments they’d just shared. He joined her on the chaise, gazing into eyes still hazy with pleasure. He hoped like hell that she didn’t run into Leath tonight. One glimpse at her radiant face and her brother would know she’d been up to no good.
“Sophie, we can’t go on like this.”
“Don’t approach James again. Since your sister married Sedgemoor, he’s more set against you than ever.”
“I learned my lesson last time.” He tightened his grip on her slender fingers. “We have to get married.”
“Harry, I’ve just given myself to you.” She stared uncompromisingly at him. “You’d better marry me.”
She didn’t say what they both knew, that if he’d placed a baby in her womb, the issue of their marriage became more urgent than ever. His heart gave a thud of excitement at the thought of her bearing his child. “I want us to run away together.”
Shocked she tugged her hands free. “To Scotland?”
He inhaled and spoke the words that had increasingly seemed the solution to everything working against them. “To America.”