Lady Sophia's Lover

CHAPTER 9

Sophia rubbed her weary eyes as she looked at her book of notes. It was Friday morning, and soon the guests would arrive. Servants from various households had already come ahead with trunks and valises to make things ready for their masters and mistresses. She sat at the large wooden table in the stillroom, which was adjacent to the kitchen. The stillroom had long ago been used to brew medicines for the household, but now it served to store dried herbs, marchpanes, spice-breads, and conserves.

"Now, Lottie," Sophia said to the head housemaid, who was responsible for disseminating her instructions to the other housemaids, "I've told you the schedule for when and how the rooms should be cleaned after the guests arise each morning."

"Yes, miss."

"Just remember that when you go to the bachelors' lodgings at the gatehouse, do not let any of the maids venture into a room alone. They must work in pairs."

"Why, miss?"

"Because one of the bachelors might be overcome by what was once described to me as 'early-morning passion.' They are likely to take advantage of a female servant and make unwanted advances, or even worse. That will be far less likely if the girls work together."

"Yes, miss."

"Now, as some guests will arrive this morning, you must lay out fresh cards in the card room. I suppose a few gentlemen may want to visit the fishing pavilion at the lake--would you please ask Hordle to set out chairs, tables, and some wine?"

"Miss Sydney..." Lottie began, then looked over Sophia's shoulder and giggled. "Oh, lor!" Placing a hand over her mouth, she tittered in abashed amusement.

"What is it?" Sophia asked. She turned in her chair, then sprang to her feet when she saw Sir Ross's tall form in the doorway of the stillroom. Her heart pounded at the sight. He looked virile and stunningly handsome in a rich blue coat and fawn-colored trousers.

"I will go speak wi' Mr. 'Ordle," the housemaid said, still giggling as she rushed from the room.

Staring into Ross's smiling gray eyes, Sophia moistened her lips. He could not have been at Silverhill Park for long--he must have come to find her as soon as he had arrived. The weeklong separation had only intensified her feelings for him, and she had to stiffen her spine to keep from throwing herself at him. "Good morning, "Sir Ross," she said breathlessly. "You...you look well."

Ross approached her, one large hand lifting to the side of her face. His fingertips rested briefly on the curve of her cheek. "You are even lovelier than I remembered," he murmured. "How have you been, Sophia?" "Quite well," she managed to say.

"My mother cannot speak highly enough of you. She is very pleased with your efforts."

"Thank you, sir." Sophia lowered her lashes, afraid that her violent longing was all too easy to read. Feeling miserable, she drew away and wrapped her arms around herself. "Have you learned anything about the dress?" she asked, hoping to restore her self-control.

He understood at once that she was referring to the lavender ballgown. "Not yet. Judging from the make and fabric, Sayer has narrowed the possibilities to three dressmakers. I am going to question each of them personally when I return to London."

"Thank you." She gave him a small smile. "I must offer you some recompense. You must garnish my wages, or--"

"Sophia," he interrupted with a scowl, as if she had insulted him. "I would not accept any payment from you. It's my responsibility to protect you and the others who work for me."

Sophia was nearly undone by his words. "I must return to my work," she said gravely. "Before I do, is there something you want, Sir Ross? Some refreshments, or perhaps coffee?"

"Just you."

The quiet statement made her knees weak. Sophia struggled to keep her voice calm. As if her mouth were not dry with longing. As if her body were not thumping with desire. She strove to change the direction of the conversation. "How is your shoulder, sir?"

"It's healing well. Would you like to have a look?" His fingers went to the knot of his cravat, as if he were willing to undress for her right there. Sophia shot a startled glance at him, and saw from the glint in his eyes that he was teasing.

If she was ever going to put a stop to the attraction that had developed between them, it would have to be now. "Sir Ross, now that you are well again, and I have had a few days to consider our...our..."

"Relationship?" he supplied helpfully.

"Yes. I have reached a conclusion."

"What conclusion is that?"

"A...an intimate association would not be wise for either of us. I am content to be your servant, nothing more." She faltered only a little as she finished her recitation. "From now on, I will not welcome any advances from you."

His smoky gaze held hers. Finally he spoke in a gentle murmur. "We'll discuss the matter later. After the weekend. And then you and I are going to come to an understanding."

Breathing in shallow gulps, Sophia turned to busy herself with the articles on a nearby shelf. Her fingers encountered a sheaf of dried herbs, and her fingers fumbled with the crackling leaves, inadvertently crumbling them. "I will not change my mind." "I think you will," he said softly, and left.

Noblemen, politicians, and professional men moved through the circuit of common rooms and out to the gardens in back. Groups of ladies played cards, gossiped over needlework or magazines, or went on walks along the neat graveled pathways outside. The gentlemen gathered in the billiards room, read newspapers in the library, or strolled to the pavilion at the lake. It was a warm June day, the breeze insufficient to atone for the unseasonable strength of the sun.

Behind the scenes, the servants were busy cleaning, preparing food, and pressing and airing the many changes of clothes that would be needed for each day of the house party. The kitchen was steaming and fragrant, the bread ovens filled with baking dough, the spit-jacks turning roast fowls, joints of beef, and large hams. Under the direction of the cook, kitchen maids wrapped trussed quails with vine leaves and bacon, then threaded them on skewers. The quail would be offered as a late-afternoon luncheon to satisfy the guests' appetites until supper was served at ten o'clock.

Pleased that everything was running smoothly, Sophia went to the large windows at the top of the grand staircase and watched the guests mingling on the terraced lawn below. She located Ross at once. His dark form was easy to distinguish from the others. Although he wore his authority comfortably, he was a man of almost legendary accomplishments, and the guests were clearly in awe of him.

Sophia felt a prickle of jealousy as she saw the way the women fluttered around him in nervous excitement, how they chattered and smiled and sent him flirtatious glances. Apparently Ross's reputation as a chaste-living gentleman did not dampen feminine ardor, but rather fanned it into vigorous flame. Sophia was certain that many women present, no matter what their age or circumstance, would have loved to claim that they had managed to snare the elusive widower's interest.

Sophia's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the marble staircase. She turned from the window to view a pair of footmen carrying an extremely large trunk, their faces reddened from the exertion. Matthew Cannon followed them, escorting a slender and very pretty blond girl. Neither of them seemed to notice Sophia until they reached the landing.

Dipping into a curtsy, Sophia murmured, "Good afternoon, Mr. Cannon."

Matthew regarded her with obvious surprise. Amused, Sophia realized that he had not been told that she was here. But of course, matters involving servants would certainly be of no interest to him.

"What are you doing here?" he asked rudely.

She kept her gaze submissively lowered as she replied, "I was summoned by Mrs. Cannon to help with the preparations for the party, as the previous housekeeper left rather precipitately."

The young blond woman looked up at Matthew. "Who is she?"

He gave a dismissive shrug. "Only my brother's servant. Come, Iona, it is unseemly for us to dawdle on the landing."

As the pair left, Sophia observed them with interest. Matthew's wife was a classic English beauty, golden and fair, her eyes pale blue, her mouth as small and red as a rosebud. Iona seemed cool and remote, as if she were incapable of ever being in a temper. Sophia felt sorry for her. Marriage to a spoiled brat like Matthew could not be easy. Much later in the evening, the guests proceeded into the dining room, which was dominated by a marble inglenook fireplace. Great stone arches framed a series of pre-Raphaelite stained-glass windows that glittered in the blaze of candlelight. Sophia concealed herself from view as much as possible, occasionally conferring with the footmen as they served the eight-course meal, which included braised beef, John Dory fish, roast hare and teal, and pheasant sausage. After a lengthy succession of removes, a selection of jellies, cakes, and ices was served.

At the conclusion of supper, the footmen removed all the dishes and used clean silver knives to scrape any crumbs from the tablecloth. The ladies withdrew for coffee in the drawing room. Although most of the gentlemen remained at the table for port and masculine conversation, a few headed to the billiards room for a smoke. Following a half hour of segregation, the entire crowd rejoined in the drawing room for tea and entertainment.

Sophia entered the room discreetly and glanced at Catherine Cannon to see if she was satisfied. As their gazes met, Catherine smiled and gestured for Sophia to come to her.

Sophia obeyed quickly. "Yes, Mrs. Cannon?"

"Sophia, the guests wish to play a game of murder."

"Ma'am?" Sophia asked, mildly startled.

Catherine laughed at her expression. "Murder is all the rage just now--haven't you heard of it? The players draw slips of paper from a bowl to see what parts they are to take. One slip says 'murderer,' another is labeled 'investigator,' and all the rest are potential victims. The house must be darkened, and everyone goes to hide. The murderer goes about finding his victims, while the investigator tries to discover his--or her--identity."

"Like hide-and-seek."

"Exactly! Now, Sophia, take one or two of the maids and darken the house. And tell the servants to go about their work without getting in the way of the players."

"Yes, Mrs. Cannon. May I ask which areas of the house are to be dimmed?"

One of Catherine's companions, a middle-aged woman with an elegant sweep of red-gold hair, answered disdainfully. "The whole of it, of course! The game would not be nearly as exciting if we couldn't use the whole house."

Ignoring the woman, Sophia lowered her head and murmured to Catherine, "Mrs. Cannon, may I suggest that the kitchen remain lighted, as the scullery maids have a great deal of washing up to do?"

Catherine's green eyes sparkled with amusement. "A wise suggestion, Sophia. You may keep the kitchen lit. Now hurry, please, as I fear many of the guests are impatient to begin."

"Yes, ma'am."

As Sophia walked away, she heard the red-haired woman say to Catherine, "I don't fancy her manner, Cathy. Rather proud, if you ask me. Not at all appropriate for a housekeeper." Sophia's ears burned when she heard herself being criticized. "No one asked for your opinion," she muttered beneath her breath. Try as she might, she could not stop herself from thinking bitterly that if fate had been kinder, she might have been a guest this very evening. She had been born the social equal of these people, and she had little patience for their pretensions. In fact, her blood was bluer than the Cannons', though that was of no consequence now.

After directing the housemaids to darken the rooms, Sophia went to turn down the lamps in one of the upstairs receiving rooms. Moonlight glowed through the window, and she began to draw the velvet panels over the glass panes.

Someone entered the room. Sophia hesitated in a pool of moonlight as she turned toward the visitor. At first glance, the man's shadowed form reminded her of Ross, and her heart jolted with anticipation. But the sound of his voice caused her spirits to plummet abruptly.

"What a clever little cat you are," Matthew Cannon declared contemptuously. "Wriggling your way into my brother's life, and now into my family's home. You must be quite pleased with yourself."

Sophia strove to sound emotionless despite a flare of outrage. What right had he to follow her up here and insult her? "I do not know what you mean, Mr. Cannon. I only hope that I have pleased your mother."

He gave a guttural laugh. "I'm sure you have. No doubt you've pleased my brother as well, in more ways than one."

"Sir?" She pretended not to understand his meaning and began to leave. "Please excuse me--"

However, he moved in front of the doorway, blocking her exit. His face rounded with a nasty smile. "Ross must have been an easy target," he commented. "After all these years of living as a monk, my brother must have fallen on you like a starving dog with a bone."

"You are mistaken," she said shortly. "Please let me pass, Mr. Cannon."

"And now you appear to have him well in hand," he sneered. "It's the talk of the family. My mother even claims that...well, never mind. I won't dignify her foolish speculations by putting them into words. Just understand one thing, you grasping light-skirts--you will never be part of this family." As he moved closer, the shadows played over his half-raised hands and made them look like claws.

"Such a thought has never entered my mind," Sophia said. "I believe you are the worse for drink, sir."

Her denial seemed to mollify him. "As long as you harbor no illusions of ever becoming a Cannon, I have no quarrel with you. In fact..." He gave her a glance ripe with speculation, his mouth becoming heavy-lipped. "You'll soon tire of my brother's attentions, if you haven't already. He's too saintly to offer real passion to a woman. There's no excitement in going to bed with such bland fare, I'll wager. Why not try a man who can give you some variety?"

"That would be you, I suppose," Sophia replied acidly.

Matthew spread his hands wide and gave her a knowing smirk. "Unlike that paragon you work for, I know how to please a woman." He laughed deep in his throat, then spoke in a confidential murmur. "I could make you feel things you've never imagined. And if you satisfy me, I'll reward you with all the trinkets a woman could desire. It is a far better lot than you have now, is it not?" "You disgust me."

"Do I?" He came forward in two strides and grasped the back of her head, his fingers sinking painfully into her pinned-up hair. "Then why are you trembling?" he murmured, his mouth hovering above hers. "You're excited, aren't you?"

She twisted away, making a sound of revulsion. They scuffled briefly, and then Matthew froze as someone else entered the room. To Sophia's horror, she realized that the intruder was Ross. Although the room was dim, his light eyes shone like a cat's. His gaze touched first on Matthew, then settled on Sophia. "What are you doing here?" he asked roughly.

"I was looking for a place to hide," Matthew retorted, releasing Sophia abruptly. "Unfortunately, your precious Miss Sydney decided to make her attentions known to me. As I predicted, she's nothing but a harlot. I wish you joy of her." He left at once, the door hanging ajar in his wake.

Sophia remained frozen, staring at Ross's huge, dark form. The tense silence was fractured by the sounds of partygoers giggling as they scurried through the house in search of concealment.

"What happened?" Ross asked quietly.

She opened her mouth to tell him the truth, but suddenly a chilling thought occurred to her. Matthew Cannon had just given her the perfect excuse to break things off between herself and Ross. Cleanly. Completely. If Ross believed she had tried to seduce his brother, he would entertain no further interest in her. He would let her go without a second glance. And that would be infinitely easier than the alternative--the arguments, the confessions about the past and how she had planned to ruin him, the pain in Ross's face as he realized that he had sent her brother to his death. Perhaps it would be best to make him think that he had never really known her, that she was unworthy of affection or trust. That he was fortunate to be rid of her.

Summoning all her strength, Sophia made her voice cool and steady. "Your brother just told you."

"You tried to seduce him?" Ross asked incredulously.

"Yes."

"Like hell you did!" He grabbed her much as his brother had, his hand closing around her nape, the other seizing the back of her dress. "What is going on? I don't play games, and I won't tolerate them from you."

She hung helpless in his grasp, her face turned away. "Let me go. It doesn't matter what you believe. The truth is that I don't want you! Now take your hands off me!" She shoved against the muscular bulk of his shoulders, then realized that she had pressed the site of his injury. Ross grunted with discomfort but did not loosen his grip. His wine-scented breath burned her like steam.

"Someone will come in here," she gasped.

Ross didn't seem to care. His hand urged her head back, exposing the white length of her neck. As their bodies crushed together, Sophia felt the hard thrust of his erection even through the heavy weight of her skirts. He licked at her lips, then sealed his over hers and consumed her with a blatantly lustful kiss. The pleasure of it engulfed her in a hot tide. A whimper rose in her throat, and she writhed against him helplessly.

Ross cupped her breast over the tight bodice of her gown. "You can't lie to me," he muttered against her ear. "I know you too well. Tell me the truth, Sophia."

Sophia sagged against him in despair, utterly lost. She was no longer in control of her words or actions. Emotion came crashing over her, breaking over her soul until it was washed as clean as a sand-scoured beach. "I can't," she said, her voice shattered. "Because the truth will make you hate me, and I couldn't bear that."

"Hate you?" he asked thickly. "Good Lord, how could you think that? Sophia--"

Ross stopped and inhaled sharply as he saw the tears pooling in her eyes. Suddenly his mouth was on hers, hard and demanding, and he fumbled with her clothes as if wanting to rip away every layer between them. She succumbed to his lips and hands, drowning in sensation, all thought submerged in an ecstasy of surrender. He drew her tongue inside his mouth, playing with the silky underside. Losing her balance, Sophia clung harder to his neck. He was the only solid thing in a world that had become volatile and unstable. Suddenly she felt the carpeted floor against her back, and she realized what he meant to do. "Oh, no," she whispered, but he silenced her with another of those sweet, shocking kisses while his large body settled over hers.

He pulled the front of her gown up to her waist and tugged at her drawers. Sophia writhed as she felt Ross's hand close on the top of her leg, above the tightly cinched garter. His thumb stroked the thin, hot skin, moving higher and higher until it reached the thatch of crisp, curly hair.

Somewhere in the house, a woman squealed in pretend fright as the murderer made his rounds. The little shriek caused a round of smothered laughter from the game-players.

"They'll find us," Sophia said, wriggling frantically beneath him. "Don't, you mustn't..."

His fingers slid tenderly into the cleft between her thighs, the pad of his thumb drawing upward to circle the hood of her sex. She groaned and trembled while his fingers entered her with gentle skill, and his mouth consumed hers with desperate fervor.

"We can't," Sophia moaned. "Not here--"

He hushed her with his mouth and caught her head in the crook of his arm. His fingers withdrew, and she felt him opening the front of his trousers. He mounted her, using his thighs to widen the angle between her legs. Turning her face against the bulging muscle of his upper arm, Sophia breathed in shallow pants, her body rigid with anticipation.

His large hand slipped beneath her bottom. "Relax," he whispered. "I'll be gentle. Just open to me. That's it...yes..." And he began to enter her with exquisite care, stretching her, filling her with silk and heat and impossible sensation.

Footsteps hastened past the door...the sounds of gleeful laughter...guests searching for new places to hide.

They were going to be caught. Sophia reared upward in panic, fighting wildly in a sudden effort to free herself. Ross withdrew from her, the weight of his erection sliding wetly from her body. Panting hard, he pinned her wrists to the carpet. "Hush," he breathed in her ear. "...shall we try in here?" a female asked as she paused just outside the door.

"No," came an answering male voice. "Too obvious. Let's go down the hall..."

Their footsteps retreated from the threshold, and Sophia rolled away from Ross the moment he released her wrists. She staggered to her feet and jerked at her clothes to rearrange them. Her face burned as she bent to tug her drawers upward and tie the dangling tapes at her waist. Her limbs were shaking from nerves and fear. Her body ached with unspent passion. She had never known such need, an unquenchable fire that burned with maddening ferocity.

Ross fastened his trousers and approached her from behind. The gentle clasp of his fingers on her shoulders made her flinch. She wanted to seize his hands and pull them to her breasts and beg him to give her the relief she craved. Instead she stood as stiffly as a statue while he nuzzled into her disheveled hair.

"Obviously I haven't done this for a while." Irony washed through his voice. "My sense of timing used to be much better."

"We shouldn't have gone so far," she said through lips that felt swollen. "It was f-fortunate that we were not able to finish."

His hands tightened on her shoulders. "I'm going to finish it soon, by God. I'll come to your room later."

"No," she said instantly. "My door will be locked. I-I don't want to discuss this, ever. As far as I'm concerned, it never happened."

"Sophia," he murmured, "there is only one thing you can do to keep me from your bed--and that is to tell me that you don't want me."

Ross waited with calculated patience while Sophia struggled until her chest felt as if it would burst. Every time she tried to speak, her throat closed, and her shoulders quivered within the supportive frame of his hands. "Please," she finally whispered, although she had no idea what she was asking him for.

His palm slid across her collarbone and pressed to the center of her chest, where her heartbeat could be felt through the thick fabric of her gown. "We'll have our reckoning soon," he said gently. "There is nothing to be afraid of, Sophia."

She pulled away from him with a sharp jerk. "There is," she said hoarsely, striding away from him. "You just don't know it yet."