“Here,” he said, releasing Lancelot, now grubby again. The frantic pup raced around her feet and bounced up and down, trying to get her to pick him up. As soon as she did, he quieted and laid his cold nose against her neck.
No sooner had she put him back down on the floor, than he ran into the parlor and found the old padded chair her father had favored on days when the writing was upon him. Lancelot climbed onto the aged seat, made three to four circles, and settled down with a sigh into a nap.
Sophie shook her head and turned back to Arnaud. “None of what has happened is your fault. Lord Howick told me about my uncle. He’s the one who tried to have you killed.”
When Arnaud finally spoke, she was caught off guard. “I’m sorry about your uncle’s betrayal, but if you ever decide to abandon the writing life, Miss Brancelli, Captain Neville could use another fine, fighting marine on our ship. I’ve never seen the like of how you continue to foil every attempt to take you down.”
Sophie had spent weeks lamenting the lack of choices for women. And now she had a choice. His unexpected speech niggled at both sides of her heart, and so she grasped Arnaud by his uniform jacket lapels, pulled him inside the house, and toed the door shut behind him.
Arnaud nearly fell over when she pulled him to her. In that off-balance moment, he leaned against Sophie and the scent and feel of warm woman surrounded him.
Without a word, he grasped both of her shoulders with his hands. The feel of her through the fine wool and muslin made him want to spend the rest of the night, no, actually, the rest of his life holding on to what she’d become to him.
He should worry about what the men outside would think, but the only thing filling his senses was Sophie. Here, now, with him. Her naughty dog had skewed the shawl she’d wrapped tightly around her so that the shift beneath the fine nightdress did little to cover what he’d wanted to touch ever since that day he’d found her on the milliner’s steps.
He moved his thumbs down from her shoulders to brush across the tight nipples straining beneath her thin night clothes. Her little sigh and whimper spoke of lavender scented sheets and a lifetime of nights to come.
He covered her mouth with his for a long, deep kiss and fit his hands to either side of her jaw. His tongue brushed her lips and dipped into her mouth for a taste of the nectar that was wholly Sophie. There was a spot just beneath her ear he’d wanted to nibble on for so long, he did, taking his time to claim kisses all the way along her jaw.
“Where?” was all he could manage to say. He could give commands in the thick of a sea battle without thinking, but now, words deserted him.
Sophie’s awareness of the nearness of the window was acute. “Upstairs, but should we…?” She trailed off and pointed toward the view onto the street.
Damn. He gathered her up in his arms and took to the stairs, spanning multiple steps at a time. At the top, he put her back onto her feet, and she turned with a shy smile. She clasped his hand in hers and led him to her bed. When she made as if to climb beneath the quilts in her night dress, he held onto her hand.
“No, please. I want to see you, all of you. Wait. Don’t leave. I’ll be right back.” He raced back down the darkened stairs to retrieve the candle she’d left in the front parlor, mentally chastising himself. He’d been ten times a dolt. Why hadn’t he thought through this madness? He answered his own question. Every time he was near Sophie, he couldn’t think, let alone marshal his senses. What did he expect? He wondered if he would ever move beyond acting a complete idiot in her presence.
Sophie sat as still as icy water on a winter pond. What must he think of her, encouraging him to assist in her own ruination? When she saw the light of her candle flickering and advancing quickly up the narrow stairway, she knew for a certainty how this night would end. She could never deny this man anything.
Still, she stood and made an attempt to explain the wild contradictions whirling through her mind.
“I’ve decided I no longer need to marry to inherit my grandmother’s estate. I believe I can sustain myself with my writing as long as I remain frugal. You do not have to make me your wife, but I still want this night with you before you have to return to your ship. Can you forgive me for being such a wanton and thinking only of myself?” She spilled out everything in her heart and prayed he would understand. She bowed her head and closed her eyes waiting for his condemnation.
Arnaud wisely said nothing, but instead twined his arms around her and lowered her to the bed which was barely wide enough for Sophie, let alone the two of them, but he was sure he could manage. He lay on his side, still fully clothed, and smoothed back her long, dark hair, spreading her curls over the pillow beneath her head. That was something else he’d wanted to do forever. He feathered kisses across her forehead and then worked his way down her nose to her full lips and the softness beneath her chin.
He slowed a bit to make careful work of untying each ribbon holding the ruffled confection of a nightdress together before giving special attention to her breasts. He slid aside her chemise and reverently drew his thumb down the bone separating the two warm globes. He swirled his tongue over each soft mound topped by a small, taut raspberry-like bud. Only then did he pause to divest himself of his jacket and pull off his linen shirt.
Bare-chested in the light of the candle and fireplace, Arnaud rose and worked at loosening his falls. Sophie stopped him with a smile and said, “Show me, please.” She joined him in the firelight by the bed. He helped her rid him of his trousers and small-clothes.
Arnaud nudged the neckline of delicate lace topping her diaphanous nightdress until it fell into a white, frothy puddle at her feet.
She sucked in a breath. “I want…may I?”
All he could manage was a nod, keeping his eyes on her face. He could not bear further study of the rest of her after his first glance had taken in a slender waist flaring into hips flowing into a juncture of dark curls atop perfectly formed long legs. A man could take only so much. He was already rigid and throbbed in her hand when she feathered gentle fingers in a tentative grasp. He covered her hand and guided her soft exploration.
When she made as if to linger, he groaned and stayed her hand. “I haven’t been with a woman in a while. Much more of your touches, and our coming together will end before it’s begun.”
At her puzzled look, he took her hand and led her back to the narrow bed. He set the candle holder on the chest next to the bed before joining her. Sophie rolled as far to the side near the wall as she could, leaving as much room as possible for Arnaud. They both just fit if they stayed to their sides facing each other.
He pulled her to his chest and drew a finger across each of her brows, down her nose and around her lips. She burst into laughter. “What are you doing?”
“I’m burning you into my memory for all the nights to come, when I’m at sea, you’re here in England, and we have only the touch and feel of our bodies for remembrance across the seas.”
She wound her arms around him and pulled herself close to his chest, imprinting her breasts with the wiry textures of the swirls of black hair there. When his erection throbbed between her legs at her wetness, she pushed harder against him, wanting more.
He closed his mouth over hers again and they kissed deeply, clinging to each other. Sophie explored his mouth with her tongue, and suckled his lower lip, acting much braver than she felt. She’d truly become a wanton.
He explored her wetness with one tentative finger at her entrance, and then two, probing deeper. He suddenly set her away from him, and his eyes sparked like deep indigo pools of desire in the candlelight. She nearly cried out at the cool air on her skin with his body rolled away from hers.
