Page 17 of Lady Sophia’s Lover (Bow Street #2)
The pain in Ross’s shoulder made rest difficult.
He woke frequently and considered taking a spoonful of the opiate syrup that had been left on his night table.
But he rejected the idea, for he disliked being muddle-headed.
He thought of Sophia sleeping a few rooms away, then conjured up a number of excuses he might use to summon her to his bedside.
He was bored and uncomfortable, and he wanted her.
The only thing that kept him from calling for her was his understanding that she needed to rest.
When dawn crept timidly over the city and sent its weak gray light through the half-open curtains, Ross was relieved to hear sounds of people stirring in the house.
Sophia’s light tread as she went to Ernest’s tiny attic room to awaken him…
the housemaids carrying coal pails and lighting the grates…
Eliza’s broken footsteps as she headed toward the kitchen.
Finally Sophia entered the bedroom, her face scrubbed and glowing, her hair pulled back in a thick plait that had been coiled and pinned at the nape of her neck. She carried a tray of supplies, set them on the night table, and came to the bedside.
“Good morning.” Gently she laid her hand on his forehead, then pressed it against the beard-roughened space beneath his jawbone.
“You’re a bit feverish,” she observed. “I will change the wound dressing, then have the maids fill a tepid bath. Dr. Linley said that a bath was acceptable as long as you don’t get the bandages wet. ”
“Are you going to help me bathe?” Ross asked, enjoying the sudden tide of color that washed over her face.
“My nursing duties do not extend that far,” Sophia replied primly, although amusement tugged at the corners of her lips.
“If you require assistance with your bath, Ernest will provide it.” She stared at him closely, apparently fascinated by the sight of his dark-stubbled face. “I’ve never seen you unshaven before.”
Ross rubbed a hand over his scratchy jaw. “In the mornings I’m as prickly as a hedgehog.”
She considered him appraisingly. “You look rather dashing, actually. Like a pirate.”
He watched as Sophia busied herself, drawing the curtains aside to admit fresh daylight, pouring hot water into a washbasin, and carefully washing her hands.
Although she tried to appear matter-of-fact about the situation, it was evident that she was not accustomed to being alone with a man in his bedroom.
She did not quite meet his eyes when she returned to the bedside and laid out the materials for the new dressing.
“Sophia,” he murmured, “if you are uncomfortable…”
“No,” she said earnestly, her gaze flying to his. “I want to help you.”
Ross could not suppress a mocking smile. “Your face is red.”
The blush remained, but a dimple appeared in her cheek while she uncovered the pot of honey and drizzled the amber liquid onto a square of felt. “If I were you, Sir Ross, I would not tease someone who is about to doctor you.”
Ross fell obligingly silent as she reached for the buttons on his nightshirt and began to unfasten them.
With every inch of hair-matted chest that was revealed, the telltale color bloomed brighter in Sophia’s face.
She worked carefully, fumbling a little with the buttons.
Ross became absurdly aware of the sound of his breathing.
He fought to keep the movement of his lungs slow and regular, although his pulse had shot into a hard-driven rhythm.
He could not remember the last time a woman had undressed him.
It seemed the most erotic experience he’d ever had, Sophia leaning over him in the silent room, her brow puckered with concentration.
The scent of honey hung in the air, mingling with Sophia’s fresh, feminine smell.
She freed the last carved bone button of his nightshirt and tugged it to the side, exposing his bandaged shoulder.
Sophia glanced at the expanse of his bare chest, but her face did not reveal her reaction.
Ross wondered if she preferred a man to be smooth-chested.
Her lover had been fair-haired and quoted poetry…
well, he was as dark as a satyr, and he was damned if he could remember a single line of verse.
He stirred uncomfortably, the atmosphere becoming heated and tense.
The weight of the covers concealed his lower half, but even so, his rising erection made a distinct hill that Sophia would easily notice if she happened to glance in the right direction.
Ross heard the sudden unsteadiness of her breathing as she began on the bandage, reaching beneath his shoulder to discover the tucked-in end of the cloth.
All at once it became too much for him—the soft, fragrant woman, the bed, his own half-naked condition.
His intellect was vanquished by primitive male urges.
He was filled with the need to take, to claim, to master.
He made a gruff sound and caught Sophia around the waist and tugged her onto the bed with him.
She gasped as he half rolled and pinned her beneath him. “ Oh …Sir Ross, what…” Her hands came up to his chest, fluttering like a panicked bird’s wings. She wanted to push him away, but she did not want to injure his shoulder further. “I-I don’t want to hurt you—”
“Then don’t move,” he said huskily, and lowered his head.
He caught her lips with his, searching for the deepest taste of her. At first Sophia seemed paralyzed. He savored the delicate fire of her mouth, angling his lips, the kiss turning wet and supple. She moaned and surrendered almost magically, kissing him as if she wanted to consume him.
Her voluminous skirts mounded between them, and he tugged at them impatiently, then slid his leg between hers. Her felt her fingers on his chest, stroking through the black curls, finding the bed of muscle beneath.
That touch, simple as it was, gave him a pleasure akin to agony.
Hungrily Ross took his mouth from hers and kissed the side of her throat, moving from the hollow beneath her ear to the juncture of her neck and shoulder.
She arched against him, her eyes closed, her face flushed. “S-someone will come—”
“No one is coming,” he said, distracting her with kisses while his fingers moved urgently along the buttons of her gown. “If someone approaches, I’ll hear the floor creak.”
While she lay gasping beneath him, he parted her gown and pulled at the ribbon of her chemise. His large hand slid between the gaping muslin seams and found incredibly soft skin, the tender curve of her breast. He circled his thumb over the fragile peak until it hardened into a rosy point.
Sophia turned her face into his throat, her frantic breaths striking his skin. “Ross…”
The sound of his name on her lips was wildly exciting.
Ross bent his head over her chest. Using the tip of his tongue, he traced a damp circle around the fragile edge where the pink of her nipple met the paleness of surrounding skin.
The little bud turned darker, harder, and Sophia’s entire body stiffened.
Slowly he licked the crest in luxurious strokes that caused her to lift higher against him.
“Please…” Her hands clasped the back of his head, urging him downward. “Please, Ross.”
“Do you want more?”
“Yes. Do it again, oh, yes —”
She whimpered as he bent and took her nipple into his mouth.
He sucked steadily, nibbled with his teeth, while his fingers toyed with the hardening peak of her other breast. Sophia’s fingers tangled in his hair, and she brought his head back to hers.
She kissed him with an almost shocking intensity, as if nothing existed except the two of them on this bed.
Her hands wandered over his back, exploring every plane and rise of muscle.
“Sophia,” Ross said raggedly. “How many lonely years I’ve waited for you.”
Her dazed blue eyes stared into his, her pupils dilating as she felt him pulling up the mass of her skirts.
He found the shape of her knee, the tight band of the garter holding up her stockings, the frayed edge of her muslin drawers.
His palm swept upward, locating the springy cushion at the top of her thighs.
The hair prickled softly against the muslin, and Ross cupped her tenderly before moving to the curve of her belly.
He found the tapes of her drawers, pulled them loose, and eased his hand beneath the layer of fabric.
He pressed words of reassurance against her skin, his fingertips trailing into the damp triangle between her thighs.
“So beautiful, Sophia, so sweet…how soft you are. Open for me. Yes.”
Carefully he parted the swollen folds and stroked a gentle fingertip between them. Sophia jolted against him, and his hand stilled inside her drawers. “No, no,” he whispered, “I won’t hurt you. Let me.”
He kissed her for a long time until she relaxed once more, and his fingers slid back between her legs. This time she did not resist. He brushed kisses across her parted lips, then moved to her ear and caught the delicate lobe in his teeth. “I want to make love to you,” he murmured.
She hid her face against his neck while his hand continued to play softly. “Yes,” she said, and burst into tears.
The sudden outbreak of emotion stunned him.
Deducing that she was afraid, that she thought this experience would end as the last one had, he cradled her in his arms and kissed the salty wet curve of her cheek.
His voice was rough with remorse. “Don’t cry.
Do you want to wait? It’s all right, Sophia. ”
She held onto him with surprising strength, recklessly pressing her body against his. “I don’t want to wait. Do it now. Now. ”