Raven (Gentlemen of the Order 2)

“Your conscience would have been the death of you had you acted so selfishly.” His noble actions made her admire him all the more. “And you haven’t ruined your life, Finlay. Your work for the Order is to be commended. You fought for king and country, and now you fight for the oppressed.”

It’s why I love you so deeply.

It’s why my heart aches to bring you peace.

He turned to look at her. “And what of you, Sophia? I’d convinced myself you were happy. But I saw the contempt in that fop’s eyes. Life couldn’t have been easy.”

No, easy was not a word she would use to describe any aspect of her life.

Distressing images formed in her mind, images more harrowing than any scene in Presumption. If Mr Peake’s play proved an accurate representation of Mrs Shelley’s work, then Victor’s bride would die on her wedding night. Sophia had died inside before exchanging her vows. Every intimacy she shared with William Adair was like the rebirth of the monster—wrong, immoral, hideous and grotesque.

“I played the role, found myself torn between hatred and gratitude.” She blinked back tears. “Let us not dwell on the past. Let us discuss something else.” Though she knew when she saw the nameless creature on stage, she would see something of herself—a lonely figure who didn’t belong.

For a time Finlay watched her—not those squabbling over a seat in the pit—his penetrating gaze searching her face. But then the orchestra launched into the overture, drawing everyone’s attention to the stage. No doubt the mournful strains were meant to set them on edge, to create an atmosphere ripe for impending horror. Indeed, the curtains opened with a scene of a gothic chamber in Victor Frankenstein’s house. They were introduced to his laboratory assistant, Fritz, asleep in a chair but woken by a symphony of song.

Finlay leant closer. “I don’t recall reading of an assistant in Shelley’s novel.”

“I believe Presumption is a melodrama. I was told to expect dancers, gypsies and peasants, too.”

If Mr Peake intended to frighten the audience, he succeeded. Women gasped and swooned upon witnessing the sight of the bulging-eyed creature. The demon corpse. Husbands cradled their wives and scrambled in reticules to find trusted vinaigrettes. Many in the pit jumped to their feet, unsure whether to remain frozen or flee.

Sophia couldn’t help but compare the stranger in Blackborne Wood to the monstrous figure on stage. An unhealthy need drove both devils. Both devils sought to harm an innocent woman in the name of vengeance. That the doctor’s assistant was named Fritz, and her stepson Fitzroy, seemed more than a blinding coincidence.

The end of the first act culminated in a fight between the creature and his master. “Fiend!” the doctor shouted, drawing his sword. The thunderous thud of drums and the clash of cymbals tore shrieks from the audience.

Sophia’s heart thumped in her throat. The crowd’s hysteria proved contagious. Swept up in the moment, she reached out and gripped Finlay’s thigh. Honed muscle flexed beneath her fingers. She suspected his sharp intake of breath had nothing to do with the violent struggle on stage.

Her focus shifted from the play to the handsome man whose gaze turned intense. His slow perusal of her body seared her skin like lust’s fiery flames. The way those dark eyes reached deep into her soul spoke of a more powerful connection. The kiss they’d shared said he wanted her, but could he learn to love her again? That was a more complicated question.

Perhaps she should have snatched her hand away, but the power beneath her palm was a potent aphrodisiac. She loosened her grip slightly and drew her gloved hand slowly up Finlay’s thigh.

His hiss of approval mingled with the audience’s hiss of contempt.

But he did not cover her hand or push it away.

Sophia dared to edge higher.

Finlay relaxed back in the seat, spreading his legs wide in open invitation.

She ventured closer to the placket of his black breeches, couldn’t resist stroking the noticeable bulge. He was hard—hard for her. The thought sent her heart galloping.

Were they anywhere but in a theatre full of people, she would hike up her skirts and straddle his lap. He would push into her body, stretch her wide, thrust so deep she would know she wasn’t dreaming.

Indeed, she considered slipping her fingers inside the opening, wrapping them around his throbbing manhood and pumping him to completion. He seemed willing, almost desperate for her to take matters into her own hands.

But then the curtains fell amid a chorus of gasps.

Sophia removed her hand but could not temper the lust pooling low and heavy between her thighs.

His breathing was ragged, too, his expression pained.

“Finlay, you’re the only man I’ve ever wanted,” she said, for she could no longer suppress her feelings. Desire blurred reality. Desire made one act on impulse. “I don’t want to leave this world without knowing your body. I’m tired of feeling empty.”

He made no reply.

“I need you. If only for tonight.”

He closed his eyes briefly.