As they reached the east gate, Sophie turned to bid farewell. “I doubt we will ever have cause to meet again,” she said earnestly, “but should you ever need assistance then please seek me out at Brampton Hall.”
Sophie was not sure what had prompted her to make such a declaration, particularly as she was potentially involved in Dampierre’s barbaric schemes. There was something about Madame Labelle that roused her compassion, roused her sympathy. In truth, if Sophie’s dalliance with Dane became public knowledge, then she too would have to deal with the same level of contempt shown to the madame.
Madame Labelle wiped a tear from her eye and reached out to grasp Sophie’s hands.
“My dear, Miss Beaufort,” she whispered softly. “I had thought it safer to see you only as Mr. Shandy, for no woman of quality could possibly be so warm and kind to someone like me.” She glanced up at the window to where Dane stood. “He does not deserve you.”
As Sophie followed Madame Labelle’s gaze to the window, her eyes widened in surprise. Dane was staring back at them, his arms stretched against the window frame as though he was ready to raise the sash and leap out. He looked powerful, masculine and roguishly handsome and the warmth she felt in the pit of her stomach suddenly ignited into a roaring flame.
“How did you know he was there?” she gasped, feeling breathless as she struggled to contain the fire that engulf
ed her entire body. She could almost smell his musky scent, almost feel his hot lips against hers; feel the weight of his hard body pressing down on her.
Madame Labelle smiled. “My darling, you have looked up at that window a hundred times or more. Now, unless you have a twitch …” Madame Labelle laughed and drew her into a hug. “What a wonderful dream it must be, to have someone who thinks only of you. But love is such a fragile thing, is it not?” She pulled away, but her hands remained on Sophie’s arms. “Promise me something,” she whispered, her eyes swimming with emotion. “Do not let him break you. Do not let him douse that fiery passion. For a woman, life can be precarious. It can be ripped from our hands in an instant, so you must make every single moment count.” Madame Labelle gave Sophie’s arms a gentle rub and then she dropped her hands and straightened her back. “Goodbye, Mr. Shandy,” she said with a curt nod. She stepped closer and whispered, “Goodbye, my darling, Miss Beaufort.”
Sophie watched as Madame Labelle sauntered across the street, with an aristocratic swagger so opposed to her status, and climb into Sebastian’s unmarked carriage. When it had rumbled out of the square, Sophie’s eyes flew up to the window. But Dane was no longer there and she was suddenly overcome with a feeling of disappointment, a feeling of emptiness, of loneliness and a desperate feeling of longing.
Lost in contemplation, she had not noticed him cross the road and enter the square. Suddenly, he was standing in front of her, so large and so strikingly handsome that she threw her arms around his neck in relief.
He placed his hands on top of hers and lowered them gently to her side. “Have you forgotten you’re wearing your Mr. Shandy guise,” he said in a husky drawl. “It would do nothing for my reputation to be seen hugging a gentleman in Leicester Square.”
“Oh, Dane,” she cried, thinking she must make the most of her the time she had left with him. “I want to go home.”
“And you will,” he reassured, concern etched on his beautiful face, “as soon as this business is concluded. What did Madame Labelle want?”
Sophie stared into his warm brown eyes, her heart pounding so quickly she could hardly breathe. “We will talk about Madame Labelle later, for you misunderstand my plea,” she replied her voice brimming with desire. “I meant I want to go to your home. I want to go now. I need you.
Chapter 20
It had been pure torture watching Sophie converse with Madame Labelle, knowing he could do nothing other than wait and hope that nothing untoward happened to her.
Not since the day he’d walked into the old convent in Saint-Francois a Beauvais, with bread that was highly sought after during such turbulent times, had he felt so utterly useless. It was there he had found Charlotte, looking clean but gaunt, her hair cut short and her dress gaping around her shoulders where her bones protruded. He had tried to slip her a larger piece of bread, but the loss of liberty unites neither minds nor hearts and an argument broke out, resulting in the inmates forfeiting all food for the entire day. He had not slept that night or the next three nights after. Not until she was safely back on English soil. With Charlotte, it had started out as just another assignment and ended as something deeply personal.
Now, he was able to comprehend the gut-wrenching torment Dudley must have felt. The need to protect those one cared for was overwhelming, completely consuming. The relief he felt when Sophie flung herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck — it was beyond heavenly and he was suddenly overcome with a primitive urge to calm, comfort and claim. It had taken every ounce of control he possessed not to throw her down on the ground and pleasure her until his head stopped throbbing, until his muscles relaxed and he had banished the fear clawing away at his heart.
Then she had asked to go home. Not to Marchampton, thankfully, but home with him. The word sounded so sweet coming from those soft, sumptuous lips, his soul had soared. Then she looked up at him with those dazzling blue eyes, a look that promised a host of sensual pleasures and told him she needed him.
It was his undoing.
“You are overset,” he said, swallowing hard, trying not to stumble over the words as he attempted to rein in his own raging desire. “Was it something Madame Labelle said?” He knew the answer but needed to focus on something other than the look of longing piercing his soul.
She shook her head as she bit down on her lower lip. He had never seen her look so … so adorable, so utterly ravishing. The thought caused a throbbing ache in his groin and one of equal measure in his heart.
“You’re not listening to me,” she cried, lifting her hands as though she were about to caress his chest, before thrusting them down by her side in frustration. She stepped closer. “Do you need me to spell it out?” she whispered, her breath like a soft breeze against his ear.
Closing his eyes, he inhaled her sweet scent: the undertones of roses and her own unique fragrance clung to her skin, stoking his need for her to that of a delirious fever.
He offered her a salacious grin, his own impatience to lower her down onto the grass and drive himself home was evident in his voice. “No,” he growled, “I do not.”
Grabbing her by the sleeve of her coat, for he could hardly take her hand, he turned abruptly and strode out of the gate and down the road towards Cranbourn Street, heading left into Bear Street and towards the waiting hackney whose driver had been paid handsomely for his service.
Oblivious to every other person on the street, he kept a firm hold, forcing her into a trot just to keep up with him. He ignored the disgruntled looks of those he’d barged into in his eagerness to be alone with the woman who roused his passion to the point of insanity. It had been mere hours since their last coupling, yet he felt famished, deprived, ravenous to the brink of starvation.
“Red Lion Square,” he barked to the driver, opening the cab door and almost pushing Sophie inside. “If you’re quick,” he continued, his impatience clearly evident, “then I’ll double your fare.”
He needed her now. He needed her like he needed air to breathe. Yet as desperate as he was, he refused to pleasure her in a hackney.
Climbing in, he slammed the door and lowered the blind in the hope a passionate kiss would suffice, would be enough to keep the fire stoked during their short journey. Yet in such a simple plan, he had failed to account for the fiery nature of the other occupant. He barely had time to catch his breath before she shoved him back in the seat and straddled him in such a delightfully wicked fashion; he could not help but groan in satisfaction.