“You’re helping,” he croaked out. Dear God, he sounded like a lad of twelve. Only with the urges of a man. It was all he could do to keep his hands off her. He wanted to draw her into his lap and hold her tightly as he explored her body. As he gave her pleasure.
“I’m here for a time,” she said with a breezy wave of her hand. “Gone like the wind when my mission is over.”
Again with the mission? “Tell me more about this mission you refer to.”
She laid a hand on her chest. “Alas, I cannot. It’s forbidden, you see?” She blinked her pretty eyes at him, the flakes of gold that rimmed her irises glimmering in the candlelight.
He didn’t see. But he wanted to see. He wanted to see her stick her tongue out again to wet her parched lips as she had only a moment ago. He wanted to see her smile. He wanted to see what lay hidden beneath that nightrail. Ashley dragged a hand down his face in an attempt to wipe away his wayward thoughts. He failed. But he gave it a valiant effort.
“You are too innocent for a man like me,” he finally breathed instead. Then he hopped up from the piano bench and went to pour himself a glass of whiskey from the sideboard. He immediately felt the loss of her as he moved across the room.
Sophia walked toward his bed and picked up his robe. “Would you mind?” she asked as she slung it around her shoulders. She waited for his nod of acquiescence before she tied the sash. “I feel a bit underdressed,” she said.
Ashley glanced down at his own jacket and waistcoat. Simmons had had a wonderful evening putting together his wardrobe. It had been quite some time since he’d been so fancily attired. But she was right. She was in her nightrail. And he was fully dressed. Something about that thrilled him.
Yet he shrugged out of his jacket, anyway. Then he loosened his cravat and tugged it free. And finally, he removed his waistcoat and pulled his shirttail from where it was tucked in his trousers. It was scandalous to be wearing only shirtsleeves and an open collar in front of a lady. “Better?” he asked.
***
Better? No, that wasn’t better. Now he was as poorly dressed as she was. Her eyes lingered at the vee of his shirt, where a sparse dusting of dark hair could be seen. She ached to pull his shirt open and look closer at it. To see what he looked like beneath his clothes. Instead, she said, “I am not here to seduce you, Ashley.”
He swallowed hard. So hard she could hear it. “Oh, how I wish you were,” he mumbled.
She covered a grin with her hand. “What would people say if anyone knew I was here?”
“They would say all sorts of unkind things. Then they would try to drag you from me before I could cause your demise.” He avoided looking at her when he said the last. Now her heart ached for him.
“Yet I do not fear you,” she said, watching his face. He sat down on the piano bench facing her, and she dropped into an overstuffed chair beside it. It was probably better to put some space between them. Though she wanted more than anything to touch him. He looked like he needed to be touched. “When was the last time someone embraced you?” she asked quietly.
He looked deep into his whiskey glass instead of at her. “Tonight, when I went to kiss Anne good night.”
That was a lovely thought. But it wasn’t the kind of embrace she was referring to. “No. I mean a hug from someone other than your daughter.”
He shrugged. And avoided her gaze some more.
She stood up and walked closer to him. He sat there on the piano bench until she was within arm’s reach. Then he reached out quickly and put his hands on her hips, and dipped his head so that the top of his head lay on her belly.
What an awkward embrace. She put one hand in his hair and one on his shoulder. The hand in his hair stroked along his scalp. He sighed long and loud and drew her even closer. He lifted his head ever so slightly so that his forehead was now on her stomach.
“Sophie,” he groaned, the sound vibrating within him.
Sophia impulsively dropped to her knees in front of him. “Ashley,” she said as she laid her elbows on his knees and looked at him. He was hurting. She knew it. But she didn’t know how to fix it. “I would like to hug you,” she said with a smile. “In fact, I would enjoy it immensely.”
He shot up quickly from his seat, wrapping his arms around her at the same time as he stood. He nearly lifted her from the ground as he set her on her feet and drew her to him. She fell into him as though she was meant to be there. Her head tucked just beneath his chin as she wound her arms around his waist. She turned her face so that her cheek lay above his heart. She listened to its beat and felt the slow, steady breaths he took in. Only his breaths were not slow and steady. They were quick and tortured. She looked up at him.
“You ask too much of me,” he groaned, swiping a hand through his hair in what might be agitation. She couldn’t be sure.
“A hug is too much?” she asked hesitantly.
“I made you a promise the last time you were here.”
She wracked her brain, trying to remember a promise. “I don’t recall.” She pulled back from their embrace to look up at him.
“I promised that the next time you found your way to my room in the middle of the night, I would kiss you.” He tilted her chin up gently with his crooked finger. His blue eyes were dark and stormy, clouded by something she didn’t fully understand.
“Are you angry at me?” she asked, sliding her hands down to hold his forearms.