He narrowed his eye
s. Sophia tried an olive branch. ‘You were most effective back there.’ It had been impressive, that controlled, skilled violence, and she realised with a pang of shame that she had found it arousing. She wanted to kiss Callum. No, she wanted him to kiss her, to take her in his arms with the same masculine energy he had fought with. She wanted to be swept away by him again. Or perhaps she just wanted him to show her some emotion other than possessiveness.
‘It was neater than breaking his nose,’ he said with a shrug. ‘I’ll send for the carriage to take you home. He’ll be gone tomorrow.’
‘It was pleasant to be flirted with,’ Sophia said. He stopped and turned to her in the light from the lantern over the door. ‘Until he kissed me, of course. I would prefer it if you flirted with me,’ she added.
‘You want me to flirt?’ He sounded puzzled by the concept.
‘I would like to be courted, not taken for granted. And I assume you do know how to flirt,’ she said and saw him become as still as a heron poised above a pool, his eyes, glinting in the reflected light, as focused. He looked tired, she thought. There were shadows under his eyes, fine lines at the corners she had not noticed before.
‘Is that wise?’
Was that sarcasm? ‘I want to forget Mr Masterton. It is you I am betrothed to and this is rather a pleasant evening.’ She wanted to add I would never have flirted with him if you had been paying me any attention, but that would sound peevish.
‘I can’t say I want to flirt with you just so you can forget your indiscretions,’ Callum remarked. ‘But if you insist … Wait there just one moment.’
Sophia stood and glared at the door as it swung to behind him. No one, it seemed, could accuse Mr Callum Chatterton of impulsive romantic gestures, or of being carried away by passion or even, she decided, of chivalrous behaviour. He had felled Masterton because he was dallying with his betrothed, not because he wanted to rescue a lady in distress or because he wished to be kissing her himself. She had thought, from what one read in sensation novels, or heard in whispers from one’s friends, that violent action in defence of a lady would produce almost unconquerable passion in the male breast.
‘Here.’ Callum came out onto the terrace and offered her a champagne flute. ‘Will’s best vintage should banish any lingering thoughts of Donald. And I certainly don’t want to taste him on your lips.’
‘Thank you.’ Sophia took it and tossed back the entire glass. ‘What a practical solution, Mr Chatterton. No one could suspect you of hot-blooded passion, could they?’ The shadowed garden seemed to be swaying slightly.
‘I am sorry to be a disappointment to you, Sophia. Perhaps you are forgetting the afternoon at Long Welling?’
‘You mean your outrageous kisses? Those were simply designed to overwhelm me, sweep me into agreeing. I am talking about courtship, about getting to know each other.’
‘Damn it, Sophia, it was not like that.’ Callum emptied his own glass and set it down on the low wall that edged a formal knot garden. The scent of thyme and rosemary drifted up on the evening breeze.
‘No? If you told me you were swept away on a tide of romantic desire I would, naturally, have to believe you.’
‘It is a little late to rake over these coals, is it not? You have agreed to marry me, the die is cast.’ Callum leaned against the door frame, the picture of careless masculinity confronted with irritating feminine nagging. He had not answered her question, of course. ‘I told you not to expect a love match. If you want me to pretend this is a romance, then I must disappoint you.’
‘I know that! But now I have to live with you for the rest of my life—and you have to live with me and I thought some closeness … On Sunday I thought …’ Her voice trailed away in the face of his lack of reaction. ‘Oh, never mind. I should not be out here, not even with you. Let me past, if you please.’
‘No.’ He stood upright and put a hand under her elbow. ‘Come along.’ He walked her along the terrace, around the edge of the house, across the end of the carriage drive and into the stable yard. ‘The carriage to take Miss Langley home,’ he said to the groom who came running at the sound of their footsteps.
‘I cannot just walk away—I should say goodbye to the guests,’ Sophia protested. ‘And to your brother.’
‘I will tell them you have a headache,’ Callum said, bundling her into the carriage as it came to a stop. He climbed in after her and slammed the door. The groom had set a taper to the internal lantern and she searched his face for some clue to his feelings.
‘Both of us? That was your excuse for disappearing earlier, was it not?’
‘They will assume we are having a mutual headache,’ Callum said as he settled himself on the seat next to her.
‘A mutual—? You mean they will assume we are alone somewhere making love?’ Sophia demanded on a wave of indignation.
‘Probably. We had better make it so, don’t you think?’
Chapter Seven
Callum turned and pulled her into his arms. ‘We both taste pleasantly of champagne, I imagine.’
Sophia felt her body sway towards him. She could hardly complain about him not courting her and then object when he wanted to kiss her. The blinds were down. No one would be able to see.
Callum’s mouth was firm and cool on hers and tasted, as he had predicted, of champagne. It also tasted of him, which was disturbing. She was coming to know that taste, to want it. But he did not repeat the all-consuming, passionate kisses that had so overwhelmed her before, but brushed her lips lightly with his in a whisper of a caress. Then he began to untie the ribbons that held up her long evening gloves and rolled the right-hand one down, almost to her wrist. He bent his head and touched his lips to the inside of her elbow, his tongue tracing the tendons, delving into the warm softness and then trailing down to her wrist where the pulse was pattering, faster it seemed than even her heartbeat.
‘Callum,’ she whispered as he began to pull off the glove, finger by finger. ‘Callum?’ The thin silk slid off and he raised her hand to his mouth.