“I’ll get you that brandy.” He kissed her briefly on the lips.
To save herself sinking into his arms and revealing exactly how besotted she was, she drew away and bent to collect the books that had cascaded around them at the heights of their passion.
“Cam?” she said in shock.
He turned from the side table where he poured their drinks. “Yes?”
Her voice shook as she extended a book toward him. “I wrote this.”
“You did indeed,” he said as if his ownership of one of her travel memoirs meant nothing. “And very good it was too. If you check the shelves, you’ll see your other books as well.”
Still holding the book, she slumped onto a chair. “I’m… surprised.”
Damn him. What hope did she have of resisting? There was a poignant pleasure in knowing that he’d read and enjoyed words she’d written.
He brought her the brandy. “Let’s drink to your talent.”
He spoke so casually when she felt completely overturned. And not just because of that headlong seduction. It was an effort to keep her voice light. “Which talent in particular?”
His brows arched. “Let’s just say that the last half hour has given me a new appreciation for my library.”
She met eyes alight with humor and found herself laughing with an unfettered amusement that she hadn’t felt since her aunt’s death. Careless of the brandy, Cam drew her up into his arms as he laughed with her.
Briefly, despite this being the depths of night, sunlight warmed her world.
Chapter Thirty-Two
When Harry heard the carriage stop outside Aunt Isabel’s house in a narrow street off Russell Square, his heart threatened to explode with excitement. He drew a deep breath of the dust-laden air and strained to hear Sophie’s steps approaching the door.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
The triple knock signaled her arrival. She sounded impatient. Almost as impatient as he.
He flung open the door to see the dark, unmarked carria
ge and Pen’s anxious face peering out the window. He waved to reassure her, before his attention focused on the veiled woman on the step.
Without speaking, he caught Sophie’s wrist just above her short glove and dragged her into the hall. Under his fingers, her pulse pounded madly.
The slam of the door echoed through the unoccupied house like a gunshot. He tipped back her bonnet and flung away the veils concealing her beautiful face. Then he was kissing her and she was kissing him. The long, lonely weeks suddenly didn’t matter.
His darling was here. He was alive again.
Three afternoons he’d waited since Pen had delivered his note. Three afternoons alone in this neglected house left empty for years while Aunt Isabel toured the Continent. In this middle-class neighborhood, nobody was likely to discover him with Sophie.
He kissed Sophie’s lips, chin, cheeks, nose, brow. Hundreds of words tumbled out, boiling down to three essentials.
I love you.
I missed you.
Don’t leave me.
He took far too long to realize that Sophie was crying. He caught her face between his hands. “Sweetheart, what is it?”
She sniffed and regarded him with swimming blue eyes. “I’m just so happy to see you. I thought James might leave me in that frozen wilderness until he drove up with Desborough and forced me into the chapel for the wedding.”
“You said your brother wouldn’t bully you.”