What a Duke Dares (Sons of Sin 3)
You.
She’d spent the last nine years fleeing this man she loved but who could never love her. Despite excitement and adventure, despite playing a sophisticate in a sophisticated world, she hadn’t run toward anything. What a lowering admission.
“I enjoy my life.” Apart from a constant ache that no spectacular scenery or charming admirers or glamorous intrigues banished.
“You’d enjoy London.”
“I doubt it. People at home are more conservative than here. English society won’t accept me with open arms.”
“I would.”
Pen couldn’t help herself. She laughed. It was either laugh or cry. If she cried, he might guess how it would crush her to leave him. “No, Cam. I’m not throwing myself into your arms under any circumstances.”
He didn’t laugh. He looked disturbed and angry. That dangerous hum in the air returned. Fatalistically she recognized that it had never gone away. “Pen, I’m trying my best to remember that I’m an honorable man.”
She sobered, telling herself that she couldn’t allow him to compromise his principles. But how easy it would be to ignore what was right when for the sake of a little sin, he could be hers. However briefly. Physically if not emotionally.
She could cross a mere foot of space and kiss him. If she knew anything about men—and at twenty-eight, she should—the slightest encouragement would shatter his restraint.
“Unfortunately,” she whispered before she could stop herself.
The hum rose to overwhelm every other sound.
Then he stepped back and bowed. Even as hunger darkened his eyes, he spoke with the chill politeness she’d heard too often on this journey. This evening, they’d spoken like friends. Or lovers. Now she watched Cam draw the shades over that intimacy. “I won’t act the cad. My family’s reputation is at stake. If I tumble you, I prove that all my work to restore the family honor has been in vain.”
She’d known that. Still, rejection hurt. She bent her head, not wanting him to see how he wounded her.
A couple emerged onto the terrace from the inn. The lady paused and spoke with joyful recognition. Even worse, in the clipped accents of an upper-class Englishwoman. “Miss Thorne, what a wonderful surprise.”
Chapter Nine
Prescott Place, Wiltshire, March 1828
She came to him through the sweet new greenery like a forest spirit, although there was nothing unearthly about the woman he seized in his arms. She was all warm, passionate femininity.
Harry kissed Sophie until they were both breathless. Then he kissed her some more. “You got away.”
His asinine comment sparked amusement. “Obviously.”
This past week, Sophie had joined a house party given by one of Leath’s political cronies. Despite Harry’s best efforts, his pursuit of Sophie had attracted attention. Leath had removed her from London to separate her from young Mr. Thorne. A note channeled via Sophie’s maid had put paid to that plan.
Harry kissed Sophie again. His blood heated as she answered with eager dips and swirls of her tongue. Still a little unsure of
herself but gaining in confidence every minute.
“Sweetheart, I’ve missed you so much,” he said brokenly, punctuating every word with kisses.
They’d only kissed once before, and the craving to do it again had kept him sleepless and grumpy. They’d managed three more meetings in Hyde Park and a couple of circumspect dances. Here in Sir Garth Burton’s woods on a sleepy afternoon, nobody was likely to interrupt. Harry had sworn he wouldn’t lose his head. But after one glimpse of his beloved, moderation flew to Hades.
“I’ve missed you too,” Sophie murmured unsteadily, her hands working on Harry’s shoulders as if she hardly believed that he was there.
“It’s been an eternity.” He trailed his lips down her throat, nipping the curve of her shoulder until she trembled.
“It’s only a week.”
“You speak lightly of my pain,” he whispered into her skin.
“I’ve thought of you every minute.” She slid her hands under his coat, bringing him closer.