Sylvia Day - Perfect Kisses

Lady Cardington clapped her hands, the tension that had gripped her slight frame upon the arrival of the post dissipating with a relieved smile. “His lordship has hidden depths. Of course, we both knew that.”

“Yes, we did.” The dowager refolded the short missive carefully. “But now we have work to do, Caroline.”

Blowing out her breath, Lady Cardington set her shoulders back. “What is required of us?”

“We are to arrange a gathering.” Leaning forward, the dowager passed the letter over. “I have no notion how we shall manage the guest list he has demanded.”

Caroline rose from her floral slipper chair and moved to the walnut escritoire in the corner where her spectacles waited. “We shall lie and elaborate.” She gazed out the window to where Sophie walked beside Thomas in the rear garden. “We need only to entice them to come. The rest we leave to Fontaine and Sophie.”

“Did you truly attempt to climb to the top of the pagoda?”

Sophie glanced down at her son with a sheepish smile. “I did.”

“I am glad I was not here to see it,” Thomas said, gazing up at her with Langley’s dark eyes. “I would have been frightened for you.”

“Then perhaps you can understand why I was so frightened when I found you attempting the feat yourself.”

“I thought you were angry.”

She set her hand atop his unruly chocolate brown waves. “No, not angry, darling. Terrified.”

Looking at the structure, she remembered fragments of the day when Fontaine had caught her hanging from the roof’s edge.

“By God, you mad creature!” he’d cried, just before he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her free, spilling them both to the grass in a tangle of limbs.

He had been shaking with fury, or so she had believed at the time. Now she realized how he must have felt and her heart hurt. How could she have been so blind to his feelings for her?

She sighed. She suspected she knew why. Confusion at the loss of her parents and the lack of connection to her only sibling had made it difficult for her to perceive affection. She had been angry at the world, and therefore saw only anger returned to her.

“I have been invited to visit the Fontaine estate again,” Sophie said, dropping her hand to link fingers with Thomas’s grubby ones. They rounded the corner and she gestured to a crescent-shaped marble bench beneath a tree.

“I like Lady Fontaine.”

“So do I.” Although it was Justin who had requested her return in a short but sweet note that offered a chance at happiness. However, there was more at stake than her feelings. “Would you be upset if I went?”

Thomas appeared to consider the question carefully. “You have been sad since you returned.”

Sophie blinked, startled that he had been perceptive enough to notice. “I miss a friend.”

“Will you see your friend again when you go?”

“Yes.”

“Then I will not be upset, though I will miss you.”

With watering eyes, Sophie pulled Thomas into her lap and hugged him tightly to her. He wriggled and squirmed, protesting indignantly. And then he settled into her arms with an exasperated sigh.

“Thank you,” she said, when she had collected herself.

He squeezed her back and then climbed off her lap. “Since I cannot climb, can we catch insects?”

“I suppose.”

With a whoop of joy, Thomas led the way to the nearest bush. And for the first time in a very long time, Sophie felt hope.

Sophie jumped when the knock came to the door of her guest chamber in the Fontaine manse. She was not high-strung by nature-energetic, yes, but prone to nerves, no-but on this occasion she could not help it. When she had arrived that afternoon she’d taken note of the Rothschild crest on the travel coach in the drive. For the first time in many years she was sharing the same roof as her brother. In fact, she was fairly certain it was the first time they had been in the same province since their parents had passed on.

She rushed to the door and pulled it open. “Lady Fontaine,” she greeted as she saw who called on her.

The dowager was already dressed for dinner, her slender figure encased in cream colored satin skirts capped with a forest green bodice. Her blonde hair was artfully curled and her wrists, ears, and throat were adorned with brilliant emeralds rimmed with diamonds. Altogether, she presented a picture of elegant, affluent, mature beauty, and the care she displayed in her choice of attire was a vivid reminder of how important tonight would be.

“Lady Sophie.”

Dipping into a swift curtsy, Sophie hoped she hid her disappointment. As focused as she was on Rothschild, she was equally focused on Fontaine. To know that he was so close…to imagine him relaxed in his den, the place where he had loved her so ardently and so skillfully…

Her body thrummed in response to her yearning, and she released her breath in a rush. She had hoped to find him on the opposite side of the door, although she had known it would be far too risky an action for him to take with so many guests about. Her silly heart did not care about the reasonableness of its expectations. It cared only about its infatuation with Justin.

“Do not tax yourself worrying,” the dowager said with a reassuring curve to her lips, misunderstanding. “I am duly impressed with Fontaine’s arrangements and feel comfortable advising you to leave everything within his capable hands.”

Sophie nodded. “I trust him.”

“Of course you do. He is a most trustworthy man. He does nothing in half-measure. You can be certain that he has no doubts regarding the outcome of this evening. He would not risk your unhappiness.”

Sophie lifted her chin and smiled. The thought of her love for Justin straightened her spine and strengthened her determination to make the night a success, whatever he had planned. “I will make him happy.”

“I know you will.” The dowager gestured down the hall. “I offer you the use of my abigail and my rooms for dressing. Everything you need awaits you there.”

It was odd that the dowager would see to such a task herself, rather than sending her maid to Sophie, but Sophie didn’t question the offer, or how it was presented. She simply expressed her gratitude and followed Lady Fontaine down the gallery until they reached their destination.

Stepping into the lovely suite of rooms decorated in varying shades of gold, wine, and pink, Sophie was immediately arrested by the profusion of boxes set atop the chaise. Big and small, it appeared that every size and shape imaginable was represented.

“I took the liberty of peeking,” the countess confessed. “Fontaine has excellent taste. I hope you agree.”

The thought of wearing garments selected by the marquess caused a low quiver of excitement in Sophie’s belly.

“He also spent much of this afternoon upstairs in the nursery,” Lady Fontaine continued, “finding and setting aside his favorite toys from childhood for Master Thomas.”

Sophie’s eyes stung at the mental image those words evoked. The countess seemed to understand. After a gentle squeeze of Sophie’s shoulder, she departed the room in silence.

Riveted in place, Sophie allowed the tears to fall. She could not have foreseen that she would fall in love again, but there was no doubt. She was giddy with it.

The door reopened and then closed behind her. The sudden flare of awareness across her skin revealed the identity of her visitor.

She inhaled deeply, then turned to face him. Justin lounged against the closed portal in a sultry pose so rakish it aroused a hot, carnal longing. He had loved her body long and well, and she craved more of the same.

“My lord,” she breathed, dipping into a slow curtsy. She could not move any faster. The sight of him made her heart race until she felt dizzy. She stared, drinking him in, unable to do otherwise. He was different now than he had ever been. The infamous, chilly hauteur was nowhere to be found. He was warm and vibrant, the air around him charged with energy.

“My lady,” he returned, the corner of his mouth lifting as he straightened and came toward her. Dressed in tight breeches, white waistcoat, and artfully tied cravat, he was devastatingly handsome. The effect he had on her was so powerful that despite the gloves he wore, when he lifted her hand to his lips, her skin tingled.

“You mustn’t look at me in that manner in front of the others,” she whispered.

“In what manner?”

“As if you are besotted.”

The slow curving of his sensual mouth made her heart race. “I have always looked at you this way. After all these years, I cannot change it now.”

“Justin…”

“You must be unaware of how you look at me. I may look besotted, but your returning perusal is indecent.”

“Indecent?”

“As if you wish to lick me from head to toe, and nibble on everything in between.”

The scent of starch and bergamot teased her nostrils. He was so close, she could feel the warmth that radiated from him.

“I do wish to do that,” she admitted.

Her confession elicited a groan from deep in his throat, followed immediately by the banding of his arms around her and the lifting of her feet from the floor. Tilting his head, he took her mouth with a passion that stole her wits. Sophie could only cling to his broad shoulders and kiss him back with like desperation.

He pulled back with a deep timbral laugh, turning his head when she pursued him for more. “I did not come here for this, love.”

Sophie stuck her lower lip out in a pout, and he nipped it playfully with his teeth. “Did you miss me?” he purred.

“Sometimes.” He arched an arrogant brow and she wrinkled her nose. “Most of the time.”

Fontaine grinned.

“All of the time,” she amended, blushing.

“How lovely you are when you blush,” he murmured in an intimate, possessive tone that made her toes curl. He pressed his lips to the tip of her nose and then set her down.

“What have you planned?” she asked, studying him for signs of unease. She found none.

“In the family parlor, you will find Lady Cardington entertaining an elderly gentleman who is endlessly fascinated by a small statue, which I collected along with Rothschild from his London residence. In return for promised access to study the thing, he has agreed to school you on its finer points.”

“A statue?”

“Yes. A small part of a larger collection of valuable antiquities that belongs to you.”

“To me?”

“Yes.” His blue eyes laughed at her. “My darling, I adore you.”

Sophie shook her head with a smile. “You must.”

“Once you feel comfortable enough discussing the subject, the three of you will join us in the lower drawing room where your brother will greet you as if you are both fond of one another. Can you follow along with the ruse?”

“I can do anything if it means you will be mine.”

Justin reached for her again. In the decidedly feminine surroundings of his mother’s suite, his blatant masculinity was even more compelling. “I have waited a lifetime for you to want me.”

“I will want you for a lifetime.” She cupped his cheek, her thumb drifting across the cleanly shaven skin. “Will that make up for the delay?”

“Hmmm…”

“Something else, then?” Her hand slid around to cup his nape. There, the silky smooth ends of his hair curled around his collar and tickled her knuckles. She pressed her lips to his ear and whispered, “Some licking and nibbling, perhaps?”

“Yes,” he said hoarsely, his body hard and tense against hers. “That might do it.”

“So…I am to greet Rothschild as if we are the closest of siblings,” she repeated, “and discuss my heretofore unknown antiquity with feigned knowledge, and then?”

“Then we will spend the evening listening to Rothschild enlighten us about your collection while pretending that we knew everything he is saying prior to him saying it. The other esteemed gentlemen will weigh in with their thoughts and eventually one of them will have the poor manners to yawn, freeing us to retire.”

Sophie wriggled seductively. “And then?”

“Minx.”

“Will you be mine then?”

“I have always been yours.”

“You will make me cry,” she sniffled.

“No.” His smile was wicked. “I will make you limp with pleasure. Then I will make you my wife.”

Justin slouched before the fire in his bedchamber with a brandy-filled goblet in one hand and George’s head nuzzled in the other. He watched the blue flames in the grate and thought of Sophie, so dazzlingly beautiful in the gown he had wheedled out of the modiste. It had cost him a bloody fortune to convince the woman that the garment would receive more attention on Sophie than it would on the woman for whom it was originally made. But he would gladly pay the amount a hundred times over to have the same result.