She crushed her lips against his, pushed her tongue into the dark sweetness of his mouth, until his resistance crumbled and he began to breathe harshly.
'Thisis what I want,' she whispered, pulling his hand to her breast. 'Please. Don't deny me, Ross.'
With objections still poised on his lips, he cradled the weight of her breast and bent his head to kiss her throat. Rapidly his concern was replaced by desire. A groan of pure lust escaped him, and he reached down to clamp her bottom in his hands. He lifted her onto the top of the file drawers, his mouth continuing to devour hers. Sophia sat and parted her stocking-clad legs with shameful eagerness, allowing him to stand between them. 'We can't do this here,' Ross muttered, his hand searching inside the rustling mass of her skirts. 'If a clerk should walk in and see--'
'I don't care.' She pulled his head to hers again.
Their mouths meshed and clung until they were both robbed of breath. Sophia moaned as his fingers slid past the slit of her drawers, gently fondling her moistening flesh. 'I want you,' she gasped, her hand descending to press on his.
'Sophia...' Ross ground out the word against the side of her neck. 'Let's go to my room...'
'Now,' she insisted. Greedily she fumbled with the front of his trousers to free his straining erection.
Abandoning all attempts to dissuade her, Ross helped her with a muffled laugh. 'Insatiable minx,' he accused, sliding her hips to the edge of the cabinet. He entered her in a smooth, deep plunge that made her gasp. 'There...will this satisfy you?'
'Yes. Yes...' She leaned back helplessly against his arm.
Supporting her back and buttocks, Ross lifted her completely off the cabinet, keeping her fully impaled. He brought her to the door and pinned her against it, allowing her legs to dangle helplessly on either side of his hips. Sophia moaned as he thrust at exactly the right angle, stroking inside her, rubbing against the most sensitive part of her sex.
'Sophia,' he growled, his rhythm unceasing, 'I want an answer now.'
Panting, she stared at him in bewilderment. 'An answer?'
'I want you to say you'll marry me.'
'Oh, Ross...not now. I want to think some more.'
'Now,' he insisted, suddenly holding still inside her. 'Do you want me? A simple yes or no will suffice.'
She clutched at his shoulders while her body throbbed with longing. 'Don't stop. Don't.'
His brilliant gray eyes stared into hers as he resumed his thrusting at a torturously slow pace...the deep, prolonged drives that he knew would drive her mad. 'Yes or no?'
'I won't answer that question now,' she said, writhing uncontrollably. 'You will have to wait.'
'Then so will you.' His mouth caught hers in a hard, wet kiss. 'We'll wait just like this,' he whispered. 'And I vow, Sophia, that your toes are not going to touch the floor until I have my answer.' He rocked against her gently, his sex penetrating even deeper than before.
A sob rose in her throat. She was so close, her body primed for release, her emotions strained beyond bearing. Nothing mattered but him. In one reckless, greedy, soul-anguished moment, she chose what she wanted most. Her mouth moved against his, pressing a silent word to his lips.
'What?' he asked urgently, drawing his head back to look at her. 'What did you say?' 'I said yes,' she moaned. 'Yes. Ross, please help me, please--'
'I'll help you,' he whispered tenderly, and muffled her cries with his mouth as he gave her exactly what she needed.
CHAPTER 15
Following a simple wedding ceremony in the private chapel on the Silverhill Park estate, Ross's mother hosted a ball that was attended by guests from at least three counties. Sophia tried not to be overwhelmed by the surfeit of attention. Countless newspapers and magazines had published information concerning Sir Ross Cannon's bride, where and when the wedding would take place, and even where they were to live. Gossip raged in salons, coffeehouses, and taverns. The revelation that Sir Ross's new wife was the daughter of a viscount added more spice to the story, for it was also known that she had worked for him at Bow Street.
Sophia was gratified by the Cannons' ready acceptance of her, and especially by the warmth that his mother displayed. 'My friends have asked me to describe you,' Catherine had told her the day before the wedding. Assorted guests sat in the parlor, some playing games at the card table, some strolling arm in arm through the circuit of family rooms. A few women were engaged in needlework, while gentlemen sat with newspapers and conferred on the day's events. 'Naturally,' Catherine continued, 'they are all exceedingly curious about what kind of woman would manage to capture Ross's heart.'
'Hisheart isn't the part of his anatomy that she's captured,' Matthew muttered nearby.
Catherine turned toward him inquiringly. 'What did you say, darling?'
He managed to produce an insincere smile. 'I said my brother has indeed been captured. One can hardly recognize him for that witless grin he has taken to wearing.' A few guests laughed upon overhearing the comment, as the change in Sir Ross's usually remote demeanor had been generally remarked upon. Many had agreed that it had been a very long while since Sir Ross had seemed so lighthearted and relaxed.
As Matthew spoke, Ross entered the parlor and went over to Sophia. Picking up her hand, which was resting on the curved back of the settee, he lifted it to his lips and whispered, 'Shall I tell them why I'm smiling?'
The wicked gleam in his eyes reminded Sophia of the passionate interlude they had shared the previous night, when he had sneaked into her room and joined her in bed. She frowned at him while her cheeks colored. Laughing at her discomfiture, Ross seated himself beside her on the settee. 'And how do you describe my fiancee to your friends, Mother?' he asked Catherine, picking up the threads of the conversation.
'I tell them that she is the most delightful young woman I have ever met. Not to mention lovely.'
Catherine glanced at Sophia's peach-colored gown with an approving eye. 'Is that a new dress, dear? The color is most becoming.'
Sophia did not dare glance at Ross. The subject of her clothes had provoked a heated argument between them just a few days earlier. Because Ross had insisted on marrying her so quickly, there had been no time for Sophia to have new gowns made. And since he was a man, he had not given a single thought to her trousseau. The only clothes Sophia possessed were the dark dresses she had worn at Bow Street, all of them made with coarse fabric and no embellishments. She had cringed at the thought of being wed in one of those drab garments and then attending a ball in it. Therefore she had approached Ross with some trepidation and asked for the return of the lavender-silver gown.
'As you no longer require it for an investigation,' she had told him in his office, 'I would like to have it back, please.'
Ross had received the request with disgruntled surprise. 'What do you need it for?'
'It is the only suitable gown I have to get married in,' she said calmly.
A scowl settled on his face. 'You arenot going to wear that at our wedding.'
'It is a perfectly lovely gown,' she persisted. 'There is no reason why I can't wear it.'
'Yes, there is,' he countered in outrage. 'It came from Nick Gentry.'
Sophia returned his scowl. 'No one will know that.'
'I'llknow it. And I'll be damned if I will allow you to wear it.'
'Fine, then. What will you have me wear?'
'Choose a dressmaker--I will take you anywhere you wish this afternoon.'
'No dressmaker will be able to make a suitable gown in three days. In fact, there is barely enough time to alter the lavender one. And I will not marry you in front of all your friends and family looking like a beggar!'
'You can borrow a gown from my mother. Or Iona.'
'Your mother is nearly six feet tall and as thin as a rail,' Sophia pointed out. 'AndI'll be damned if I will wear a gown of Iona's and then endure snide comments from your brother about it. Now, where have you put the lavender gown?'
Glowering, Ross leaned back in his chair and propped the heel of his boot against the side of the desk. 'It's in the evidence room,' he muttered.
'My gown, in the evidence room?' she exclaimed indignantly. 'No doubt it has been shoved onto some filthy
