“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.”
Chapter Ten
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.
The countess and his mother had wanted something sensational, and he would like to think he had managed to accomplish that.
The soft knock he waited for finally came. Leaping to his feet, he startled the dogs and spilled his libation as he set it hastily on a table as he rushed past. Justin threw open the door and his heart clenched.
“Sophie.”
She said nothing, but words weren’t necessary. Her dazzling smile was enough. He looked quickly to the left and right, to be certain she was not seen, then he caught her hand and pulled her into his bedchamber.
He locked the door and shooed the dogs into the sitting room. When he turned back, he found her waiting where he had left her. With great, joyful strides Justin caught her up and lifted her high. She set her hands on his shoulders and threw her head back, laughing as he spun them about.
“I began to despair,” he said, setting her on her feet so that he could pull her into his embrace. “I thought
