arrangements. But it would be unwise to make such decisions while lying naked in his arms. Though her body had been thoroughly seduced, her mind—and more important, her heart—still harbored reservations.
Why ruin the magic of their night with talk of reality, of tomorrow?
Yet she instantly forgot her concerns. Propped on one elbow, he slowly tugged the sheet downward, dragging the linen over her breasts, baring them to his gaze and the chill of the room. Her nipples stiffened into hard points. She shifted, deliciously tortured by being so exposed, and felt the blunt pressure of his sex against her hip. At the foot of the bed, the fire had burned low, and it now gave off only the glow from its embers.
“About those books from my library.” Slowly his fingertips circled her breasts and teased her nipples. With a dip of his head, he suckled one, leaving it wet, glistening, and puckered. She squirmed, but he pinned her against the bed with his knee. “The naughty ones.”
She sighed, wanting more and knowing with a certainty she would have it.
“They were very naughty books, indeed,” she whispered.
His palm ventured downward over her stomach to slip beneath the sheet.
“Were you shocked by those books, Sophia?” Long, square-tipped fingers touched her, sliding between her legs to stroke and tease swollen flesh, already drenched with desire. Like a cat, she purred and stretched, parting her thighs just enough to grant them entrance—
She moaned the moment they entered her.
“Tell me.” He stroked more deeply, and she lifted her hips off the bed, matching his tempo. “Were you shocked by the pictures?”
She panted. “Not as…shocked…as I ought to have been.”
She’d never let go of herself like this, been so free in taking pleasure for herself. Nothing else mattered in this moment but these delicious sensations and the two of them. She moaned again, this time into his mouth when he dipped low to kiss her.
But he drew back. “When you looked at those pictures, did you think of me?”
Suddenly his fingers were gone, and in a blur of linen and darkness and ember glow, she found herself half turned on her side and propped against a pillow, with him behind her…stroking again, probing with his fingers and then, blessedly, with his cock. “Did you imagine me doing this to you?”
His hand caught her behind the knee. He lifted her there, spreading her, entering her fast and deep.
“Vane!” she cried, shattered by the pleasure of being so completely filled and stretched by him.
“Did you?” he murmured in that low, wicked voice that she loved. He pumped his hips, but slowly in smooth, controlled thrusts.
“Yes, always.” It was true. There had never been anyone but him, even in her most secret of fantasies.
Gently and without pulling out, he maneuvered her onto her hands and her knees. A glance over her shoulder revealed him reared back like a stallion, his torso tautly defined by shadow and muscle. But in the next moment, he came down, his body a cage around her, one arm coming up to band around her waist.
“From what I recall,” he rasped into her ear. “There were many different pictures. You…weren’t hoping to go back to sleep anytime soon, were you?”
Chapter Seventeen
The next morning brought no new snow and news from the village that the frost on the river had begun to disappear. Vane smiled like everyone else and pretended jubilance, but inside he cursed his miserable luck.
Selfishly, he had hoped for just a few more days. And nights if he had to be honest with himself. His luxurious house in London inspired the envy of many, but there were so many visitors and servants and expectations…while here at Camellia House, things were uncomplicated and warm and true. Only he couldn’t keep Sophia here forever. She had a family to return to, one with whom she desperately wanted to spend her Christmas.
But this chilly December morning, for the first time in Vane’s memory, Mrs. Kettle threw open the doors of the dining hall, a large and formal room never used by his mother. With just her and the two boys in residence, there had been no need.
However, Mrs. Kettle, declaring that all known babies had been birthed, had thrown herself into the task of feeding the Duke and Duchess of Claxton and their guests in residence with unparalleled enthusiasm. Together they enjoyed a full sideboard of selections as fine as any grand London residence would boast, or better, Vane had assured her.
The only absences were Haden, who remained at the inn in the village, for the obvious reason of wishing to avoid Lord and Lady Meltenbourne, and the Branigans, who breakfasted in their room, insisting they could not further impose upon the duke and duchess, who had already been more than kind, given the circumstances of their initial introduction. Sophia had insisted on taking two trays up.
Afterward, Sophia helped Mrs. Kettle tidy the kitchen and discuss preparations for the house to again be closed for the next several months, at least until summer. Vane donned his coat, gloves, and hat and joined Mr. Kettle and Mr. Branigan in the snow-covered courtyard at the back of the house for an inspection of the old stable master’s quarters. Despite the frost having subsided on the river, the air remained cold and the sky above them gray.
Inside the stable, they climbed a narrow column of stairs. Mr. Kettle unlocked a door, and together they entered the small apartment. Dust cloths covered a table and chairs, a bed, and numerous other pieces of furniture.
“Thank you, your Grace. I don’t know quite what to say,” Mr. Branigan said, an expression of hope returning a measure of youth to his features, some vestige of the boy Vane had once known. “Our lives had taken such a turn for the worse of late. That you’d offer something so generous to Mrs. Branigan and me, as a place to live, especially after we trespassed in your house and frightened you and her Grace—well, I’m overwhelmed.”
Vane couldn’t help but feel that the Branigans returning to Camellia House had been intended all along. Since his arrival on a cold, dark doorstep three nights ago, the old mansion had returned to life. He felt in some way that he had as well. “Your thanks is enough.”
Mr. Branigan held his cap in both calloused hands. “I couldn’t help but notice that there are repairs to be made in numerous locations about the house, starting with that settee leg that keeps falling out from under everyone. Like my father was, I’m very skilled with woodwork.”
Claxton listened quietly, giving the man his chance to speak.
“Please allow me to undertake any repairs, under the supervision of Mr. Kettle, of course, in exchange for our being allowed to stay.”
“That’s not necessary,” Vane assured him. “I’m pleased to have someone to live on the premises to keep out the vagrants and such.”
Mr. Branigan’s cheeks flushed; he was suddenly mortified. Vane grinned. Mr. Kettle clapped the young man on the back, and they all three shared a laugh.
“Thank you for your kind trust, but I must insist on providing something in exchange,” Mr. Branigan persisted. “Please, sir, for my own pride.”
At last, with an encouraging nod from Mr. Kettle, Vane agreed.
A flash of scarlet drew his eye to the house—and in that instant, everything inside him went warm with anticipation. Sophia waved, dressed for the out-of-doors, they having already agreed to this morning to complete the remaining quest. Mr. Branigan insisted on harnessing the horse to the sledge and, all in all, made fine and expedient work of the task.
Traveling over crusted snow, Vane and Sophia returned to the same thickly treed path in the forest that led to the huntsman’s cottage. Vane lifted a frozen tree limb to allow Sophia to proceed underneath. Waning winter light illuminated the slanted, one-room structure.
“Careful,” Vane said as they stood side by side on the threshold. “I’m not certain how reliable the roof or the floorboards are. At least there is very little area to search.”
Sophia stepped cautiously over creaking floorboards. “We’re looking for a pot, you say?”
“Cast iron, from what I recall, with a handle and a heavy lid.” Even stooped, his large frame filled the small
