The Reluctant Countess (10 page)

Patrick let the silence stretch. He knew that Sophie was aware that she was now alone in the carriage with him. He watched as she fidgeted with her skirts and then tried to wipe a smear of blood from her sleeve. It was obvious she was uncomfortable. Her stutter only appeared when she did not have herself under control. The ice maiden routine was now becoming very clear to Patrick; it was how she coped with society, a protective cloak she pulled around herself. “What you did today, Sophie, was reckless.” That brought her eyes up. Patrick bit back a smile as her chin once again elevated several notches. “You have no idea of Ginny’s character or reputation and to thrust her upon Lady Carstairs without first asking permission …”

“How dare you!” Sophie cried. “You have no right to question me. If I wish to employ every poor unfortunate that I see, then that is my right.”

She was not stuttering now, Patrick thought, admiring her flashing green eyes as they shot sparks at him.

“Unlike you, Lord Coulter, some are not born to a life of wealth and privilege, and if I can assist those poor souls in need of help, then that is precisely what I intend to do!”

“Do you think I sit idly on my backside from dawn till dusk twiddling my thumbs?” Patrick said, his temper tweaked by her unjust accusations.

Sophie swallowed, trying to moisten her dry throat. She was not fooled by his tone; he was offended by her words, deeply offended.
Why oh why could you not keep your mouth shut, Sophie?
“N-no, my lord, it is just that …”

“I hold five titles, four holdings, numerous business interests, a seat in Parliament, and am at present proposing a bill that is an attempt to resolve a situation that should help your poor souls, and let us not forget the several dozen family members who rely on me for their very existence. Do you suppose that this would take some of my privileged and pampered time, Countess?”

He looked relaxed, his hands resting between his thighs, large body still sprawled on the seat, but Sophie could see the anger in his narrowed eyes, dark as a starless night and staring straight at her.

“I-I am sorry, my lord, I spoke without thought. It was ignorant and rude of me, please excuse my ill-mannered behavior.” Sophie looked down at her fingers, because quite suddenly she felt like crying, and she could not remember the last time she had cried, prior to meeting this man.

Patrick studied Sophie’s lowered head. He had seen the tears in her eyes and watched her teeth bite into the soft flesh of her lower lip. She looked small and vulnerable, and suddenly all the anger he had felt drained away. He understood her feelings, she had spoken passionately and he knew that the less fortunate were something she cared deeply about, as did he.

“Sophie, please don’t cry.” Tears, in Patrick’s opinion, were a woman’s most powerful weapon, especially if their intent was to make a man feel helpless.

“I’m n-not.”

Drawing the curtains, Patrick reached for her. “Come here.” He lifted her onto his lap.

“My lord!” Sophie gasped, stiffening at such familiarity.

“Sophie,” he said, his voice coming out gruff as he looked at her tear-stained cheeks, “I forgive you,” Patrick added before he kissed her.

All thought of escape fled as Patrick’s lips touched hers. He was all around her, she was encased by his size but felt no fear, just wicked warmth. She wanted this, had wanted it since the last time he kissed her. His arms felt good around her, pressing her closer to the hard wall of his chest.

Cupping the full curve of one breast, Patrick swallowed Sophie’s moan and deepened the kiss. He nibbled her lower lip and traced the top with his tongue; she wriggled closer. He caressed her lush flesh, enjoying the small sounds she made as he brushed the taunt peak of one nipple.

Wanting to touch him, Sophie turned in his lap and slipped her arms around his neck.

Patrick enjoyed the first tentative stroke of Sophie’s fingers on his neck. Holding her on his thighs was an exquisite form of torture; every delicious movement she made heightened his pleasure.

“My lord!” Sophie wrenched her lips from his to look down at her now open bodice. How had he undone the buttons so quickly?

“Patrick.” His whisper was ragged as his lips began a slow torturous trail down her neck.

“Oooh,” Sophie sighed as he reached her breasts, and all thoughts of resistance fled as his kisses drew closer to the aching tip.

Patrick lifted her until she sat astride his thighs, then bent his head and began to feast on the lush curves before him.

Sophie writhed as each touch drew him nearer to the rose-tipped crests. It was pleasure akin to pain when his lips closed over one aching peak. Heat pooled between her thighs and she delighted in each new sensation as it coursed through her innocent body. All rational thought fled as Patrick touched and aroused her to the point where she could focus only on him.

“Touch me, Sophie.”

Patrick’s eyes held hers, and the sultry heat in the green depths had him tugging her closer for a long, heated kiss that left them both gasping for air.

Sophie’s fingers shook as she pushed the coat from his shoulders and then started to unbutton his satin waistcoat. The small buttons on his shirt took several attempts, but soon she had it open. Lord, he was magnificent; slopes and planes of muscle covered the surface of his chest. Tentatively, Sophie trailed her fingers over the warm skin, feeling the muscles tighten with each caress.

Patrick felt the last of his control slip as she scraped her nails over his chest. Tugging her forward, he pressed her bared breasts to his chest. “God, what you do to me!” His words were harsh against her lips as he closed the distance again. Savage heat gripped him as she answered his kiss, teeth clashing, tongues melding, and Sophie clung to him, taking everything he offered.

The feel of her breasts against the hairs on his chest heightened Sophie’s passion. He continued to kiss her, long sensual kisses that aroused her beyond reason, until she was raking her fingers through his hair, urging him on.

One of Patrick’s hands pushed Sophie’s skirts up her thighs, caressing her satiny skin along the way. His fingers stroked the warm flesh, moving slowly closer to their intended target.

Sophie stiffened as she felt Patrick’s fingers touch the curls no man had ever touched before. “Patrick?”

“Ssssh, let me touch you, sweetheart.” Softly he stroked the plump petals of her sex. His fingers were soon dampened with her dew and Patrick’s body ached with the need to be inside her, to feel her silken heat enclose him.

She couldn’t think, only feel the sensual heat that was spiraling higher and higher inside her. Sophie felt strange, her skin was tight, her body coiled as if waiting for something. “Pleeeease,” she begged, not knowing what she asked for. She cried out as his fingers touched the tiny bead between her thighs. Arching off his legs Sophie reached for Patrick, her hands caressing his chest in sensual strokes as she climbed higher and higher toward the pinnacle.

Patrick thrust one finger inside Sophie’s heat. She was tight and he would lose every shred of sanity if he was not inside her soon. He needed to feel her close around him as he drove deep and hard into her slick sheath. Releasing his breeches, Patrick freed his erection, then gripping both Sophie’s hips in his hands he positioned her above and drove upward.

Sophie screamed as pain sliced through her. Passion fled as she struggled to push herself off him, but Patrick drove into her again.

Through the haze of lust Patrick heard Sophie cry out as he drove into her for the last time. Closing his eyes, he shuddered with the power of his release.

Sophie scrambled off Patrick’s legs as the carriage rolled to a halt. Frantically searching for her cloak, she found it on the floor and threw it around her shoulders, clutching it closed with one hand as the other sought the latch that would release the door.

“Sophie!” Patrick roared when he realized what was happening. Lunging for her, he came up empty-handed as she leapt from the carriage. He watched as she picked up her skirts and took the stairs to her house two at a time, the door opened, and then she was gone.

“Home, Scully!” Patrick bellowed after battling his first instinct to go after her. Slowly he started to right his clothes. She had been a virgin; he had just ruthlessly taken Sophie’s innocence. What the hell had he been thinking, making love to her in a carriage like some young irresponsible
fool? “Because you believed Timothy to be her child,” he answered himself. And because only with her could he lose all control, only she was able to destroy his ability to think straight. He stilled as he noticed a few spots of red on his thighs. What kind of hell was Sophie going through at this moment? Her first experience with a man and he had taken her, forced himself into her and caused her pain.

For the first time in a long while Patrick was disgusted with himself. Many years ago, he had vowed to care for and protect those who were vulnerable, whenever possible. He was not foolish enough to believe he could protect them all, yet he would do his damnedest to watch over those who came within his sphere; and now he had hurt Sophie. Buttoning his jacket, Patrick leaned his head back on the seat and closed his eyes. He didn’t fight the memories that filled his head as he usually did—this time he let them come. He deserved a bit of torture for what he had just done, and memories of his childhood would certainly do that.

The previous Earl and Countess of Coulter had thought of their only son as a necessity, a regrettable must-have if the Coulter line was to continue. Patrick had learned this as soon as he was old enough to understand. He was raised as his parents had been raised—by servants whose only concern was to see him fed, tutored, and clothed. Patrick was an only child, therefore he spent all his time alone. No one picked him up when he fell or hugged him when he cried and so he had grown up without love and comfort, but more importantly, he had learned to be what his parents wanted, cold and indifferent. On the rare occasion people visited them, Patrick was cleaned and clothed appropriately and trotted out so they could fawn over him, which he had to endure or he would receive a lecture when the visitors left. Consequently, he could mask his feelings no matter what went on inside his head.

The late earl had treated servants with disdain. In fact, anyone of inferior birth, as his father put it, was not worthy of his interest. His mother had continually reinforced in Patrick the idea that he was never to be like
them
, the lower classes, and because of this he had begun to nurture an irrational need to protect them. When he first arrived in London after his parents’ deaths, Patrick had spent endless nights on the streets looking for and helping children in need. Stephen, however, had soon put a stop to this.

“You can help them more by fighting for reform, Patrick. Doing what you are, going out each night, you will only exhaust yourself and probably end up with a knife between your shoulders. Fight for them in Parliament, fight for them using your title and wealth, and the results will have a bigger and more far-reaching effect.”

He had done what Stephen suggested, and though the going was slow he had made progress, and every time he won a small victory, he would think of his parents and smile. In the end he had won, not they.

Looking around the interior of his carriage, he felt again the weight of what he had just done to Sophie. A woman should not be subjected to a man’s lust inside a carriage. Guilt made him want to turn the carriage around and seek her out to ensure she was all right, but he knew she would not receive him. He could still feel her in his arms, the texture of her skin and the lush swell of her breasts in his hands and dear God, his body began to respond to the memory of how she had encased him like a glove as he drove deep into her.

“I will find all your answers, Sophie, Countess of Monmouth,” Patrick vowed as his carriage pulled to a halt in front of his town house. “And then you will be mine.”

“Sophie, are you in there, dear?”

Taking a deep breath, Sophie opened the door to her bedroom. “Yes, Letty,” she said, forcing a smile onto her face.

“Poole said you were asking after me, dear.”

Sophie quickly rushed into an explanation about Ginny and her current predicament. When she finished, Letty studied her for several seconds.

“Are you unwell, dear?” Letty looked at the pale, pinched look on Sophie’s face, and the red-rimmed eyes.

“Just a little bit tired, Letty. I fear my head is paining me.”

“Hmmm,” was all the older lady said, although Sophie was in no doubt she did not believe one word.

“I have no problem with your new maid coming to work here. However, it will be your task to make sure she fits in with the rest of the staff.”

“Of course and thank you, Letty.…”

“But just see that this does not happen too often,” Letty finished, cutting Sophie off.

Needing a diversion, Sophie looked at the small brown parcel Letty held in her hand. “Is that for me?”

“Yes, it was delivered sometime this morning while we were both out, dear.”

“Is Timmy still sleeping?”

“Yes, and I am just going to have an afternoon nap myself,” Letty added. “As I am sure the theater will be quite tiring.”

“Oh, the theater.”

“Come, Sophie, you have been waiting weeks for this night.”

“Yes of course, Letty, I am just tired,” Sophie said, as she battled with the thought of seeing the Earl of Coulter again so soon. At least she would have Amelia for company this evening, and Amelia could always be relied upon to make Sophie laugh.

“Oh, and Sophie.” Letty looked over her shoulder as she turned to leave.

Sophie raised her eyes from the package and Letty could see the dark smudges beneath. Even standing in her dressing gown with a tea stain on the lapel, the girl was stunning, although perhaps a little more approachable than the countess she portrayed herself to be when she left the house.

“If you need to talk about what has upset you, you know where I am,” Letty added before slipping into her room.

Sophie shook her head as she too returned to her room. She had not known Letty long, yet her sister-in-law already knew her better than her own mother had.