Midnight Pleasures (Pleasures Trilogy) by Eloisa James

Author:Eloisa James [James, Eloisa]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2009-08-31T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

The next morning Sophie woke early and crept out of bed. Patrick lay in a tangle of faintly musty sheets, only the tip of one ear showing in his mop of black curls. For a moment Sophie paused, curling her bare toes against the cool stone floor. Then she quietly pulled on the gown she’d worn yesterday and struggled to fasten the back without Simone’s help. She slipped on her pelisse and her half-boots and crept out of the room.

As soon as she left, Patrick turned over and stared rather grimly at the cobwebby planks some twelve feet over his head. Something was happening that was beyond his personal experience. Seduce her no matter how expertly, his little wife had never succumbed. While he wasn’t quite the libertine she presumed, it was true that his previous lovers had invariably vowed eternal love by this point in the relationship.

Patrick frowned. What an arrogant popinjay he was! He had simply assumed that Sophie would forget all about Braddon, the man she was supposed to marry. The worst of it was that he had never wanted all those protestations of love so freely given by other women, but now … things were different.

Patrick groaned out loud. He needed to hear those words from Sophie. Oh God, trapped in the parson’s mousetrap. The words took on new meaning. He wasn’t trapped by the archaic words of the marriage ceremony. No, he was trapped by his own distracting, ignominious need for his wife.

A glimmer of a smile appeared on Patrick’s lips. After all, Sophie was his wife. If he was caught, so was she. So what if she didn’t murmur sweet words? Maybe she didn’t feel them. Perhaps those other women had simply told him what they thought he wanted.

Then a memory of Sophie, gasping as she frantically arched against his body, spilled into Patrick’s mind. In fact, Sophie did tell him what she felt, if not in words. So what if those feelings didn’t include frantic protestations of empty love? So much the better. They had an honest relationship. No empty bibble-babble between them.

Slowly Patrick sat up. A grim determination was growing in his heart. Somehow, some way, he was going to wrench those words from Sophie’s lips. Because even if they were just empty embellishments, he wanted to hear them from her. No, he needed to hear them. Because …

But he pulled on his clothes and left the room rather than face the answer to that “because.” Why would he, who had never needed anything from anyone, need to hear words of love from a woman?

Patrick ate breakfast alone in the kitchen. Floret was holding court, surrounded by a bemused group of Welsh women who likely couldn’t understand a word he said but looked fascinated by one of Floret’s greatest accomplishments—breaking an egg with one hand.

The sky, visible behind a stained oilcloth that intermittently blew open over the kitchen window, was clear again. The storm had blown over. Patrick was anxious to get back to the Lark and see if she had suffered any damage.

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