Moriah Densley by Song For Sophia

Author:Song For Sophia [Sophia, Song For]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

Concerning An Unusual Wedding Night

What on earth am I doing here? She should be halfway to Spain. Instead, Sophia lay half asleep in Lord Devon’s bed. With Lord Devon.

Yesterday, Wilhelm had carried her inside a Tudor-era stone church he admitted to having never set foot in before and Sophia had repeated vows, hating that she spoke them through swollen, cut lips.

Then he offered her the pick of the wine cellar, and she vaguely remembered divulging the worst of her secrets. Somehow Wilhelm found it amusing that she had concocted her own brew of opium from the crop of Eastleigh hothouse poppies, drugged her father, and escaped in an unmarked service carriage wearing a dowager’s mourning costume and veil.

Worse, after a few more glasses, she had told him what led to it all; every sickening detail of how Lowdry cornered her in the hothouse and attacked her, how her Fritz saved her in a rescue uncannily similar to the current one, and how her father flew into a rage when he found his plan thwarted. She recited his ugly words, how he degraded and punished her. Her memory was blurred, but Sophia recalled turning to lower her nightgown and letting Wilhelm examine her back.

A riding crop? he half-shouted in disbelief. It was always whatever he had on hand, she answered, trying to sound unaffected. He had fallen silent for long minutes after that.

Any worry that Wilhelm might have reneged on his promise of a name-only marriage was unfounded. Completely unamorous, he had simply fallen asleep. It had been she who crossed to the other side of the mattress to lie in his arms.

For all her purported brazenness, she surprised herself by feeling rather prudish at the inevitability of lying with a man. Making love. Being bedded. Tumbled. Mercy, she could barely stand to even think the word. Sexual congress, Sophia. That is what married people do. Just the same, she was shamefully, abjectly frightened of Wilhelm as a husband.

Warm, strong hands stroked over her rear, up and down with his thumbs dragging. How long had he been awake?

“Good morning, Wilhelm.”

He hummed in husky baritone. “Lady Devon.”

Oh how strange!

“How do you feel?”

“Better.” Until she caused the next country scandal — she looked like a prize fighter.

“You look better. How about a holiday in Cornwall while you recover?”

“I think those are the most beautiful words you have ever spoken to me.”

He raised one knee, sliding her to center over him from shoulder to knee. He stretched beneath her, turning her man-sized cushion into a wall of ropy steel muscle until he relaxed with a lazy rumbling sigh. “Chocolate-dipped raspberries?”

“Even more inspiring.”

“Pomegranate wine, silver moonlight, a hot breeze, and swimming naked in the ocean.”

“Hmm. Your morning voice is very appealing. And I had no idea you were so romantic.” She slid away, easing the weight off her protesting ribs. “Are the girls coming along?”

“Well yes, of course.”

“Then you can forget the last part.”

He rolled to rest on his elbows, staring at her intently, searching.

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