Lady Sophie

Dorothy McFalls

LADY SOPHIE’S MIDNIGHT SEDUCTION BY DOROTHY McFALLS

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LADY SOPHIE’S MIDNIGHT SEDUCTION

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LADY SOPHIE’S MIDNIGHT SEDUCTION Copyright © 2006 by Dorothy McFalls Cover Art © 2006 by Jinger Heston All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form without permission, except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law. Printed and bound in the United States of America. For information, you can find us on the web at www.VenusPress.com

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His cruel hands held her down, pinning her to the feather mattress in her own bedchamber. Lady Sophie struggled with all her strength until she was completely tangled up in the flimsy material of her nightrail. In desperation, she choked on a sob. There was nothing she could do...nothing, but submit. What a fate for the daughter of an earl! Though her father had never cared to spend more than a few moments a year in her presence, she had always had the protection of his name...but perhaps she not even had that any longer. He was gone now. He had died over a year ago, leaving her the London town house and her mother’s jewels...neither of which could help her escape this nightmare. His face was hidden in the shadows, yet she knew his identity without question. He was the same gentleman who had followed her across Hyde Park when she’d gone riding with Lord Griffon last Tuesday. His dark gaze had troubled the back of her neck until she’d turned and spotted him. There were other times she had caught him, lurking like a phantom, watching her as she flitted from one man’s arm to another. His heavy brows always furrowed. His lips always pulled into a deep frown. Was it a month ago now that he’d brashly entered her parlor during an at-home? She’d swiftly refused his advances and turned him out. And now he had returned and was here...in her bed. He crushed his lips against hers, swallowing her protests while his hands roamed lower. Skin that felt hotter than the coals in the fire grate burned--seared--as his fingers trailed a path over her hips. This wasn’t happening, she told herself. Proper virgin ladies did not consort with gentlemen in this manner...nor should they enjoy the unspeakable sensation of being stroked so intimately. Despite her alarm, her senses were racing and a feverish heat had started trailing up her neck. The feel of his mouth against hers muddled her thoughts and set her body 4

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on fire. She couldn’t seem to think much less stop her mouth from responding to his ravishing kisses. Her lips parted just wide enough to allow his tongue entrance. He tasted of cinnamon and burgundy, all sweet and bitter. The cool night air kissed the tender skin high on her thighs as he lifted the hem of her nightrail. Instinctively, her legs relaxed and opened for him. A shocked voice inside her warned that she should be fending off his advances, not kissing him until she was breathless with need. She should protest. What...what would happen to her after he managed to pry open the top buttons of his inexpressibles? Curiosity mingled with fear. She was certain her body couldn’t take much more excitement. As it was, her heart was pounding so hard it was about to burst right out of her chest. He peeled his lips away from hers. His dark, silent gaze pressed his determination hard upon her. “You cannot run from me any longer, Sophie. You are mine.” His whispered words were an echo of those inked on an unsigned card. A card that had been delivered to her home earlier that same day, accompanied by a showy bouquet of white and pink lilies. Lilies--according to the Language of Flowers--signified a dangerous love awaiting her. The flowers’ heady aroma had filled the front parlor. Their scent had lingered long after she had ordered them removed, making it nearly impossible for Sophie to disregard the warning--or perhaps it had been a promise--those delicate petals represented. What was she to do? Although the card had been unsigned, her heart had shuddered with every beat that afternoon and her mind had had to struggle to follow the conversations of her friends at tea...because she knew. Lord Benton-Black, the rake who had inherited her father’s title and wealth was her gentleman stalker and the only logical source of the chillingly anonymous note and flowers. She had known and had feared--with perverse anticipation--that this midnight visit would come. Now, with him firmly planted between her vulnerable thighs and his fingers nearly done with the unfastening of his breeches’ buttons, a shiver of dread tripped over her. This wasn’t quite real... 5

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That stray thought, more worrisome than all the rest, sent Sophie shooting up in her bed. In silent darkness, she battled not with her seducer but with the heavy woolen blanket that had so entangled her limbs and cinched up between her legs that she could barely move. I am alone... A sob born not from fear but from the years of loneliness that had left her labeled a hopeless spinster threatened to choke her as she fought to hold it inside her throat. Failing, tears dropped from her cheeks while the pain of being so utterly empty and alone ripped through her. Sophie reached out blindly until her fingers curled around the velvet bell pull hanging beside her bed, and she tugged frantically. Several minutes later, a bleary-eyed maid, a frilly mobcap perched rather crookedly on her head and a lace-edged wrapper closed tightly around her tiny body, entered Sophie’s bedchamber with a lone taper in her hand. “You rang for me, my lady?” Sophie hiccupped several times while hastily wiping the tears from her eyes with a corner of her tangled bed linen. “Yes, Fannie, I did. It certainly wasn’t a ghost tinkling the bell on the other end of this pull,” she said crisply, a tone that was difficult to pull off considering her tear-clogged throat. Tuffs of silver hair poked out from underneath Fannie’s cap and shimmered in the dim light in her hand. Fannie raised her candle and stepped closer to the bed, her gaze narrowing. “Are you ill, my lady?” she asked. “No--” Sophie sniffed and wiped her eyes again “--of course I am healthy as always. I simply...simply....” Zounds, she couldn’t think of one plausible excuse for calling her long-suffering maid from her slumber at this hour of the night. Fannie nodded. “I see, my lady.” And perhaps she did indeed see only too well. Fannie sometimes had an uncanny way of seeing through Sophie’s icy exterior and knowing what was truly going on in her guarded heart. “Dreams can seem dreadfully real, can they not? Would you care for a cup of tea to help settle your nerves?” “No...No thank you, Fannie.” Sophie straightened the twisted blanket and laid it over her legs. She then plumped the pillows behind her and leaned up against them. “Pray tell me the hour.” 6

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Fannie disappeared down the hall for a moment. “It is nigh past midnight,” she said when she returned. “Midnight?” The gaming hells of London would still be packed. Orchestras would still be playing lovely strains of music over the thunder of voices in the lively ballrooms scattered all over the best neighborhoods of the city. And somewhere among the elegant chaos, Lord Benton-Black would be lurking. Quite probably in the shadows. “Have you yet pressed the silver gown I intend to wear to the Foster Soirée tomorrow evening?” “Of course, my lady.” The frown Fannie wore grew deeper. “I laid it out in your dressing room before retiring.” “Splendid!” Sophie sprang from the bed. “Go fetch it at once.” “My lady? You cannot mean to leave the house at this late hour,” Fannie said with growing alarm. “Where would you go? Do you not recall? You had refused all invitations for this evening. Even Lady Tuftley’s.” Sara, the widowed Viscountess Tuftley, was Sophie’s nearest and dearest friend. Despite their close friendship, Sara hosted the dullest musicales imaginable and Sophie simply refused to attend. In deference to her friend’s feelings, though, Sophie always made a point of refusing all other invitations on the night Sara hosted her “signature event”. So as much as she wanted to go searching the busy routs for the mysterious Lord Benton-Black, turning tables on his game by making him her prey, she knew she could not. Not tonight. Gracious, she didn’t even have a proper companion available to accompany her. Her regular companion, a delightful older lady with an easy smile and no designs on acting as a chaperon or matchmaker for the twenty-seven-year-old Sophie, was away for the week visiting an ailing cousin in Cheshire. “Forgive me,” Sophie said. “You must surely believe me a terrible ninny this evening.” “No, my lady, I would never think such a thing,” Fannie said quickly...a little too quickly. “You have surely awakened from a horrid fright and wish to escape this room. 7

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Perhaps you would like to pay a visit to the conservatory? Your mother, God rest her soul, always found peace among her beloved plants on such sleepless nights.”

*** With a single candle lighting the way and a sheer wrapper covering her nightrail, Sophie padded barefoot through the town house’s halls and through to the back of the house where a glass conservatory provided a gateway to the gardens beyond. The air in the conservatory was warm and moist. Exotic blooms, lovingly tended by the household gardener, laced the thick air with a symphony of scents that were as rich as they were sweet. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, remembering. She’d spend hours out here with her mother, tending to the most delicate blooms. Had she really not taken the time to personally care for these plants, plants her mother had left in her care since her death? Sophie couldn’t remember. She did know that it had been several weeks since she’d even visited the conservatory, though. Since her parents’ deaths, the conservatory had become a difficult part of the house for her to visit. There seemed to be too many memories waiting to assault her in here. Strangely, the memories didn’t prick the back of her throat this time as she soaked in the myriad of scents under the cloak of nighttime. No, tonight the air simply felt hot and sensual against her skin, pulling faint memories of her erotic dream up to the surface to thrum in concert with her pulse. “I wonder what Lord Benton-Black would do if he were to find me alone and draped in such diaphanous fabrics?” “Why don’t you come over here and find out?” a velvety voice whispered in the darkness. Sophie sucked in a deep breath, her hand reaching for her throat. “Who is there?” Was she still trapped in her dream? Uncertain, she raised the candle she held but, in the trembling light, saw no one. The long-leafed plants and small trees created long, deep shadows that a single candle had no hope of piercing. “Who is there?” she whispered again. After far too many frightening, breathless moments, a shadowy figure emerged from behind a long table of showy orchids. “You?” she breathed. “What are you doing here?” 8

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He spread his arms wide. “This is as much my town house now as it is yours. I believe I have every right in the world to enjoy all it has to offer. Do you not agree?” The phantom advanced at a slow pace. His teeth flashed a menacing smile before he stopped to stand a mere few paces from where Sophie stood frozen to the stone floor beneath her bare feet. He was close enough that even in the flickering candlelight, she could appreciate the fine black suit he wore. It fit his muscular body like a glove. A sweet scent of perfume rose from him. “Lord Benton-Black,” she said sharply. “I see you have been out with a lady this evening.” To that charge he gave an elegant shrug. “Are you jealous?” “Never! Why should I care what you do with some penny-whore?” “Tut-tut, such language, Sophie,” he said, a wolfish grin giving her another peek at his white teeth. “I would have thought your father to have trained you better.” “Don’t speak of my father,” she hissed. “You have no right to speak of him!” “No right?” He crossed his arms and looked vastly amused. “I was his heir apparent for over half my life...and he was my beloved uncle.” Sophie snorted and tossed her head toward a grouping of daisies...her mother’s favorite flower. Damn him, she shouldn’t let this cove bait her. But what he said touched on a fresh wound Sophie couldn’t seem to ignore. In truth, her father had never deemed her interesting nor worthy enough to give her much more than a passing pat on her head. Learning of the close, personal relationship this gentleman had formed with her father cut her deeply. “Why?” she asked Lord Benton-Black, choosing to confront him instead of battling her own feelings. “Why do you torment me? With your inherited wealth and title, you could have any young lady. Why me?” He gave a long sigh. “You know as well as me, Sophie. Your father wished us to be together. He left a very specific codicil in his will. Come--” he held out his hand “-let us sit on a bench and make peace with each other.” She gave his hand a long, hard stare. “It is late and this meeting is vastly improper. I should return to my bed.” At that he lightened. “Ah. What a banner idea! And one that would please me immensely. I certainly have no objection to consummating our union before exchanging our vows.” 9

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“You are being purposefully obtuse. I meant to go to my bedchamber alone, my lord!” “Come now, you cannot truly mean that.” Before she knew what had happened, his hand was upon her shoulder and he was drawing her toward him. “I have been more than patient. I have stayed away for longer than a year to give you time to mourn your father and to grow accustomed to the idea of becoming my wife.” She wanted to run away, to scream for him to release her. But when he dragged the rough pad of his finger across her lips, those utterly sane thoughts floated away. No man should be that handsome, so handsome he easily muddled her brain. His chin was strong, his nose had a regal point, and his lips were the kind of lips a woman could not help but wonder how they would taste. With a gentle caress, he eased a knee between her scantily covered legs and drew her so close to him that their bodies touched from chest to hip. “I will make you mine,” he whispered. “Tonight.” “Tonight?” Her lips quivered as he teased her, brushing his lips against hers, barely touching. “Our joining is inevitable, my love,” he said while he peeled the candle from her hand and set it on a nearby table. “Your father has made it quite impossible for us to deny his wishes.” She knew only too well what her father had done. At the end of the month--less than a fortnight away--if she failed to marry Lord Benton-Black, she would be rendered penniless and homeless. Lord Benton-Black would be punished as well. The lucrative factory, which he was to inherit, would be sold to the highest bidder and the proceeds of the sale donated to the king. She should agree to the marriage, but at seven-and-twenty years of age, it was horridly lowering to have her independence ripped away from her so easily. Though she hadn’t solved her problem, she had recently taken to courting a few eligible gentlemen, thinking she might be able to save her situation by marrying a man of her own choosing. But none of the beaus she had been considering were nearly as devilishly handsome as Lord Benton-Black. The sinful dark look he was currently pressing on her threatened to singe her. “I am not some prize awarded upon my father’s demise, my lord. I will not bend to his tyranny or yours so easily,” she said. But Lord help her, she would not mind 10

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bending if bending meant that his hand, which was presently stroking her hip, would continue its path toward the apex of her legs. He seemed capable of reading her body’s longings better than even she could. He pushed his thigh snug against the heat that was welling between her legs until she was riding astride it much like a man would ride a horse. “What if I am the prize being handed over to you?” he said moving his lips dangerously close to hers again. “Would you still object to our union?” “Yes,” she whispered. A lie. As she realized that the thought of marriage to this rather mysterious and foreboding gentleman excited her, a prickling heat spread across her cheeks and down her neck. His lips covered hers not a breath later, demanding she answer his lust. She responded, cautiously easing her tongue toward his, just enough to savor his bitter-sweet taste. The leg he’d pressed between her thighs rocked against her most delicate flesh. She let her eyes fall closed as she drank in the sensations the simple touch of his body awakened in her. It was as if she was his instrument and he was her master. He plucked and stroked until she felt certain she was on the verge of singing a symphony. With her heart thundering against her chest, she rubbed against him. The sheer fabric of her nightrail pulled tight and with each movement caressed that delicate spot between her legs. She didn’t want to stop the reeling sensations her wanton rocking stirred in her. Indeed, it was making her long for more. The heat from his skin seeped into her, turning her quite boneless. She clung to Lord Benton-Black, digging herself deeper into his kiss while putting all her weight on the delightful pressure building between her legs. “You are mine, my dear Sophie,” he whispered when their lips parted for a moment. “Your father gave you to me, and only me. I have suffered quietly while watching you throw yourself at those inferior men. I will do so no longer. I have come to claim you.” “And I have no choice but to submit?” She prayed for him to say what her ears were lusting to hear. “No, you don’t.” With a grasp as tight and sure as the phantom lover in her dream, he lowered her to the peach-colored cushioned bench beside the potted palms. Moonlight streamed into 11

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the conservatory windows and bathed the bench as if some higher force were watching over them and approving. Lord Benton-Black paused. A tender smile eased his expression as he ran his fingers through Sophie’s long hair, teasing it out of the confines of the braid she’d woven before bedtime. “Such a worried expression,” he said, stroking away the tight crease that had furrowed the tender skin between her eyes. “You look as if you think I might eat you--” He leaned back and seemed to think about that for a few brief moments. “Well, I do plan to do just that. But I promise you will enjoy every blessed moment.” His bold pronouncement rendered Sophie speechless. Her heart had taken off as if it were running...in which direction? She wished she only knew. To willingly run toward this seducer, with the scent of his last lover still lingering upon his clothes, was beyond foolish. And yet...yet...Lord Benton-Black with his brash bearing and quick tongue had never been anything but honest with her. She’d understood his intentions from the day he’d appeared in her parlor nearly a month ago. Unlike any of the gentlemen she knew, this dastardly lord--with his uncouth manner and shameful displays of lust--treated her as if she had a brain in her head. It was almost as if he saw her as an equal. That, more than his rippling muscles or dark brooding eyes, was what made her want this man more than any of the most eligible bachelors presently on the Marriage Mart. He raised her legs up so that the soles of her feet were firmly planted on the plush cushions and her knees were spread wide enough for him to kneel between them. It was a deeply vulnerable position to find herself in. And yet...yet...her body responded to him as if begging for him to control her when he traced a finger along the inside of her thigh, dipping to caress her soft folds in that most intimate of places. “You are wet for me, my Sophie,” he whispered. “That is good.” He began stroking her deeper and deeper there, pushing into her first with one finger and then with another. “No, no, don’t think. Feel.” His voice thrummed through her, only adding to the breathlessness of the situation. “Feel me moving inside you.” “I…can’t…seem…to…to...think...” she whispered as he moved down the length of her body and placed his lips to where she had turned hot and wet and needy. His 12

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tongue, so warm and moist, lapped at her. Her hips leaped from the cushion as a shock of pleasure shot through her. “Easy, Sophie.” His deep, velvety voice seemed to fill her womb. But it wasn’t enough. Instinctually, she wanted more. A deep ache spread, urging her to accept what this man was offering. If she refused his offer, she would surely die from the pulling need that was threatening to tear her apart. It was wonderful and terrifying all at once. And much, much different from any erotic encounter she had ever imagined. “I...I...can’t...seem...to...think...” she said again. Lord Benton-Black, who was well in control of her body, was quickly winning sway over her mind. He kissed the inside of her thigh and sat up, grinning. “Then don’t think. Feel.” Unlike in her dream, the earl made quick work of the buttons on his breeches, despite Sophie’s less than expert help with them. She tugged at his shirt and skirted her hands up his belly to stroke his firm chest. Though his muscles were as hard as iron bands, his skin was soft and warm. Inviting. Definitely, inviting. She sat up and pressed her lips to his. Madness must have overtaken her, for she couldn’t seem to get enough of him. He tasted musky and warm. And after an initial jolt of surprise in response to her boldness, his lips softened and yielded to her tongue. Their eager mouths played a sweet game while she tugged at his breeches. He finally captured her hands and finished the task for her. His fingers felt shaky. Indeed, his whole body shuddered as he inhaled a deep breath. “Finally,” he said, guiding her until she was lying flat on her back on the bench cushions and positioning himself between her thighs. “Finally, you will be mine forever.” She felt the tip of his shaft move against her. At first the pressure was light. Gradually, as he pressed to enter her deeper and deeper, the sensation of him being inside her began to build and pull. This wasn’t going to work. He wasn’t going to fit. Sophie wiggled underneath him, turning her hips until he groaned in her mouth, “You’re killing me, Sophie.” She was killing him? He couldn’t be serious. He was the one pressing into her. Slowly. Steadily. He spread her legs a little wider. “This isn’t going to work,” she whispered. Her body ached like a promise unfulfilled. She didn’t want him to stop, but she was frightened by the sensation of being 13

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stretched so completely. All of this was so out of her depth. She felt awkward and uncertain, two emotions she had rarely if ever experienced. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Amusement danced in his eyes but did nothing to soften his determined expression. He nipped her bottom lip. “Yes, my sweet, I know exactly what I’m doing.” His voice grew tight. “I wonder, though, do you understand what you’re doing to me?” “Of...of course,” she lied and then wiggled her hips, not at all sure what she was supposed to be doing...or expecting. “Please, be still a moment,” he said in a hoarse whisper. He eased out of her just a little before propping himself up on his elbows to stare down at her. His brows furrowed with concern. “You are still a virgin?” He sounded shocked by the thought that she might still be pure. Sophie barely nodded, but it was enough. Lord Benton-Black growled. “Of course you are,” he said finally. “You are a damned prim and proper lady and I was deucedly wrong to suppose otherwise. Since you’d scorned marriage and many of the activities expected of a young lady in your position, I had assumed that you might have--” He swallowed hard. “Apparently, I was wrong.” “I...I’m sorry,” she whispered miserably. By being something other than what he’d expected, she’d surely upset him. She didn’t have the skill or experience a gentleman of his sensual nature demanded. Tears floated in her eyes. “Ssshhh.” He softly kissed her suddenly damp cheeks. “I am not angry with you. Far from it. I should have moved more slowly and allowed you to grow accustomed to me being inside you before I...I’m the one who is sorry, for there is still your maidenhead to breach.” Finishing what he had started, he sank his member deep inside her with a swift thrust. Sophie cried out and arched her back against the pain that ripped through her core. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly against his muscular chest. She was panting in short, shallow breaths as he continued to move slowly inside her. “Stay with me,” he whispered between gentle kisses. “Stay with me.” Each slow, long stroke he made in her seemed to soothe away a little piece of that initial shock of pain until there was nothing left of it but a blurry memory. 14

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Sophie rocked her hips, sighing with pleasure at the fullness she was feeling. Her muscles seemed to melt into the cushions until he nipped her neck. She jumped. He nipped her again. That little jolt startled her as it reached all the way through her body to meet up with where he was stroking deep inside her. She found herself clamping onto him, her soft passage tightening, delightfully so. She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, holding onto him. Afraid he might leave her before...before.... She couldn’t stop moving her hips, bringing him deeper and deeper. Moving faster. Harder. While he’d been so utterly patient and gentle with her body, she gave herself no such consideration. She had to feel him inside her. She had to experience the roughness, the raw passion she’d tasted like promises in his kisses. He answered, meeting her need with every bit of skill he possessed. Their bodies moved in a frantic dance as ancient as the dawn. Sophie rocked against him while he thrust like a man determined to cleave her in two. She gloried in it. Needed it. Breathless, she pled with him to not stop loving her. To never stop loving her. And he vowed over and over that he would always remain true. That he would give her the world and the moon and whatever else her heart might-She didn’t hear the last. A burst of sensations blasted through her like a flood tearing down a levy, leaving her quite unable to think, to hear, to see. All she could do was feel. Feel him stiffening inside her, thrusting on her even harder until he finally gave a shout that matched her own. It was too much. What a fate for the daughter of an earl! She’d always been taught to act the proper lady. Not this sensual creature addicted to the delightful things this rogue of a gentleman was doing to her. Sophie wept, overwhelmed by the feelings that were stripping away the years of ice. He stilled. Panting softly in her ear and petting her hair, he held her against his chest and rocked her gently. “Thank you,” he said. She thought he must have said something more, but those two words spoke directly to her heart and were heard. “Thank you for letting me finally love you.”

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“I have been waiting for this,” she found her lips saying after what felt like a lifetime of silently lying against him. “The way you have pursued me has driven me mad with desire for you.” He leaned up on one elbow and looked immensely pleased with himself. “So you will abandon your stubbornness and agree to marry me?” “Yes.” Although her answer came easily, he must have sensed the magnitude of her making such a lifelong promise, for he quickly said, “I vow you will never regret taking me as a husband, Sophie. But be warned, I am a man who has always been dreadfully faithful and dangerously possessive.” His vows left no room for doubts. She traced the line of his jaw and smiled. “Good,” she said. “Because if you ever come to me smelling of another lady again, I will make you pay dearly. And you best be warned, I have a rather vicious and vindictive side that you should never want to see.” At that he smiled too. “’Twas my younger sister’s perfume you scented on me, my dear jealous minx. I escorted her to Lady Tuftley’s dreadful musicale this evening in the hope of finding you in attendance. Ever since I set eyes on you for the first time last year, I lost interest in all other women. And you--” he lightly brushed a kiss on the tip of her nose “--you, my dear, have driven me mad with your cold stares and roaming heart. I was quite twisted about this evening. Determined to have you. Desperate, in fact.” Good. She chose to keep the last unsaid. Feeling completely warm and sated and, Heaven bless her, truly happy for the first time in over a year, she snuggled into the folds of his soft cotton lawn shirt and drifted off into a blissful slumber. “You are not only mine,” he whispered as he kissed her temple. “We are each others. Forever and always, Sophie my love, forever and always.”

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About the Author

For Regency and suspense author, Dorothy McFalls happily-ever-after is more than just a fictional ending, having enjoyed every day of marriage to her sexy sculptor husband. Formerly an environmental urban planner, she now writes full time.

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