her skirts, lifting
them to explore what lay underneath, then stopped, feeling something in her
pocket.
His present.
“What’s this?” he asked.
Sophia pulled out the gift and handed it to him. “A present.
For you.”
He turned it over and over in his hands, surely knowing it
was a book from its rectangular shape, but not which one, his narrowed eyes
hinting he was considering the possibilities. He carefully opened the brown
wrapping paper, revealing the cover, and slid his hand slowly across the
buttery leather then traced the gilded title tentatively as if in awe.
“ The Iliad ,” he murmured with a touch of reverence.
“I thought because you were reading The Odyssey you
might like this one as well. It’s Alexander Pope’s translation with Flaxman’s
illustrations. It’s rather lovely.”
He opened the book and perused each page, his eyes widening
as he skimmed the text, a smile playing on his lips as he studied the plates.
“Yes it is,” he said softly, not looking up, seemingly lost to her in a moment
of contemplation.
He started, gazing at her with a twinkle in his eyes. “I
have a present for you,” he said and clambered off the bed. He returned holding
a very similar object in the same brown wrapping paper.
She opened it and stared, equally awe-struck but with a
little embarrassment.
Before her lay the copy of The Lustful Turk she had
flipped through at Mr. Jacobs’ bookstore. Her mind pulsed with scenarios as to
how Joseph could have possibly known, if he could possibly know about
how she had seen the book and thought it invigorating. She must have blushed
for he covered her hand in his.
“I saw you that day at Jacobs’. The book had been left by
the Earl of Thuxton. I saw you examine it with great interest.”
“And you didn’t say good afternoon?” She was mortified.
He chuckled. “Not after I saw you blushing over it. I had to
get it for you. I had to get it for us.”
Sophia was perplexed. “Us?” she asked hopefully. She and he…such
a notion was too sublime.
He kissed her once again, his lips soft and seductive
against her mouth.
“Us.” He pulled back just a little. “Sophie,” he began in a
serious tone, “if you and I are to embark upon an affair, these are the rules—”
“Rules? You make it sound like a game.”
“Ah, but my love, an aristocratic English lady and an
American commoner engaging in bedsport can only be a game.”
She had hoped that might not be the case but prudence forced
her to accept the notion. “All right, what are the rules?”
He drew a finger down her neck to her shoulder. “No marks of
any kind in any area that can be seen when fully dressed.” His finger traced
across her bosom where the deep neckline of her ball gown had been the night
before then circled around her wrists, one at a time.
A touch of fright fringed her curiosity. “Marks?”
He rolled her onto her side, swiftly unbuttoning the top of
her dress, then moved her back to face him and tugged down the bodice. “No
penetration in your privates.” His hand skated down to cup between her legs. “That
rule includes tongue, finger and prick. No matter how much you demand it.”
Tongue? How thoroughly intriguing. “And?”
He removed her bodice with the expertise of a man who had
done such an act many times. Her heart beat furiously at his touch, so eager
was she to be naked before him. Her bodice removed, he began tugging on the
sleeves of her chemise. “We’re not allowed to fall in love.”
Certainly she had already broken that rule, if love made her
pulse rush and her breaths uneven, if love made her want to be with him every
single minute of every single day.
Her chemise off her shoulders, he worked steadily at the
fastenings of her corset then pulled the garment open and slid the chemise over
her breasts, exposing her utterly.
She gasped. He licked his lips as he stared at her bared
chest rising and falling rapidly. Her nipples crinkled from the chill of
them to explore what lay underneath, then stopped, feeling something in her
pocket.
His present.
“What’s this?” he asked.
Sophia pulled out the gift and handed it to him. “A present.
For you.”
He turned it over and over in his hands, surely knowing it
was a book from its rectangular shape, but not which one, his narrowed eyes
hinting he was considering the possibilities. He carefully opened the brown
wrapping paper, revealing the cover, and slid his hand slowly across the
buttery leather then traced the gilded title tentatively as if in awe.
“ The Iliad ,” he murmured with a touch of reverence.
“I thought because you were reading The Odyssey you
might like this one as well. It’s Alexander Pope’s translation with Flaxman’s
illustrations. It’s rather lovely.”
He opened the book and perused each page, his eyes widening
as he skimmed the text, a smile playing on his lips as he studied the plates.
“Yes it is,” he said softly, not looking up, seemingly lost to her in a moment
of contemplation.
He started, gazing at her with a twinkle in his eyes. “I
have a present for you,” he said and clambered off the bed. He returned holding
a very similar object in the same brown wrapping paper.
She opened it and stared, equally awe-struck but with a
little embarrassment.
Before her lay the copy of The Lustful Turk she had
flipped through at Mr. Jacobs’ bookstore. Her mind pulsed with scenarios as to
how Joseph could have possibly known, if he could possibly know about
how she had seen the book and thought it invigorating. She must have blushed
for he covered her hand in his.
“I saw you that day at Jacobs’. The book had been left by
the Earl of Thuxton. I saw you examine it with great interest.”
“And you didn’t say good afternoon?” She was mortified.
He chuckled. “Not after I saw you blushing over it. I had to
get it for you. I had to get it for us.”
Sophia was perplexed. “Us?” she asked hopefully. She and he…such
a notion was too sublime.
He kissed her once again, his lips soft and seductive
against her mouth.
“Us.” He pulled back just a little. “Sophie,” he began in a
serious tone, “if you and I are to embark upon an affair, these are the rules—”
“Rules? You make it sound like a game.”
“Ah, but my love, an aristocratic English lady and an
American commoner engaging in bedsport can only be a game.”
She had hoped that might not be the case but prudence forced
her to accept the notion. “All right, what are the rules?”
He drew a finger down her neck to her shoulder. “No marks of
any kind in any area that can be seen when fully dressed.” His finger traced
across her bosom where the deep neckline of her ball gown had been the night
before then circled around her wrists, one at a time.
A touch of fright fringed her curiosity. “Marks?”
He rolled her onto her side, swiftly unbuttoning the top of
her dress, then moved her back to face him and tugged down the bodice. “No
penetration in your privates.” His hand skated down to cup between her legs. “That
rule includes tongue, finger and prick. No matter how much you demand it.”
Tongue? How thoroughly intriguing. “And?”
He removed her bodice with the expertise of a man who had
done such an act many times. Her heart beat furiously at his touch, so eager
was she to be naked before him. Her bodice removed, he began tugging on the
sleeves of her chemise. “We’re not allowed to fall in love.”
Certainly she had already broken that rule, if love made her
pulse rush and her breaths uneven, if love made her want to be with him every
single minute of every single day.
Her chemise off her shoulders, he worked steadily at the
fastenings of her corset then pulled the garment open and slid the chemise over
her breasts, exposing her utterly.
She gasped. He licked his lips as he stared at her bared
chest rising and falling rapidly. Her nipples crinkled from the chill of
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