sky, he didn’t feel like a gentleman. He felt like a starving man presented with a table groaning under lashings of food.
“Not as much as I want to,” he admitted.
He whisked her behind the nearest door. The latch’s click sounded like thunder. His heart thudded with excitement and uneasiness. If they were discovered, there would be the devil to pay.
“This is dangerous.” His grip softened to a caress and instinct alone led his hand to her other arm. This room was as dark as a coalmine.
“It is. My brother is a famous shot.”
The warmth of her skin under his hands set him trembling. “For a few minutes alone with you, I’ll take any risk.”
“Will you think that when he puts a bullet into you?” In the quiet gloom, the rasp of her breathing was audible. She was more nervous than she pretended. That hint of vulnerability contained Harry’s rocketing desire as nothing else could.
“Even then, it’s worth it.”
“Such a flatterer.”
He knew he deserved the mockery, but he couldn’t like it. How to explain that this time everything was different? Sophie wasn’t one of his women. She was the woman.
“I’ll be missed if I stay too long.”
He smiled. “That sounds promising.”
“How so?”
“That you mean to stay at all.”
She offered no coy protests. The more he saw of her, the more he liked her. “Are you a fortune hunter?”
He breathed unsteadily too. Not because of fear, but because her nearness set his heart galloping like a wild horse across the moors. Her scent tinged the air. Something fresh like running water. “What do you think?”
“I think I’ve spent far too long thinking about you.”
Triumph flooded him. He exhaled and cupped her face, feeling her silky cheeks beneath his palms. “I can’t stop thinking about you either. Are you going to marry Desborough?”
She started, but didn’t move away. “My brother wants me to.”
“Do you?”
“It’s a good match,” she said unenthusiastically.
He released her. “So good it makes you hide away and cry.”
“That wasn’t—”
“Don’t lie, Sophie. Not to me.”
“You can’t call me Sophie.”
He laughed softly. “I can’t address the woman who shares my cupboard by her title. It’s a rule of society.”
Her gurgle of amusement made his blood fizz with happiness. “You don’t strike me as a man who follows rules, Mr. Thorne.”
The need to kiss her surged, but despite her unexpected if hesitant cooperation, he didn’t want to frighten her away. “You’ve listened to too much gossip. And my name is Harry.”
The pause that followed vibrated with significance.
“Harry …” she breathed, turning his prosaic name into music.
His heart crashed against his ribs. Dear God, he was in trouble. “Lovely, lovely Sophie,” he whispered and despite the risk of taking everything too far too fast, he curled his arms around her.
“Oh!” She jerked from the brush of his lips.
He set her free and withdrew as far as the cupboard allowed. “Forgive me.”
To his astonishment, she caught his shirt. “You took me by surprise.”
“I had no right—”
“You’re a very chivalrous rake, Harry Thorne,” she said drily.
Her tone piqued his curiosity. Ignoring common sense and self-preservation, not to mention the gentleman’s code, he placed his hand over hers. “Don’t you want me to be chivalrous?”
“Not right now.”
“You deserve better than a furtive courtship,” he said helplessly, even as his other hand snaked around her slender waist to arch her against him. “But since the day we met, I’ve dreamed of you.”
Her sigh conveyed wonder. “Really?”
His voice deepened into urgency. “I’ve dreamed of kissing you.”
And other things, but he couldn’t sully her innocence with his wanton fantasies.
“I’d like to make your dreams come true.” She leaned closer, her breasts grazing his chest. “Will you kiss me, Harry?”
“Sophie—” Her scent filled his head like wine, overwhelmed thought. His hand tightened around her waist.
“Don’t you want to?” she asked in a small voice.
“Of course I bloody want to,” he said roughly, then dragged in a breath. “I’m sorry. I’m not acting the gentleman.”
This time her sigh was disgruntled. “You’re acting too much the gentleman.”
“Sweetheart—”
She interrupted before he pointed out that he cared for her reputation. After all, how convincing could any avowal sound when he embraced her in a cupboard in the middle of a ball?
“I don’t want to hear it.” Her voice softened. “Unless it’s ‘Kiss me, Sophie.’ “
Oh, hell. How could he resist? “Kiss me, Sophie.”
Harry lashed her to him and pressed his mouth to hers. Her lips trembled beneath his. Her fluttering uncertainty hinted that this was her first kiss. Tenderness stabbed at his heart.
Automatically he gentled, nipping and licking at her, until her breath hitched and she leaned closer. His tongue slid into her mouth, tasting her fully. Her flavor blazed through him like lightning.
The world beyond Sophie’s clumsy but ardent responses vanished. All Harry knew was her warmth and the way her tongue danced around his. Her broken moans. Her soft, quivering body pressed into his.
It took him longer than it should to realize that she’d stopped participating. He raised his head and struggled to see her through the darkness. “What—”
“Shh!” Her hands formed claws in his shirt. Now she trembled not with passion, but with terror.
There were voices outside. Damn. His arms tightened and he drew Sophie against him. Anyone within a mile’s radius must hear his heart. He wasn’t frightened for himself but for her. Only a bloody fool would risk this encounter.
