Remember Then

VI. The Perfect Slave

Nicholas had been left speechless merely a few times. The first was when he learned of his father's death, the second when Margaret shared that she was a Leaguer, third when he was informed by his brother Levi that their youngest sisters were friends with bandits, and the latest was when he learned that his valet was a woman and that she was marrying Maxwell.

But this time, as he stared at Sophia's blank face, as he took in her splendor, he was not merely speechless. He was rendered astonished, his mind staggering with such discovery.

His nostrils flared as he gazed into her pale olive eyes. He had the sudden urge to count each strand of her long, thick lashes that hovered above. Her slim nose perfectly aligned with her face, her full lips parting as if inviting him to lean closer so she could whisper her secrets.

Without realizing it, his fingertips lightly ran over her cheekbones and Sophia closed her eyes again, craning her neck to the side as his hand dipped lower down her neck.

With the faint light, he watched as her mouth twitched into a small smile before she said, "Slow?"

Bloody hell.

Nicholas swallowed. He could even attain slow. He could barely move as it is.

Slowly, Nicholas reached for the lamp behind her, looking at her face before he cleared his throat to cover the sound of the switch.

It seemed that he had to act harder this time. He forced his surprise aside and grinned despite himself, pressing his lips against her temple, smelling her scent. Bloody tarnation! Now that he had seen her face, his senses were at full throttle.

"I must beg your pardon, my sweet," he rasped in her ear, shutting his eyes closed as her hands clasped behind his neck. "It has not crossed my mind that I ought to be somewhere of import tonight."

She went still against him. He groaned in frustration, but he could not very well continue after what he discovered.

"I'm sorry," he harshly whispered in her ear before he stepped back. He swayed, staggering on his feet, for his body desired to step forward and return to where it was seconds before. Clasping his hands closed into a ball, Nicholas cleared his throat once again. "I promise to return on the morrow."

There was a short pause before she said, "I am starting to question your true motives, my lord. You did not woo yourself into my chamber simply for the challenge, yes?"

"No, of course not!" he savagely denied. "Believe me, Sophie, I would want for nothing but spend the rest of the night with you." It was true, he thought.

But not this night.

No, perhaps on the next, but not tonight. "But a big hindrance is currently giving me agony," he said, "and she is called Mother."

Her chuckle was music to his ears.

Ah, bloody hell. He was doomed.

*****

"What the bloody hell is the matter with you?"

Nicholas snapped his head up and found Maxwell glaring at him. They were in the drawing room, waiting for the ladies to come out of the gardens.

Maxwell brushed his long hair away from his face and narrowed his eyes at Nicholas. But it was Ralph who asked, "What is it Nick? You had been staring into air like a total fool that you already are."

He looked around the room and found his two brothers-in-law giving him the same curious look as his brothers.

He returned his gaze on Maxwell since he was the only person in the room Nicholas knew could be very honest. "What would you do if you—"