Chapter 7

7

Sophia threw back the counterpane and sat up on the side of her bed. She'd have to speak to the maid again about making up the fire for the night. Even if it was nearly late October. Apparently the girl feared she might freeze to death as she created and banked a fire so large Sophia's bedchamber was sweltering even long past midnight. She'd taken to sleeping in her thinnest muslin nightgown most nights. Tonight, she'd tossed and turned to the point she'd nearly fallen out of bed.

Of course, the source of her discomfort was not due entirely to the heat. The last two days had been the strangest since Joshua had taken up residence in her house. He'd been gone all day yesterday and had, on his return, taken his supper in his chamber. Today he'd filled her lesson time with a stack of exercises and very little instruction. Once she'd finished the exercises, and he had looked them over, complimenting her on her progress, he'd excused himself to run errands. They had taken supper together, but the conversation had been stilted, and he'd retired almost immediately.

She slipped off her bed and went to the window seat that looked out over her back garden. Even the carpets were warm as she crossed the room. Only when she touched her hand to the window pane did the truth of the night chill reach her. She'd spent many hours gazing out at her pretty little garden in the moonlight. The fault was hers, of course. Joshua's distance was a result of her changeable response to the passion between them. So long as she acted on her feelings alone being in his arms was the most right thing she'd ever experienced in her life.

Then thoughts of where they were, of her obligation to the earl, and her fear of Joshua ever learning everything about her intruded, and she pushed him away. No man would last against the whims of a woman who lured him into desire and turned cold. Her greatest fear now was of when he would grow so tired he would leave. And take her heart with him. She'd had too little experience of love in her life to know if what she felt for Joshua was real. She needed to discuss this with the other mistresses. They would know, at least she hoped they would. Tonight was Tuesday, Margot's night with the earl. He'd sent a lovely bouquet of hothouse flowers and a pair of pearl and ruby earrings with his regrets, according to Short Rutherford. The hour was late, but the other ladies seldom retired until well after midnight.

She left the window seat and retrieved her quilted satin robe from the foot of the bed. The rest of the house was not as toasty as her chambers. Once she'd shrugged into it and drawn it tight before tying the belt, she slipped her feet into some wool-lined mules and fetched a lit candlestick from the mantel. The passageway across the back of all of their houses was accessed more easily from the second floor. She padded down the stairs and started along the corridor to the far wall where she could access the door inset into the blue silk wall covering..

She cocked her head. A haunting melody drifted down the corridor from the music room. Someone was playing the piano. Someone? She crept quietly to the door and leaned against the smooth, cool six-paneled oak. The music stopped for a moment. Had he heard her? The melody started once more, this time cushioned on rich full chords reminiscent of the orchestra she'd heard at Vauxhall.

He was composing. She knew he'd been working on something the entire time he'd lived in her house. She'd heard him at the piano when he wasn't teaching her—early in the morning or very late at night. Though she had never actually gone into the music room to listen, the piano could be heard clearly on the second floor. She'd caught the servants pausing in their work to listen. Tonight was different. The melody was filled with longing, a longing so poignant, a pang lodged behind her ribs, next to her heart. The accompaniment was lush and only added to the passionate cry of the tune.

She placed her hand on the door and closed her eyes. This was why she wanted to learn to read and write music. To be able to record the songs only she could hear and to put them down so she might never forget even a single note was a gift. Joshua was giving her that gift. He'd given her many gifts in their brief time together. Gifts more dear to her than any the earl had given her.

The music stopped again and resumed after several minutes. Sophia raised the handle as quietly as possible and opened the door just enough to slip inside. There was a lamp on the piano and another on the bookcase next to the piano. Joshua sat in his banyan his eyes closed as he played. She managed to sidle into the room and sit in the low armchair some several feet behind him. He started the piece over again and played the aria from beginning to end. When he finished he sat staring at the newly inked sheets of music on the piano rack.

"That was beautiful," she said softly. "Is it for your opera?"

He started and turned slowly around on the bench. "Did I wake you? I tried not to play too loudly."

"Not at all. I came down to…sneak into the kitchens for some of Cook's cream cakes. Don't tell her."

He smiled. "So you're the one. She accused the Rutherford boys of filching them just last night."

"Oh dear." She covered her mouth with her hand, but her laugh still escaped.

"Don't feel too badly. They took me for nearly five pounds at cards."

"I should have warned you. Never play cards with them. Captain Sharps one and all. I only know one person who can best them, and he's a lad of ten."

"I don't know if that makes me feel better or worse." He glanced back at the music he'd written. "Yes, this is the soprano's aria from my opera."

"I love it, though the melody makes me sad."

"Good. I mean…that is what the piece is supposed to do."

"Is your opera complete? When will it be performed?" She needed to keep talking to him. The air in the room had grown redolent with the pure sensual desire between them. The heaviness of her breasts, the sensitive brush of her robe against her skin, the damp ache between her legs. She had but to look in his eyes to see he suffered a similar pull between them.

"Nearly finished. When will it be performed? That is the question, isn't it?' He laughed, a painful rusty sound, and shook his head.

"When did you first know you loved opera? I mean, loved opera enough to have to create one of your own?" She tucked her feet beneath her in the chair.

"My mother took me to the opera every season when we came to Town. My father and brothers and no interest, and she and I shared a love of music from the time I first heard her play the piano. I was four when she started teaching me to play. I was five when I heard my first opera, Die Zauberflote by Mozart. I became obsessed, frankly. I realize now that was a mistake."

"A mistake? How could a love of something so wonderful be a mistake?"

"The more I studied music, the angrier my father became. That was the reason he sent me away to school, to keep me from my mother's influence and to end my obsession with music. It cost me the last two years of my mother's life and the privilege of holding her hand when she left this world." The drawn lines of his face hurt her like a physical blow. She imagined the young boy separated from the one parent with whom he shared everything.

"I'm so sorry, Joshua." She sat up in her chair and reached across the space between them. He took her hand and rubbed his thumb across her fingers. "You got your own back at him, your father, I mean. You became a professional musician which must have made him very angry."

He lips curved in a somewhat bemused smile. "You have no idea. When I finished school, I intended to go to Italy to study music. My mother had written to the Accademia Nazionale di Santa Cecilia and secured me a place there before she died. My father, however, had bought me a commission in the cavalry and tried to ship me off to war. When I refused the commission, he disowned me and cut me off completely. As did my brothers, which is why I came to London. I ran away like a coward and dreamed of opening my own opera house." He shrugged.

"You're no coward, Joshua. You didn't run away. I know all about running away." She stood and let go of his hand. She strolled around her music room, touching the various instruments the earl had gifted her over the years. "You ran to something. To your music. To teaching others and sharing your gift for music. You didn't run away out of fear or go into hiding. You have a dream and you are pursuing that dream. There is nothing cowardly about that."

Almost instantly she realized she'd said too much. Perhaps it was the late hour or the dimly lit room. Or perhaps the pulsing need she felt for him had run roughshod over her need to keep her secrets. He was suddenly behind her, his hand on her shoulder.

"You were a woman whose husband was gone and did what you had to do to survive. That isn't the act of a coward either. And if you are hiding I am certain you have good reason to do so. You are not the sort of woman who does anything without good reason." She turned slowly to meet his gaze. Something in his expression sent a shiver of confusion down her spine. She could not put her finger on it, but he was asking her a question. Though what that question might be was a mystery.

"If you are hiding from someone I will keep you safe, Sophia. I will never allow anyone to do you harm. You must know that." The music room was cold. He had not lit the fire arranged in the hearth by one of the dutiful servants.

"Why?" she asked softly. "Why would you think to keep me safe?"

"Do you need to be kept safe? Is there someone you fear? Name him, and I will make certain he never touches you." His face was hard and fierce in the flickering lamplight. A primitive thrill went through her at the thought. She'd never been one to expect a man to help her, let alone keep her safe. Why would she? Her father had sold her in marriage to a fiend. And that fiend had nearly ended her life. The earl had been more than kind, but he'd never had cause to protect her from danger, not really.

"Why?' A sort of madness had seized her. She wanted to know how he saw her, what he felt for her, if anything. Nothing could come of their feelings, but she wanted to know so she could store those words away as a treasure to comfort her in her old age, when her time as a mistress was done and she would be alone. "Why do you want to know? Why should my fears matter to you?"

"Dammit Sophia." He grasped her shoulders and pulled her against him. "I don't know. I only know you have grown to mean far more to me than I ever intended. You speak to me, not in words. Your beauty, your courage, your determination. The joy you take in music. Your talent. Every moment I spend with you gives me comfort. Every moment away I cannot wait to return to this house, to you. Even if I do not see you, knowing you are here, and I can find you if I…need you, gives me a peace I thought never to feel again. I would do anything for you." He lowered his head to breathe across her lips. "Anything. And that scares the very life out of me."

He locked his arms around her in crushing embrace as his lips crashed down on hers. She reached around him and clutched the fabric of his silk robe in her fists as she answered his kiss with one of her own. His words fired her soul and broke her heart. He trusted her, with his dreams and his feelings, and he did not know her at all. She gasped and pushed out of his embrace.

"Sophia?" He gasped for breath, but the hurt on his face struck her like a blow. "What is it, love? What is wrong?" He reached for her again, but dropped his hands when she stepped back. "I understand," he said quietly. "Your heart belongs to the earl and…perhaps he should find another…music master for you. I know several I can recommend, and I—"

"Stop,' she nearly sobbed. "Stop, Joshua. I don't want another music master. My heart…I have ignored my heart for so long it is a withered, pitiful thing."

He dropped onto the piano chair again, his hands splayed in a gesture of complete bewilderment. Suddenly, Sophia could fight no longer. She did not want to fight, not where Joshua was concerned. She untied her robe and allowed the garment to slide to the floor.

"You speak of my beauty? I thought my beauty to be my escape from life with my father who was a drunken brute prone to use his fists rather than his words. I have no memory of my mother. Others have told me she fell to his fists, and I have no reason to doubt that. When the new vicar at St. Giles saw me and heard me play at an evening service he inquired after me, and for a little money and some wine my father came home one morning and told me I was to be wed."

"Sophia, you don't have to—" He seemed nearly frantic to stop her confession.

"I do, Joshua." She was beyond stopping now. "For you, I must." She untied the ribbon at the top of her nightgown. In the lamplight, the outline of her body no doubt was clear under the thin muslin. The way his eyes widened told her she was right. In the cold air her nipples tightened and her breasts pushed against the sheer garment. "My father was a brute. But my husband is a monster and with him my beauty was a curse." She drew her nightgown over her head and dropped it at her feet. His expression of horror shook her to her core, but she refused to cower now.

"Sophia." Her name came out a dark moan from his lips.

"My beauty incited him to lust. He fought against it, but when he succumbed to that lust and took me to bed he saw that lust as sin. I was a sinful, wanton woman to lure him to fornication. So he did this." She spread her arms and turned slowly in a circle. The marks of the riding crop crossed her back and her buttocks, her stomach and her breasts, until she appeared to wear a garment of knotted, quilted flesh.

"Fortunately, he managed to resist my temptations for weeks at the time. But then he beat me all the more when he succumbed. And if someone in the parish complimented the vicar's pretty wife, I received a beating for that as well."

"Dear God." He ran his hand across his mouth. His chest heaved as if he had run a great race. "Was there no one to help you? No one you might appeal to? Why didn't you—"

"I left him. I ran. After the last beating I knew if I did not I would die." She began to tremble now, not from the cold but from the memory of all she'd told him. And perhaps a little in fear of his reaction. "I lied to you, Joshua. My husband is not dead. I live in fear of him finding me. Everything you've said to me fills me with such joy, such hope." Her voice broke. "But my dream can never be and yours can. I am another man's mistress, another man's wife, and I will never be free." So many emotions flitted across his face as she spoke. She'd expected most of them—sorrow, horror, pain, confusion. The one she did not see, anger at her lies did not appear.

"And if you were free?" He stood and came to grasp her elbows. His silk banyan brushed against her naked breasts. "What then, love? If you were free to choose your life from now on?" The harsh lines and angles of his face softened. His expression sent a shaft of light and hope into her heart. Then she saw her reflection in the small pier glass illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the windows. She stepped back, one step and then another.

"You deserve better than a scarred woman who has only ever been used by other men. You deserve a beautiful, soft woman who has never known how ugly the world can be. A woman who knows her heart, who has more than half a heart to give you." She ran her hands down her body. "Not this broken ugly coward who—Joshua, what are you…Joshua!" She hissed his name as he scooped her up and strode out of the room. He gave a quick glance up and down the corridor and padded quietly into his bedchamber next to the music room.

He stood her in the middle of the room and went about turning up every lamp, lighting others, and bringing every candlestick and candelabra to the fire to light the candles. He dragged the wide full-length mirror in front of her. He turned her to face the mirror and stood behind her. She tried to cover herself, but her took her hands and lowered them to her sides.

"Do not move unless I tell you. Look in the mirror and don't look away. Promise?"

"I don't under…ohhh." She could only moan as he caressed and squeezed her buttocks. He traced the scars with his fingertips and then brought his hands around in a rapid sweep to cup her breasts and brush his thumbs across her nipples. She bit her lip and gasped. Slowly her eyes closed at the sensations he created molding and squeezing and teasing her breast.

"Don't close your eyes, Sophia. Watch. Watch me love you, my beautiful siren." He bent to whisper in her ear. "Your breasts are beautiful, plump and full. Look how they fill my hands. I cannot wait to fill my mouth with them." He slid a hand down her belly, stroking and caressing every whip line. Her body quaked in waves of shivers. She saw her face as she'd never seen it before, and his face as he watched them in the mirror was desperate with hunger…for her.

He pushed his hand further down her belly and found the spot sat the top of her cunny. She bucked against him and felt his hard cock against her back through his banyan. Suddenly his fingers were inside her, thrusting and pumping. Her body responded of its own will, riding his seeking fingers. "Watch, Sophia. Watch me fuck you my sweet, wanton angel. Watch."

She forced her eyes open and fixed her gaze on the vision of her body in writhing ecstasy and the fiery passion with which he looked at her as she reached for completion. He squeezed her breast in time with her rhythm and she cried out his name and shuddered over and over in his arms he bit down on a spot on the side of her neck that only sent her faster and higher into oblivion.

He hooked his foot around a chair and pulled it so he could sit in it, his profile to the mirror. His banyan slid to the floor and his hard cock jutted out toward her. He pulled her to stand between his legs and cupped her bottom to hold her up. "Don't look away, love. There's more." She screamed as he took her sensitive breast into his mouth and suckled as he dragged his hand back and forth between her legs. He began to lick her scars one at the time until he reached the other breast and took it into his mouth.

She wanted to look in the mirror now. To see her hair, loosed from its braid, falling around them. His mouth on her breast and his face intent and hungry as if he could not get enough of her. And when he held his cock in one hand and her bottom in the other and positioned her to take him inside her, she could not take her eyes off him. She threw her head back with a low groan, her face determined and in the throes of some primitive urge whilst she slid down until they were joined completely.

"Now," he growled. "I will watch whilst you take your pleasure. Use me, Sophia. Fuck me. Yes. Like that. Oh. God. Yes!" She dug her fingers into his shoulders and fixed her eyes on his face, turned up to hers, wild and ravenous as she rode his cock faster and harder until she feared the chair might break. "More," he begged in that low dark voice of his. "More. Fuck!"

She did not know who started the bone-shaking shudders that swept through them. They gasped and cried out in tandem, creating a music all their own until she collapsed onto him and felt the warm flash inside her that told her they'd reached the heights together. They sat in the chair, panting for breath. He kissed her scars over and over again. She swept her hair back as he stood shakily, and still joined to her, walked to the bed. He drew back the counterpane and crawled onto the mattress, her legs locked about him.

"Your beauty can never be a curse, nor can your scars, Sophia. They are the mark of who you are and where you have been. How could any part of that be ugly?" He kissed her forehead. "Rest now. I am not finished with you yet." He pulled the counterpane over them and wrapped his arms about her.

"I'm not finished with you yet."

But he will be, she thought as she lay in his embrace. He will be.