Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
For the second day in a row, Sophie found herself pacing. She didn’t even bother to retreat to the library, walking up and down the grand entry from the front of the house to the back. Ironheart, determined to keep her company, but tired of standing, pulled a chair to the archway of the formal sitting room. He’d poured himself a whisky and, every third pass, he’d offer it to her for a sip.
“It never occurred to me, until I watched you, that it might be nice to have a woman who worried after you.”
She looked over at him, her brows lifting. Sophie knew he wasn’t speaking specifically of her. First, he seemed to fully support her relationship with Max, but second, Ironheart treated her how she’d imagined a brother might. “What sort of woman do you think would suit you?”
“Docile, probably. Sweet.”
Sophie snorted, glad for the distraction. She wasn’t generally prone to snorting, which made her wonder how much of Ironheart’s whisky she’d consumed.
“Your derision is not appreciated.”
Her snort turned into a giggle. Perhaps it had been quite a bit of whisky. “Forgive me, Ironheart, but even I know enough about you to know that you’d be bored in a day with that sort of woman.”
He turned his head assessing her. “I could be very tired of my rakish ways and looking for a simple affection.”
Her hands came to her hips. Ironheart had insisted on seeing Tabbie home today. If Sophie wasn’t mistaken, the air crackled between them. “You could be tired of that life, yes, and ready for a new adventure.”
“Marriage is not an adventure.”
“I beg to differ.” She sniffed. “But regardless, even if you don’t want a complicated relationship, I’m certain you want the sort of…attraction that will keep you engaged for a long time.”
Ironheart stood, staring at her for a long time. “I underestimated you, Miss Wren. You are as bright and vivacious as you are beautiful.”
“Touch her and I will kill you. I don’t care if it’s your house.”
Sophie spun around to find Max standing by the back entrance of the entry that led out to the garden.
Relieved as she was to see him, she gave a startled cry as her gaze flitted down him. He was covered in dirt and…blood. “Max!” She rushed toward him, her heart running wild in her chest.
He opened his arms, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I’m so glad to see you, sweetheart.”
She jumped into his embrace with a cry. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine. Nothing that some sleep won’t fix,” he murmured into her hair.
“You’re making him downright chatty,” Ironheart called over to them.
She felt Max grumble about his irritation, but she didn’t wish to discuss Ironheart or his comment. “What happened?”
“Good news. Her Majesty’s armed forces caught Lord Whitehouse in the worst sort of treason,” he answered, squeezing her close.
Ironheart jumped from his seat. “You’re serious?”
“Bad news.” Max shook his head. “About sixty of his men saw me and laid chase.”
Sophie let out a cry as she wiggled from his arms and felt his body for injuries.
“I’m unharmed,” he softly said, reaching for her hands and pulling them to his mouth to kiss the back of each.
“What does this mean?” Ironheart asked.
“It means that the Queen will surely take up his capture and imprisonment. Several of her soldiers heard him plainly say he had designs on her throne.”
“Fu—”
“Hey,” Max bit out. “Not in front of the lady.”
Ironheart’s jaw snapped shut, but he smiled. “I got the license. You’re to wed tomorrow.”
Max pulled her back into his arms, dropping his head into the crook of her neck as a shudder passed through him.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers threading into his hair as she pulled him closer, pressing her cheek to his head. Silently, she told him how she loved him, how she’d hold him until the pain of the night passed, of how she’d always be there to do so…
Her eyes drifted closed, the only words she managed to say out loud, “I love you.”
“I love you too,” he murmured into her shoulder.
“Ironheart.” She didn’t move. “Would it be too much trouble to have a bath sent to Lord Maxwell’s room?”
“None at all.” Ironheart turned, his footsteps sounding across the marble floor until he reached the top of the servant’s stairs. It was only then she took a step back, gently tugging from his embrace as she took his hand and led him up the stairs. She didn’t ask him to explain further, she just knew that he needed her tonight.
They arrived at the same time as the tub. Silently they waited for the water and when it was delivered and poured into the large copper bath by the fire, she turned to Max, untying his cravat and removing it from his neck. She took off his jacket, his vest, and his boots. Then, she worked on her garments, taking off her large skirts, undoing the buttons of her dress, and removing her corset. She meant to bathe him, wash the dirt away.
He tugged off the rest of his clothes, and she tried not to focus on making him feel good, sitting on the bed to roll her stockings down her legs, but when he pulled his shirt off, she stopped and stared at the rippling muscles as they came into view. Then, as he pulled down his breeches, the sheer power of his form left her in awe. She swallowed down a lump, unable to move as she drank him in.
“Join me,” he said simply as he crossed to the bath and sunk into the water.
“I’ll just bathe you,” she said, finishing with her stockings and taking off her petticoats so that she was only in her chemise.
She crossed to him, picked up a sponge, and dipped it into the water as she sank to sit on the floor next to the tub. He looked over at her, leaned forward, and captured her lips with his own. Leaning back far enough to look at her, he said, “I want to feel your skin.”
Sophie only hesitated for a second before she stood and stripped the chemise over her head. She wasn’t nearly as embarrassed as she thought she might be. Perhaps it was their connection. Maybe it was the whisky, but she let the garment float to the floor, watching Max’s gaze darken as he dragged it up her body. Then, taking his hand, she sank into the tub. Her back settled against his front, her legs drawing up to her chest so that they’d both fit.
“How am I supposed to wash the dirt off you like this?” Her voice was soft with a sigh as she laid her head on his shoulder.
“I’ll manage,” he murmured into the crown of her hair.
“Are you worried?” she asked, lacing her fingers through his.
“No. I was tonight, but now, with the Queen’s aid, we can leave London without regret.”
“We could stay,” she said. “You have a home here. Work.”
He smiled into her hair. “I’m eager to go if you are. I’ve needed a fresh start for a long time.”
“All right.” She gave a slight nod. “London hasn’t held much promise for me. I’d much rather return to the quiet country life I had.”
“Good. We’re in agreement.” He wrapped his arms tightly around her, rubbing his cheek over the top of her head. “You’ll teach me how to be a good father to Abigail, won’t you? I know I’ll be her brother-in-law, but…”
“You’re right, we’re her parents, and I don’t think I’ll need to teach you much. When you make decisions out of love, the rest is easy.”
He smiled against her head. Then, sliding his hands down her arms, he reached for the sponge and scrubbed his shoulders and face. “I got the worst of it,” he said, dropping the sponge into the water.
She picked it up and partially turned, splashing a great deal of water out of the tub as she washed his chest and torso. When she’d started on his lower stomach, her hand bumped into the hard shaft of his manhood. She stopped, gasping. Sophie had felt its contours the day before, but there in the water, she used her other hand to trace it and give it a light squeeze.
“Woman,” he said, his voice husky. “What are you trying to do to me?”
Nipping at her lip, she met his gaze. “Seduce you.”