Chapter 9 #3
Richard rose, and she followed him out. As they walked down the corridor to the front door, he grabbed her hand.
She was shocked, swiveling her head around to ensure no one could see them engaged in such impropriety, but there was only a lone footman standing next to the front door, his gaze politely averted to the opposite wall.
Soon, Richard was helping her step into the carriage. He followed, swinging the door shut behind him and drawing the curtains for privacy. Sliding along the bench, he shifted to sit beside her, his movements deliberate and unhurried.
Sophia’s breath quickened with anticipation as he reached up to caress her cheek, gently guiding her to face him. His gaze locked with hers, and he leaned closer, stopping just shy of her lips. The pause was electric, his eyes searching hers with an intensity that sent warmth flooding through her.
When he did not move further, her patience wavered. Gathering her courage, she leaned forward, pressing her lips to his in a tender kiss. A smile curved against her lips as he returned her kiss, the moment full of warmth and quiet joy.
He leaned closer, his clean-shaven cheek brushing gently against hers.
“I love that you trust me,” he murmured, his voice low and warm.
“The way you held me this morning … it meant more than I can say.” His words, spoken so tenderly, sent a delightful shiver through her, wrapping her in a sense of closeness that left her breathless.
His hand came to rest lightly on her knee, the touch reassuring rather than bold.
As his fingers brushed gently back and forth, a warmth blossomed in her chest. His lips lingered near her cheek, pressing a soft kiss before moving toward her ear.
His nearness, the sound of his voice, and the gentleness of his touch overwhelmed her senses, filling her with a quiet anticipation.
Sophia let out a soft sigh, leaning into his touch as his hand settled lightly at her waist, a comforting presence that spoke of the trust and growing affection between them.
The carriage came to a sudden halt, jarring them both from the moment.
Richard pulled back, his hand slipping from hers as he rested his head against the squabs with a deep, steadying breath.
Sophia, flushed and unsure of what to do, watched as he closed his eyes for a moment, clearly gathering himself.
A discreet knock sounded, and the door swung open.
Sophia slid to the door as the footman extended his hand to help her down.
The soft glow of light spilled over the steps as Radcliffe waited calmly by the entrance to the house.
She hesitated, glancing back toward the carriage, but Richard soon emerged, his expression composed as he stepped out to join her.
Together, they walked toward the house, the quiet night air a sharp contrast to the charged silence lingering between them.
“Radcliffe!”
“Yes, milord?”
“I need Shaw immediately. And send someone to assist her ladyship at once.”
Sophia felt a flicker of satisfaction at the urgency in Richard’s tone.
It was comforting to see that his patience with the day’s interruptions was as worn as her own.
When he reached for her hand, pulling her gently but decisively through the front door toward the grand staircase, she couldn’t help but smile.
There was a certain thrill in his focused attention, and it gave her a sense of shared purpose as they ascended together.
Richard didn’t wait for his valet to arrive.
Instead, he began wrenching off his tailcoat, tossing it across the chest of drawers.
His waistcoat quickly followed, and he sat down to pull off his shoes, discarding them in haste before impatiently removing his stockings.
When he started on his cravat, his fingers fumbled with the knot, his eagerness getting the better of him.
Just as his frustration peaked, he noticed Shaw’s shadow cast across the floor a moment before the valet appeared in the open doorway.
“Milord! Allow me,” Shaw said, hurrying forward. Richard dropped his hands, letting his manservant swiftly untangle him from the troublesome cravat.
He couldn’t explain the sudden urgency coursing through him.
In the past, he had always approached such moments with calm precision, but since the quiet intimacy shared in the carriage, his thoughts had been in a whirlwind.
All he could focus on was the fact that his wife—his remarkable, kind-hearted wife—was in the next room.
Sophia, who had accepted his son with grace, cared little for society’s approval, and valued substance over shallow connections. She was unlike anyone he had ever met, and the thought of her filled him with a mix of tenderness and longing.
The moment Shaw finished, Richard sprang to his feet, still in his trousers and linen shirt, and crossed the room in determined strides. Reaching the connecting door, he opened it with purpose, stepping into his bride’s chamber with his heart pounding and a growing sense of anticipation.