He tilted his head in acknowledgment. “Thank you. I am.” There was a short pause, then, “How is your son?”
“Thomas is wonderful.” Sophie smiled at the thought of him. “He’s quite the loveliest thing in my life. But I shan’t bore you with the details.”
“If a topic interests you, it interests me. Does Thomas look like you?”
“No.” Sophie frowned, startled by the marquess’s words, which were delivered without inflection. “He looks like his father, thankfully. A blessing I appreciate immeasurably.”
Lifting her hand, she rubbed at the space between her brows where an ache was building. She had been plagued with megrims in the months after Langley’s passing, and the stress of her first outing and her unexpected reaction to Fontaine were bringing back echoes of that pain.
“I am sorry for your loss,” he murmured.
“Thank you.” Her hand dropped back into her lap. “But I have my son and I am tremendously grateful for him. He has been a brilliant light during a very dark time.”
She had been faced with people who intimated that it would have been better had she lost the babe. The very suggestion angered her in a way nothing else could. To propose that the loss of her child would have been preferable to the loss of social standing was so heinous she could not credit it.
“Where is the boy now?”
“With Langley’s younger brother-the current Lord Langley-and his family. Thomas visits with them often. He is a tangible piece of his father, and they cherish him.”
“You are very brave, Sophie.”
She studied Fontaine, attempting to discern if he was being facetious or not. She saw only sympathy. “No, I am not brave. Not at all. I have survived. That does not make me courageous; it is merely a testament of my stubbornness.”
His mouth curved. “Call it what you like. I admire you a great deal. I doubt I would have weathered the storm near as well.”
The combined effect of that smile and his praise left Sophie speechless. She was taken aback by how it affected her, warming her from the inside, loosening the tight knot of apprehension she had not known was there. When had his opinion become so important? Or…perhaps it had always been important.
“I would not have expected you to be supportive,” she admitted, her damp palms wrapping around the end of the armrests.
“Why not?”
“Because you were forever chastising me when we were children.”
The marquess’s eyes widened. “I was not.”
“Yes, you were. I remember the incidences quite clearly, especially that day in the garden when you shouted at me and I nearly fell. Scared me witless.”
“Are you referring to the time you were attempting to climb to the top of the pagoda?” He snorted. “It was you who scared the wits from me! I rounded the corner in search of you and there you were, hanging some distance from the ground by only your fingertips. My heart stopped beating altogether. You could have killed yourself.”
She snorted back. “As if you cared for my health. It simply offended your aristocratic sensibilities to see a female engaged in such sport.”
Outwardly, Justin was fairly certain he maintained his composure. Inwardly, he was stunned. Sophie could not believe that. Not truly. “Are you daft?”
Sophie blinked her thickly lashed green eyes at him. “Beg your pardon?”
“If you believe I wished to hold you back due to your gender rather than out of concern for the safety of your person you are sorely mistaken.”
As she continued to stare at him as if he had grown two heads, Justin in turn stared at the ravishing creature who sat across from him and felt a bit…addled. In his mind, he had held an image of her as she had looked the last time they met. She had been ten and nine, slender yet lushly built, her hair a riot of dark chocolate curls shot with striking strips of burgundy. Full red lips and those lovely eyes had rounded out the picture of a beauty on the verge of blossoming. He had watched her grow from a child to a woman, accompanying his mother on every visit to Lady Cardington’s just to witness the transformation. Biding his time. Waiting for the day when she would be his.
A day that had never come.
His mother had been the one to tell him that Sophie had accepted Lord Langley’s addresses. After that, he never returned to the Cardington dower house again.
In the years since, his memories had not aged her. She had been arrested in that moment in time. Because of this, the vision who greeted him in the parlor before dinner took him completely by surprise.
His mother was right. The years had been kind to Sophie, turning her youthful attractiveness into an intoxicating blend of innate sensuality and fully ripened curves. When she had kissed his cheek, the smell of her and the feel of her warm body so close to his had thrust home an undeniable truth-he still wanted her. This time with a man’s desire, not a boy’s infatuation.
And dear sweet Sophie apparently had no notion of the hunger she had awakened. Otherwise she would not be visiting his private rooms and reclining in a way that bared her ankles. He was in a riot of lust over that view, such as many a naked woman had been unable to incite in him. The desire to press his lips to that tiny part of her rode him hard. He wanted to push up the hem of her skirts and follow the length of her lithe legs with his mouth. He wanted to spread her thighs wide and lick inside her, drink her in, hear the sounds she made when lost in climax.
“My lord…Justin.”
She squirmed slightly, and he realized his lengthening silence was making her uncomfortable. He forced himself to look away. “Yes?”
He heard her sigh. “I feel as if we are strangers.”
“Does that disturb you?”
“Yes, it does. Is it possible that you might stay a few more days?”
Justin refrained from smiling. That had been his intent ever since she kissed him in the parlor, but it was fortuitous that she asked. “Why?”
He could see that she was attuned to the growing sensual awareness he felt building between them. Her gaze roamed often from the top of his head to his polished Hessians and back up again, the green irises dark with female appreciation.
But the rapid lift and fall of her chest betrayed her unease. She had not expected to desire him, and therefore had no defenses in place to manage the attraction.
Which worked perfectly for him. He would ensure that she remained unsettled and unguarded so he could slip inside her…in every way possible.
“Because grand-mère will never believe we are ill-suited if she doesn’t reach the conclusion on her own.”
His gaze narrowed. “Are we ill-suited, Sophie?”
Again she looked at him as if he were an anomaly she could not classify. “Don’t tease, Justin. You know my circumstances make me unacceptable for you. Besides which, I would never marry a man who did not love my son as much as I do.”
“I am curious,” he said softly. “What type of woman would you deem ‘acceptable’ for me?”
Sophie tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and waved her hand, both gestures betraying her nervousness. “Someone such as Lady Julienne Montrose, I suppose.” A flush spread across her cheeks.
“Interesting.” Pleasure filled him that she had kept apprised of his activities. “Perhaps it will surprise you to learn that the qualities I most enjoyed in Lady Julienne were ones that reminded me of you-her ability to disregard the opinions of the ton, her mischievous nature, and warm sensuality.”
“My lord!” Her hand lifted to her throat.
He offered a wolfish smile, relishing the chance to shock her for a change. “I am quite serious.”
Her cheeks flushed. “You are not.”
“Who are you trying to convince? You can save your breath if you are attempting to sway me. I know a passionate woman when I see one.”