“Did he hurt you?”

“Just a bump as he went past,” she answered, dazed.

“Go in your room and lock the door.” He helped her up. “There may be others.”

From downstairs, there came the sound of a door slamming open in its frame.

Claxton lunged down the hall, a blur of long limbs and corded muscle. Sophia stared after him, the magnificent sight of him making her almost forget the intruder. Seconds later, her husband, the naked savage, returned.

“Damn it. I need clothes.” He disappeared into his room. A moment later he barreled past her again, pulling on his coat. “Lock your door.”

Sophia glimpsed a flintlock fastened to his side.

She did as he ordered, retreating into her room and locking the door, doing her best to remain calm, praying the man did not have a weapon or wish them harm. After what seemed an eternity, Claxton knocked, announcing himself.

Fresh snow encrusted his hat, shoulders, and boots. Exertion flushed his cheeks.

“He ran straight for the forest. I followed his tracks for some time, but did not wish to be drawn too far from you and the house. If only I’d not taken the time to dress.”

“You had no choice. You couldn’t go off naked into the snow.”

He took another deep breath and flashed a grin. Again, almost instantly, his expression returned to serious. “Was the man someone you recognized?”

“His face was covered with a scarf, but from what I did see, I don’t recall ever seeing him before. Not at the village inn or elsewhere.” She bit her bottom lip. “He was carrying something in his arms, but I didn’t see what it was.”

He scowled. “Doubtless he thieved something.”

“What if that’s how my window came to be open last night? That man coming or going?” The idea that an unknown intruder had been in the house, possibly while they slept, left her completely discomposed and no small amount terrified. What if the man returned? What if he was a murderer?

He nodded. “It’s winter. He may be a pauper simply looking for shelter in the storm, in a house known to have long been empty. I did not undertake to inspect the premises after our arrival.” Claxton glanced upward toward the floor above them. “He could have been here all along, and we did not know it. I shall go down to the village in the morning to report the matter to the watchman, though I’m not certain what good it will do.”

“Could he have gotten inside through the priest hole downstairs?”

“No one knows about that passage but my brother and the Kettles and now you.” He shook his head. “No one. My brother and I were sworn to secrecy over its existence, and the Kettles would never tell.”

Beginning downstairs, they carried a lamp from room to room and confirmed all doors and windows were secure and that no one else lurked in the shadows. While they did so, they searched for any sign that someone had been living in the house beneath their notice. Three floors, countless rooms, and nearly an hour later, they returned to the corridor between their rooms. On the uppermost floor in a small stove, they’d found warm embers, certain evidence someone had indeed been in the house without them knowing.

“The house is secure,” said Claxton. “There is nothing to do now but go to bed.”

Sophia peered into the darkness at the end of the hall. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep a wink, for fear I will awaken to that man standing over my bed.”

His blue eyes flashed with heat. “I’d be more than happy to sleep with you.”

Never before had she been more tempted. The discovery of a stranger in the house left her anxious and not wanting to be alone. In London, with a house fully staffed with servants, she would not be so unnerved, but Camellia House was located on a property set apart by itself and had so many rooms, all shrouded in darkness. It was just the two of them.

Claxton’s physical competence and skill with a weapon added much to his attractiveness. Still, she ought not to invite her husband into her bed out of fear, but rather because she was emotionally ready to share such intimacies again. They’d checked all the rooms and found no one. She shouldn’t be such a ninny.

“You have your own bed,” she said, doing her best to sound firm.

He moved toward her with a sudden and purposeful intensity.

“There was a stranger in this house tonight,” he said quietly. “I don’t know how he got inside. I don’t know if he’ll return.” Unshaven, with his shirttails hanging free beneath his greatcoat and no cravat, he looked more like a pirate than a duke. A swarthy, handsome pirate. “Don’t be ridiculous, Sophia. We’re sleeping together tonight.”

The determination in his manner sent a trickle of alarm down Sophia’s spine and an undeniable thrill. She retreated into her room, but in the moment she could have closed her door against him, she did not. He followed, as she knew he would, pushing the door closed behind him.

He exhaled through his nose, his eyes gleaming.

“Very well,” she said, endeavoring to keep the quaver from her voice. “Let’s sleep together. I admit, I will rest more easily, knowing you are here.” Clasped at the front of her dressing gown, her hands held the embroidered collar together primly over her breasts. “I—I think I might read for a while. What about you?”

He removed his coat and draped it neatly over the back of a chair. “I’m not here to read.”

In one smooth movement, he removed his shirt over his head. Powerful muscles bunched in his shoulders. Firelight bathed his skin, revealing a deep striation of muscles along his torso, chest, and arms. Certainly he knew he was beautiful. That naked, he became temptation personified.

“I’ve been very patient,” he said softly, advancing toward her. She backed away until she could go no farther, having come to the wall. His gaze traveled over her with an almost dispassionate ease. “I’ve tried, however ineptly, to be thoughtful. Sensitive. Understanding. Have I not?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “I would agree that you have been.”

“Good. I’m so relieved we finally agree on something.” He lifted his hand to the back of her head, and eyes burning, slowly lowered his face toward hers. Every nerve, every muscle, every fragment of her body capitulated. She closed her eyes, her lips burning, tingling with anticipation.

He halted suddenly, exhaling against her cheek. “I almost forgot. No kissing allowed. That would constitute romance, which you specifically told me you don’t want or need. We are here for the business of making a child, correct, Sophia? And only that.” He drew back. “Your rules.”

“I did say that,” she breathed.

She had indeed said something like that, and it would look badly on her if she now told him to never mind. Inwardly, she shook of her regret. They were here for the purpose of conceiving a child. Not for any sort of…frivolous recreational activity.

“Yes, you did.” He touched her hair. Her cheek. A look of puzzlement came over his face. “Working under such rigid strictures,” he said, brow furrowed, “I’m not quite certain how to proceed.”

He was being ludicrous, of course. Her husband was an expert and knew exactly how to proceed. Light as a feather, his fingertips traced a path over her collarbone. She forced herself to remain calm and silent, not wanting him to see how his touch affected her. But inside, oh, inside, every nerve burst out in flames.

“Clearly,” he drawled, “I shall have to improvise.”

The same fingers delved inside her collar to lift and push her robe from her shoulders. He tugged it farther, somewhere near the waist, so that the quilted silk fell to pool at her feet. The frigid air of the room chilled the bare skin of her shoulders and arms.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he said quietly. He moved closer, backing her against the wall. His hands smoothed up her arms, feeling warm and strong and oh, so competent. “But I do not recall there being any limitations made on…sucking?”

Chapter Thirteen

She swallowed hard. Sucking.

Such a naughty word, especially when spoken from Claxton’s lips.

Holding her arms just above the elbows so as to prevent her movement, he lowered his head, lightly brushing his nose and lips against her temple, her ear. Not kissing her. Instead he caressed her with his breath and skin and texture.

She shivered, taking pleasure from that barest touch.

He exhaled and nuzzled her cheek and neck, leaving a path of heated breath and friction on her skin, one that ended at her breasts. She still wore her short stays over her chemise. The undergarment lifted her breasts, displaying them as if for a feast. She sighed. Exhaled. For feast Claxton did.

Legs bent and openmouthed, he explored her breasts, dampening the fine lawn that covered her skin with his heated breath. Exploring the plump underside and the crevice between. At last he took an erect tip in his mouth. Her eyes rolled back and she sighed, her legs instantly weak.

Oh, but then he sucked.

“Claxton,” she cried, her hips bucking off the wall.

He held her there, unrelenting, as with his teeth he tugged the lace edge of her chemise low, until one breast popped free.

“Very nice,” he murmured, his breath tantalizing the nipple.

“I told you before, I don’t…need to be seduced.”

“You’ve made that perfectly clear,” he murmured against her skin. “So I suppose it’s not necessary to say you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen…even though you are.” His heated gaze met hers, and he worshipped her with his hands. “And I won’t tell you that the first time I saw you I knew…I knew…there would never be anyone else.”