Page 64 of Love Unraveled
He wished she had not slipped on a robe. He’d like to see her breasts, to touch them, to trace those delicious dark orbs—
“Well?”
“Well, I will say I am the luckiest man in the world.”
Her smile was one of sheer satisfaction.
“And that I was seduced. That I am exhausted because you are a wickedfemmewho cannot get enough of my body.”
Sophie squealed and pressed a pillow against his face. He threw his legs back onto the bed and rolled on top of her, making love to her until they were both replete and genuinely exhausted as he’d said he’d claim. He wasn’t sure how long he dozed before registering another voice in the room.
“At this hour? Indecent. Tell him I am not at home.”
“Sì,signora mia.”
“No, wait. I do not want him to think he has simply missed me. Tell him I am unavailable. I am indisposed.”
Gaston lifted his head, frowning in question.
“The duke,” Sophie said. “He is not surrendering easily.” She shrugged indifferently.
“Un momento,” he said to Sophie’s maid, who quickly averted her eyes when he threw back the cover and swung his legs off the bed for the second time that morning. “Tell him to wait in the library. I will be there shortly.”
Her maid scooted out the door without another glance at him, and Gaston stomped into the bathing room to retrieve his clothes. He grabbed his shirt and his trousers and shook them to no avail. Those wrinkles weren’t going anywhere, and he’d no time to have them pressed. He would not face the duke as a rumpled usurper, for he was neither unkempt nor had he appropriated anyone. Sophie had always been his as he had always belonged to her.
He marched back into the bedroom and stopped, hands on hips. Sophie remained unfazed, sipping from a dainty cup, eyeing him over it.
“Où sont mes vêtements?”
She pointed to the small hall that led to the bathing room. He did not wait for detailed directions. He spun around, strode past the bathing room, and opened the next door beyond it. Sophie’s scent wrapped around him, and he smiled. He looked around. It was appropriate her dresses looked like a collection of rich-colored jewels. For it was what Sophie was—a jewel.Mon bijou. And he was not going to let anyone come between him and his jewel.
His clothing was tucked in the far corner, but it was clear her maid had taken the time to ensure everything was stored correctly. All items of clothing were neatly pressed, and he dressed quickly. When he returned to the bedroom, Sophie was in her chemise and her maid was brushing her hair. She was breathtaking.
“I will come with you,” she said.
“Non.”
Her eyes darkened in anger at his denial. Sophie never liked to be told what to do or not to do. Her maid moved out of the way, and he took her place, resting his hands on Sophie’s delicate shoulders. They stared at each other in the mirror, and he gently massaged her, his thumb kneading the stiff muscles behind her blades. “You have tried,mon amour. Perhaps he will accept it from me.”
Beneath his fingers, the tension slipped from her shoulders. “Perhaps. But he is a man used to getting his own way, Gaston. Tread carefully. We do not need more enemies to conquer.”
He kissed the top of her forehead. “You are right,mon amour. I will pick him up carefully by his coattails and trousers and gently toss him into the street.” Sophie’s eyes grew large, and he laughed. “I jest.”
He smiled and left her before she could convince him to wait for her. She had told the duke to step aside, and the man had chosen to be insistent. Well, Gaston would make it clear his tenaciousness made him look like a tedious, ratting dog and further overtures would only be viewed as pathetic.
Raimondo watched Gaston as he descended the stairs, but said nothing. He tilted his head in the direction of the library, and Gaston nodded in acknowledgment. He opened the door, and the duke swung around.
“You,” he barked, his face blossoming red.
Gaston stepped into the room and closed the door. “Can I help you?”
The duke’s nostrils flared, and Gaston briefly thought the man might charge like an enraged bull. He rather hoped he would. Gaston suspected he could easily best him. But the arrogant fool stood there glaring as if Gaston would cower beneath him and slink away.
“Your Grace?” he asked smoothly, pleased with himself for remaining calm. For he would truly like to show the man who was superior in life.
“I would speak with Countess Tessaro.” The duke bit out the words, so stiff he might snap in two should anyone want to try—and Gaston longed to.
“She is…” Gaston deliberately trailed off and stared at the ceiling as though looking for his words, although he had no lack of words right now. His problem was filtering them. The man was, after all, a duke. He could make life miserable for Sophie. “…in dishabille,” he said, despite knowing he shouldn’t. He was unable to resist making it clear he had come directly from her private rooms.
