“I know how much this means to you, to get married, that is, because of your mother, and I am so sorry about it, but … it just wouldn’t be right!” Sophie ground miserably to a halt.

Something about the menacing silence in the window forced her back into speech, and all the thoughts that had been revolving in her head during the day tumbled out willy-nilly.

“You see, I had thought that we could scrape along in a marriage famously because we don’t … we don’t feel anything for each other. Well, that’s not exactly correct,” she added punctiliously, “because I like you very much, Braddon, er, Lord Slaslow. But we—I—don’t have the kind of feelings that a wife should feel for a husband!”

There was a moment of silence. Then: “No?”

“No!”

“Ah.”

There really was something odd about Braddon’s voice, Sophie thought. Surely it was much deeper than normal. And it had a velvety resonance that made her stomach feel a bit quivery; perhaps it was because it was the first time they had been alone together, unless she counted the garden when he’d said he didn’t want to kiss her. The memory recharged her determination.

“Do you remember when we were in the garden and you didn’t want to kiss me, because you don’t think of me ‘that way’? Well, a husband should think about his wife that way!” Sophie finished defiantly.

Still no response from the window. Then he rose with a fluid movement and walked a few steps toward the bed. Sophie stared hard at his face, but the cloak had such a deep hood that she couldn’t see a thing. Hard hands cradled the back of her head, and she felt, rather than saw, a dark form bend over her.

“Experiment,” a husky voice murmured, and lips descended on hers … hard, forceful lips that invaded and pleasured, caressed and conquered.

“Oh!” Sophie gasped. Now Braddon was bending her backward—or was she falling backward? Her lips parted naturally to his and his tongue raided her soft mouth, making liquid fire rush up her limbs. No one had kissed her like that except for Patrick … so a part of her mind said defiantly, See? There’s nothing special about Patrick Foakes! Then niggling little thoughts about voices were lost in a sea of sensation.

For his part, Patrick wasn’t thinking at all. He’d finally got Sophie where he wanted her, on a bed, and the discovery that her soft lips were just as intoxicating as they had been earlier was not one to inspire rational thought. His mouth burned over her skin. With a warm tongue he traced the outline of her lips, descended into the depths, kissed her until her body trembled and arched instinctively toward him, her fingers clenched in his curls.