Modern English, page 13
She pressed her bare breasts against Vic’s back, a thin sheen of sweat making every inch of them slick. Then wrapping an arm around the magnificent curve of Vic’s waist, she sank her fingers into wet folds. She didn’t even have to search for the centre of Vic’s desire. Both the hardness begging for attention and the way Vic’s hips jerked when she made contact told Sophia everything about where she was most needed and how close Vic had gotten to coming apart in her hands.
Part of her still couldn’t believe how utterly amazing Vic had been again and again. Every time they collapsed, Sophia barely had the time to catch her breath before Vic would rev her up once more. She’d encouraged Vic to take what she wanted, and it thrilled her endlessly that what Vic wanted most of all was her. Still, Sophia had her own mix of pride and desire to contend with. She couldn’t have a body of this calibre in her grasp and not at least attempt to put it through its paces. For her part, Vic received every bit as good as she’d given, proving herself open and present in ways Sophia wouldn’t have thought possible, but damned if it wasn’t sexy as hell.
She continued to suck on the sheen of salt along Vic’s shoulder as she timed each circle of her fingers with the thrust of their bodies. She kept a strong, steady pace until the muscles of Vic’s jaw tensed, and Sophia growled.
“Don’t you dare hold back.” She accentuated her point with a push forward that caused Vic to gasp. “No restraint. You promised to let go tonight.”
And miraculously, she did. As easy as that, Vic allowed her head to fall back against Sophia’s shoulder as the first wave of release shook them both. Sophia braced herself, using the last of her functioning muscles to keep them from collapsing under the strain of Vic’s orgasm, until neither of them could stand it any longer and they eased themselves to the bed with what little grace they could muster.
Vic rolled onto her back with a dreamy sigh, and Sophia’s heart gave a silly little flip-flop. She should chastise herself for allowing any room for sentimentality after the raw ravishing they’d given each other. She wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing in a canopy bed in a castle with the daughter of a duke, but it clearly had to be about the sex. Lord knew there was nowhere else for this to go, but Vic was so beautiful in her bare and relaxed state that not even the most ardent cynic could fault Sophia for being captivated. Which of course was why she shouldn’t sink any deeper into the feather pillow.
The muscles in her arms and back protested, but she pushed herself to sitting position and swung her legs off the bed. She took a deep breath and stood, but before she even got both feet on the cool floor, a strong arm caught her around the waist and hauled her back into bed.
She made a weak effort to wrestle herself away, but Vic was deceptively agile for someone who’d been curled in a limp pile only seconds earlier. She threw one long leg over Sophia’s hips and caught both of her hands in one.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Sophia laughed. “Home . . . or my hotel room.”
“In the middle of the night?”
“That is when people usually go to bed.”
“You’re in a bed.”
“Your bed, not mine.”
“And what can you do in a hotel bed that you cannot do in mine?”
“Sleep, apparently. Something I desperately need before filming tomorrow.”
“You can sleep here,” Vic said. “I’ll relent for a few hours.”
She laughed again. “Even if I believed that, what makes you think I share your level of restraint and good sense? I lack all your breeding and high ideals. My only hope is to flee when I have the chance.”
“And what? Slink across the castle grounds in the dark? Security would be all over you before you cleared the inner bailey.”
“I’d rather take my chances with them tonight than try to sneak out in broad daylight again.”
Vic kissed her temple and snuggled closer. “Then it’s settled, no sneaking out at all. You’ll stay the night. On my honour I’ll see to it we both sleep, and in the morning I’ll make sure you’re well fed before we face the day.”
Sophia tried to squirm away once more, not at all liking the sound of that. It was too clear, too up front, too level-headed. She didn’t want to be level-headed about what was happening between them. The things she felt for Vic were wild and unreasonable, and she didn’t want to examine any of them more deeply. “I’m not a stay-all-night kind of woman.”
“And I’m not a dirty-little-secret kind of woman.” Vic sighed and sat up. “So, we seem to have reached an impasse.”
“Oh Vic.” She cupped her face in her hands. “Do we have to have this conversation so soon?”
“What conversation?”
“The one where you try to put a label on things, and I have to tell you I don’t want that, then you insert your sense of honour, and I have to explain that I’m not the kind of girl you bring home to your parents and—”
“I had not intended on having that particular conversation,” Vic said, a little crease forming in her brow, “for all of your reasons and a hundred more of my own.”
“Oh.” Sophia didn’t know whether to be relieved or offended.
“I merely meant to say sneaking around in the dark or slinking out of here at first light is neither practical nor appropriate for women of our respective positions. It’s beneath our dignity, it’ll arouse suspicion, and most importantly, it implies a level of shame I refuse to feel about what we’re doing here.”
She noticed Vic made no attempt to put a label on what they were doing.
“After my divorce”— the word seemed to catch in her throat, but she pushed on— “I had a few interactions with women. The press caught on. Some of their characterisations were wretchedly unfair, and perhaps some others weren’t, but the ordeal was horrible for me, for my whole family, and for the women involved. I swore I’d never get caught off guard again, and I would never allow anyone else to define my relationships. I also swore I’d never again be made to feel ashamed of any woman worthy of my company.”
Sophia’s heart sank, both at the idea of how added press scrutiny could take away from her own narrative and the pain undercutting Vic’s calm, reasonable tone. “How has the proclamation worked out for you?”
“In all honesty, you’re the first woman I’ve shared my bed or my body with since then.”
She sank back into the mattress, wishing she’d known that sooner, or perhaps feeling glad she hadn’t. She sort of wished she could unknow it now. She didn’t want to feel responsible for this woman’s first shame-free encounter, and yet she’d blown through every stop sign Vic had thrown up between them, so she had only herself to blame.
“Hey,” Vic whispered, “nothing has to change, at least nothing momentous. I’m not eager to make any big statements, and I claim no ownership of your time. We both have important work to do, and while I can’t speak for you, I also want to keep open the possibility of more nights like this when the impulse arises.”
She nodded. It would be easier to pretend they could stop now, but she wasn’t one to lie to herself or anyone else about her tendency to take what she wanted. “I agree on all counts, but I don’t see a way.”
“Move into the castle.”
“What?” She scooted to the edge of the bed once more. “Seriously? You have this big speech about not wanting too much and being reasonable and professional all as a lead-up to asking me to move in with you after two nights of fucking?”
Vic’s eyes went wide, and her cheeks red. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
“Which part?”
“Any of it.” She shook her head slowly. “Let me start again. I propose you move into your own suite of rooms here at the castle. A space to sleep, a space to dress, a space for you to relax after work. A space that also happens to be close to mine should the desire arise to spend more time together.”
She pursed her lips to keep from reacting rashly, but she didn’t hate the idea. The sexy daughter of a duke had offered her a taste of castle living while allowing her to maintain her autonomy and privacy. What was to hate about that?
“And it makes sense from a work perspective,” Vic continued. “The plan provides you with a retreat between takes to quickly change or adjust your elaborate wardrobe without having to go all the way back to costuming.”
“And it would offer an amazing opportunity to stay in character or study up on what it feels like to truly inhabit a castle.”
“Which makes it easy to explain as artistic integrity to anyone who questions.”
Sophia eased back onto the bed. “Why does everything you say always sound reasonable?”
“When your very existence functions like mine, you get a lot of practice making the absurd feel logical. Trust me, in the grand scheme of modern nobility, you staying here during filming barely ranks on the scale of absurdities I navigate daily.”
Sophia laughed, both at Vic’s skill for self-deprecation, and the entire situation she’d managed to land herself in. “Okay, let’s do it.”
“Good. I’ll have your rooms prepared first thing in the morning and inform the staff that you’re to be treated as a distinguished guest with all the associated privileges.”
“I do like the sound of that, but what will the servants think?”
Vic chuckled. “They’ll likely find you more suited to the role than I.”
Sophia shook her head.
“I’m serious. I’m much too informal for their tastes, and I lack the command that should be requisite in my position. Perhaps you’ll teach me a few things in your new role, because you, my dear, were born to rule.”
“There’s no need to lay it on so thick. I already agreed to stay.”
“You wound my honour, but I want to be a good hostess, so I’ll refrain from further flattery. What’s more, in the interest of chivalry, I’ll adjourn to the settee in my dressing room and allow you to sleep in peace.”
With another quick kiss she rose, but before she even made it to the door, Sophia sat up again. “Hey Vic?”
She turned and stared, so stunning and attentive. “Yes?”
“Sleep and peace are both overrated. Come back to bed.”
Chapter Eight
“Wow.” Vic bit her lip to hold in an all-out laugh when Sophia stepped into the sitting room wearing her full set costume for the day’s shooting schedule. “That’s so . . . wow.”
Sophia pursed her lips and gave her a stern look, which only made the whole picture infinitely more amusing. It wasn’t Sophia’s fault. She still had a killer stare, and two weeks of sleeping together regularly had done little to lessen its overall effect on Vic, but it was almost impossible to find someone intimidating in a pink and purple plaid dress with sleeves bulbous enough to serve as floatation devices. Then again, at least the sleeves kept the viewer’s eyes off the immense skirt of ruffles that protruded on a series of hoops cascading out into a tent large enough to camp under.
“Not another word,” Sophia warned.
She held up her hands as if to show she had no weapons to wield, but she couldn’t stop one tiny giggle from escaping.
Sophia rolled her eyes dramatically. “I know I’m dressed like a clown, okay?”
“No. I was going to say you look exactly like an oil painting we have of my grandmother.”
“Exactly what a woman wants to hear from her lover.”
Victoria’s breath caught at the term. It was the first label either of them had used in the time they’d been sleeping together or sharing space, and while she’d worked hard to hold her own fears at bay about where they could be headed, she did thrill at the idea of them at least being something to each other in this moment. “I didn’t mean you looked old or matronly, just the style, and the way you carry yourself reminds me of—”
“Your grandmother?” Sophia rolled her eyes. “You walked right back into that one.”
“Authentic!” Vic tried again. “I meant to compliment your authenticity. It was a compliment to make you feel better about the constraints of the role.”
“You’re terrible at compliments,” Sophia said, though her smile suggested otherwise.
“Fine, but for the record, my grandmother was a badass.”
“Oh yes, by all means, keep talking about your grandmother with the only five minutes we’re likely to get alone together today.”
Vic laughed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to do.”
“You didn’t seem to have any such trouble last night.”
Vic warmed at the memory and the jolt of confidence it gave her. “I’d gladly shoot for a repeat performance, but I suspect you’d have to redo your makeup, and I’m not sure I’d be able to get my hands under all those skirts and petticoats in the allotted time.”
“I have faith in your ability with the skirt,” Sophia said quickly. “You’ve proven yourself quite dextrous, but you’re probably right about the makeup. If we have to go back to square one on that front, we’ll be here all night.”
“And that would be a travesty, because I had plans for the evening that involve a rather ostentatious soaking tub and a bottle of wine.”
“I assume ‘ostentatious’ means there’s room for two in this tub?”
“Ample,” she confirmed, “but I wouldn’t presume to make plans for you, especially after twelve hours on set.”
“No, you’ve been ever so accommodating in your respect for my personal space.” Sophia gave her a subtle nod of gratitude. “But personal space wasn’t a concept made for soaking tubs.”
“Point well taken. I’ll amend my plans to include one tub, one bottle of wine, and two bathrobes. Will that be enough to atone for my wanting you to stay the course and get this afternoon’s scenes done in as few takes as possible?”
“That depends, do you have more stories to tell me about your grandmother in the meantime?”
Vic started to laugh, but another thought hit her. “Actually, I do. Follow me.”
She held open the door for Sophia to squeeze her hoop skirts through and then led her around the residence and back toward the public areas of the castle.
“I was being sarcastic,” Sophia muttered as they wandered down a back passage. They turned a corner to see two of the house staff rearranging a few pieces of furniture.
“Good morning, Sarah,” Vic called.
“Good morning, Hannah,” Sophia said at the same time.
Both women glanced up and smiled.
“Thank you for rerouting the school group yesterday,” Vic said.
“And for not killing Brian when he barged into the library during your speech to the antiquities collectors last night,” Sophia added as they kept walking.
They turned another corner, and Vic glanced over her shoulder, smiling at the easy way Sophia had eased into life in the residence. Not that she wanted to overstate anything. Sophia was clearly still on some sort of a cross between character study and castle holiday, but her presence hadn’t been a disruption. She was kind and confident with the staff, and respectful of the boundaries inherent in residing in a living museum. She moved deliberately and fluidly between one space and the next, not as if she owned either of them, but as if she certainly belonged in them. Victoria had hosted enough guests over a lifetime to recognise that delicate balance. People generally allowed the setting to intimidate them or embolden them in problematic ways. Sophia merely adapted to her surroundings.
They entered the main receiving room where they’d first met, and Victoria snagged the rapier off the wall.
“Whoa there, Tiger.” Sophia stepped back. “Not this again.”
She laughed and gave the blade a quick flourish before holding it up in both hands for Sophia to inspect. “I promise I won’t run you through this time.”
“Good to know, but why are we back to sword play after how far we’ve come, or rather how many times we’ve . . . never mind. You were saying?”
Vic’s face warmed a little bit at the innuendo, but she was too happy to stumble through this story. “This was my grandmother’s. My grandfather had it sent over to her from France immediately after the liberation of Paris in World War II.”
“The spoils of war?”
“Maybe for him, but for her it came to symbolise her power and her new position. She was a young bride even by the standards of the day, and they’d been married mere months when he left in service to king and country. Suddenly, she was the lady of the house and manager of an entire estate.”
“She wasn’t born to such things?”
“She was not poor, not by any means, but she definitely married up. My grandfather’s mother had already passed away, so there wasn’t anyone here to show her the ropes. His father was distant and often away for months at a time tending to government business. She had staff, of course, but most of the men had gone off to the war. The place was being run largely by women. They were making it up as they went along. She took to carrying the sword, first when riding or walking the orchards, and then apparently around the grounds, and sometimes the house as well.”
“And no one dared to question her authority then,” Sophia said.
“They probably thought twice about it, but more importantly it helped her stop questioning herself. She was the first truly modern duchess in my line, a ruling partner, a shrewd businesswoman, stoic and sensible, but with a flair for inspiring confidence.”
“So, it runs in your DNA?” Sophia said playfully. “Here I was crediting charm school all this time.”
Vic’s smile faltered as she took the rapier back and turned it around in her hands a time or two.
“What is it?”
“What? Nothing.” She shook her head and put the sword back into its hook on the wall. “I thought you might appreciate the story, given the role you’re playing.”
“I do appreciate it, but more because of what it tells me about you. The first time I saw that sword in your hand, I thought you were just a privileged rich girl who didn’t like the riff-raff touching her stuff.”
“No, you thought I was a servant.”
