From behind the letter which she’d been reading, Sophia produced another sheet which was a list of the paintings Lady Celeste had mentioned. At the top of the page was a heading, which read “Items Lost in the sinking of the Mary Frances, May 17, 1788, while crossing the channel from Calais to Bristol.” Beneath it was a list of some thirty paintings, the titles and artists of which made Sophia’s breath catch. These were works that if they hadn’t been lost would be worth hundreds of thousands of pounds. At the bottom of the page was the scrawled signature of the fifth Duke of Maitland, who must have written the list, since it was in a different hand.
“Lady Celeste certainly didn’t do things by halves,” Ben said as he took the list from Sophia and scanned it. “When she left tasks for you all, she made certain they weren’t easy ones. I have an imagine of her in my head as a goddess on Mount Olympus crafting labors for Hercules.”
He had a point, Sophia had to admit, as she moved to take out the paintings she and the other heiresses had placed back into the cabinet after looking at them earlier in the week. “I can’t believe she stumbled onto a scheme like this simply by chance,” she said, staring down at a work that rather skillfully recreated a painting by Vermeer called Girl with a Fan. It skillfully, faithfully mimicked the famous Dutch painter’s use of light and the portrayal of one of several female models he used again and again. How close it was to the original, Sophia couldn’t know until she compared it to a print in one of the collections in the library, but she had a feeling it was close. “If she hadn’t recalled the list of paintings her father had lost, she would never have put it together that the work she saw being wrapped by Framingham was a forgery at all.”
“What I want to know,” Ben said thoughtfully, as he held the list, “is who knew about the lost paintings? Was it widely known that the schooner went down with a fortune’s worth of artwork on it, or did the family manage to keep it quiet? I know it was likely a coup for the duke to purchase such a collection, but the loss of it would have stung. I can imagine he’d do what he could to keep news of the sinking—or more particularly what went down on it—a secret.”
“That’s something we’ll need to ask Serena, and perhaps Kerr and Maitland when they return from London, about,” Sophia said. “They may have heard family stories. Though I believe the duke himself died before they were born.”
“If it was kept a secret, then how did Ryder get hold of it?” Ben asked, as usual his jaw tightening at the man’s very name. “He had to know which paintings he was meant to recreate. And I think we’re no longer in any doubt that he is the one who has been painting them, are we?”
Sophia shook her head. It was possible someone else had been the artist in question, but she’d seen his work during their visit to Primrose Green. And the brushwork, the mixing of colors, it was all very similar to the works she was looking at now. “I think it is him, yes,” she said. “And I would very much like to ask him whether he has any conception of the harm his forgeries have done. Not just in Little Seaford, but also in the art world as a whole.”
At that, however, Ben shook his head. “Absolutely not,” he said with a finality that put her back up. “I will speak to the man if it’s necessary. But you are to go nowhere near him.”
“You are being unreasonable,” Sophia pointed out with a scowl. “I can speak to him about the paintings themselves. Artist to artist. And perhaps I can convince him to tell us who else is behind the scheme. Especially when he learns that Morgan was planning to get rid of him.”
“And I’m not comfortable with you being in the same room with the fellow,” Ben countered. “He raised his hand to you, Sophia, or have you forgotten? I can’t speak for my actions if he does such a thing again.”
She was at once touched by his concern, and annoyed at his high-handedness. Must all the men in her life insist upon protecting her from herself?
Standing, she moved to slip her arms around his neck, and though he was still annoyed, she felt him relax a little at her nearness. “I cannot imagine he would be so foolish as to do something like that again, Ben. He’s a forger, not a fool. And if you’re with me, he’ll have even more incentive to behave.”
“Don’t think I don’t realize what you’re doing,” he said, even as he slid his hands over her bottom and pulled her closer. “I know when I’m being coaxed, Miss Hastings.”
She leaned in and kissed him, just letting her mouth brush across his. “I was Sophia before. Why the formality?”
“I am trying to be a gentleman, Sophia,” he said on a sigh as she nibbled over his chin. “And you’re making it dashed difficult.”
She knew exactly how difficult his struggle was—she felt the evidence of his body’s attempt to overcome his mind pressing against her stomach.
“I don’t need a gentleman just now, Ben,” she whispered against his ear. “I need a man. That’s all. Not a vicar. Not a lord. Not a gentleman. Just a man.”
* * *
Ben felt a shudder run through him as Sophia nipped his earlobe.
She was going to be the death of him.
But there was one particular part of him that came to life whenever she was near, and it was making a very good argument for the opposite.
“I can’t just throw you over my shoulder and have my way with you like a barbarian,” he said through clenched teeth. “You deserve to be wooed. To be taken in a bed, with proper attention to detail.”
His hands stroked over her back as he spoke, however, encouraging her as she kissed a path down his neck.
When she stopped, he almost wept. “Ben,” she said in a firm tone. “I know what I want. And I do not care about hearts or flowers. I don’t need a proper bed. I only need you. And as shocking as this might be to your delicate sensibilities, I want you.”
As she spoke, she met his eyes and he found himself awed again by her ability to cut to the heart of the matter. To get past his reservations and respect for the conventions and to speak the truth of what lay between them. “You’re sure?” he asked, his voice husky with desire. “Because I’m willing to wait.”
Her mouth quirked into a half smile before she kissed him hard on the mouth. “I know you are and I love you for it. But I am not.”
Some recess of his brain where his primitive desires lay took over then, and he lifted her into his arms and carried her over to the settee, which was bathed in afternoon light. Gently settling her onto the sofa, he all but sprinted to the door and turned the lock.
When he returned, he found her sprawled over the deep red velvet of the cushions, her cheeks pink with desire and looking like a sumptuous banquet meant only for him. Never letting his eyes leave her, he shrugged out of his coat and waistcoat and tossed them aside. Then came his cravat, which was a bit more difficult given the slight trembling of his fingers. It went into pile with his coats. His boots took a bit more time, but he removed them with what he considered admirable speed. Turning, he saw that she was gazing appreciatively at him.
“Don’t forget to remove your shirt,” she said in a sultry tone. “I want to see you.”
It was the work of a moment to pull the fine lawn over his head and another minute more before he could gather her against him and reverse their positions on the settee, with him on the bottom, and her sprawled over his chest.
When their mouths met, it was surprisingly gentle. He felt as if he’d been waiting for this moment from their first meeting. Though he hadn’t known it at the time. He’d only known then that she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen and he wanted her. That thought, like so many that went against his values as a gentleman and a clergyman, had been suppressed. But here, now, he was as fully himself as he could recall feeling in years. With Sophia, Ben was, as she’d said she wanted, just a man. A man who wanted more than anything in the world to make love to the woman in his arms.
He took his time with her, savoring every soft stroke of her tongue, and answering with parries of his own. Their bodies pressed together, his naked chest against her clothed one, while he explored the rest of her with his hands. While she sighed into his mouth, his hand wandered over the generous curve of her hip, and down over her thigh to gather the loose fabric of her gown and slide it up, inch by inch, until her stockinged leg was exposed and he touched the naked flesh just above her garter.
She gave a gasp against his mouth, then gave a slight tilt of her hips, encouraging him to move his hand up further. At the same time, he used his other hand to pull down the bodice of her gown, exposing the bosom he’d been dreaming of for weeks. Even from the way she was positioned, in the shadows, he could see that her breasts were every bit as beautiful as he’d imagined. Unable to hold back, he bent his head to take one rosy tip gently between his teeth before laving it with his tongue. Sophia gave a gasp of pleasure and writhed a little against him.
Needing to feel her beneath him, he flipped their positions until she was on her back and he was kneeling over her, where he could worship one breast with his mouth while he stroked and caressed the other with his hand. Beneath him, Sophia gave a little cry as he suckled her and he felt her hips buck against him, which was sweet anguish to his cock nestled as it was between her thighs. Taking his hand from her breast, he slipped it beneath her gown and stroked up, up until he reached the heart of her, where the gathering wetness revealed the depth of her desire. He stroked a finger over her clitoris while at the same time giving a decadent suck at her nipple and Sophia almost bucked off the sofa.
“Ben,” she gasped, unable to stop her body’s response to the caress. “Oh.”
He did it again, this time stroking a finger over her opening, then plunging one inside. Then another. Judging by Sophia’s little cries of bliss, she was coming undone. And one more stroke had her crying out again and bucking against him in earnest again and again before she finally lay still and panting.
Quickly, efficiently he got her out of her gown, and stockings and undergarments, and when she was lying naked before him, Ben felt his chest constrict at the sight. He had never, in all his life, seen a more beautiful sight.
The eyes she lifted to him were drowsy with pleasure, but she raised her arms to him and he shucked off his breeches and went to her. Finally, at last, skin against skin.
“It might hurt a bit,” he warned her, not wanting the realities of their joining to be a surprise to her. As she’d pointed out to Greaves, she deserved to make her own decisions based on the facts. “But I will do all I can to ensure it doesn’t last.”
“I’m not worried,” she said with a smile. “I want you. I want this. Judging by what you just did with your hands, I cannot imagine you’re bad at it.”
He sent up a prayer of thanks to his years before taking holy orders, where he’d learned quite a bit about bringing as much pleasure as he received. Sex, he’d always considered, was a gift from God. That he was able to share that gift with the woman he loved, was a blessing.
“I’ll do my best,” he said solemnly, kissing her before he reached between them and pulled her knee up over his hip. Fitting himself against her, he pressed forward thinking of any distraction he could to ignore the hot, wet clasp of her body around his.
Sophia was quiet, as if holding her breath, but he felt her hands clasp his shoulders as he stroked into her. And when he finally, blissfully, seated within her she gave a slow exhale. “No pain,” she said softly as they both adjusted to the feel of their joined bodies.
Then, unable to control himself any longer, Ben began to move.