The Virgin Who Ruined Lord Gray - Anna Bradley Page 0,99

coverlet and frowned at the pale sun struggling against the thick silk drapes of Tristan’s bedchamber. The coverlet on top of her was soft and warm, the bed like a fluffy cloud cradling her pleasantly sore body.

This must be why aristocrats tended toward laziness—they hardly ever rose before noon because their beds were too enticing. Sleeping in such plush magnificence was certainly making her indolent.

Or was it just sleeping in an earl’s bed, with an earl?

That is, not any earl, but this earl.

Then again, they hadn’t done much sleeping the night before—

“You’ve only just opened your eyes, but you’ve already made me cross, Sophia.”

Sophia rolled over and found Tristan wide awake. His head was propped in his hand and he wore such a delightfully teasing smile on his lips, she couldn’t stop her own lips from curving in response. Goodness, the morning suited him, didn’t it? He looked warm and tousled, his eyes still sleepy and his dark hair standing on end. “How in the world can I have made you cross? I haven’t said a single word yet.”

“No, but you woke with a frown.” He brushed a lock of hair back from her face and smoothed the furrow from her brow with his thumb. “A lady who is satisfied the night before doesn’t wake with a frown on her lips.”

Sophia blinked up at him, entranced by the mischievous sparkle in his gray eyes. She hadn’t often seen this playful side of him, and dear God, it was irresistible. He was irresistible. That cheeky little grin made her want to leap upon him and kiss him until her breath came short and her toes curled.

But surely there wasn’t time for any toe-curling antics this morning. They had a church to guard, a man to protect, criminals to apprehend, and…and…

“Of course, I wasn’t satisfied.” Sophia slid her foot up the long, lean line of his calf. “How can I be, when you won’t divulge a single detail about the origin of that intriguing scar on your lip? I could hardly sleep for wondering about it.”

“Perhaps I can offer you something else in place of my secrets.” He nudged her legs apart and wedged a hard thigh between them. “My fragile male vanity demands you be smiling when you wake in my bed.”

It was on the tip of Sophia’s tongue to deliver a lecture about lounging in bed when there were villains roaming the streets of London, but as soon as she opened her mouth to deliver the scold his lips were there, and her thoughts scattered, lost in the delicious slide of his tongue against hers.

It was some time before they emerged from the tangled sheets. By then the morning and part of the afternoon had slipped away. Sophia was a trifle amazed at her wanton behavior, but even so, she might not have noticed the time if she hadn’t heard Tristan’s stomach growl, and realized how hungry she was. She wriggled free of his arms and sat up in the bed, clutching the coverlet to her breasts. “What time is it?” She glanced at the window and groaned. “Dear God, it must be past one!”

Tristan indulged in a long, lazy stretch, then dropped a hand on her bare hip. “It’s no wonder I’m famished. I’ll ring for a tray. That way we can remain in bed all—”

“We most certainly will not remain in bed.” Sophia gave him a little shove toward the edge of the bed, then while he was distracted, she scrambled out the other side. If he kissed her again there was no telling when they’d rise—long after poor Francis Thelwall was dragged off to Newgate, most likely.

“First a frown, and now a shove?” Tristan flopped back against his pillows, but his lips were twitching. “I’ll begin to think you don’t like me, pixie.”

Sophia snatched up a dressing gown draped over the back of a chair—Tristan’s dressing gown, judging by the way it swallowed her—and paused while tying the belt to glance at him.

He was sprawled on the bed, his long limbs thrown across every available inch of space. He was idly scratching his bare chest, and Sophia’s gaze caught on those long, sensitive fingers stroking his golden skin. His thick hair was curling in a wild tangle around his face, and his cheeks were shadowed with dark stubble.

Sophia stared, her heart thundering as her gaze moved from his chest to his hands to the lazy grin quirking his lips. He was wrong. She did like him, and