Behind the Courtesan - By Bronwyn Stuart Page 0,55
a time when she’d felt likely to shatter at the first fumble. Each time she danced with Blake, he held her as though one wrong move would upset the newfound balance they’d achieved. Perhaps it was the ale talking rather than her own mind, but she almost wished he would upset the balance.
There was only a small part of her that occasionally yearned for another’s touch, for the closeness only a lover could provide, and it was howling tonight for Blake to forget manners, his position and hers, and take her in his arms.
With every mouthful of the coarse ale, Sophie remembered what it was like that morning on the cold road in the middle of nowhere.
Blake’s hands had lit a spark in her belly and if she had to delve deep, right into her inner woman, she would admit that some of the anger she’d felt before climbing into Blakiston’s carriage was that she’d liked it.
It had taken her years to accept a man’s touch without feeling as though he was going to beat her or not take no for an answer. Years more of pretending that she felt pleasure when all she was really capable of feeling was revulsion and pain. Noah had been so patient and gentle, instructing her how to use her control as a woman to ensure her safety. It was in that time that she had discovered how powerful she was as a desirable woman. There were still times she acted braver than she felt, but those times were few now. Well, they had been before she’d returned.
You could trust Blake not to hurt you.
He would never hurt her in the physical sense, of that she was sure, but Blake abhorred her. She wondered what it would take for him to forget all that and forgive her, to move on. She would like to know that he was her friend again and that her decisions were her own to make.
You are accepted here, that tiny voice in her mind whispered. Yes, but only because she had come to Blake’s aid. There was a real difference between being accepted and being wanted. She frowned. A big difference indeed.
“What are you thinking about?” Blake asked, his voice making her jump.
“Only how much fun this was tonight.” And in that admission there were no lies. To dance, to laugh, to chat with women about recipes and meals and gowns, to find the stone throwers replaced by friendly faces almost made her teary.
Blake must have truly learned to read minds when he said, “You’ve made friends tonight, Sophie.”
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
He didn’t comment further, only took her hand in his and placed a light kiss on the back. “Are you ready to head back?”
Sophie stared at her hand, her small pale fingers entwined with his as heat shot up her arm. All she could do was nod. She felt like a sparrow being led by a hawk, not to her demise but to safety. They said their goodbyes even though Matthew and Violet had left hours before and in a few minutes were perched on the bench seat of the cart making their way back to the inn.
“You looked as if you were having fun,” Blake said once the mare found her footing and rhythm.
“I was, I mean I did. It was nice.” Why did she have to feel nervous now? She’d been alone with him so many times, but with the ale flowing in her veins and lust warming her middle, she was in trouble.
She was saved from any further conversation right then when the heavens opened with a deafening crack of thunder and let their full fury rain down in fat, cold droplets.
The journey back usually only took about twenty minutes, but it was hard to see and soon the horse, who wasn’t really familiar with pulling a small load, slipped and slid in the mud so they had to slow their pace even more.
Sophie shivered and wrapped her arms about herself. She should have insisted they take her carriage, but there wasn’t anyone to drive it. Her own driver had left on the mail coach to await word from her as to when she wanted to return to London.
“Come closer,” Blake yelled over the onslaught, and when she didn’t respond, put his arm around her and pulled her close so she wasn’t quite sheltered from the rain but could at least share in some of his heat.