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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  Lady Sophie's Midnight Seduction

  Dorothy McFalls

  **A Road to Romance Recommended Read**

  "The story was so satisfying, so perfect ... Put this right on your “To Be Bought” list. You won't be disappointed, either.” 5 Hearts—Glenda K. Bauerle, The Romance Studio

  "This reader was absolutely stunned by the perfect pen Ms. McFalls used to craft this carnal historical! The eloquent and erotic word weaving is some of the best writing this reader has read in years. Ms. McFalls starts with a novel premise, then adds in resoundingly sensuous characters to complete this torrid historical. This reviewer will be waiting anxiously for the next story Ms. McFalls pens to return to her fresh and lush style of writing.” 5 Hearts—Janalee, Love Romances

  "Deliciously sensual and gloriously romantic, Lady Sophie's Midnight Seduction is a must read for historical romance addicts everywhere!” 4.5 Stars—Julie Bonello, eCataromance.com

  **2006 eCataromance Reviewers’ Choice Nominee**

  "...packs an erotic punch.” 4 Angels—Susan T., Fallen Angels Reviews

  Other Titles by Dorothy McFalls

  Lady Iona's Rebellion

  Marked

  The Huntress

  Neptune's Lair

  The Other Side of Fear Anthology

  The Marriage List

  Warning

  This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language. This material is meant for mature audiences!

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  Copyright ©2007 Dorothy McFalls

  Cover illustration copyright © 2007 Patricia Foltz

  ISBN Not Assigned

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system-except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the Web-without permission in writing from the publisher.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  Published by: Whispers Publishing, P.O. Box 1165, Ladson, SC 29456-1165

  For Jim

  Lady Sophie's Midnight Seduction

  His cruel hands held her down, pinning her to the feather mattress in her own bedchamber. Lady Sophie struggled with all her strength until she was completely tangled up in the flimsy material of her nightrail. In desperation, she choked on a sob. There was nothing she could do ... nothing but submit.

  What a fate for the daughter of an earl! Though her father had never cared to spend more than a few moments a year in her presence, she had always had the protection of his name ... but perhaps she not even had that any longer. He was gone now. He had died over a year ago, leaving her the London town house and her mother's jewels ... neither of which could help her escape this nightmare.

  His face was hidden in the shadows, yet she knew his identity without question. He was the same gentleman who had followed her across Hyde Park when she'd gone riding with Lord Griffon last Tuesday.

  His dark gaze had troubled the back of her neck until she'd turned and spotted him. There were other times she had caught him lurking like a phantom, watching her as she flitted from one man's arm to another. His heavy brows always furrowed. His lips always pulled into a deep frown.

  Was it a month ago now that he'd brashly entered her parlor during an at-home? She'd swiftly refused his advances and turned him out.

  And now he had returned and was here ... in her bed.

  He crushed his lips against hers, swallowing her protests while his hands roamed lower. Skin that felt hotter than the coals in the fire grate burned—seared—as his fingers trailed a path over her hips. His touch gentled when he reached the apex between her thighs.

  This wasn't happening, she told herself. Proper virgin ladies did not consort with gentlemen in this manner ... nor should they enjoy the unspeakable sensation of being stroked so intimately.

  Despite her alarm, her senses raced as a feverish heat trailed up her neck. The feel of his mouth against hers muddled her thoughts and set her body on fire. She couldn't seem to think, much less stop her mouth from responding to his ravishing kisses.

  Her lips parted just wide enough to allow his tongue entrance. He tasted of cinnamon and burgundy, all sweet and bitter. The cool night air kissed the tender skin high on her thighs as he lifted the hem of her nightrail. Instinctively, her legs relaxed and opened for him.

  A shocked voice inside her warned that she should be fending off his advances, not kissing him until she was breathless with need. She should protest. What ... what would happen to her after he managed to pry open the top buttons of his inexpressibles? Curiosity mingled with fear. She was certain her body couldn't take much more excitement. As it was, her heart was pounding so hard it was about to burst right out of her chest.

  He peeled his lips away from hers. His dark, silent gaze pressed his determination hard upon her.

  "You cannot run from me any longer, Sophie. You are mine."

  His whispered words were an echo of those inked on an unsigned card. A card that had been delivered to her home earlier that same day, accompanied by a showy bouquet of white and pink lilies. Lilies—according to the Language of Flowers—signified a dangerous love awaiting her.

  The flowers’ heady aroma had filled the front parlor. Their scent had lingered long after she had ordered them removed, making it nearly impossible for Sophie to disregard the warning—or perhaps it had been a promise—those delicate petals represented.

  What was she to do? Although the card had been unsigned, her heart had shuddered with every beat that afternoon, and her mind had had to struggle to follow the conversations of her friends at tea ... because she knew.

  Lord Benton-Black, the rake who had inherited her father's title and wealth, was her gentleman stalker and the only logical source of the chillingly anonymous note and flowers.

  She had known and had feared—with perverse anticipation—that this midnight visit would come. Now, with him firmly planted between her vulnerable thighs and his fingers nearly done with the unfastening of his breeches’ buttons, a shiver of dread tripped over her.

  This wasn't quite real...

  That stray thought, more worrisome than all the rest, sent Sophie shooting up in her bed. In silent darkness, she battled not with her seducer but with the heavy woolen blanket. It had entangled her limbs and cinched up between her legs so tightly she could barely move.

  I am alone...

  A sob, born not from fear but from the years of loneliness that had left her labeled a hopeless spinster, threatened to choke her as she fought to hold it inside her throat. Failing, tears dropped from her cheeks while the pain of being so utterly empty and alone ripped through her.

  Sophie reached out blindly until her fingers curled around the velvet bell pull hanging beside her bed, and she tugged frantically.

  Several minutes late
r, a bleary-eyed maid, a frilly mobcap perched rather crookedly on her head and a lace-edged wrapper closed tightly around her tiny body, entered Sophie's bedchamber with a lone taper in her hand.

  "You rang for me, my lady?"

  Sophie hiccupped several times while hastily wiping the tears from her eyes with a corner of her tangled bed linen. “Yes, Fannie, I did. It certainly wasn't a ghost tinkling the bell on the other end of this pull,” she said crisply, a tone that was difficult to pull off considering her tear-clogged throat.

  Tuffs of silver hair poked out from underneath Fannie's cap and shimmered in the dim light in her hand. She raised her candle and stepped closer to the bed, her gaze narrowing.

  "Are you ill, my lady?” she asked.

  "No...” Sophie sniffed and wiped her eyes again “...of course I am healthy as always. I simply ... simply...” Zounds, she couldn't think of one plausible excuse for calling her long-suffering maid from her slumber at this hour of the night.

  Fannie nodded. “I see, my lady.” And perhaps she did indeed see only too well. Her maid sometimes had an uncanny way of seeing through Sophie's icy exterior and knowing what was truly going on in her guarded heart. “Dreams can seem dreadfully real, can they not? Would you care for a cup of tea to help settle your nerves?"

  "No ... no thank you, Fannie.” Sophie straightened the twisted blanket and laid it over her legs. She then plumped the pillows behind her and leaned up against them. “Pray tell me the hour."

  Fannie disappeared down the hall for a moment. “It is nigh past midnight,” she said when she returned.

  "Midnight?” The gaming hells of London would still be packed. Orchestras would still be playing lovely strains of music over the thunder of voices in the lively ballrooms scattered all over the best neighborhoods of the city.

  And somewhere among the elegant chaos, Lord Benton-Black would be lurking. Quite probably in the shadows.

  "Have you yet pressed the silver gown I intend to wear to the Foster Soirée tomorrow evening?"

  "Of course, my lady.” The frown Fannie wore grew deeper. “I laid it out in your dressing room before retiring."

  "Splendid!” Sophie sprang from the bed. “Go fetch it at once."

  "My lady? You cannot mean to leave the house at this late hour,” Fannie said with growing alarm. “Where would you go? Do you not recall? You had refused all invitations for this evening. Even Lady Tuftley's."

  Sara, the widowed Viscountess Tuftley, was Sophie's nearest and dearest friend. Though she loved Sara like she would a sister, the Viscountess hosted the dullest musicales imaginable, which Sophie simply refused to attend. In deference to her friend's feelings, though, Sophie always made a point of refusing all other invitations on the night Sara hosted her “signature event".

  So as much as she wanted to go searching the busy routs for the mysterious Lord Benton-Black, turning tables on his game by making him her prey, she knew she could not.

  Not tonight.

  Gracious, she didn't even have a proper companion available to accompany her. Her regular companion, a delightful older lady with an easy smile and no designs on acting as a chaperon or matchmaker for the twenty-seven-year-old Sophie, was away for the week visiting an ailing cousin in Cheshire.

  "Forgive me,” Sophie said. “You must surely believe me a terrible ninny this evening."

  "No, my lady, I would never think such a thing,” Fannie said quickly ... a little too quickly. “You have surely awakened from a horrid fright and wish to escape this room. Perhaps you would like to pay a visit to the conservatory? Your mother, God rest her soul, always found peace among her beloved plants on such sleepless nights."

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  With a single candle lighting the way and a sheer wrapper covering her nightrail, Sophie padded barefoot through the town house's halls and through to the back of the house where a glass conservatory provided a gateway to the gardens beyond. The air in the conservatory was warm and moist. Exotic blooms, lovingly tended by the household gardener, laced the thick air with a symphony of scents that were as rich as they were sweet.

  She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, remembering. She'd spend hours out here with her mother, tending to the most delicate blooms.

  Had she really not taken the time to personally care for these plants, plants her mother had left in her care since her death? Sophie couldn't remember. She did know that it had been several weeks since she'd even visited the conservatory, though.

  Since her parents’ deaths, the conservatory had become a difficult part of the house for her to visit. There seemed to be too many memories waiting to assault her in here. Strangely, the memories didn't prick the back of her throat this time as she soaked in the myriad of scents under the cloak of nighttime.

  No, tonight the air simply felt hot and sensual against her skin ... pulling faint memories of her erotic dream up to the surface to thrum in concert with her pulse.

  "I wonder what Lord Benton-Black would do if he were to find me alone and draped in such diaphanous fabrics?"

  "Why don't you come over here and find out?” a velvety voice whispered in the darkness.

  Sophie sucked in a deep breath, her hand reaching for her throat. “Who is there?” Was she still trapped in her dream?

  Uncertain, she raised the candle she held but, in the trembling light, saw no one. The long-leafed plants and small trees created long, deep shadows that a single candle had no hope of piercing.

  "Who is there?” she whispered again.

  After far too many frightening, breathless moments, a shadowy figure emerged from behind a long table of showy orchids.

  "You?” she breathed. “What are you doing here?"

  He spread his arms wide. “This is as much my town house now as it is yours. I believe I have every right in the world to enjoy all it has to offer. Do you not agree?"

  The phantom advanced at a slow pace. His teeth flashed a menacing smile before he stopped to stand a mere few paces from where Sophie stood frozen to the stone floor beneath her bare feet. He was close enough that even in the flickering candlelight, she could appreciate the fine black suit he wore. It fit his muscular body like a glove. A sweet scent of perfume rose from him.

  "Lord Benton-Black,” she said sharply. “I see you have been out with a lady this evening."

  To that charge he gave an elegant shrug. “Are you jealous?"

  "Never! Why should I care what you do with some penny-whore?"

  "Tut-tut, such language, Sophie,” he said, a wolfish grin giving her another peek at his white teeth. “I would have thought your father to have trained you better."

  "Don't speak of my father,” she said, with a bitter edge to her voice. You have no right to speak of him!"

  "No right?” He crossed his arms and looked vastly amused. “I was his heir apparent for over half my life ... and he was my beloved uncle."

  Sophie snorted and tossed her head toward a grouping of daisies ... her mother's favorite flower. Damn him, she shouldn't let this cove bait her. But what he said touched on a fresh wound she couldn't seem to ignore.

  In truth, her father had never deemed her interesting nor worthy enough to give her much more than a passing pat on her head. Learning of the close, personal relationship this gentleman had formed with her father cut her deeply.

  "Why?” she asked Lord Benton-Black, choosing to confront him instead of battling her own feelings. “Why do you torment me? With your inherited wealth and title, you could have any young lady. Why me?"

  He gave a long sigh. “You know as well as I do, Sophie. Your father wished us to be together. He left a very specific codicil in his will. Come—” he held out his hand “—let us sit on a bench and make peace with each other."

  She gave his hand a long, hard stare. “It is late, and this meeting is vastly improper. I should return to my bed."

  At that, he lightened. “Ah. What a banner idea! And one that would please me immensely. I certainly have no objection to consummating our unio
n before exchanging our vows."

  "You are being purposefully obtuse. I meant to go to my bedchamber alone, my lord!"

  "Come now, you cannot truly mean that.” Before she knew what had happened, his hand was upon her shoulder, and he was drawing her toward him. “I have been more than patient. I have stayed away for longer than a year to give you time to mourn your father and to grow accustomed to the idea of becoming my wife."

  She wanted to run away, to scream for him to release her. But when he dragged the rough pad of his finger across her lips, those utterly sane thoughts floated away.

  No man should be that handsome, so handsome he easily muddled her brain. His chin was strong, his nose had a regal point, and his lips were the kind of lips a woman could not help but wonder how they would taste. With a gentle caress, he eased a knee between her scantily covered legs and drew her so close to him that their bodies touched from chest to hip.

  "I will make you mine,” he whispered. “Tonight."

  "Tonight?” Her lips quivered as he teased her, brushing his lips against hers, barely touching.

  "Our joining is inevitable, my love,” he said while he peeled the candle from her hand and set it on a nearby table. “Your father has made it quite impossible for us to deny his wishes."

  She knew only too well what her father had done. At the end of the month—less than a fortnight away—if she failed to marry Lord Benton-Black, she would be rendered penniless and homeless. He would be punished as well. The lucrative factory, which he was to inherit, would be sold to the highest bidder and the proceeds of the sale donated to the king.

  She should agree to the marriage, but at seven-and-twenty years of age, it was horridly lowering to have her independence ripped away from her so easily. Though she hadn't solved her problem, she had recently taken to courting a few eligible gentlemen, thinking she might be able to save her situation by marrying a man of her own choosing.