Read Online The Millionaire Rogue by Jessica Peterson - Free Book Online

met Sophia’s gaze over the princess’s head as he patted her gently on the shoulder. He shrugged, and mouthed
I’m sorry
with a roll of his eyes. He tried, and failed, to repress the boyish grin twitching at the sides of his mouth.
    Sophia looked into her lap and held back her own smile. How many times she’d smiled this evening—well, considering the circumstances, diamond and deception and all that, more than was proper, surely.
    It was all Hope’s fault. He made her feel giddy, and alive, and safe, as if nothing she did or said would be the
wrong
thing. And what a relief that was.
    At last, when the princess cried her eyes to slits, she called for her maids to put her to bed. Bowing his thanks, Mr. Hope held out his hand to Sophia and helped her rise from the settee, the box containing the French Blue tucked into the crook of his arm.
    They left the princess with Gunter and Frederick in the puce-colored room, keeping their steps slow and even lest they be consumed by a newborn eagerness to know what, exactly,
did
come after the kiss they shared.
    *   *   *
    S ophia had known Mr. Hope for years now—in a professional capacity, of course. Most, if not all, of her family’s meager fortune was invested in Hope & Co. stock; Mr. Hope had come to their shabby house in Grosvenor Square once a week to meet with Cousin Violet and discuss—well, Sophia didn’t quite know what they discussed, though she was relatively certain it wasn’t nearly as interesting as the conversations she’d had with Mr. Hope tonight.
    But now that Sophia knew him on more
intimate
terms, she suddenly found it difficult to meet his eyes, training her own on her feet. They sat opposite each other in the swaying coach, the French Blue in its shiny box on the seat beside Mr. Hope.
    While they both burst into laughter the moment the coach pulled away from Montague House, after they wiped their eyes a charged silence settled between them. Outside, the night was still and humid, holding its breath for the rain that would come at any moment.
    Sophia bit her lip to keep from squirming, the lip that was still tingling from Mr. Hope’s ardent attentions. In her chest her heart was giddy, her every sense aware of his presence an arm’s length away. Her eyes traveled from his boots, dull from tonight’s adventures, up the length of his long, shapely legs, to his square knees, set just apart. His thighs were impossibly long and well muscled, filling his fine breeches to great effect.
    Really, she must’ve been blind all these years not to see what a very fine specimen Mr. Hope was. Very fine indeed.
    Of its own volition her gaze kept moving up, passing over a suspicious bulge protruding from the place where his legs met his hips; up past the narrow waist to land on his broad, finely wrought chest, rising and falling in long, steady strokes.
    She swallowed. It was more than a little impolite to stare as she was, but
my God
Sophia felt as if she were living in one of La Reinette’s thrilling tales. And if this was her only chance to know, even for a night, romance and adventure and dangerous, good-looking men, then manners be damned, she was going to know them, and know them thoroughly.
    Her gaze traveled up his neck to his face. Her breath caught in her throat when she caught him looking at her, and she burned beneath the intensity of his stare.
    â€œAwful quiet in there! Any casualties?”
    Mr. Lake’s jolly, muffled voice startled Sophia and Hope into motion, Sophia jolting forward in her seat, and Mr. Hope jolting forward in his to catch her.
    Hope groaned and rolled his eyes. “That man is a plague,” he muttered. He reached up and pounded the ceiling with his fist. “No casualties!”
    Mr. Lake chuckled. “We’ll see about that, you devil.”
    Holding Sophia’s elbows in his palms, Mr. Hope shook his head. “Some cheek that man has,