An Improper Situation (Sanborn-Malloy Historical Romance Series, Book One) (30 page)

He responded with kisses dropped on her eyelids, her forehead, her lips, her chin, before he bent to nibble the sensitive skin at her neck, and finally to give a last searing kiss to her dusky nipple before she cried out, muffling the sound against his shoulder.

In turn, Reed stifled a groan against her tangled hair as his body shuddered with final hard thrusts.

They both lay spent, entangled in bed clothes and sweaty limbs. Charlotte thought of it as utter abandonment to pleasure, and felt even more love for this powerful man than she would have thought possible.

However, as the haze of desire lifted, they both were acutely aware of their perilous situation.

Reed stroked her arm. “I ought to leave immediately.”

“
I know.” She touched the side of his face, so dear to her.

“I don’t want to.”

“
I know.”

“
May I escort you somewhere tomorrow?” he asked.

Yes, to church, to be married,
her heart cried. “Lunch?”

He grimaced.
“I was thinking of an evening event. I want to see you in that blue gown again, and then I want to take it off you.”

She responded by settling in her bed and pulling the sheets up high to cover herself.

“I would love that,” she admitted honestly, unable to stop the effusive blush, “but I promised Aunt Alicia that we’d spend a quiet evening talking. It wouldn’t do for me to be out two nights in a row.”

“
And you wasted your night out with Farnsworth?” Reed rolled on top of her and planted a hand deep in the pillow on either side of her head, “The worst example of codfish aristocracy.”

She could see he was only teasing now, and she grabbed hold of his wrists, steady as two tree trunks.
“I can honestly say that the best part of the evening was spent with you, Mr. Malloy. Are you going to have lunch with me or not?”

He lowered his weight back down onto her hips and she experienced how quickly desire could flare up again, when only moments before she thought them both sated.

How heavenly it would be, she thought, if they could spend a whole night together and wake up to take breakfast without shame.
As husband and wife.
She stared up into the face of the man she loved with all her heart.

Reed lowered his head and kissed her thoroughly with the promise to return by one o’clock the next day. He was almost off the bed when he turned to her.

“Just let me . . .” He didn’t finish his words but kissed her again, working his way down her throat, tugging at the sheet, until his tongue was circling the hollow between her breasts.

She arched. He grunted. His lips closed on her nipple again, lathing the bud, tugging it, then moving to the other. Her fingers gripped his shoulders. Lord, she wanted him again.

“Charlotte,” he breathed against her skin. “I . . .”

“
Yes,” she agreed.

“
I should leave now,” he whispered.

“
Mm,” she agreed, grabbing the back of his head and pressing his mouth down to her breast.

But then he went lower. Trailing kisses down her flat stomach. She held her breath.

“Reed?”

He blew gently at the soft copper curls between her legs.

“I . . .”

He blew again, then dipped his head and kissed her there.

She was mortified. She felt his tongue. She was ecstatic.

“
Ohh,” she cried out. He moved up and across her body in a second and caught the rest of the animal sound in his mouth.

A second later, as his ready shaft entered her, she let her thighs fall to either side in abandonment, taking him into her ready and yielding body as far as she could.

“Reed,” she breathed against his lips.

And they said no more as he rocked in and out, the climax building more slowly this time. She fought to stay silent, her eyes closed, her head arched on the pillow, her lips parted, her throat exposed to his mouth—as they came together, in long pulsing waves.

Minutes later, she watched him slip away, closing the balcony door behind him with a quiet click. Charlotte got up to retrieve her chemise and unlock her door in case one of the children wanted to come in before she awoke.

Inexplicably, tears pricked her eyes. She would like to have heard from him the words she hadn’t heard anyone tell her since she was a girl.

Her heart felt heavy with uncertainty.
What part of love was this overwhelming desire she felt? If Reed felt it, too, did that mean he loved her?
She touched her lips. For now, she could not deny him, or herself, the exquisite passion that flared between them.

What had he called it?
Electricity
. Eventually, Charlotte knew, his desire would vanish without the love necessary to keep it burning forever.

It was only as she climbed once more under the rumpled bedclothes that she recalled he still hadn’t told her about his reason for going out west. And then, she sat bolt upright in bed.

Contraception! They had done it again . . . and then again!

She was usually such a careful person, too, and she assumed Reed was meticulous as befitting a successful lawyer. She tossed herself back onto the rumpled sheets. Life was becoming so much more complicated outside of Spring City. And here she was, playing with fire.

She punched her pillow. She would worry about it later. Tonight, she had to sleep. Tomorrow, she was beginning the research for her article with a visit to police headquarters.

Bumping along in a cab toward the public library, Charlotte found herself smiling distractedly, as she had been doing all morning during the quiet moments. She’d dressed in a hurry, not allowing herself to indulge in sweet remembrances of her night with Reed.

Now, however, she was certain she wore the same smile of satisfaction that had prompted her aunt to tell her she looked “particularly well” at breakfast.

She’d fairly sailed out the door to the police department located at City Hall to begin her work. An hour and a half later, she was armed with notes from her visit with the Boston police and on her way along the Common to the library.

“The best library in the country,” she’d been told by absolutely everyone; it was said to have 100,000 volumes, which she could scarcely believe.

Relishing the resources at her disposal, Charlotte silently thanked Alicia for causing her to come east; she couldn’t quite bring herself to thank Helen, however. Still, Charlotte could see whole worlds of possibilities opening up to her curious, quick mind.
             

“
I’m writing for the
Post
,” she reminded herself, trying to slow her excited footsteps as she entered the imposing building of brick and sandstone with its huge arched windows.

In front of her, she saw two large staircases, on the right and the left, which embraced a vaulted hallway between them that led to the rear of the building. People were coming and going on the stairs, and a sign on the right announced a coat room at the top, so up she went. 

“Man alive,” she murmured, at the sight that greeted her as she ascended the stairs. Directly in front of her was a large semi-circular desk with a librarian, who looked up briefly to nod at her. Beyond the desk, Corinthian columns reached upward for three more stories effortlessly supporting the expansive roof overhead.

Turning in a complete circle, she felt her feet slide on the smooth black and white tiled floor as she followed the line of columns that stood like soldiers around the perimeter.

Behind them, in the alcoves lining the reading room, were book shelves, floor to ceiling, with two more floors of shelving looming above the room, on two sides. Given all those shelves, she was surprised to see more books stacked on the floor.

“
Sweet Jesus.” Charlotte almost laughed when she remembered how proud she’d been of her father’s library. The thought brought with it a pang of sadness at how it now sat unused, with only Sarah Cuthins stopping in to dust. She would have to decide on many things . . . and soon.

A man came up the stairs and brushed past her, heading directly to the librarians desk. She watched him fill out a card and hand it to a woman in black with a white apron, who glanced at it with glasses perched on the end of her nose and headed off to the stacks to retrieve his request.

Still craning her head up and round to take it all in, Charlotte headed toward the coat room and handed her mantle to another woman in black and white. She tugged down her shirtwaist; she was ready.

Instead of being a solemn and grave place, the library was a hive of activity as people came and went, and women in aprons flitted about carrying books. There were more people reading books than she had ever seen before—than she could ever have imagined seeing. 

In between the columns were rows and rows of small drawers filled with cards listing each book that waited to be discovered. It didn’t take Charlotte long to figure out the system, and with trembling hands, she filled out three cards and then sat down patiently at one of the oval tables.

Most tables had at least three people seated and books scattered across the dark mahogany surfaces. Her table, next to a gleaming marble statue, had just one other occupant, a man with his head buried in a thick tome.

Fighting the overwhelming urge to hum, so thrilled was she, Charlotte sat quietly, curbing her desire to talk to the stranger, to ask him questions, to ascertain what he was reading.

Within a few minutes, her three books arrived at her table and were placed right in front of her. It reminded her of a Christmas from her childhood, she thought, opening the first one with reverence.

Hours later, Charlotte was hidden behind a mountain of books and newspaper articles, along with a stack of the
National Police Gazette
and the
Illustrated Police News;
all at once, she let out a small cry.

Reed!
She suddenly remembered their lunch date. And then she only thought of it because her stomach gave a particularly loud rumble.

Charlotte glanced at the large grandfather clock at one end of the room. It was already well past one o’clock, the appointed time when she was to meet him at his office. It was unthinkable to simply disappear, especially after their night together. She drummed her fingers and then made a decision.

Putting her stack of reading material to one side and leaving a piece of paper with her name on top, Charlotte dashed down the stairs and out of the library. The library’s doorman hailed a cabriolet and she was on her way.

Fumbling in her reticule a moment, she drew out her compact mirror. With her handkerchief, she blotted the shine on her nose, checked her hair, and shrugged. She would have to make do with her appearance. In under ten minutes, she was at Malloy and Associates.

A doorman let her in and, just inside, a second man, introducing himself as the secretary, received her, escorting her to a seat in the waiting area. The pervading scent of beeswax polish reminded her of her aunt’s home, with its understated elegance.

Assuring her that Mr. Malloy was in the building, the secretary disappeared upstairs to notify him of her arrival.

Preferring to stand, Charlotte paced the thick oriental rug surveying the art work on the walls. There were newspapers in dark cherry wood racks and more strewn across the tables on either side of the settees, but she didn’t have time to peruse them, for she heard a familiar voice in the doorway.

“
Charlotte,” John Trelaine greeted her, as he clasped her hand warmly. “I heard that you were here. Reed will be with you shortly; he just had a client drop by.”

“
Oh, that’s quite all right. I am late, too—” She broke off as it occurred to Charlotte that John presented a golden opportunity to learn more about Reed. It must be the flame of investigation sparked by her writing assignment, she justified to herself.

“
I mean, why don’t you sit with me while I wait; that is, if you’re not too busy.”

“
Not at all.”

They sat down together on the long plush settee.
“How are you liking Boston, so far? I understand that the local intelligentsia have found you already.”

“
You are referring to Mr. Greene. I’m thrilled to be working again. I suppose you and Mr. Malloy have worked together for many years?” Charlotte felt brazen in her question, but he didn’t seem to think her shift in interest too peculiar.

“
We graduated from Harvard Law School together about ten years ago,” John told her. “I very much respected Reed’s father, so naturally, when the opportunity arose, I became an associate.”

Charlotte adroitly steered the conversation to the more personal aspects of Reed’s life.
“Knowing him so long, you must also be acquainted with his family. He has spoken to me of his eldest sister . . . Elise, I believe?”