More Than Charming (13 page)

He grabbed the ends of the cravat, twisting the silk in his fists, and pulled her closer, capturing her lips in a searing kiss. She whimpered and leaned into him, rubbing her breasts against his chest. He pulled back and scooped her up in his arms. When she was cradled in the center of the big bed, James removed his breeches and lay down beside her. She gazed up at him, her eyes dark. He bent his head to kiss her, when something else caught his attention.

His cravat was still around her neck, only now it lay tantalizingly over one breast. James could see her nipple through the silk, the sight arousing him even more. He reached out and brushed his hand over it, the fabric gently caressing her. Catherine gasped at the gentle contact. James tugged on the neck cloth, slowly removing it. When she closed her eyes as it trailed over her skin, a delicious notion came to him.

Taking the length of silk, James wrapped it loosely around his hand. He brushed the silk over her face, her lips. Catherine sighed and kissed his fingers. He moved lower, letting the soft fabric run over her neck, her breasts.

She arched in response. “James, please . . .”

He stared down at her. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted. Her body was flushed, her nipples erect. He passed the cloth over her once more, thrilled with her response.

“Catherine,” he whispered, leaning down to brush his lips across her breast.

He paused for a long moment, finally closing his mouth over her nipple. She let out a sigh. He kissed the valley between her breasts.

“Do you like this, love?” he asked, his breath hot on her skin. “Do you like my mouth on you?”

“Mmm, yes . . .”

He ran his lips over her, down to the curls that shielded her womanhood. When he gently parted her legs, she held herself still, no doubt thinking he’d enter her. James waited for her to open her eyes. She did, puzzlement cutting through her passionate gaze.

“James.” She breathed. “What are you—?”

“You’ll like this, Catherine,” he told her. “I promise.”

He lowered his head to place his mouth on her very center.

“James, you can’t—!”

His lips caressed her, his tongue teased her. She grabbed the sheets and cried out. He found the extra-sensitive nub hidden in the folds of her, rubbing the tip of his tongue over it again and again. Her taste was incredibly sweet and tart. His cock swelled as he felt her shudder against his tongue. She cried out as her climax took her.

James came over her then and entered her with one smooth thrust. He could feel her quivering, still in the throes of her orgasm. He drove into her, eager to join her in fulfillment. Catherine reached up and grabbed his shoulders, pulling him down for a hot, wet kiss. James thrust his tongue into her mouth, lost to everything but the taste of her, the feel of her. He felt her tighten around him, close to her second release, and came with one final deep thrust. She joined him, holding tightly to him as her body shook.

He whispered her name as he kissed her, waiting for her to come back down to earth.

She opened her eyes and gazed up at him. “James, that was . . .”

“Did you like that?”

She lowered her lashes. “Very much.”

He hugged her to him. Maybe it wasn’t love, but what they’d just shared brought him more pleasure than he’d ever felt. Damn, he was a lucky man.

The next morning, James was the first to awaken. Catherine rested beside him, her arm thrown over his chest. He saw the cravat beside her and grinned, his blood warming as he remembered all that had happened last evening. He shifted in the bed and gently rolled with her until she was beneath him on her back.

He nuzzled the soft skin of her neck, nibbling her ear. She shifted beneath him and let out a sigh. He placed light kisses over her throat, her breasts, drawing a response from her even though she was still half-asleep. His fingers moved between their bodies, caressing the folds of her.

“James,” she whispered, parting her legs for him.

James proceeded to make slow, sweet love to his wife. What a bloody wonderful way to start the day.

Afterward, Catherine cuddled into the pillows. James kissed her tenderly and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He had a busy day ahead of him, with many repairs to see to, and wished to get an early start. He hurried through his morning toilette and dressed.

When he emerged from the dressing room, he wasn’t surprised to see that Catherine was once more sleeping soundly. Little wonder his sweet wife was so tired. After dropping a kiss on her tousled head, he stepped into the sitting room adjoining their chamber. He crossed to the writing desk near the window, sat down, and withdrew paper and pen. In the note he wrote to Catherine, he explained his absence and his duties of the day. And he couldn’t resist making mention of the wonderful night of passion they’d shared, imagining the pretty blush covering her cheeks when she read his words. He folded the missive and wrote her name on the outside.

Smiling broadly, he strode into their chamber and placed the note beside her head on the pillow. He stared down at her for a long moment, an emotion he dared not name bubbling up inside of him. He cared deeply for Catherine. He desired her like no other woman. Could he? . . . No! He wasn’t the young fop he’d been with Becca. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

Turning on his heel, he strode from the room.

*     *     *

Catherine awoke and stretched languorously, a smile curving her lips. Reaching over to James’s side of the bed, her hands came into contact with nothing but sheets and pillow. She opened her eyes and sat up in confusion. “James?”

When no answer came, she turned to climb out of bed. She stopped when she saw the note resting on her pillow. Her heart gave a tiny flip. She snatched it up and opened it, wildly curious. She read his words, feeling a touch of regret when she realized she in all likelihood wouldn’t see her husband until late that afternoon. Her breath caught as she read what was penned next. “Last night was incredible, sweetheart,” he wrote. “You pleased me greatly.” Catherine sighed. The words were not flowery but incredibly provocative. He even made mention of the cravat.

She read the note again. No mention was made of his feelings for her. No matter. He desired her and she pleased him. That would have to suffice.

Catherine rose and padded over to the vanity. Annie had seen to all of her mistress’s belongings, the previous notes from James included. Catherine pulled open the drawer and added this note to the others, letting her fingers trail over her name on the smooth paper.

“He must care a bit for me to be considerate enough to write before leaving for the day,” she told herself. “So what if he doesn’t love me?”

Her heart clenched and she knew in that moment that she loved him. Should she tell him? He’d feel obligated to return the sentiment. She closed the drawer firmly and forced the issue from her mind. “I won’t put that pressure on him. Not now.”

She set the notes and his heated words out of her mind and set about readying for her day.

*     *     *

Their days fell into a pattern. Nearly each morning James woke his wife with kisses and, sometimes, more. He was a busy man, with both his father’s and his own holdings to oversee. While he had work to attend to on the estate, Catherine occupied herself in the main house. There was much correspondence to be seen to, invitations requiring responses and notes of thanks for wedding gifts received. When she wasn’t working at the writing desk in the very large, very impressive library, she tucked herself into the window seat of the parlor, a book or a little piece of needlework in her lap. The spot soon became a favorite of hers.

Catherine was surprised to find another of his notes to her on the window seat one morning, one that simply stated that he missed her and couldn’t wait to hold her, wearing nothing between the two of them. His words never ceased to cause her to blush, and she added this heated note to the growing stack in her vanity.

The next afternoon, nearly two weeks after their wedding, the Earl of Bradford returned to the hall. James headed to the parlor when he overheard his father addressing Catherine with obvious fondness.

“Daughter, how has my son been treating you?”

“James has been wonderful to me, sir.”

James felt a smile curve his lips.

“Is that so?” the earl went on. “You’re happy, I take it?”

“She’s very happy, Father,” James said from the doorway.

“James!” the older man exclaimed, coming to his feet.

The earl gave his son a firm embrace and sat back down on one of the settees. James sat down beside Catherine, taking her hand in his. His father apparently didn’t miss the gesture.

“It appears that marriage agrees with you, my boy,” he said, helping himself to the sweet biscuits accompanying the hot tea.

James simply nodded, letting his thumb caress Catherine’s palm.

“I had been telling him that for months,” the earl added.

“Months?” Catherine asked in obvious confusion.

“Never mind,” James said with a grin.

Catherine stood, causing the men to follow suit. “I’m certain you and your father have estate concerns to discuss, James. I’ll be abovestairs.”

James’s father kissed her cheek, then watched his son’s exchange with Catherine very closely.

“I’ll soon be upstairs to ready for dinner, Catherine,” James told her.

She nodded to him. He couldn’t resist the lure of her perfect mouth, and kissed her tenderly. Catherine left the parlor and James watched her go, that odd, soft sensation filling his breast. He turned back to find his father regarding him closely and arched a brow.

“Was there something you wished to say, Father?” he asked, sitting once more.

“You love that girl,” the earl stated simply.

“What? Why, that’s . . . I don’t think . . .”

“Don’t fight it, my boy.” The earl laughed.

James’s befuddlement turned to pique. “Pray, don’t tell me of my feelings.”

His father blinked. “I didn’t mean to upset you, son. I merely thought that—”

James let out a loud sigh, raking his fingers through his hair. “No, Father,” he cut in. “It is I who should apologize. I shouldn’t have lost my temper.”

The earl apparently accepted James’s apology, and thankfully said nothing more of love. What James felt for Catherine . . . He’d puzzle it through some day. He didn’t need anyone, even his well-meaning father, to tell him his feelings.

*     *     *

One week after the earl’s return to the hall, Catherine tore into the pile of correspondence awaiting her attention. An invitation to Chesterfield caught her eye. The Earl of Chester and his wife wanted them to come for an extended visit and Catherine was quite happy to be included in the party. It was the first such invitation she and James had received as husband and wife and it was sure to be a pleasant time. She set the missive aside, planning to show it to James when he returned to the house. The small clock on the desk showed her it was time to ready for tea. She turned quickly to leave the room and bumped into James in the doorway.

“James!” she exclaimed.

“Hello, love,” James said. “Did I surprise you?”

She recovered and took in his bedraggled appearance, smiling up at him. “You look a fright, husband.”

James nodded his agreement, brushing the dust from his jacket. Catherine reached up and pulled a piece of straw from his dark hair. He looked at the offending article and shrugged his broad shoulders, grinning sheepishly. He appeared boyish and carefree and utterly adorable. She threw her arms around him. “I missed you, James.”

James hugged her back. “Come, wife. You’re getting your dress dirty.”

She pulled back to look up at him. “You should get out of these clothes,” she said, caressing his neck.

He’d removed his cravat at some point, and his shirt was open at the collar. Catherine’s fingers brushed the hairs curling into the V of his shirt. He placed his hands on her bottom and pressed her against him, making her aware of just how she was affecting him.
Oh, my.

“Catherine,” he whispered, “why don’t you accompany me upstairs to our chamber?”

She flushed and James lowered his head to hers, placing his lips against her ear. “I don’t understand how you can blush so prettily even as you’re making me so hard I can’t think straight.”

She had no answer to that outrageous statement. Instead, she reached up and placed her lips on his, heedless of the dirt he was getting all over her yellow day dress. When he finally released her, she was nearly as filthy as he was. He laughed softly and grabbed her hand, leading her from the room. His father came upon them as they turned to climb the staircase.

“I daresay my son has gotten your pretty dress quite dirty, Catherine,” he teased as he passed them.

James laughed and she swatted him as he all but pulled her up the stairs behind him.

They were late for tea, but if the earl noticed, he made no mention of it. They talked of the repairs James had seen to and those still needing his attention. Catherine recalled the invitation to Chesterfield and told James of it, at which he expressed his agreement to her immediate response. The earl managed to doze off in the comfortable chair after a while.

“Do you think we should leave him, James?”

“My father usually naps at this time of the day, love,” he told her. “That’s one of his favorite spots. No doubt he’ll wake in time for dinner.”

That brought another matter to Catherine’s attention. She lowered her eyes to the folds of her skirt, twisting the fabric nervously in her hands. “Does he take dinner in his room because of me?”

“What? No, no,” James assured her. “He goes to sleep quite early, and we don’t take our supper until a much later hour.”

Catherine nodded, relieved. She’d wanted to ask him that question for the last few days, but was sorely afraid of the answer. It was enough that James didn’t love her. She was loath to come between him and his father.

“Catherine?” he asked. “Is something wrong?”