Shana Galen (17 page)

Out of nervousness, Charlotte began talking. To her ears, it sounded like babbling, but she just couldn’t seem to shut herself up. “I love honeysuckle. Always have, though the smell can be overwhelming when it’s in full bloom.”

“Overwhelming, you say?” Freddie murmured.

Charlotte took a quick look at his face—his eyes were moss green and the lids were heavy—then prattled on with growing apprehension. “Y-yes, but honeysuckle is not always overwhelming. Sometimes it takes one quite by surprise. Often I’ll be walking along Broad Street and pass a tangle of
honeysuckle, but I won’t smell it until I’ve taken three steps past, and then the aroma is so sweet and surprising that I have to turn around and go back to experience it again.”

“Yes, I quite understand the impulse.” Freddie chuckled. Charlotte paused and finally met his gaze. His fingers caressed her hand lightly, coming to rest on the sensitive skin of her inner wrist where her pulse was thumping wildly. “Although I don’t think anyone would ever walk by you without knowing it.”

“But I wasn’t talking about—” Charlotte protested.

“But I am,” Freddie said, rising to a sitting position with surprising agility considering his bruises and the amount of alcohol he’d obviously consumed.

“You should lie down,” Charlotte said, not really trying to convince him, her eyes instead drawn to the silk of her sheets as they slid down the bare skin of his chest. “You’re injured.”

“A flea bite,” Freddie murmured. He brought his free hand to her cheek and caressed it as he might a kitten. Charlotte felt the heat flow into her skin as he touched her. Then with an unsteady breath, his right hand tangled in her hair and he pulled her mouth a breath away from his. Charlotte didn’t resist, and his fingers cupped her neck possessively. He entwined his left hand with her fingers, pulling her knuckles to his bare chest,
where she could feel his heart pounding as hard and fast as her own.

With the barest movement, he brought her mouth to his, nipping the corners of her lips playfully. His touch was light, the kisses whisper-soft, almost tickling her. Then he shifted the kiss to her lower lip and ran his tongue gently along the sensitive flesh there. Charlotte jumped from the flicker of heat that seared through her belly. His hand on the back of her neck stroked lazily, calming her nerves as his lips pressed harder against hers, then withdrew, only to claim her mouth again. He continued stoking the flames of her rising desire, and when Charlotte feared she could not take the waiting anymore, he parted her lips with maddening slowness and skill and twined his tongue with hers.

Charlotte was shocked at her body’s rapid-fire response to him. It was only a kiss but already she was squirming to get closer, her body aching, her nipples hard. And Freddie seemed practically unaffected. His control was fortified with steel, while his kisses challenged the limits of her desire. Slow, drugging kisses that pooled heat in her belly and spread it lazily through her limbs; deep, possessive kisses that made her feel weak; hard, insistent kisses that, to her horror, she reacted to by rubbing her aching body against him.

And still he remained maddeningly aloof, and
she was desperate that he feel for her something of the desire she had for him.

Before she lost her nerve, she reached up and ran her free hand along the flank of his body—from the flat of his waist up the muscled rib cage, then skimming across his hard bare chest. His reserve held until she curled her fingers in the smattering of golden hair on his chest. She felt his skin tighten beneath her hand, and then his mouth slanted over hers hungrily.

For a moment she was lost in his need, her own just as great. Then she slid her fingers down his back, and, with a groan, he released the hand he clutched to his heart so that she might have more freedom to explore him. Charlotte eagerly complied, loving the feel of him under her fingertips, loving the way his muscles bunched and tensed as her fingers slowed or she lightened the pressure.

She had no idea she was torturing him, until he repeated her actions in kind. His hands slid under the transparent robe she wore and inched it off her shoulders. He traced the bare skin of her shoulders and arms, with such tantalizing slowness that Charlotte moaned and clutched him tightly. Her fingers dug tightly into his back, but he kept up his gentle assault, only changing his line of attack from his hands to his mouth. Breaking their kiss, he began nuzzling her neck. She arched for
him, and he moved one hand to her lower back to angle her for better access.

Charlotte resisted for a heartbeat. She knew well enough what would come next. She tensed, and then surrendered, offering her unconditional capitulation.

Freddie felt her relinquish control and savored the sweet pleasure of her surrender. Already she’d climbed on top of him and was instinctively rocking. Through the flimsy fabric of the nightgown, he could see her hard jutting nipples and forced himself not to run his hand along the pebbled flesh too soon. Instead he laved her neck and made a wet trail to her collarbone, over the ribbons that served as straps for her gown, to the soft skin of her shoulders. His free hand stripped the robe from her body, and he tossed the scrap of silk onto the floor.

Retracing his path, he returned to the top of her gown and the first pink bow of her chemise. One hand still arching her back, he pulled the ribbon loose. It bared the tiniest inch of her creamy skin.

His tongue skimmed over that skin, and he felt her shiver. When his mouth reached the next bow, he pulled that one free with his teeth. Another tiny inch of skin was revealed. Freddie took a deep breath.

Whoever had designed this nightgown had obviously intended to drive husbands and lovers insane. His fingers moved down, and he flicked the
next bow. This time as the material parted he was rewarded with a vision of the peaks of her ripe breasts. His fingers caressed the mounds lightly, and Charlotte inhaled sharply.

His gaze flicked to her face, and he saw that she was watching him, her eyes dark and hazy as dusk in London. Locking eyes with her, he untied another bow and then another. His hand skimmed inside the chemise’s whispery material, across the curve of one breast, then grazed her swollen nipple. She gasped, biting the sound off as she sank small teeth into her lower lip. But she couldn’t stifle the moan that escaped when he rubbed his palm over her hard nub. She drew in breath and held it when he took the engorged nipple between two fingers.

Her breathing became more rapid, more labored, and her breasts rose and fell with her rising passion. Finally, Freddie could resist no longer. He leaned forward and took the rosy nipple into his mouth. Her skin was satiny soft, and she smelled of the honeysuckle he’d brought for her. He brushed his tongue over her, rubbing until she was writhing above him. He could feel her heat searing him through the thin sheet and chemise between them. She was on fire, and he wanted to make her burn even hotter.

And then his calculated seduction went all wrong. She shifted slightly, and then he felt her hands moving on him—down his back, over his
hips, and across his thighs. His entire body went rigid when her hands skimmed his upper thighs, and he feared he would explode.

“Charlotte.” He grasped her hands, stilling the torment temporarily. “Do you know what you’re doing to me?”

Her light fingers had touched him with a tentativeness he was unused to, and that innocent exploration aroused him more than the caresses of the most skilled courtesan. She was looking down at him, her eyes clouded with confusion. But she was still so beautiful that when he looked at her all thought, all semblance of restraint abandoned him. He pulled her to him, cupping the back of her head with his hand and clenching his jaw at the feel of her breasts pressed against his chest.

“Don’t you like it?” she whispered. He heard the uncertainty in her voice and knew that if he truly wanted to stop this, now was his chance. One wrong word here, and she would escape him.

He couldn’t do it. With a muttered curse, he admitted, “God, yes, I like what you’re doing. I like it too much. Slow down or I won’t be able to do this properly. I already want you too much.”

He felt the jolt of shock race through her, and she drew back to see his face. But Freddie wasn’t about to allow those sherry eyes and that sensuous mouth to distract him from his seduction again, and before she could get her bearings he pulled her down beside him, his fingers unlacing
the next set of bows and opening her gown to her belly.

For a moment he was riveted in place at the sight of her creamy nakedness in the flickering candlelight. Then he reached down, and although his impulse was to rip the material, he decided against it—he wanted her in this nightgown again—and quickly undid the rest of the bows. He took a deep breath at the sight of her full body bared before him.

His perusal was thorough. He intended to learn every inch of her. Know every one of her hills and valleys, to memorize her planes and curves. After the space of ten heartbeats, Charlotte raised her arms to cover herself, but Freddie caught her wrists and kissed the palms of her hands.

“Shouldn’t we blow out the candles?” she said.

Freddie smiled a wolfish grin. “But then I wouldn’t be able to see you.”

“I suppose that is the point,” Charlotte muttered. Freddie kissed her hands again, then came down next to her, the warmth of her body flowing into him.

“You are beautiful,” he whispered into her ear, then took her earlobe gently between his teeth.

Charlotte sighed and snuggled closer.

“I want to look at you.” His hand skimmed down her breasts to her stomach as his mouth traced her earlobe. He felt her tremble as his hand flattened on her stomach and his fingers splayed,
just touching the auburn curls at the juncture of her thighs. “And I want to touch you. All of you.” He slid his hand lower and was horrified to note that it was shaking.

“Are you nervous?” Charlotte asked, watching his trembling progress.

He couldn’t stop a low chuckle. “I believe I am supposed to ask you that question,” he answered.

“Oh,” she said. “I didn’t mean—”

“Shh,” he whispered, pulling her closer and coming up on his elbow to lean over her and kiss the tip of her nose. “I’m not nervous.” He ran his hand across her stomach, then over the curve of her hip, and Charlotte inhaled sharply. He silenced her with a long kiss, then drew back and said, “But I am at a loss. I’ve never done this before.”

Charlotte pulled back. “But I thought surely you—”

“That’s not what I meant,” Freddie answered her, kissing her cheek as his hand slid slowly into the curls below her stomach. Charlotte gasped breathlessly. “I meant I’ve never been with an innocent.”

“I see,” Charlotte whispered. He heard her swallow. “So in a way, I’ll be your first, too.”

He smiled, gazed up at her. “You like that idea, do you?”

She nodded. As Freddie’s fingers inched even lower, her eyes rounded. “I do, too.”

His fingers flicked over her, and she moaned softly, then thrust against him.

“But we have one small problem, Charlotte,” he murmured against her cheek, cupping her where she arched for him.

“Pr-problem?” she gasped.

“Yes,” he whispered. “I am going to have to hurt you. I would give you only pleasure if I could, but I’m afraid the first time will not be very enjoyable for you.” As he said this, his fingers crept against the lips of her womanhood. Gently he parted them and ran his fingers along her slick folds until he reached her hard nub. There he paused and glided over her, feeling her wetness increase.

Charlotte moaned loudly, apologized in a mortified tone, then went ahead and arched her hips even more as his fingers pressed against her. Clutching the bedsheets, she fought for control—alternately begging him and apologizing for her wantonness. “You must stop,” she gasped. “It’s not proper and—”

She moaned again as he slid down, spread her legs wider.

From between her legs, Freddie murmured, “Are you certain you want me to stop?” He entered her slick folds with two fingers, testing her readiness for him. Charlotte bit her lip and nodded violently. “If that is what you want, I will
stop, but before you issue that order, wouldn’t you like to know what you’ll be missing?” His fingers slid along her sleek folds again, then he replaced his fingers with his tongue and Charlotte screamed.

Freddie took her response as an affirmative. He slid his tongue over her hard nub, flicking and sucking until Charlotte’s breathing was ragged. With his every movement, she was more his, was more swept away by passion.

“Still want me to stop?” he whispered, looking up at her. But she was too far gone to answer.

He rode the tide with her, holding her when it was over and she was breathing deeply. Her head was buried against his shoulder, and she whispered, “I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t mean to…
yell
quite so loudly.”

“Ah,” Freddie said, rising from his position on the pillow next to her. His arm rested lightly across her stomach and his hand was wrapped around the swell of her hip. “I gathered from your…pleas for me to continue, that you agreed with my judgment in the matter?”

“Oh, God,” Charlotte moaned and tried to turn away from him, but his hand tightened against her waist and he pulled her back.

“Yes, I think you called me that as well,” Freddie teased.

“Oh!” Charlotte tried to pull away again, but he held her so that the small of her back pressed
tightly against him. “You are wretched! Let me out of this bed!”

“Not until I make you mine,” he murmured, lips grazing the back of her neck. He felt her stiffen, and he understood the reaction. He didn’t rightly know where the words came from, but he knew they issued from the depths of his soul.

“This was not part of our agreement.”

Freddie moved his hand to fondle her breast, and the nipple hardened at once. “I’m revising the agreement.” His hand slid from her breast down the length of her body to her thigh. “I intend to make you mine.”

“Y
ou want to make me yours?” Charlotte said, turning to Freddie. “I don’t think—” She forgot what she had intended to say next because suddenly she was very aware of his hard member pressing against her belly. She knew enough of men and women to understand what his erection meant, and fear rose in her, overwhelming the earlier feelings of passion.

Freddie had said this act would hurt her. She remembered that much at least from her earlier haze. But as his hand slowly moved to part her thighs, the desire returned, flaring and boiling until she was warm and struggling to catch her breath again. She could not imagine him bringing her body anything but ecstasy. He was doing so again that very moment as his hand stroked her inner thigh.

“We must become one body.” His lips kissed her shoulder, then her neck, and his hand on her thigh brushed her auburn curls. “I want to be inside you. Feel it as you climax. Feel the tiny ripples of your orgasm surround me.”

His fingers were inside her then, and Charlotte gasped with pleasure. Almost beyond rational thinking, she held on to the thought that no matter what else happened, she wanted this man.

Sinking into the heat of his embrace, she returned the kiss, falling under his spell once again as his mouth and his hands inflamed her. He was not gentle, but she sensed him holding back, and knew that he wanted this to be right for her. In that moment she could have wept with the knowledge that he cared that much for her. Instead she kissed him more deeply, unable to get enough of his lips and mouth and skin.

Then his body was on top of hers, surrounding her like a fortress of flame. His flesh seared hers as he slid every inch of his exposed skin along her raw, sensitive flesh. His chest rubbed against her breasts, and as he kissed her neck, his knee parted her legs. She wrapped her arms around his muscled back and pulled him closer, arching for him when he took her hard nipple between his teeth.

And then he was inside her. He only just entered her, but the feel was different from that of his fingers. Fuller, stretching her slightly. Looking down at his golden head, bent as he laved her nip
ples, she felt vulnerable and exposed. His hands swept to the sides of her breasts as he cradled her rib cage, and for the first time in her life she knew what it was to be completely in another’s power. And she wondered why the realization that she was so completely in his thrall—his in every way now—no longer frightened her. Then she caught the heat of desire in his green eyes and couldn’t imagine her life without him.

He rocked inside her gently, not filling her but opening her to him, and she sighed. Holding her gaze, he moved inexorably deeper inside her, and when he rocked again, she felt the first pulses of pleasure thrum through her. He thrust inside her again, and she exclaimed wordlessly, then arched against him. With a determined look in his eye that brought a half smile to her lips, he nestled his head against her neck and locked her legs around his waist.

He moved against her again, and Charlotte gasped at the feeling this new position gave. He was filling her slowly, but she still felt no pain. He thrust again, this time harder, deeper, and Charlotte couldn’t staunch a moan of pleasure.

At the same time, Freddie groaned, “Forgive me” and plunged hard and fast into her.

There was a prick of pain, but pleasure overwhelmed her as, finally, he plumbed her depths to the hilt—filling her body and her soul. Matching his driving rhythm, she held on, gripping him
with all her strength when she found fulfillment. Only this time it was he, not she, who cried out.

Freddie waited until Charlotte had drifted off to sleep before he left her bed. Without the cushion of desire, the aches and soreness of his earlier battle were beginning to make themselves felt. But he knew if he stayed with Charlotte, he would not be able to resist having her again. She was too tempting, and although he had given her more pleasure than pain, she would feel the effects of her deflowering in the morning.

He’d tried to be gentle, but he’d felt her stiffen when he broke the barrier of her maidenhead. There had been no thrill in that act, only the fear that he had caused her pain and then a wash of pleasure so intense, he was no longer capable of thought. Perhaps that was why men prized virgins so highly. As careful as he tried to be, she was so small and tight that it drove him to the limits of his passion. He
needed
to have her again.

She had been a virgin. He had been her first, and the thought pleased him. The noble Cade Pettigru, who held an undeserved mysterious power over her affections, had not had her. She had spoken the truth about that, at least.

He opened the dressing room door connecting their rooms and tried to quell the pang of regret he felt at leaving her. She looked exactly as he’d pictured her when, for so many nights, he’d stood
on his side of that door, head leaned against the wood, torturing himself with erotic visions. And there she was in the flesh—thick cherry hair splayed against the white pillow in glossy curls, one arm thrown over her head, hand tangled in her hair, the other resting lightly on her stomach, which rose and fell rhythmically. Her eyes were closed, and her tawny lashes made a pale shadow beneath the lids. Her lips were slightly parted, pink, and swollen. His eyes traveled down the length of her body—half covered by the white sheet, pale and colorless against the rich peach of her skin.

She was perfect—large breasts that overflowed in his hands, a curve at her stomach, then a lush swell at her hips. Her legs were not overly long but rounded and well shaped. He groaned silently, thinking how much he wanted them wrapped around him again.

Forcing himself through the door, he left his wife.

His wife
.

Not yet, but he would remedy that soon enough. He’d taken her maidenhead, and in his mind that meant he was already bound to her. But he would move quickly to make it law. He would not allow the captivating creature in the next room to be anyone’s but his.

He had been right in thinking her dangerous.
He could see now that having her once would never be enough. With each caress, each touch, she left him wanting more.

Freddie poured himself a brandy and paced his room, trying to ignore the soreness in his ribs and jaw from the night’s brawling. The irrational part of his mind told him to avoid her. He already felt too much for her. Why, just look at the way she had muddled his perfectly structured life. His mother and sisters were barely speaking to him, the betting book at White’s was full of wagers as to how long his marriage would last, and Alvanley was probably plotting revenge. At home, Freddie seemed unable to make it through one uneventful dinner with Charlotte, Wilkins was continually in a pet, and, horror of horrors, at breakfast he had seen his name on the gossip page of the
Morning Post
, not once but twice this month.

And he couldn’t care less. It didn’t even matter anymore that she was an unfashionable American. Absolutely appalling how little he thought of fashion lately. Despite his precautions, somehow she had managed to find her way through his defenses. Beneath his mask and into his heart—a place no woman had ever occupied before. A place he was not even certain he wanted occupied.

The rational part of his brain argued that when
she was his wife, he wouldn’t be able to keep her at bay. It might have been overindulgence in drink or an earlier blow to his head, but the notion of sharing his life with her, sharing his future, sharing a family no longer made him shudder. In fact, he could no longer imagine life
without
Charlotte.

He could count on her to be loyal and faithful—two traits in scarce supply among ladies of the
ton.
But could he win her affection? Could he show her there was more to him than the money she thought she needed so desperately? Could she see past that, past all the starch and lace to the man he really was?

Perhaps in time he would earn her love, but at least until that point he’d have her commitment. In this one arena, marrying a colonist was not such a bad thing. He might not appreciate her primitive notions of fashion and deportment, but he was as old-fashioned as any colonist on the subject of morals. When he married, he married for life, for fidelity, and—dare he even think it?—for love. Yes, there it was. He was half in love with Charlotte, would be mad for her once she was safely his.

Freddie leaned back in his chair and stared at the dying fire in his hearth. She was almost his, and now nothing would stand in his way.

Charlotte woke earlier than usual. Without even opening her eyes, she knew the sun was barely peeking over the horizon. She also knew she was alone.

Rolling over, she stared at the empty space beside her. She might have thought the night a dream if not for the telling soreness. A small pain gripped her heart before she pushed it away. Freddie probably did not want to infringe on her privacy. Yes, that was why he’d abandoned her. It had to be the reason, because nothing would ruin her good mood this morning.

For the first time in months, she hadn’t thought of Thomas and her father’s death immediately upon waking. And for the first time in five years, she felt as if the world might hold something more for her than debt and worry. How long had it been since she’d even allowed the idea of a husband and family to flit through her thoughts? But would Freddie want that? And could she stay if he did not care for her as she did for him?

She must have dozed off again because the next time she woke, Addy was banging about her room, looking pointedly at the nightgown and robe scattered across the rug. Her maid was adding lavender oil to steaming water in the copper tub, and the sight of the washbasin in her room made Charlotte blush.

Charlotte took her baths in the evening, Fred
die in the morning. Charlotte doubted Freddie was even aware of the arrangement that had established a modicum of peace between Addy and Wilkins. But if the tub was in her room this morning, Addy must have guessed what had happened last night and assumed her mistress would want a bath.

Charlotte groaned. Probably the whole household already knew. At the sound, Addy turned to her. “So you is awake. Hmpf. Finally.”

Charlotte pulled the sheet over her head and mumbled a good morning.

“No need to hide under there, Miss Charlotte. You don’t have to answer to old Addy ’bout all your goings-on. Lord knows, you is a grown woman.”

Charlotte peeked out from under the sheet, uncertain as to whether Addy was being sincere or not.

“Course you ain’t a
married
woman,” Addy went on, and Charlotte pulled the covers up again, “but you is old enough to know what’s right and what’s wrong. You don’t need Addy here to tell you.”

From under the covers, Charlotte mumbled, “Can I have a few moments alone? I’ll call you when I’m done with my bath.”

“You do that,” Addy said, her voice a fraction softer. “But you’d best not tarry too long. That fool girl Hester going to be in here soon to straighten up, and you know she nosier than a cat.”

Because Hester probably would be in to straighten the room soon, Charlotte ripped the sheets off the bed and stuffed them in the back of the armoire. The last thing she needed was the household speculating about the blood on those sheets. Then she hurried through her bath and was just pulling her chemise over her lace-frilled drawers when there was a rap on her door, and it was pushed open.

Not bothering to look, Charlotte said, “Will you shake the wrinkles out of my light blue muslin, Hester? I think I shall wear that today.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” an authoritative feminine voice barked. Charlotte almost pinched a nerve in her neck, she whipped it around so quickly.

Dewhurst’s mother looked exactly as Charlotte remembered—be-feathered, be-ruffled, be-ringed. She thumped her walking stick on the floor and took in Charlotte’s room with one shrewd glance.

Charlotte searched for her voice, hoping to distract Lady Dewhurst from the absent bedsheets and the flimsy nightclothes on the floor. “Lady Dewhurst!” she finally choked out. “How good to see you. But what are you doing here so early?”

“Early? It’s nigh eleven in the morning, and if you do not hurry you will not be ready when your callers arrive. Mark my words, there will be a line at precisely three, and as I understand it, Madam
Vivienne is on her way with the rest of your wardrobe.”

“Callers?”

Dewhurst’s mother gave her an exasperated look. “Yes. Word is out that you’ve been invited to the Winterbournes’ ball, and the curious will come to gawk.”

Opening the walnut and sandalwood armoire, Lady Dewhurst rifled through Charlotte’s dresses, then shut the cabinet just as quickly. “Appalling. Thank God I had the foresight to send my maid to collect a few of your dresses from Madam Vivienne this morning and bring them along. Here,” she said, indicating a pile of fabric she’d set down next to the armoire. She sorted through it and pulled out a pretty white muslin morning dress with small lavender flowers. “Wear this.”

Charlotte didn’t dare argue, and when she’d have called Addy to help her dress, Lady Dewhurst waved the notion away and insisted on lacing Charlotte’s light demi-corset herself. Moving as efficiently as Addy, the woman then began securing the small buttons of the gown.

For a moment Charlotte wondered if this was what it would have been like had her own mother been alive. Sometimes Charlotte had the vague feeling that she was missing some vital connection in her life, some aspect of female bonding. Strange that she should think of her mother now, when she was so far from home and almost all
that reminded her of Katherine Burton. But, then again, perhaps here in London she was closer to her mother than she had ever been. Charlotte found herself wondering how Katie Burton felt after her first night with Charlotte’s father. Had she longed for someone to confide in? Had she wished she could share her experiences with her own mother back in England?

Charlotte couldn’t really imagine anyone wanting to confide in Lady Dewhurst. Then, almost as if she read Charlotte’s thoughts, Lady Dewhurst finished her task and remarked, “As I suspected, this looks well enough. But where is my son?” She gestured to the disheveled room. “He’s keeping you occupied, I see. Are you breeding yet?”