Charlotte scoffed. “I am afraid you shall be wasting your time giving me advice, Sarah dear, for I am sure Max will have his own views on the subject. He likes to order his household just so, you know. I imagine that he shall have a schedule drawn up for me in no time, though he seems to have unbent a little with the loss of that wretched secretary of his.”
Sarah looked startled and then made a choking sound before continuing. “I doubt that even his lordship would draw up a schedule...” Sarah’s words trailed off as she struggled with some strong emotion that Charlotte was astounded to realize was amusement. “As that is neither here nor there...” Sarah mumbled, recovering herself. “What I am trying to discuss, Charlotte, is what happens in the marriage bed.”
“Oh, that!” Charlotte smiled eagerly. Although her mind had been occupied with a seemingly endless number of details over the past week, it seemed that thoughts of such things could never be completely shunted aside. She remembered the morning in Max’s London town house and she grew warm, her limbs heavy and aching for a return to that intimacy, which Max had refused her during their engagement.
“You have seen the animals here in the countryside, so I assume you know how it is done,” Sarah said crisply. When Charlotte nodded, Sarah seemed relieved. “I do not want to alarm you, but the first time... The first time is painful.” Crimson now, Sarah was staring at the milk as if it were going to squirt her in the eye.
Painful? There had been nothing painful in what Max had done to her in his bed, married or no. “Are you sure?” Charlotte asked.
Sarah gave her an incredulous look. “Of course, I am sure. I am a married woman!”
Charlotte tried to picture Sarah and Alf doing what she and Max had done and she dropped her eyes to her own glass of milk, wishing it contained something stronger. “Is there any of your wine left?”
Sarah appeared to be momentarily confused by the question. “Yes, I believe so,” she said finally, and Charlotte immediately went to the cupboard. “I hope you are not developing a taste for spirits!”
Ignoring the scold, Charlotte pushed aside the glasses of milk and poured them each a measure of wine. Then she returned to her seat and lifted a glass, which glittered in the low light of the oil lamp. “To my wedding night, which sounds awful!”
“Charlotte!” Sarah’s rebuke was swift as she refused the toast. “It is not awful. If you would but listen to me... Yes, the first time is...difficult, but after that, it actually is quite...pleasant.”
Pleasant? Charlotte tried to equate the word with what had taken place in Max’s bed. She took an unladylike gulp of wine and put down her glass with a shake of her head. “Painful? Pleasant?” she repeated. “Sarah, dear, does this sort of thing work the same for everyone?”
“Of course!” Sarah replied, taking a rather hefty swallow herself.
“But, but...pleasant!” Charlotte sputtered. “Is that all it is?”
“Well, no, I guess that is not really a strong enough word,” Sarah admitted.
“I should say not!” Charlotte retorted. “Listen, Sarah, perhaps you had better go into further details about what happens, and we can examine the whole thing more fully.”
Whether it was the wine or simply her own outspoken behavior, Charlotte did not know, but Sarah finally seemed to lose the embarrassment that was hampering their discussion. Her flush began to fade, and her eyes glittered with her usual self-possession. “Now, see here,” she began. Then she stopped to gaze at Charlotte quizzically. “Charlotte! You have not... Do not tell me that... Charlotte, are you still a virgin?”
Charlotte recognized the familiar mixture of horror and reluctant admiration with which Sarah had always viewed her escapades. She smiled guilelessly. “In truth, sister, I am not quite sure...”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Once Sarah’s initial embarrassment had disappeared, the sisters talked openly, laughing like the girls they had been not so long ago. Alf grew impatient, however, and came looking for his wife, ending the impromptu conference before the hour grew too late. Charlotte greeted Sarah’s husband with a smile on her face, and it remained there until she waved them goodbye at the vicarage door, for she had acquired more knowledge about the marriage bed than she had ever dreamed possible.
“Are you nervous, my dear?” Her father’s soft voice drew Charlotte from her lustful musings, and she flushed as she turned to face him.
“No, Papa, just happy,” she said, truthfully.
“As I am, for you and for his lordship,” he said, nodding.
Charlotte saw the tenderness on his face, and she went into his arms. “Oh, Papa, have I thanked you for making it all possible?”
“Humph,” her father snorted. “I did little enough. It was your beauty and charm and wit that won your husband.”
Charlotte shook her head. “You provided me with the money and the opportunity for my London season,” she said. “Without it, I never could have become Wycliffe’s wife.”
“My dear,” her father said, “no matter what our prosaic Sarah might think, I believe some things are meant to be. With or without your season, I suspect you would still be his countess.”
Charlotte felt her throat tighten at his guileless faith. “I was so afraid I would disappoint you, Papa,” she whispered in the warmth of his embrace.
“Never that, Charlotte. Never that.” He released her to look at her, his spectacles tilting crookedly across his nose. “Even had you come back home without a husband, you could not have disappointed me. You are such a beautiful, graceful reminder of your mother.” He paused to smile. “But you are your own woman, too, and I love you for it.”
“I know, Papa,” Charlotte answered. “But I would have been disappointed in myself, if I failed all of you. When I left for London, I thought it would be such a frolic, but I came to understand that marrying would be a serious business, indeed. That is why... When Sir Burgess asked me, I just could not say yes.”
“Burgess. Burgess. Why does that name sound familiar?” Her father paused to consider the question, but made a wry face at his faltering memory. “Ah, well, it shall come to me, no doubt. What were you saying, child?”
Charlotte smiled at her sire’s familiar habit of wandering away from the course of conversation. “I realized that I wanted the same happiness that you and Mama had, and that is why I could not wed Viscount Linley, although you wanted me to.”
Her father sat back, a puzzled expression on his face, and straightened his eyeglasses. “Viscount Linley?”
“Yes, the man you wrote to me about,” Charlotte said. “The man you gave your consent for me to wed!”
“Yes...” her father said. He nodded slowly, but appeared all the more baffled.
“Well, I just could not marry him,” Charlotte repeated.
“What is this?” her father asked, his face showing a growing alarm. “The wedding is off?”
“With Linley, yes. I am marrying Wycliffe.”
Her father shook his head, as if to clear it. “I am sorry, child, but I do not understand. You are marrying the Earl of Wycliffe, but not the Viscount Linley—”
“Of course!” Charlotte said. Her father’s obtuse behavior was making her impatient, and she could only guess that he was tired and nervous over the impending nuptials.
The vicar shook his head again, then pushed his slipping spectacles up upon his nose once more. “But they are one and the same man, child.”
“They are...” Charlotte blinked at her father as she echoed his words. “Whatever do you mean, Papa?”
“I am most confused,” he answered with a sigh. “Wycliffe did write to me about Viscount Linley, but since I was aware of his various titles, I thought it was some jest between the two of you.” He glanced at Charlotte, as if expecting her confirmation.
She tried to look noncommittal. Her father stood. “I have his full name here, of course, because I must use it in the ceremony tomorrow.” He reached for his Bible, opened it and adjusted his spectacles.
“Ah, yes, here it is...Maximilian Alistair Wentworth Fortescue, fifth Earl of Wycliffe, third Viscount Linley and Baron Haddlington.” Her father looked up and smiled, obviously proud of himself. “I got it from the settlement papers.”
“That rogue,” Charlotte whispered to herself. “I never would have thought him capable of such a deceit. I think I shall have a little talk with the viscount.” She grinned slowly.
“I’m afraid your speech will have to wait until morning, my dear,” her father said. “Look at the clock. You must get some sleep, for tomorrow is your wedding day.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek.
“Of course, Papa,” Charlotte said. Wiping the wicked smile from her face, she nodded in acquiescence. Had Sarah been there, she would have recognized that look all too well as a harbinger of mischief. But, luckily for Charlotte, Sarah was gone, and her dear father would never suspect his lovely daughter of planning any misbehavior.
* * *
Although the hour was late, Maximilian lay awake in his bed at Casterleigh, staring at the hangings with their elaborate swags. He was thinking about his wedding day, which did little to make him drowsy. Actually, he was pondering, more specifically, his wedding night and wondering just how quickly he could spirit his bride away from her guests without engendering comment. Mumbling a low oath into the darkness, he finally decided to the devil with propriety! He wanted to bed his wife as soon as possible.
Ever since the fiasco at his town house when Hoskins had stood between him and disaster, Maximilian had kept his distance from the vicar’s daughter who, alone among her sex, seemed able to rid him of his restraint. That, he decided ruefully, was putting it mildly. He thought of all his sexual encounters, from the lovely chambermaid who had ushered him into manhood until his last mistress, and he viewed them all as very pleasant experiences.
Charlotte, however, was a deal different.
With her, he lost his usual patient skills and became a raging, lustful beast. Maximilian knew he should have been disgusted with himself. He should have sworn to contain himself next time, but he had not. In truth, he was looking forward to the mindless, hot passion that flared between them, because nothing before had been so good.
And this time, there would be no butler banging on the door. Maximilian smiled and moved uncomfortably between the sheets. This time...he would take her virginity. He would take her and take her until he finally assuaged his wild yearning for her.... Only then could his life return to some semblance of order, he reasoned.
Maximilian was startled out of these pleasant thoughts by the sound of his door handle turning. Knowing that the servants would not be about at this hour, he immediately suspected an intruder and, feigning sleep, he looked out under lowered lashes toward the entrance to his room. Moonlight from the open windows cast a pale glow across the carpet, ending in shadows near the door, but he saw it swing open.
A young man dressed in baggy clothing and wearing a cap stepped in, and Maximilian was alarmed for an instant. Naked in bed, he had no arms at hand, but neither did the youth, apparently. In truth, the fellow did not appear menacing, but only a bit disoriented before he spoke.
“Oh, Max! Thank goodness I finally found you!”
With a sigh of incredulity, Maximilian recognized the voice of his bride-to-be, who, upon spying him, ran across the room and threw herself onto his bed. “Do you realize just how big this place is?” she asked breathlessly as she flung her arms around him.
Gently, Max lifted her away from his bare body. “Since I live here, the relative size of the residence has not escaped my notice,” he said dryly. “What are you doing here?”
Having splayed one hand against his chest, Charlotte was sliding her fingers through the hairs there. She seemed so fascinated by the task that he wondered if she had even heard him, but finally she lifted her head. “I thought I would steal a moment with Viscount Linley,” she said. Then she pulled a face at him.
Momentarily distracted from her touch, Maximilian laughed aloud. “What? Are you angry that I have used your own tactics against you?”
Charlotte drew back, giving a good impression of being aghast. “What methods? Are you insinuating that I used some sort of devious machinations to win you? How dare you?”
Maximilian laughed again. “Come now, Charlotte. Admit it! You have schemed once or twice to get my attentions.” Maximilian thought of all their encounters, some of which might well have been caused by chance—or by design. “What about your sudden penchant for low-cut gowns?”
“You told me to wear them!”
Charlotte had him there, and he frowned. “What about your aunt’s illness?”
She sat up straight and glared at him, as if truly incensed. “Are you saying it was feigned?”
“Was it?”
“Maximilian Alistair Wentworth Fortescue! It most certainly was not feigned! How could you think such a thing?” Charlotte was breathing heavily, and Maximilian noticed the thrust of her large breasts against her shirt. He swallowed.
“All right. All right. I concede your point,” he said, a bit unsteadily. “What of the escapade with Roddy? Was that not staged for my benefit?”
Did she blush? Maximilian could not tell in the dimness of the room, but she had the good grace to look down and frown. “Aha!” he said, pouncing on her hesitancy. “I knew it!”
“Very well,” Charlotte admitted with the loveliest scowl he had ever seen. “I admit that I might have tried to...gain your notice, but only on a few occasions, and only at first, before I realized that it would do me no good.”
“Ah, but it did do you good. It wrung an offer from Viscount Linley,” Maximilian said with a grin.
“Botheration! How could you, Max? When I received that wretched letter from Papa, it nearly killed me! Why, Max?” She was angry again and genuinely baffled, Maximilian realized.
He sighed heavily. He could see the glint in her eyes, and he felt a cad now that he was aware of her affection. She thought herself in love with him, and although he still had reservations about such nonsense, it pleased him to hear her say the words. At the time he proposed, however, he had not been sure if she cared for him at all.
“I was not certain of your feelings for me,” he explained gruffly. “Although I was satisfied that the only way to put an end to your escapades was to marry you, I had no wish to wed a fortune-hunting miss.”
Charlotte gasped. “So you invented a proposal from someone else?”
Maximilian nodded, rather shamefaced. “If you desired only wealth and position, then you would have accepted the offer, and I would have known that you did not hold me in regard.” He felt rather silly mouthing such nonsense, but he had wanted affection from his wife. He stiffened at the thought of a life without it. “I did not want a marriage like my father’s. He became infatuated with Sibylle, who wed him strictly for gain.”
Charlotte was silent for a moment, looking down at the hand that still rested upon him. Her face, composed in the moonlight, was beautiful, despite the odd cap that covered her bright hair. “I understand,” she said softly. “And I forgive your ruse.” She smiled brightly then. “So...” She again entwined her fingers in the hair on his chest.
“So, now that all is clear, you must be on your way,” Maximilian said, becoming acutely conscious of her attentions. To his surprise, she shook her head, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of her luscious mouth.
“But I am here for another reason, too,” she said. Her voice was low, seductive, and Maximilian was suddenly aware of her fragrance, all heady spring, and how her body touched his hip, with just the thin sheet separating them.
He knew her well enough to be alert to her moods, and he suspected that Charlotte was up to something. “And what is that?” he asked as coolly as he could manage.
Her long lashes brushed against her cheeks. “I thought if I surprised you tonight that we could, uh, well, get this lovemaking business completed, and then you would not be so irritable tomorrow, or rather, so
anxious to leave the party, which I know you will be.”
“What?” The question came out louder than he intended, and he took a breath to calm himself. He did not want the servants to know he had a visitor at this hour, whether they were to be married or not.
“Oh, Max. Don’t be angry with me. I just...I have been wanting you so much ever since that time in your town house, and you have been so standoffish and out of sorts lately... And then, when I heard that it was painful, I did not want to be dreading it, so I thought that the sooner, the better, if you know what I mean.”
“What?” Was she talking about what he thought she was talking about?
“Botheration, Max! Are you deliberately trying to be obtuse? I came here to...do what we did before, in London, only more so...”
“You came here to seduce me?” he asked in disbelief.
“Well, I realize that I did not handle it all too well, but that was because I got lost, you see, in your home. I did not plan on that, and then I wanted to ask you about Viscount Linley, so I was diverted.”
“What exactly was your plan?” Maximilian asked, crossing his arms behind his head. This ought to be good. The vicar’s daughter, dressed as a boy, plotting seduction...
“Well, I was going to find your room easily, and then I was going to take off all my clothes and slip into bed with you.” Maximilian drew in a breath, for her ingenuous recitation managed to make him hard. He tried not to picture the scene she painted. “I thought things would just progress naturally from there,” she added.
“Which is quite possible,” he noted dryly, “considering...”
“Your appalling lack of self-control.” Charlotte finished the phrase for him and giggled. Before he could argue the point or put her out, she flung one leg over him so that she straddled his hips.
Maximilian attempted to ignore the pressure against his loins, but the moonlight picked up the curve of her nipples, straining at the man’s shirt stretched across them. “Did you really think to masquerade as a boy, with that chest of yours?” he asked, when he could find his voice.
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