by Diana Quincy
“That sounds agreeable.” She struggled to sound calm. “With your leave, I will go and change.”
He favored her with a devastating pearly smile that made her toes curl in her slippers.
“Of course.”
“Do enjoy yourselves,” said Hugh. “Charlotte, do not forget to take your maid.”
About an hour later, they were riding along Rotten Row. It was not a fashionable time of day to be seen there. Except for the occasional rider, the trail appeared deserted since almost everyone of consequence had left town. It gave them a chance to gallop freely, which they both preferred.
Charlotte laughed as she finally pulled her horse to a stop. “What an excellent time to ride,” she said, her cheeks warm from their exertions. “It is my first time back in the saddle since my fall.”
His golden-green eyes crinkled. “I am grateful there are no high jumps to tempt you into losing your seat again.”
“You are a cad to mention that.” She tossed her head. “As you will recall, I did not take a fall from the rigors of the jumps. My horse was startled, and since I was distracted by you, one could argue the fault lays with you.”
He threw his head back and laughed, the sun skimming the admirable cut of his profile, a sculpted masculine nose and firm chin. His laugh was so like him, full and unbridled, rumbling deep in his chest. “Well then, allow me to apologize by treating you to a picnic,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “My cook has prepared a veritable feast for us.”
Glancing at the satchel attached to his saddle, she said, “You were confident I would accompany you?”
He slid effortlessly off his horse and came over to help her down. “I know the powerful hold the promise of a rigorous ride has on you, Miss Livingston. I was just clever enough to insert myself into that appealing picture.”
His large, warm hands wrapped around her waist, helping her dismount, unsettling her insides. She glanced down the path from where they had just come. She could not see Violet.
“I seem to have lost my abigail,” she said once her feet touched the ground.
He gazed down the path. “Your maid will catch up with us in good time.” He moved to spread a blanket for their picnic. “We aren’t far off the path. She cannot miss us.”
She decided he had the right of it. They were close enough to the row to be noticed, so Violet would likely see them. He’d selected a scenic spot near the Serpentine. She walked over to stand by the water’s edge, pulling off her bonnet and snug red riding jacket. Underneath her jacket, Charlotte’s white blouse tucked into a brown riding skirt held up by suspenders.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
“That it is presumptuous of you to call upon me after our last encounter.”
“But, Miss Livingston,” he said, “as I recall, I issued an apology at our last meeting.”
“It was what occurred after the apology.” She faced him. “Do you truly wish to court me?”
“Indeed, Miss Livingston, I do. Since you appreciate honesty and directness, I felt this was the clearest way to demonstrate my intentions.”
She flushed with pleasure. He meant to court her. “It is insulting that you presume to court me after that crude scene with Mrs. Fitzharding.”
His golden eyes darkened. “I have already apologized that you had to witness that unfortunate encounter.”
“No, not at Fairview. I am referring to the rout at the Fulsome-Thrusby’s when you stole away with that woman.” Her insides burning, she walked back to their picnic area and threw her riding jacket and bonnet onto the blanket. “When you knew I was completely aware of what was to follow once I left you.”
His eyes twinkled as he strode over to her. Overwhelmed by his closeness, she backed up against the tree. He placed his hands on either side of her head, his palms flat against the thick trunk, effectively boxing her in. “Is this jealousy I detect?”
“Hardly.” The beat of her heart accelerated. “It is difficult to put aside your blatant insult.”
He leaned a little closer, his musky scent surrounding her. “Would it comfort you to know that nothing happened beyond a companionable stroll through the portrait gallery?”
She swallowed. “I find that difficult to believe.”
He leaned in just a little more. His gaze raked over her face, seeming to take in each curve and every line. “I have enjoyed a, shall we say, friendship with Mrs. Fitzharding.” His provocative voice caressed her. “It would be rude and hurtful of me to cut her off completely simply because I no longer desire a physical relationship with her.”
“Is that so?” The bottom of her womb pulsed as he ran his intent gaze down the length of her body. He reached out to lift a suspender strap away from her body, his long, tapered fingers stroking it inches from where it had just rested over her breast. Her body tingled all the way down to her toes. To her mortification, her breasts awakened fully, their crests straining against her white shirt.
The darkening of Cam’s eyes suggested he noticed. His breathing changed, becoming shallow in a way that spurred her blood. He leaned toward her, placing warm lips on the pulse point at the side of her neck. “Yes,” he murmured against her sensitive skin, “that is so.”
She trembled at the featherlight flirtation of his mouth at her throat. “How gallant of you,” she said, breathless. “And do you take liberties with me now because you assume a lady who dallies with a stable boy would surely grant favors to all others who ask?”
He chuckled against her neck, the puff of warm breath tickling her skin. “No,” he said, straightening up to replace her suspender strap over her breast. “I no longer believe that to be the case.”
“And why is that?”
He watched his fingers brush over her hardened nipple, moving with a slow deliberateness that provoked soft waves of painful pleasure within her. Shocked and aroused, she looked up into his heated eyes.
“You have described yourself as a woman who never lies, and I believe you. I have your word that nothing untoward has occurred between you and the stable boy.” He moved his lips back to her neck.
“Coachman,” she said with a sigh closing her eyes, lifting her chin to receive the delicious kisses he peppered along the side of her neck.
“My apologies,” he murmured, undeterred from his task. “Coachman. Unforgiveable of me to forget.”
“Why, then, did you give me the cut direct at Willa’s party?”
“Because I didn’t care for the thought of any other man touching you.” His lips moved languidly up her neck and over to her mouth in one fluid movement and took hers with a soft insistence, nipping and tasting in a teasing way that left her senseless with need. “Do say you’ll forgive me.”
When his tongue flicked against the seam of her mouth, she couldn’t remember what there was to forgive him for. She parted her lips, eager to taste him. He swept in at once, exploring the slickness he found there with deep, soulful strokes. She kissed him back, sliding her tongue against his. Forgetting all propriety, she embraced him, letting her hands run over the extraordinary blend of smooth muscle and bone in his back. He felt solid and pliant, and she wanted more. So much more.
The movement seemed to embolden Cam. He pushed up against her, his unrelenting body flat against hers, kissing her more deeply. She moaned at the feel of his aroused male flesh pressing against her belly. Her mind remembered the sight of it unleashed, large and proud. Cam moved his warm hands down the sides of her body to cup her bottom, pulling her tight against his hips.
She rubbed her body against the hot, hard length of his, trying to ease a hunger growing inside of her, vaguely wondering how she could be so intoxicated by a man whose goals in life were so contrary to hers.
Breaking the kiss, Cam rested his forehead against hers. “Charlotte, love,” he rasped. “Tell me to stop.”
Exhilaration surged through her to think she could drive this magnificent creature to the edge of his control. “Don’t you dare stop,” she panted. Putt
ing her hand behind his head, she pulled his mouth back to hers. Her tongue reached out to taste his again, sucking lightly, wanting this feeling to never end.
An elemental sound came from somewhere deep in Cam’s chest. Giving up all pretense of restraint, he ravished her mouth, grinding his manhood into her. Charlotte gasped at the wondrous feel of him. Pushed up against the rough bark of the tree, she opened her eyes to see Cam fully, eager to take in every nuance.
Instead, her heart dropped. Violet’s horse appeared in the distance coming along the path. She pushed Cam away in something of a panic. Dropping down on the blanket in one swift movement, she busied herself with unpacking their picnic.
“We have been caught up to, just as you surmised,” she said, making a show of setting the food out. Cam pivoted, striding over to the water’s edge, keeping his back to both Charlotte and the path. Violet approached, bobbing haphazardly on her mount, out of breath, and flushed.
Charlotte greeted her maidservant as if nothing was amiss, grateful her abigail couldn’t detect the way her body still pulsated from Cam’s caresses. Calling out to the marquess, she pulled out the roast chicken and they all began to eat.
…
Cam called upon Charlotte again the next day and the one after that. The more he saw of her, the more he wanted to see her. Both times they went for a ride, always with Violet in tow. To Cam’s frustration, they had not managed to lose the abigail again. After her initial lapse, Charlotte’s faithful maid seemed determined in her duty to safeguard her mistress’s virtue.
They weren’t able to steal time alone together again until the following week, when Cam escorted Charlotte to the Ellerbee’s picnic luncheon held at their estate just outside of London. The elegant outdoor affair featured an elaborate feast laid out in the back lawn where manicured gardens eventually gave way to untamed grass and wooded areas. The gathering was not overly large since most of the Ton had already retired to the country for the summer.
Cam watched Charlotte mingle among some of the season’s most desirable young maidens, most of whom wore elaborate day gowns that somehow seemed too fussy. The gauzy fabric of Charlotte’s simple peach gown had the perfect light touch for a summer’s day. Her maid had put her brown hair up, with ringlets cascading down, highlighting her long, pale neck, and the soft swell of her round breasts. Desire swirled in his gut. What a handsome woman. Handsome? It startled him to realize just how attractive she’d become to him.
After filling their plates, he escorted Charlotte to a shaded area a bit removed from the other picnickers, happy to have her to himself again.
She looked around, sipping her lemonade. “This is a secluded spot.”
He took her food from her and placed it on the ground. “Yes, I selected it quite on purpose.” He took the glass from her as well, carefully placing it on a level spot so it wouldn’t topple.
“And why is that?”
He marveled at the way the sun illuminated the clear blue in her eyes. “I won’t bother to dissemble, Miss Livingston.” Taking hold of her hand, he pulled Charlotte around the massive tree trunk, out of the sight of the rest of the guests.
“I hope to steal another kiss. Actually, I have thought of little else since our last one. Will you allow it?”
She flushed, her gaze floating beyond him. “Really, Camryn, if you ask for permission, it hardly qualifies as stealing a kiss.”
Blood raced to his vitals when it registered she’d just told him to take what he wanted. Shaking his head, he wondered what is was about this woman that made him desperate to touch her again. It had been an agonizing week since he’d last felt her lips beneath his. Now, finally offered the opportunity, he greedily grasped it.
Cupping Charlotte’s cheeks, he marveled at their satiny softness before lowering his face to hers, kissing one side of her succulent mouth and then the other. Then he intensified his actions, pressing down on her lips, bidding her to open them to him as she had once before. When she did, he kissed her as deeply as he had ever kissed a woman. He licked and plunged his tongue deeper, greedy to taste more, losing himself in her subtle floral scent. She tasted of lemonade, a woman’s softness, and unlimited possibility. Her untutored tongue ventured to taste him as well, provoking a delighted sound of surprise from him. The wondering hum that sounded from the back of her throat made his body quicken in a rush of heat.
Awareness gradually filtered back to him, reminding Cam of their surroundings. He pulled away with great reluctance, his blood at a boil, and forced himself to take a step back lest he pull Charlotte to the grass and make love to her right there with other guests nearby.
She stood frozen in place with her eyes still closed, red circles burned into the high arches of her cheeks. After a moment, as if in a daze, her lids fluttered open. He easily recognized the hazy arousal in those unfocused blue depths for they mirrored his own.
They stood facing one another for a moment, bodies apart, but gazes interlocked. She blinked. “When I said you had a clever tongue, I really had no idea.”
“I say, Camryn, is that you?”
He looked blindly toward the voice, grateful an outsider would only see two people standing an appropriate distance from each other and not the firestorm of passion arcing between them. As the man drew nearer, he recognized his old friend from Cambridge.
“Selwyn, as usual, your timing is impeccable.”
David Selwyn grinned, bowing toward Charlotte. “Miss Livingston, I’m delighted that not all that is lovely and gracious has deserted town as of yet.”
She returned his smile, managing to appear remarkably calm despite her flushed cheeks. “I hope you will join us, Mister Selwyn.”
Cam walked over to settle himself on the blanket. “Yes, by all means, do.”
Along with the Duke of Hartwell, Cam and Selwyn had led a raucous group at university that excelled equally at sport, women, and their studies. Selwyn’s wealth and rank did not match that of his friends, but he made up for it with an obvious intelligence, agreeability, and quiet flare. Not a particularly handsome man, Selwyn had a pleasant demeanor and took a great deal of care with his appearance and manners.
“Thank you.” With a quick, appraising gaze of his companions, he settled on the grass.
Cam’s body still hummed from his encounter with Charlotte. “I, for one, am starved,” he said reaching for his plate.
As they ate, the two men fell into an easy banter born of longtime friendship and familiarity. Once they’d had their fill, they settled back with a fresh glass of lemonade brought over by a footman, enjoying the partial shade the tree offered on the pleasantly warm summer day. Charlotte rested her back up against the tree while Cam stretched out on his side, propping himself up on one elbow.
Unfurling his legs and crossing them at the ankle, Selwyn planted his hands on the ground behind him to support his weight. “Have you heard about the latest Luddite disturbances in Lancashire?”
“Yes.” Turning his face upward, Cam basked in a warm sliver of sun that had broken through the tree’s branches. He yawned as lazy contentment spread through him. “One would think the Crown would have quelled that by now.”
“The only way to stop the risings is to offer workers an alternative means of providing for their families,” Charlotte said.
Selwyn looked over at Cam. “Did I hear that you are dabbling in the loom business, Camryn?”
Cam lay down flat on his back with his hands behind his head, enjoying the lulling warmth of the sun’s rays, yet fully aware that Charlotte had stiffened beside him. “Yes, Hartwell and I recently acquired a new factory not far from Fairview Manor.”
“So the two of you see a future in these machines?” Willa’s husband had proven himself an astute businessman, making most of his fortune through Indian sugar exports.
“The machines work much more quickly than people.” Cam slid a sidelong glance at Charlotte, noting how she’d pressed her swollen lips into a tight line as he answered. “And ultimately p
roduce more at a lesser cost.”
Selwyn shook his head. “Yet the machine wreckers make it a perilous venture.”
Cam nodded his agreement. “Now that machine breaking is a capital crime, some of them need to swing.”
“It’s that Ned Ludd,” said Selwyn, of the agitators’ enigmatic leader. “If he does indeed exist.”
“I’m certain he’s just a myth.” Charlotte’s blue eyes darkened. “It’s said the real Ned Ludd was a simpleton who broke a stocking frame by accident, not this charismatic General Ludd people speak of, who leads the rebellion.”
“If he does exist, he should be hunted down mercilessly.” Cam stretched out with a contented sigh, enjoying the feel of his full stomach, the mild weather, and the surprisingly warm satisfaction of having Charlotte by his side. “I would be happy to lead the charge. If you hang their leader, you cut the head off the snake.”
Darkness had begun to fall by the time Cam escorted Charlotte home. Sitting across from her in the backward facing seat, he examined the details of her face—the high-cut cheekbones and smooth turn of her jaw, those vibrant eyes, and below them, pink, plump lips. Sitting ramrod straight, she didn’t seem aware of his inspection. Pale and drawn, she appeared lost in thought. Perhaps talk of his factories had upset her again.
Or maybe today’s kiss had embarrassed her. He hoped not. After all, he’d announced his intention to court her and his mind was rapidly embracing the idea of marriage. The more he thought about it, the more he came to believe Hart might be correct about Cam’s attraction to Charlotte. Perhaps she was the one.
He’d thought of her often since their first ride together at Fairview. Today’s embrace had been a revelation, demonstrating the depth of the physical attraction raging between them. Along with her sharp mind and tart tongue, life with Charlotte as his marchioness would never be dull.
Of course, he longed to bed her, to see that lithesome softness stripped bare of all clothing. He wondered what it would be like to stroke in and out of her, to hear her cry out with pleasure. The thought of exploring how her honesty would play out between the bed linens made his body stir below the waist.