Seducing Charlotte

by Diana Quincy

  “Charlotte, is it?” Cam turned to look at Selwyn, his jaw tightening. The man seemed permanently attached to Charlotte’s side these days.

  “Miss Livingston, of course.” Selwyn’s face flushed. “I beg your pardon.”

  Refilling his glass, Cam focused on the swishing, dark amber liquid. Selwyn had been panting around Charlotte for days. The man was a complication he didn’t intend to tolerate. “Tell me, Selwyn, do you fancy Miss Livingston’s advocacy of the common man will extend to her bedchamber?”

  The sharp intake of Selwyn’s breath pierced the night. “I beg your pardon?”

  Straightening, Hart swung his booted feet off the chair and leaned towards Cam. “What the devil are you about?”

  “I’m wondering if Selwyn has it in his mind to court the daughter and sister of a baron.”

  Selwyn stiffened. Although they were longtime friends, the men at the table were not social equals.

  Cam tossed the amber liquid down his throat, relishing the burn and fiery sensation streaming into his chest and gut. “Tell us, do you hope to marry one of your betters?”

  “Camryn, that’s enough,” Hartwell said.

  Selwyn met Cam’s gaze straight on. “Am I poaching, Camryn? If so, then I apologize.” He stood in a stiff movement. “I was led to understand there was nothing between you and Miss Livingston.” He turned with a slight bow to Hartwell and walked back into the house, his bearing upright and unbowed.

  Groaning, Cam dragged both hands down his face, well aware he’d just insulted his longtime friend. “Devil take it.”

  “That was well done, you ass.” Hartwell settled back in his chair, puffing on his cheroot. “How do you plan to set it to rights?”

  Cam bottomed out his drink, placing the empty glass on the table with a hard clank. “Leave off.”

  “It appears you must resolve the situation with Miss Livingston immediately.” Hartwell exhaled curling, silvery smoke in small, neat circles. “Unless you’d prefer to end up on a dueling field.”

  “I don’t know what possesses me when it comes to Charlotte.” He collapsed back in his chair. “The idea of her anywhere near another man drives me to bedlam.”

  Hartwell’s dark eyes gleamed with amusement. “Ah, Cam, it seems you are finally completely and totally afflicted.”

  He peered at his friend through bleary eyes. “Surely, this is not how it was for you and Willa?”

  “You’d better marry the lady.” Hartwell chuckled. “It’s the only cure.”

  The beginnings of a severe headache stabbed at the base of his skull. He huffed an exasperated breath. “I’m trying.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Three days later, after everyone retired for a nap before supper, Charlotte slipped out of her bedchamber. Passing the billiards room, she stopped and doubled back, looking in at the intimidating wooden table with its bright green cloth.

  Billiards was on the agenda this evening after supper, and she winced at the idea because she played so dismally. The thought of making a fool of herself in front of flawless Margaret Selwyn sounded more distasteful by the minute. She looked around, and seeing no one in view, stepped inside and picked up a mace.

  After arranging the wooden balls, she stabbed at them with the thin wooden stick, cursing when she missed the balls altogether. Repeating her efforts several times, she barely managed to hit the balls with a weak, essentially useless bump of her mace.

  “Blast it!” Biting her lip, Charlotte concentrated on hitting the ball with something remotely resembling accuracy.

  “It is all about mental focus and concentration.”

  Startled, she spun around to find Cam lounging against the doorjamb, his forehead wrinkled with amusement. She grimaced. It was just her luck to be caught at her most ungraceful. “Obviously, I lack those talents.”

  “Not at all.” He advanced into the room. “Surely, they are required when writing your essays.”

  “I’ve been giving it my best so as not to make a complete fool of myself this evening, but as you can see,” she gestured to the balls on the table, “it is not going well.”

  He grinned and walked over to grab a mace. Setting the balls, he leaned over with the casual agility of a seasoned billiards player and lined up his stick. “You must focus on your grip and aim.” He struck his stick forward, launching a ball, which slammed into the other balls, sending three of them in different directions. Two hit a bank, crossed back over the table, and dropped into separate pockets.

  She looked heavenward. “I can see this evening will be a spectacular embarrassment for me.”

  He set the balls up again. “Nonsense. Of all people, you can do anything you put your mind to.” Propping his chin over his hand on the end of his stick, he said, “Try again.”

  She bent over the table with her mace, feeling awkward and self-conscious with Cam watching her from the opposite end of the billiards table. She made another stab at it and this time her cue completely missed its target.

  “Blast it, blast it, blast it!” She threw her stick down on the table.

  Cam’s chest rumbled with laughter and the gold in his eyes sparkled. He came around to her end of the table. Picking up her abandoned mace, he handed it back to her. “You must begin by learning the proper stance. May I?”

  He came up behind her, pushing lightly on her shoulder to lean her forward over the table with her stick. “The proper stance is critical to a good billiards stroke.”

  He bent over with her, his body lined up directly behind her, close enough that they were almost touching, his body heat intermingling with hers. “Billiards is a complex game. However, once you learn the basic rules and positions, you must approach your shot with confidence.” His long, strong fingers adjusted hers on the stick. “Keep your focus and follow through with your shots. Always appear relaxed and confident as it will help your stroke.”

  The smooth timbre of his voice resonated in her ear. “You should feel at ease, yet totally sturdy and well balanced.” Then she was off to a poor start because she felt decidedly off balance and much too warm.

  “Allow me.” Cam’s firm hands settled on her hips, adjusting her stance. “Yes, just like that. Very good. Now plant your feet.” He knelt down to position her slippers, his warm fingers brushing her stocking-clad ankles. “You need to visualize what you want to happen next. Your grip must be comfortable and relaxed. That’s it.” He stood and murmured in her ear, running his hand over her arm to relax it, leaving goose bumps in its wake. “Don’t tense up halfway through because your perfect shot will fall apart.”

  “Now, show me your grip.” His musky, clean scent encased her in a cloud of masculinity. “Wrap your fingers around the stick and hold it gently.”

  Now thoroughly hot and agitated, she gave up trying to breathe normally. Wrapping her fingers around the stick in a slow, deliberate manner, she could not help smiling with satisfaction when she heard the sharp intake of Cam’s breath.

  His lips touched her ear. “You must hold the shaft with gentle yet firm fingers. If you grip too tightly, these muscles will tense up.” He feathered his fingers over her forearm. “Then you lose all control.”

  She’d already lost control. Pivoting to face him, she leaned back against the pool table, their bodies inches apart, her entire being flushed and aching for him.

  Cam’s eyes glittered. He cupped her cheeks and bent down to rub his firm, soft mouth against hers. When she parted her lips, he drove his tongue inside her mouth, thrusting in and out in sensual, suggestive movements. His hands smoothed down her sides and around to cup her buttocks in strong, sure movements. Lifting her to sit on the edge of the billiards table, he plundered her mouth with ruthless, breath-stealing intent.

  Need flared in Charlotte. She kissed him back feverishly. Their tongues danced with each other, sucking and nibbling. She drove her hands through Cam’s hair, gripping its thick, coarse texture with abandon. She felt a tug at the shoulder of her day gown followed by the cool
rush of air over her exposed breasts. Warm hands closed over them as his mouth continued its onslaught on hers. Charlotte arched back with a moan as his hands massaged her tender flesh, his fingers teasing the hardening points.

  Somewhere beyond their revelry, Charlotte heard a muffled cry of surprise. She froze in horror, realizing someone stood behind her in the doorway. Cam pulled away, looking up with unfocused, passion-hazed eyes. Recognition and then regret flashed across his face. Automatically, he helped Charlotte pull up the bodice of her dress. She leapt off the billiards table, spinning around to see who had come upon them.

  Miss Selwyn stood in the doorway with her perfect little mouth frozen in the shape of an O. Her cheeks were flushed, but the calculated calm in those cool gray eyes sent a frisson of fear rippling through Charlotte. Miss Selwyn took a step back, whirled around, and slammed the door behind her as she rushed from the room.

  “Oh, Lord. Now we’ve done it,” Charlotte cried. “She is going to ruin me. She’s probably telling Hugh what happened at this very minute.”

  “No, she will not.” He spoke with cool certainty. “Miss Selwyn won’t breathe a word of it to anyone.”

  “How can you say that?” Panic ballooned inside of her. “We don’t know what she’ll do.”

  Shoving both hands through his rumpled hair, he stared hard at the door. “Miss Selwyn wants to be a marchioness. If she shares what she witnessed, I’d be honor-bound to offer for you. Her chances of marrying a marquess would be quite ruined then, wouldn’t they?”

  A sick ache knotted in Charlotte’s stomach. “So you are considering marrying Miss Selwyn?”

  “I did want to marry her once. Very badly.” Leaning over to corral the balls on the billiards table, he spoke in an almost offhand manner. “I quite fancied myself in love, but she rejected my suit.”

  Charlotte’s throat squeezed. Here she stood, her body vibrating from his touch, the taste of him still on her lips, while he discussed the woman he’d likely take to wife. And he had once loved the woman. Perhaps even still did. She pictured Miss Selwyn, resplendent in a wedding gown, and then later, with that lovely, lush figure swollen with child. Cam’s child.

  “So tell me, Charlotte. What should I do? Shall I marry you to save your reputation?” He paused and locked eyes with her, an inscrutable look on his face. “Or do I offer Miss Selwyn marriage to keep her from ruining you?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Tearing off his white linen shirt, Cam cursed aloud and splashed his face with water, his head still swimming with the sweet floral scent and soft heat of Charlotte’s skin.

  Standing before the small basin in his chamber, he welcomed the shock of cold water against his heated skin. Anything to settle his blood. The way she’d moaned and writhed under his touch made his body tense anew. He splashed his face again, running his wet hands over the back of his neck, trying to tap down his bodily reactions.

  He’d been right about her response to passion. She’d reacted to his touch with such eager fervor his prick had swollen to the point of pain. He’d been close to shoving up her skirts and taking her innocence right there on the billiards table. All in all, the seduction had been going quite well. Until Margaret interrupted them. Cam groaned. He’d finally put a stop to Selwyn’s attentions toward Charlotte only to have the man’s intolerable sister thwart his well-laid plans.

  The day after their unpleasant encounter, Cam had sought Selwyn out, issuing a very proper and heartfelt apology. He’d blamed the liquor for his rude comments, and, as expected, Selwyn had accepted the apology with his usual good-natured grace. But it wasn’t going to be as easy with the man’s sister. Margaret was a calculating social climber who now possessed ammunition to use against him. No doubt she’d make her move soon.

  As if his thoughts had summoned her, Margaret slipped into his chamber without knocking. Closing the door, she rested her back against it. The generous cut of her square neckline elucidated the smooth cream of her shoulders and fullness of her ample bosom, as did the emerald pendant necklace snuggled deep in the valley between her breasts. The cool metal of her eyes ran over his bare torso with obvious appreciation.

  Grabbing a hand cloth, he vigorously mopped his face and neck. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

  She moved toward him with a certain swagger, like a stealthy big cat closing in on her prey, who believes the outcome of the hunt has just changed in her favor. Reaching out to run a cool hand over his bare back, she said, “I should like to be married at St. George’s Hanover Square.”

  Stepping out of her reach, he tugged his shirt over his head. “I wish you good fortune with that.”

  “During the season, I think, with the finest families in attendance.” She wandered past him, the soft muslin of her cream-colored gown floating over her womanly curves, and eased down onto his bed.

  Worry pulled in his chest and across the back of his shoulders. Should someone discover Margaret alone with him in his bedchamber, she’d be thoroughly compromised and her brother would have every right to expect him to offer marriage.

  “It should be a large, elaborate wedding. I plan to be the envy of the Ton when I become your marchioness.”

  “As I recall, I offered you the position four years ago and you declined.” He reached for his boots.

  “Yes, and you are even more appealing now then you were then.”

  He sat in a red velvet chair by the unlit hearth to pull on his boots. “I’m sure my newfound attractiveness is directly related to the title I’ve gained since I proposed marriage.”

  “Why did you not tell me you stood to inherit the title?” Margaret’s pale, delicate hand wandered across her décolletage. “My answer would have been different.”

  He gave a harsh laugh. “No doubt.” Pulling on his boots, he stood.

  “You thought to marry for love?” she asked wide-eyed. “Did you expect me to accept you as you were, with no title? People of our sort do not marry for love.”

  Shaking his head, he headed for the door. “Good-bye, Margaret.”

  “I will tell everybody what I saw in the billiards room.” The words were sharp, the sweet, seductive tone abandoned. “You will be forced to marry her.”

  Cam pulled the door open and paused to look back at Margaret. He saw a well-formed woman, with pleasing curves and a lovely face. Once he’d lusted after her, had been anxious to bed her, but looking at her now he experienced a profound sense of relief she’d rejected his suit all those years ago. “You think I would prefer marriage to you rather than be forced to offer for Miss Livingston?”

  “She is a shapeless thing and rather ungainly for a woman. I seem to remember you have a fondness for curves.” Margaret toyed with the pendant of her necklace which fell deep into the valley between her breasts. “As your wife, I would be most accommodating. I would allow you any liberty.”

  Distaste crawled over his skin. “Unfortunately, Miss Selwyn, I’m now a marquess, and, as such, must give great consideration to my bride’s ancestral line.” He sharpened his tone. “Miss Livingston is the daughter of a baron, while you, I fear, are common in every way.”

  Margaret paled. “How dare you —”

  “Oh, I dare,” he said, stepping out of his chamber and slamming the door behind him.

  …

  After dinner the following evening, the gentlemen retired to the games room. Charlotte knew little about the impromptu gathering, only that the old university friends were looking forward to it and that Hugh had been included. To beef up their numbers, a few men from the local gentry were joining them as well.

  It was a welcome development when Miss Selwyn retired for the evening, pleading a headache, probably because Cam wouldn’t be around for her to bat her cow eyelashes at. To Charlotte’s relief, the woman had apparently chosen to ignore what she’d witnessed in the billiards room, carrying on at meals as though nothing had happened. This evening, happy to have private time alone with Willa in the duchess’s sitting room, Charlotte welco
med the break from Miss Selwyn’s grating presence.

  “Do my feet not look like they belong on a sow?” Willa complained looking at her swollen limbs.

  Charlotte helped her put them up. “You need to elevate them. That’s all,” she said, trying to sooth her. Although she had to admit to herself that she’d never seen such bloated feet. Pregnancy was taking its toll even on the beautiful duchess. “I am certain the duke finds you as lovely as ever. He still looks at you as though he cannot quite believe his good fortune.”

  Willa laughed, her chocolate eyes shimmering at the mention of her husband. “No doubt I shall be safe from his attentions this evening. I expect him to be deep in his cups when the gentlemen’s party comes to an end.”

  “I’ve never known Hartwell to overindulge.” Charlotte sat in a comfortable large chair opposite Willa.

  “He does not, but this evening they play an old imbibing game from their university days.” Willa shook her head indulgently. “It is silly, really. None of them will be able to manage their drink as they did ten years past.”

  Charlotte smiled at the thought of Cam in a drunken state. “It is true, I suppose, that most men never lose the boy in them.”

  “They take it quite seriously. Hart says Cam could always outdrink everyone else.” Willa shifted her swollen body, trying to get comfortable. “Apparently, my cousin is determined to prove he can still best them all. Hart says he’s never seen Cam the least bit foxed. “

  “I suppose Cam can do anything he sets his mind to.”

  “If you can imagine, it was that nice David Selwyn who suggested the game.” She looked heavenward. “And he is supposed to be the calm, rational one in their little group.”

  Sitting back, Charlotte laced her fingers over her chest. “I’m just grateful for the respite from his lovely sister.”

  “She makes no secret of her interest in my cousin.”