But he was a fortune hunter, by his own admission. There was nothing respectable about that. How could she see him as honorable, after the way he had coldly set his sights on Susan and her inheritance? How could she like him, when he was partly responsible for Susan running away?
Susan ran away because of you, whispered her guilty conscience, not because of him. If not for him, you would be lost, with no idea whom to turn to for help.
But that didn’t mean she was falling in love with him. Even if he could arouse her like no one else could, he also aggravated her like no one else could. He wasn’t put off by anything she said to him. He laughed when she threatened him with a pistol, and managed to turn a conversation on the opera into a sensual promise. Charlotte had flirted with too many men to have missed what he was saying: he still wanted her. But none of that was love.
She worried about it all day. For a time she considered going to bed with Stuart just to break the tension between them; why shouldn’t two adults enjoy a discreet, mutually agreeable affair? Then she thought about Susan, and how utterly devoid of decency she was to think about her own pleasures while Susan was at the mercy of some Italian madman. But if she waited until she had her niece back, how could she have an affair with Stuart then, knowing how hurt and betrayed Susan would be? Charlotte confronted the possibility that there would never be a good time, and it made her want to weep. He was the only man she had ever wept over in regret.
Could that mean there was more to her feelings than desire? Ever since the one disastrous time she had given her heart, Charlotte had refused to let herself feel anything beyond desire for a man. She didn’t want Stuart to be any different. She couldn’t afford to let him be different.
What if he were, in spite of all her wishes to the contrary?
A brief affair, she decided, was the answer. She couldn’t be in love with Stuart. She didn’t want to marry him. She wanted him, true, but it was a purely physical need. Once they made love, the attraction would burn itself out ... unless it were something more. If making love to him failed to move her heart, she would know it was simply lust. And if it did move her heart ...
She would deal with that problem when it arose.
Stuart spent an exhausting day canvassing taverns and pubs. Charlotte had given him money for rewards, and despite distributing it liberally, he was unable to find the boy who brought the message. By evening, he was hot, tired, and frustrated. They had been so close to someone who could lead them to Susan’s kidnapper, but had nothing to show for it.
After meeting with Pitney to confirm that neither had found the messenger, Stuart headed toward Mayfair. He was so tired, he wanted nothing more than to go home and fall into bed, but he had to tell Charlotte about the day. He also wanted to see her again, enough to brave the house when Terrance was likely to be there, a fact which made him somewhat uncomfortable. He probably wouldn’t even be alone with her, but he was still walking half a mile out of his way, hungry and covered in dirt, just to see her.
She was waiting for him in the hall, a sight which made his mood considerably brighter. She took one look at his face, and her hopeful expression faded. “You didn’t find him.”
Stuart took her hand. “We put the word out over all London. The lad is sure to turn up soon. You mustn’t lose hope.”
“No.” She nodded, looking distracted. “I’ve been thinking—”
“What are you doing?” Stuart winced at his father’s growl. Beside him, Charlotte shrank a little. He turned around, keeping their clasped hands behind him. “Good evening, Terrance.”
“If you’re going to come here, behave with some civility,” snapped Terrance. “We receive guests in the drawing room.” He stood back in the drawing room doors, and Stuart led Charlotte in, trying not to drag his feet. He seated her on a chair, then took the other one for himself. Terrance sat in the middle of the sofa, his stiff leg stretched in front of him, and regarded Stuart with a cold stare.
“So. What mischief have you been causing today?”
Stuart shrugged. “Less than usual. You should be proud.”
Terrance grunted. “Why were you standing in the hall?”
“I wanted to speak to Madame Griffolino privately.”
“How many ladies have you disgraced with your private conversations?” Terrance glared at Charlotte for a moment. “Where have you been?”
Stuart sat back and draped his arms over the back of the chair, knowing it would infuriate his formal father. “Dens of iniquity and havens of vice.”
“Do not mock me!”
“I wasn’t mocking you,” said Stuart. “I was telling you what you expected to hear. I do try not to disappoint, Terrance.”
Terrance’s frigid stare switched to Charlotte. “I trust you can see, madam, that your trust in this scoundrel is highly misplaced.”
Charlotte blinked, then her eyes narrowed. “I have not been disappointed thus far.”
“You will be.” He turned to Stuart. “Was it the tables? You’re due for a loss.”
Stuart, who hadn’t wagered a pound in months, shook his head with a soft tsk. “Terrance, please. There is a lady present.”
Terrance’s suspicious eyes swung to Charlotte and back, as if questioning her gentility. Stuart sensed an insult brewing, and moved to forestall it. “I came to inquire if I might take Madame Griffolino driving on the morrow,” he said, crossing one ankle over his knee.
Terrance looked as though he were contemplating kicking Stuart’s foot back to the floor. “How dare you sit in my drawing room like a common laborer? Show some respect.”
Stuart dropped his foot. Charlotte, her face unreadable, got to her feet, forcing the gentlemen to theirs. Stuart turned to her as Terrance struggled out of his chair. “I should be delighted,” she said.
Stuart bowed. “Excellent. I shall call for you after luncheon.” If he couldn’t see her tonight, he damn well would see her tomorrow, where Terrance couldn’t follow. She met his eyes for a moment, then took a deep breath and smiled, as if she had decided something. He raised one brow slightly in question, but she gave a tiny shake of her head, and Stuart took his leave, too tired to worry about it then. Ware had already offered him the use of a rig, and the Ware horses were excellent. Tomorrow, he would take her for a long, long drive, perhaps out of London, to a quiet secluded place where he could finally have her to himself, and then ... Then he could try to discover her real feelings.
Charlotte watched him go, her blood already singing with excitement. Tomorrow, if all went well, she would conquer this stubborn, persistent attraction that threatened her sanity. Lucia had always advised her that the best way to eliminate temptation was to give in to it, and in this case, Charlotte was more than willing to try it. It was the only way to save herself from worse.
CHAPTERELEVEN
“I thought you might like to escape London for a bit,” he said the next afternoon after helping her into the carriage.
“Oh, no, I wouldn’t want to go so far.” Charlotte didn’t have the patience to wait for him to seduce her. She intended to seduce him, as soon as possible, and didn’t relish doing it alongside the road. “Shall we see the park?”
Stuart started to speak, but said nothing, clearly disappointed. “Of course.” He drove in silence for a while, guiding the restive horses through the heavy traffic.
“It’s a lovely day for a drive.” Charlotte watched the other carriages and riders. Several gentlemen raised their hats to her, and she nodded in response, but no one stopped them.
“Yes. All London comes out in fine weather.” Stuart sent the team around a stopped carriage filled with elderly ladies.
“I cannot blame them. Who would not want a long ride today?”
“Ah,” he said with interest. “Do you ride? I shall have to see about a mount for you.”
Charlotte smiled secretively. “I wish you would. It is one of my favorite things. There is nothing like a pounding gallop to refresh one’s senses, or a brisk canter
to set one’s heart racing. Even a trot can be quite stimulating.”
“I am delighted to hear that,” said Stuart, still concentrating on driving. The park was crowded, and he had to rein in the spirited horses every few minutes. “Many ladies prefer a walk, so as not to disturb their bonnets.”
“I rarely wear a bonnet,” replied Charlotte. “I prefer my hair loose and free.” Stuart said nothing, but his hands twitched on the reins. “And I’ve never found a sidesaddle pleasing. There is something exhilarating about clinging to my mount with my knees.”
He cleared his throat and sent her a sideways glance. “You ride astride, then?”
She leaned into him as they went around a bend. “I always ride astride,” she whispered. “I imagine the horse prefers it as well.”
Stuart looked at her from the corner of his eye so long he almost drove into another carriage. The other driver shouted, Stuart jerked his attention back to the horses, and the oncoming carriage passed them with inches to spare.
“Oh, my!” Charlotte laughed, leaning into his arm as she clutched at her parasol. “You know how to make it exciting.”
“I try.” His eyes flickered from the road to her to the road. “I may have a suitable mount in mind for you,” he said, turning out of the park.
“How delightful. Where is it stabled?”
“At Philip’s house. Where I am staying.”
“Lovely.” She smiled. “Would it be a terrible imposition to take a ride now?”
“Not at all.” He flicked the whip, and the horses surged forward. In minutes Stuart turned them into a mews and then into a small stable yard. He jumped down, reaching up to help her. She waited while he saw to the horses, then calmly, sedately, he escorted her into the house, where he took her pelisse in the most ordinary manner and hung it up. Charlotte looked around with interest as he shrugged out of his own coat, not surprised to see an elegant townhouse.
“Wait,” he said then, taking her face in his hands. His burning gaze roved over her features. “This was your meaning, was it not?”
“Well.” She gave him a coy, sideways look. “We did have a wager. Which you won.”
Stuart’s grip tightened. “Is that the only reason?”
Charlotte’s smile faded. Slowly, her gaze locked with his, she shook her head.
“Saints be praised,” he muttered, tossing his key and hat onto a nearby table. He grabbed her hand and led her toward the stairs. Charlotte picked up her skirt and ran after him, flushed and giddy. She felt young and reckless, having a clandestine rendezvous in the middle of the afternoon.
At the top of the stairs he stopped suddenly, catching her shoulders and pushing her back against the wall. His mouth came down on hers, hot and demanding, and Charlotte melted.
“I have wanted you for so long,” he whispered, his breath flowing over her skin. “Tell me you want me. I have to hear it.”
“I want you,” she gasped as his fingers flew down the buttons at her back, then gathered the edge of her bodice and pulled it down, exposing her breasts. At Stuart’s hiss of breath she pried open her eyes.
Slowly he sank to one knee, reaching out to cup her breasts reverently. Charlotte, who thought she had wanted him to take her fast and hard, changed her mind. This was better, much better; let it last an hour, she thought, as he bent his head and circled her nipple with his tongue. Her knees buckled, and she started to slide down the wall as he suckled.
“Stand up,” he ordered, spreading one hand over her belly to anchor her to the wall. She nodded, slumping back into the wall and arching her back to give him full access. “Just like that,” he breathed, replacing his mouth. Then his hand closed around her ankle and began sliding upward.
“Oh dear Lord,” she gasped on a bubble of hysterical laughter. “I forgot—against the wall—”
Stuart looked up. “Is that what I said?”
“Don’t you remember?” It was difficult to talk, with his hands moving over her.
He grinned. “There were so many to choose from, I couldn’t remember which fantasy I told you about.”
“So many?” His fingers reached the top of her stocking.
“Hundreds.” His voice dropped. “Thousands.” He reached higher, his eyes burning like blue flames as his fingers slid through wet curls. “My God,” he said in a rough voice. “You’re already—”
“Yes!” She pushed her hips forward, begging shamelessly. “Aren’t you?”
“More than ready,” he said, stripping off her dress with urgent efficiency. “But not here.” He led her three more steps, jerking at his cravat, then seized her for another frantic kiss. In fits and starts they stumbled down the hall, shedding clothing as they went until finally Stuart flung open a door.
All restraint fled then. Stuart ripped off the last of his clothing and grabbed her around the waist to carry her, still in her stockings and shoes, to the bed. They fell in a tangle of limbs, all but devouring each other until Stuart broke away with a gasp.
“What?” Charlotte tightened her arms around his neck. He gave a short, strangled laugh.
“Give me a moment, or I’ll end before we begin.”
“We’ve already begun.” Charlotte wriggled closer until he grabbed her hips and stilled them, and then she kissed his neck, taking little nibbling bites. Stuart quivered in her arms before turning onto his back, his lips moving as if in prayer.
Charlotte sat up, piqued. “What are you doing?”
“Kings of England,” he said without opening his eyes. “After Edward I came Edward II, disemboweled with a hot poker on the orders of his queen. Then Edward III, founder of the Order of the Garter. Next Richard II, deposed by his cousin Bolingbroke.”
“But Stuart,” she said, drawing her fingertip over his chest and down his belly, “we have all day.”
“Henry IV,” he said stubbornly, seizing her hand to keep it from going lower. “Welsh rebellion led by Owain Glyndwr.”
Charlotte sighed and rolled on top of him. His erection surged against her belly, but he kept murmuring kings. Slowly, more and more pleased with herself, Charlotte slid down, pausing when he was cradled intimately between her breasts. She did love this: the anticipation, the play at seduction and delay before the first time, the inevitable cataclysmic consummation that followed. She levered herself up onto her elbows and lifted her head. Stuart was motionless; even his lips had stopped moving. His face was almost fierce with restrained desire, the tendons of his neck taut. His body was magnificent, hard and lean and completely bare. Charlotte smiled slowly, rocking back and forth, sliding him between her bare breasts. He was hot, so hot, and smooth as satin against her.
“What are you doing?” he growled through his teeth. His hands were in fists at his sides, his knuckles bone white.
“Watch,” she said softly.
His eyes flew open and he lifted his head. “You can’t mean ...” His question faded into a moan as she took him into her mouth, closing her lips tightly and stroking with her tongue. She kept her eyes on his face, feeling a rush of desire at his thunderstruck expression as he watched her make love to him with her mouth. She had never asked a lover to watch before, but then, she had never felt so at ease with a lover. There was something about Stuart that invited confidence, something that made her feel secure.
Abruptly he shuddered, and gasped aloud. “Charlotte,” he croaked, “you can’t ... Christ in heaven ... don’t ... stop . . .” She stopped long enough to smile, then lick him slowly, and he lunged forward, bowling her over onto her back. One of his arms tangled with one of her legs, and he forced her knee up high, spreading her wide open. With one harsh breath, he drove into her, sleek and hard and slick from her tongue. Charlotte gasped, surprised in spite of herself at how exquisite he felt inside her. He shuddered in her arms, then held still for a moment. “Thank God we have all day,” he muttered, pulling back for another hard thrust, and another. Charlotte strained against him, meeting him with the same frenzy and desperation. Soon, too
soon, he convulsed in her arms, throwing back his head and going still.
He rolled onto his back, taking her with him. Charlotte cuddled against him for a moment before sitting up and easing free. He might be limp with satisfaction, but she was still as tense as a coiled spring.
“God Almighty,” he groaned. “I was told you were a wizened old woman.”
She smiled, settling her knees farther apart. “I’m not as old as you.”
He watched her fingers in fascination. “Is that a challenge?”
“If you like.” She raised one hand to caress her breast and half-closed her eyes. “Let that teach you to recite kings to me.”
“Never again,” he said. She shook her head, past speech, rushing toward climax, feeling him growing hard beneath her. After a moment, his hands grasped her waist. “Let me.” He lifted, then lowered her, thrusting up into her. Charlotte fell forward, catching herself on his chest as his thumbs slid around hers and toppled her world off its axis. He wasn’t even moving, but her whole being was centered on where their bodies joined.
“Uhhn ... oh Gahhh ... aaaaah ... there ...” She wasn’t making any sense, and Stuart loved it. Her long dark curls spilled over her shoulders, bouncing and swaying as she rode him. She was lush and tight and every bit as hot as he had expected; even more so, he corrected himself as she jerked upright, frozen in ecstasy as her body closed around his with a molten rush. When she began to collapse, he turned over again, folding her knees back to her chest and settling himself firmly atop her.
She opened her eyes a little. “Again?”
He nodded, beginning a slow but steady rhythm. “Finish what you start. Only this time, we’ll do it together.”
She wiggled, but his weight held her in place. “I can’t do anything like this.”
Caroline Linden Page 17