Absolute Surrender

by LeBlanc, Jenn

  “I will happily do laundry every day for the remainder of my life if it’s anything like the laundry we did yesterday,” Charles said, knowing what he said was the truth. He looked to Amelia. “You truly are beautiful today.”

  She smiled genially as she smoothed her hair back and twisted it down over her shoulder. “So I’ve been told.”

  “Well, then you know it must be true,” Charles replied. He shifted again in his seat as she watched. Her mouth dropped open slowly, and she looked as though she were considering something important. For his part, he couldn’t wait to learn what it was.

  “Is there anything I can do for you?” she asked quietly.

  Charles looked at her, surprise surely plain on his face. He realized he was staring at her mouth, and his bollocks tightened further. He looked away. He shifted in the chair again uncomfortably. Then he looked back up to her eyes. She was pure innocence. She’d no idea the power she held, or the visions she created in his mind with her simple words.

  The idea of her innocence was like a bucket of ice water to his groin, and he groaned with the sheer force of it, looking to the floor to attempt to gather his composure. Charles really was in a deal of pain. The pressure in his bollocks was becoming close to unbearable. He knew then, that when he finally did come, it would not merely be a force…but almost sheer pain. The erection he’d posted earlier could have buckled his knees had he not been a strong man, but he was thankful that, at the moment, he sat.

  “No, Amelia.” Was that his voice? It sounded so feral to his ears. Charles would deal with his bollocks later on his own, if need be, and the need would be, no doubt. Until then, he would simply deal with this pain.

  “Is there something wrong?” she asked sweetly.

  As she spoke, another sharp spear rent his spine and landed in his cods.

  She seemed to be taking stock of him. Looking for damage somewhere that perhaps she could fix. If any other woman had said that to him in that tone, he would have thought her evil…but he knew Amelia to be honest.

  Charles shook his head. “Nothing of immediate consequence. Nothing to bother yourself with.” He attempted to smile then but knew his smile looked strained. From the corner of his eye, he could see Hugh was enjoying this a bit too much. Hugh’s elbow rested on the table, his hand covering his mouth, his eyes wide, as he also watched Amelia. Charles attempted to ignore him.

  Amelia’s eyes widened, and her hands fell to her lap. Charles knew she was about to say something improper, because her eyes were darting about the room, as if to work up a bit of nerve. Charles watched as her mouth dropped open. “Hugh mentioned an issue…with your mettle.”

  He heard Hugh cough, choke on the bite of eggs he had in his mouth, hoped that the eggs went down the wrong pipe. Charles’s throat tightened, and he nearly spit his coffee out, which would have been a great travesty, as good as the coffee was. “That isn’t something we’re going to discuss,” he choked out.

  “There seems to be quite a bit you don’t wish to discuss with me. I grow weary of the things you don’t wish to discuss with me,” Amelia said, and Charles felt like an ass.

  Hugh cleared his throat and stood, gathering their used plates. “Well, on that note I’m going to take these dishes out to wash, and see how much damage we did to the tub yesterday.”

  Charles shifted in his seat. They were silent as they watched Hugh walk from the Cliff House, and the door clicked shut quietly. They both stared at the closed door for a moment, then Charles turned to her. She seemed to be deciding on something, so he started. “I…well, Amelia, it’s a bit discomfiting. You’re an innocent, regardless of what’s passed here already. You’re innocent. I wouldn’t wish to ruin you, and this process…” Charles took a deep breath to stop the maundering, pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m frightened of a great many things—as well,” he said, attempting to control the timbre of his voice. It only came out stiff and uncomfortable, and he hoped she wasn’t put off by it. He needed to think on something else. “Hugh loves you.”

  “I’m aware,” she whispered.

  “I wasn’t,” Charles answered plainly. “He’s explained as much…but the reality of it—” Charles shook his head. “This has all become incredibly complicated.”

  “Yes, it’s become incredibly complicated. Can you do something for me?” Amelia asked quietly.

  “Whatever you wish.” Charles looked into her eyes, and his attention was entirely palpable. She felt his look as she’d felt his hands yesterday, on her breast and her quim, his breath on her neck, his teeth and tongue on her back. She felt him everywhere, as though he’d marked her, and one simple glance was all it would take to recall that branding of her flesh. Amelia knew then, regardless of the physical status of her maidenhead, she was already ruined. She struggled to continue.

  “I understand there’s much to discuss. I understand we’ve a great deal of questions, all needing answers…” She paused and drew a breath, her skin tightening as his shirt rubbed all the wrong places on her. Charles was still watching her, and his gaze was unnerving. Amelia held on to his shirt, as though the fabric held her to the moment, which seemed to extend for a very long time. As it happened, intimacy was much more powerful than she’d ever expected. These men weren’t merely in her mind but her body, and the farther they got into her body, the further they went into her mind.

  She was virtually stripped and laid bare. Like they were standing over the ruins of her, examining in stark detail everything that made her who she was, all of her secrets. She pictured herself naked on the bed, Hugh and Charles with magnifying lenses, examining every detail and discussing their predicament logically over her—with no emotion.

  “Amelia—”

  She looked up to find Charles…the same look on his face that he’d just had in her daydream, the one that was attempting to figure out some puzzle.

  “Where’s Hugh?” she asked, as though she’d been sitting in thought for hours.

  “He’s still outside,” Charles said quietly. The funny thing was, it didn’t seem to bother him that she’d asked about the other man, and it had always bothered him to speak of Hugh before now. It seemed to her that they were taking all these giant strides, when in reality they were small steps.

  “Lie with me?” she asked quietly.

  Charles shifted, as though his body was so willing it nearly overpowered his conscious mind, then he stood slowly, his eyes never leaving her.

  “Hugh is nearby, somewhere. There’s nothing to fear,” she said, considering what his hesitation may involve.

  “It isn’t merely that I worry about the effect I have on you, Amelia,” Charles said quietly.

  “I understand that you think I should be with him alone at this point because he can control me. Has it ever occurred to you that what you do to me…that the feelings I have with you are just as important? Even as uncontrollable as they seem to you?”

  Charles shook his head as he pulled her from her chair, led her to the bed, and laid her down. Then he leaned in, one hand pushing into the bed beside her. Then one knee. He lay next to her, his shirt and trousers between them, even as they were, him with his trousers, she with his shirt.

  “Tell me, then, about these feelings,” he said.

  Amelia closed her eyes and concentrated on him. “I feel your breath against my shoulder. I know what you’re looking at even when my eyes are closed, because I can feel you breathe. My body…my body reacts to every breath. My heart…it’s as though my heart knows you and wishes to leave my body to get to you,” she said.

  “What am I looking at now?” he asked.

  Her breath left her in a rush. “My temple,” she said.

  Charles tugged the buttons loose from the shirt, then pulled the neck of the shirt slowly open across her chest. Her nipples raised and tightened, her body’s applause, its acquiescence to his ministrations. The sensations were twofold, because as he separated the neck of the shirt, the bottom rose from where the hem had covered
her, and a chill raced the skin over her abdomen. The mattress dipped and swayed around her as he shifted his very heavy body over her, yet not touching her with anything more than his breath.

  “And now?” Charles asked.

  She shuddered in response, trying to discern where his body was. Where his hands were, his legs, the rest of him, but all she could feel was his breath.

  “Amelia, what am I looking at now?” Charles groaned.

  “My…my breasts.” Her voice wavered as if she wasn’t too sure, but it was his proximity that had her confused. The bed shifted around her again, and she heard fabric tearing, then his shirt was open all the way to the hem, leaving her practically bare for him, a mere few remaining threads holding it together. She pulled her knees up, but they didn’t move far, meeting with his rear end as he hovered above her, straddling her. So that’s where he is. She let her knees fall to the side.

  “What am I looking at now, Amelia?” Charles’s voice was dark. Every inch of her skin reacted to it, but her mind stilled as she concentrated on what he was asking instead of what he was doing.

  “My belly.”

  His hand eased her legs straight then, beneath him, and her heart sped.

  “Amelia.” The sound was low, physically, audibly, against her most intimate parts. Charles’s breath and the ghost of a kiss coasted across one hip and then the other. Then he placed a kiss there, at the crux of her thighs, where Hugh had kissed her so intimately yesterday, and her mind swirled, began that march to spinning, and she did her level best to make the spinning stop.

  “Charles,” she said quietly, reaching for him.

  Charles moved up the bed next to her, stretching out against her frame, his warm skin against hers.

  “Amelia, do you realize that’s the first time you’ve ever called for me when you…”

  She opened her eyes, startled by his realization, and Charles was right there, looking into her face, watching.

  “You knew. You could tell?”

  He nodded.

  “Charles.” She reached for him then, turned toward him because she had to feel him under her hand. She held her hand between their chests first, the fingers gently curled, as though her hand waited for direction. Her eyes left his and stared at her hand, deciding what instructions to give. Then her hand flattened against his chest, her thumb smoothing the dark hair, and she looked back up into his gaze. Charles’s eyes weren’t focused, and she let her gaze travel over his features. Charles didn’t touch her.

  She pushed at his chest, and his back met the bed. Then her hand skimmed down that warm chest, swirling here and there around a mound of hard muscle, watching that muscle dance beneath his skin, shudder against her fingers.

  Her thumb found the edge of Charles’s trousers first, and he shifted, groaned, sounded quite concerned as the whole of him tensed.

  “I just want to…” She saw his head shake.

  “I’m at your mercy…but, please, I’m not entirely sure I can survive—”

  She cut him off, smoothing her hand down his length, and he nearly doubled in half.

  “Is this painful?” she asked.

  Charles looked at her and nodded, his hand pulling hers away from his manhood.

  “Why is this painful? I would think if there was pain, men wouldn’t—”

  Charles’s face was strained, and for a moment, she didn’t think he would answer her.

  “Amelia, I am…stalled. I’ve been in want of you…in that very specific way, for quite some time. As a result, I—”

  “Your mettle is backed up,” she said the words plainly when they popped into her head. That’s what Hugh had said. She watched as he closed his eyes and breathed very slowly. “Is there something I can do to help? I don’t like to see you in pain.” Charles’s eyes opened on her, and she knew he would refuse to allow her this service of him. “Hugh allowed me to—”

  “Amelia…the more we discuss my issue, the worse it becomes…please—” He still held her wrist, preventing her touching him.

  “I happen to know that feeling.” She pushed up from the bed and straddled him. As she sank down, her naked quim rubbing against the fall of his trousers, she could feel, for the first time, the true size of him cradled just where it was meant to be, before he grabbed her hips and lifted her slightly.

  “Maypole.”

  What now? Charles thought. Amelia had both of her hands covering her mouth, her eyes terrified at the word that had spilled forth. He had no idea why.

  “May…pole?” Charles repeated. His fingers were digging into her hips, the muscles of his arms vibrating as he held her above him to keep her from sinking down fully on his painful cock and bollocks. If he’d been anywhere but here, he would have alleviated the problem himself at some point…but here he hadn’t had an opportune moment to get himself off.

  Amelia’s eyes widened, and her fingers paled in their tension against her mouth.

  “Amelia, I don’t understand what—”

  Hugh re-entered the Cliff House then, a bundle of laundry in his arms. “Maypole,” Hugh said with a grin. “She’s sitting on yours.” His head tilted. “Well, she’s attempting to, at any rate.”

  God’s blood. Must Hugh bring his mind back to the pained ache in his belly like that? Charles was beginning to think Hugh’s comments intentional. Certainly they were.

  He watched as Hugh placed the laundry on the table without another word. Then Charles looked up to Amelia, who was incredibly pale. She looked terrified, and he needed to protect her. Charles pulled her forward to her knees, then brought the edges of his shirt closed across her chest. He then gathered her up against himself and held her, still attempting to keep her from brushing the painful cockstand in his trousers.

  “Hugh?” Charles questioned.

  “Tea,” Hugh replied. Apparently they weren’t to discuss this at the moment.

  Charles sat up, shifted Amelia, then stood and carried her to the chairs before the fireplace. He sat and brought her with him to his lap, not quite ready to let her go in this moment. Charles could feel the slight tremors, but they also eased as he neared Hugh. It surprised him that the realization didn’t bother him, when yesterday he’d been willing to let her go because of it. It was as though she were hiding in plain sight, perfectly quiet and still, avoiding eye contact. Charles wasn’t entirely sure how to reassure her that he wasn’t bothered by what she’d done, whatever she might have meant by it.

  “A maypole, is it, then?” Charles asked finally, smoothing the hair from her face. “I’m…flattered.”

  She closed her eyes and hid her face in his neck, and he looked at Hugh for direction.

  “A maypole. Our dearest Amelia has a copy of Fanny Hill. I believe that’s what she was reading when we arrived yesterday,” Hugh said.

  She shook against Charles’s lap, which wasn’t exactly helping his issue, but she didn’t open her eyes or look at him.

  “Well, how on earth did you manage to find yourself a copy of that book? It’s…not merely illicit, it’s banned,” Charles said. He smiled but knew the tension in his voice from his cods colored his emotions.

  Hugh spoke. “I read Fanny Hill when I was quite young. I happen to have a couple of copies, in fact. You could have asked me, Amelia. I’m glad you managed to find it, but I find myself curious as to how you did so as well.” Hugh’s voice was so light and gentle.

  Charles tried to calm his nerves so he could match it. At least his erection was waning, receding back to the dull ache centered in his bollocks.

  Hugh stirred a cup of tea, blew across the top of the tea and brought the cup to her mouth as Charles nudged her with his shoulder so she would see it. Charles watched as she sipped, her mouth cautious on the lip of the teacup. Hugh’s hands were careful as they tipped the cup toward her. Charles suddenly realized that he loved watching this interaction between her and Hugh. Charles loved being a part of it. Perhaps he could learn this intimacy from being close to them, as he’d learned about
happiness so long ago. Being included was something he’d never been when they were children. When they were younger Charles had always been an interloper, a watcher, never invited, just…there.

  Now…they were wrapped around him. Hugh had one hand on the back of the chair Charles sat in, steadying himself as he leaned in, tipping that delicate cup to her to drink from. Charles saw the steam from the tea drift toward him as he took a sudden breath on the realization of their complicity. Charles couldn’t leave her, no matter if he loved her. Charles wanted and needed her in his life. More than desperately. It was quite selfish of him.

  He closed his eyes and thought back to yesterday, when they’d all been together. There’d been nothing disturbing about what they’d done. They’d worked in tandem for her. Could they continue this way? Charles needed a duchess who was to be the figurehead of his household. Charles couldn’t share her with another man. There was no way for them to be together like this beyond today, tomorrow, the next day—whenever this lingering here at the Cliff House ended—and that thought saddened him.

  Charles leaned into her neck, breathed of her as the tendons of her throat moved as she swallowed the tea. He concentrated on being here. Now. If they only had these moments together, Charles wanted to feel them, to be here with both of them, to feel her peace in the way he knew he would never feel with her when they were alone—because he knew that Hugh was an integral part of her peace. Because he knew he didn’t love Amelia in the same way Hugh did, though he believed this burgeoning care he had for her might be some semblance of love, whereas before it had been merely the want of her.

  Charles understood now just how integral Hugh truly was. Charles also understood why he’d been turned away when he’d begun to court her in earnest. Why, after they’d gone off to school and returned only on breaks, Hugh was allowed to stay while Charles was sent away. Now that he’d seen this, this powerful part of her, had seen how the episode had begun, how it progressed, how it felt to his hands and even his heart, Charles understood that he’d been turned away every time she’d become distressed because her mother hadn’t wanted him to bear witness. Her mother had treated her issue like a dirty inconvenience. The truth was, her mind was one of the most beautiful things about her.