by Sahara Kelly
Instead of ending the conversation, however, the stranger met Charis’ setdown with a muffled chuckle. “Easily remedied.” The curricle drew even with Charis, and the horses matched her pace, held in check by a firm hand. “I’m St. John Randall.” Sinjun, he pronounced it, Charis noted. “And you are?”
“Going to ignore you.” Charis gritted her teeth and marched on, refusing to be distracted by the fine pair of horses beside her.
“Oh, come now. It’s a lovely day, the birds are singing, we’re basking in the sunshine. What’s the harm in telling me your name?”
Oh, good heavens. Charis closed her eyes, briefly counted to ten, and turned to look at him, responding to his friendly banter in spite of her reservations. “The harm, sir, is that should you use my name without an introduction, you’d be doing us both a disservice. And God knows I don’t need any more fuss and bother around me, thank you. And another thing. . . .”
What the other thing might have been hung in the air as Charis got her first real glimpse of Mr. St. John Randall. He was smiling at her with eyes the color of rich, clover honey— brown and gold in the sunshine. His hair was almost the same golden shade, dappled here and there with lighter streaks, and pulled back casually to the nape of his neck. His teeth were white, his attire neat to a pin, and he took Charis’ breath away, replacing it with a sharp and unexpected jolt of sexual awareness.
For about thirty seconds.
She cleared her throat. “And. . . and. . . another thing. . . ” Damnation! What was the other thing? Her first glimpse of him had wiped coherent thought from her mind. “Oh yes. I don’t talk to strange men.”
“I’m not strange. Actually I’m rather boring. Dull even. Ask my friends, they’ll tell you.” He grinned, and assumed a decadently casual accent. “Frightfully boring fellow, that Sinjun. Straight as an arrow.”
Charis managed to stop the tiny smile that wanted to curl her lips. “Well, this has been a delightful interlude, Mr. Randall. However, I’m sure you want to be on your boring way, so. . . .” She waved him down the road, dismissing him.
“Can’t do it.” He shook his head. “Can’t leave a lovely young lady alone in the wilds of Hampshire. Never know what sort of cad may be lurking behind the hedgerows, you know.”
Charis rolled her eyes. “I doubt there’s a cad within ten miles. Unless you lied about being boring.” She lifted an eyebrow at him, noticing his quick grin at her words.
“Come now. Tell me your name, then I can move on to part two of my morning’s activities.”
Curious, Charis couldn’t help herself. “Part two?”
“Getting you up here with me, and taking you wherever it is you’re going.” He patted the cushioned seat next to him. “It’s my first time out in this curricle, you know. It won’t be half so much fun if I don’t get to show it off to somebody.”
Charis sighed as she looked at the gorgeous grays harnessed to the shining vehicle. “That is a splendid pair of matched tits.” Using the stable term unconsciously, she glanced up as Sinjun’s gaze drifted to her breasts.
“Yes, they are, aren’t they?”
Doing her best to ignore the heat she knew was probably coloring her cheeks, she turned back to the grays. “Sweet goers, too, probably?”
“Indubitably. Under the right touch, of course.”
“Yours, I presume?”
“I’m beginning to think so, yes.”
Charis blinked, wondering if the conversation had gone off track. Riding behind these beauties in this lovely curricle was a really strong inducement to set aside her upbringing, toss caution to the winds, and obey an impulse for the first time in ages. And it would put a lot more distance between her and Aunt Margaret, which would be important. As long as she started to watch for gypsy signs once she reached Lark’s Cross. . . .
“Oh, well. You win.” She held out her hand for Sinjun to help her into the curricle. “If you can take me as far as Lark’s Cross, I’ll be very grateful.”
“Happy to.” He smiled and flicked the reins. “And your name?”
“Charis.”
“Mmm. I like that. It means grace in Greek, you know.”
“So I’ve been told. Sadly, I never quite managed to live up to it.” She leaned back with a sigh and removed her bonnet, letting her cloak drop to the seat as the horses picked up speed. “By God, I knew it. Those are truly awesome tits.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
Compromising Charis:
Chapter Two
St. John Richard Mountford Randall the Third, was enjoying himself enormously. Fate, in the rotund shape of his meddling Aunt Susan, had conspired to deliver his potential bride into his hands.
“Take a trip to nowhere, Sinjun,” she’d told him. “Clear your mind for a day or so. And think seriously about your future, you irritating man. You will have to marry, you know. You might not have an estate the size of the Devonshire’s, but still. . . .”
He’d not considered marriage for a long time, not after losing his delicate first wife to the ague. Certainly a time of grief, but on those few occasions when he’d forced himself to be brutally honest, the sadness had been tempered with a sense of inevitability. His wife had been chosen for him as was the custom. Her passing was a tragedy, but hadn’t affected him as deeply as perhaps it should have.
If he’d been desperately in love with her. . . . Well, he wasn’t desperately in love with the woman his aunt had selected this time around, either. He hadn’t even met her. But that was for the best. He’d drifted along the path opened for him, intending to offer his name, and his seed to the newest candidate, father the required number of offspring, and generally fulfill his obligations to continue the line.
“She’s not your typical giggling girl. I wouldn’t do that to you.” Aunt Susan had toyed with her gown in an unusual display of tension. “In fact, she has a slight um. . . reputation. Nothing that can’t be overcome by a solid marriage, of course.” She sighed. “But I’ve also heard she’s attractive, a bit headstrong, and quite intelligent. You could do worse. Plus the settlements are hefty. And that won’t hurt the family coffers.”
He’d snorted, but then wondered if his aunt was right. And finally, lacking the energy or the inclination to do otherwise, he’d given in. Agents had taken care of the business, concluding matters scarcely a se’nnight before. Thus sending him on this last journey as a single man, away to his friend George’s snug country seat for a brief respite, and a weekend of self-contemplation. He wasn’t planning on getting wildly drunk or roaming the grounds naked in search of eager, wanton women. He’d simply felt he needed time to think about his future.
And in that respect he was somewhat unusual for his gender.
Not many gentlemen of his acquaintance did that. Not while sober, anyway. But then again, at this moment, he wasn’t feeling terribly gentlemanly. He was simply watching the woman next to him, and enjoying the convoluted workings of fate.
A gentleman would have pointed out that his new friend was on the wrong road for Lark’s Cross. And then revealed his identity the instant he recognized her unique name. A gentleman would also have returned Miss Charis to the bosom of her family, there to await his formal proposal of marriage.
He smiled. Gentlemen must lead awfully dull lives.
“So.” His hands relaxed on the reins as he began the conversation. “I’m going to take a guess and assume I’m assisting in an escape of sorts.”
She glanced at him, eyes wide, innocent, and very blue. “What on earth makes you think so?”
“The bag. The dusty shoes. Not to mention the traveling cape. You’re not going for a short stroll down to the village.”
She signaled his accuracy with a slight nod of her head. “Observant, I’ll give you that.”
“Meeting a lover?”
“Good God, no.” She denied that assumption vehemently. “Avoiding one, if you must know.”
“Indeed?” He infused the question with curiosity and inte
rest, along with a dash of sympathy. It worked.
“I refuse to marry a lackwit.” She nodded decisively. “Intolerable.”
Sinjun swallowed, and battled a frisson of anger. He was not a bloody idiot. But then the absurdity of the situation struck him and his ever-present sense of humor came to his rescue. “A lackwit? Surely not.”
She shrugged, and within moments the story was laid bare. Or at least her version of it. “So you see, he’s probably an old, drooling imbecile. Or worse.”
“There’s worse?”
She ignored the comment. “I expect he only wants me as a broodmare anyway. Isn’t that why men marry? To get heirs?” She turned and looked at him. “Can you think of any other reason?”
“Um… well….” Sinjun thought about that for a few moments. “Perhaps he needs the settlements.”
Charis shrugged. “By the way of the world, naturally. They must be quite hefty to induce him to offer for me.” She faced forward, her eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “There is one thing I omitted to mention.”
“Oh?”
Her slender throat moved as she gulped. “I’m ruined, you see.”
“Ah.” Sinjun stifled a grin. Had he not known about her, he would have been shocked. Or at least surprised at her admission. As it was, he simply wondered at her defiant posture. Almost as if she was challenging the world to censure her actions. He kept his response noncommittal. “Would that be ruined as in penniless? Because you don’t look ruined as in a twelfth-century sacked church.”
She flashed him a glare. “You’re making light of my situation.”
“Until I fully understand, I’m not sure how to react or what to say.”
Charis sighed. “Are you married, sir?”
“I was. Once.” He felt his mouth tighten as it always did when this topic arose. “She died.”
Her silence as she digested his words, and then the brief brush of her hand on his arm touched him more than her commonplace response. “I’m sorry. My sympathies.”
“It was a long time ago. I prefer not to dwell on it.”
“I see.” She nodded. “A wise course.”
“Indeed.” He leaned back, letting the horses slow to a walk. “So this ruination of yours. . . . ?” He wondered at his own curiosity. To his astonishment, he found himself on the verge of caring about what she might say. That it should matter to him, after such a short time in her company, was a surprise indeed. He didn’t quite know what to make of it.
Her fingers twisted together awkwardly, the only outward sign of her discomfort at the direction of their conversation. “Having been once wed, I assume you are familiar with the. . . the intimate nature of marriage?”
“Ah, yes.” My, this was getting interesting, and not unlike the air before a thunderstorm hits, Sinjun’s emotions felt taut and edgy. The last thing he’d anticipated this morning was finding himself in the company of his future wife, discussing improper matters of a sexual nature.
He wouldn’t have imagined he could find such a conversation arousing in the extreme. But it was. She was reaching into him and caressing a place he had thought long quiescent. He watched her eyes, marveling at how expressive they could be when she forgot to school her expressions.
“And the fact that women aren’t supposed to know anything about them?” Charis’ cheeks colored, and she refused to meet his gaze for a moment or two. But then she lifted her head once more as she awaited his answer.
“I’ve heard rumors.”
“Well. So. I didn’t quite conform to that belief.”
“A silly theory, isn’t it?”
“Utterly stupid.” She stared at him, eyes ablaze. “Why shouldn’t a woman experience the pleasures of the marriage bed? And if she anticipates her vows a little, should it be the end of the world? Men can tomcat around, and they’re applauded for it. But if a woman should have desires—needs—she’s ruined.”
“The idiot refused to marry you, I take it?”
A brief flicker of sorrow crossed her face. “He never got the chance to make a formal offer, even though we had an understanding. My father had him shipped off to France. "Not good enough for the Forbes-Wilkinsons," he'd said. "No fortune or lands. Napoleon’s troops wrote the final page of my downfall.” She sighed. “And after that, I was tainted goods, so I was exiled until the scandal had died down, and someone could manage to overlook my fall from grace. Which brings us back to the lackwit.”
Sinjun appreciated her need to put such a sad event in the past, and decided offering his condolences would accomplish nothing. He followed her lead. “Ah, yes. The lackwit. He’s overlooking this problem, is he?”
“Apparently so. They want me to tie myself to a man I don’t even know for the rest of my life. To be a dutiful wife to a chucklehead who clearly either wants to marry into my family—something which immediately sets up my hackles—or has gone through four wives already in pursuit of an heir.”
“Four wives? Really?”
She waved his comment aside. “You know what I mean.”
He did. “‘Tis the way of our world, as I’m sure you know. A man does prefer that his first child, most probably his heir, is indeed the fruit of his own loins.”
Charis nodded. “I understand that. But it’s the whole business of branding a woman, yet praising a man that sticks in my craw. Do women have no rights? Your children are the fruits of our wombs. Physically, it takes you five minutes. It takes us nine months. And the rest of our lives. For one moment of. . . bliss. But you know something?” She gestured with her hands. “I’m not ashamed to admit that I enjoyed it.”
A jolt of surprised delight rattled through Sinjun, settling in his groin where it purred happily, and added to a growing discomfort. “Really? Good for you.”
Recalled to her surroundings, Charis subsided with a blush. “Forgive me, Mr. Randall. This is an extremely improper conversation. I apologize if I’ve embarrassed you.”
Sinjun, who was enjoying himself a hell of a lot more than he’d imagined when he’d started out that morning, shook his head. “Not at all, Miss Charis. I’m a man, thus immune to embarrassment.”
“You see? You can listen to all this and not get your petticoats in a twist.” She wrinkled her nose. “All right, you’re not wearing petticoats. But the point is. . . .” She leaned toward him for emphasis. “The point is, you can admit you enjoy. . . things, and not get horrified gasps when you say so. You can spend the night with whomever you please, doing whatever you want, and nobody would dare to call you ruined. . . .” Charis’ voice tapered off, and a thoughtful expression descended over her face.
Sinjun watched, fascinated, wondering what might pop out of this delightful woman’s mouth next? So far, she’d managed to surprise and entertain him a great deal. And it was still early.
“I say. . . .” She shifted on the seat of the curricle, her thigh brushing his, probably by accident, although he could wish it were on purpose. “You’re not married or engaged or anything at this moment, are you?”
“No, not at this moment.” Which was accurate, but not as precise as he should’ve been. Ignoring the opportunity to clarify his identity, he simply waited.
“Hmm.” She tugged her full lower lip between her teeth as she thought intensely about something.
Sinjun found himself wanting to do the same thing. Tug her lower lip between his teeth. Her hair glowed with reddish lights in the morning sun. Her skin was daintily freckled and that mouth—ah, it was decadence made flesh.
Lips that were ripe and full betrayed a sensual nature, and by God, Sinjun could damn near feel them wrapped snugly around his cock.
She blinked, then turned her blue eyes to his face. “If you’re not busy this morning, do you think you might possibly be able to ruin me some more?”
* * * *
Charis, my girl, you’ve run completely mad.
The thought flashed through her mind even as her mouth spoke the fateful words.
But, she dismissed them instantly. This Sinjun Randall looked like, well, delectable was a good description. He’d betrayed a quick sense of humor which Charis found appealing. Even more, he had two fabulous horses—a strong point in his favor—and lovely eyes.
She found him unexpectedly attractive both physically and personally. This surprised her since she’d not anticipated such a reaction to a man. Certainly not one she’d met only an hour before. Had she been given to a more romantic turn of phrase, she might well have declared herself entranced.
He was a horseman, handsome, worldly, kind. Some time spent exploring her physical nature with him might well prove to be enlightening and delightful. Her breasts tingled at the thought of his hands upon them. If he was as gentle with a woman as he was with his horses. . . .
Of course, he might be violent. There were a hundred horrid scenarios that could arise. If her aunt caught up with her she would be doomed. She might disappear off the face of the earth after he’d finished with her poor body. Or she could find herself sold into white slavery, and toiling under the burning sun for a wicked sheikh with a name she couldn’t pronounce.
But, overriding all these considerations was the fact that if she was ruined again, the lackwit would doubtless withdraw his offer. She would be free. There would be other repercussions, but the thought of shedding the restrictions placed on her by Aunt Margaret, well, she could see no other course of action.
“Of course, if it’s inconvenient, I shall completely understand.” Her hands trembled a little at the utter shamelessness of her suggestion.
“I might be willing to consider it.” His voice was still friendly, not horrified, shocked, or disapproving. “I happen to be on my way to a friend’s country home. It’s not far from here. I have business in the area and he’s away. Do you think that would suit?”
She gulped. “You would do this?”
Something heated flashed behind his brown eyes. “Of course. How could I refuse a lady’s request for assistance?”
“It’s not the ordinary sort of thing, you know. Not. . . um. . .carrying my packages for me, or signing my dance card for the waltz. . . .”