To Wed a Wicked Earl

by Olivia Parker

  He told her that if it weren’t for his grandmother, he’d probably be dead. ’Twas the reason he liked to make her happy whenever it was within his power to do so.

  And then, when he was done, he told his sleeping wife, in French of course, how he had loved her all along. He told her everything he knew.

  But what he could not know was that Charlotte was very much awake.

  Chapter 20

  A Gentleman takes care not to upset a Lady’s nerves.

  Hyacinth always sang in the mornings.

  Not songs one would find in a book, or even at church, for that matter. Just little songs she made up as she moved about the house to begin her day. Truly, she hummed more than sang, for they rarely had words.

  But it was a sound Charlotte had been accustomed to hearing every single morning of her life.

  Sprawling on her back in her bed, her cat’s warm, heavy body curled on her stomach, Charlotte couldn’t help but smile.

  Hyacinth was a woman of routine. She ate all her meals at the exact same time every day; she always worked on her needlepoint in the evenings, and never in any other room but the salon; and she even had the maids adhere to a tight schedule. And she always, without fail, brought Charlotte a cup of chocolate in the morning.

  Taking a deep breath, Charlotte could almost smell the delicious aroma now.

  She stretched, disturbing the cat at her belly.

  Her eyes flew open.

  “I don’t have a cat!” she yelped, jolting up in bed.

  With sleepy eyes, Rothbury looked at her with such a grumpy expression on his usual austerely handsome features, she rather thought if she weren’t so frantic, she would have laughed.

  “What are you still doing in here?”

  “Not sleeping anymore, that’s for sure.”

  “You need to get out,” she started to yell, then lowered her voice. “My mother will be in here any minute.”

  “Is it time to eat? Your stomach is growling furiously. Can I get you something?”

  She whacked him in the head with her pillow. “Rothbury, do you even know where you are? Do you even know who I am?”

  He ran a hand through his hair, eyeing her dubiously. “Susie? Joan? Margaret? Lola?”

  “Stop it,” she said, laughing. “Just get out. Get out.” She shooed him off the bed.

  And then the door handle clicked. Her mother was coming into the room.

  “Come-back-come-back-come-back,” she whispered, holding the blankets open so he could dive under them quicker.

  “I fail to see the point,” came his deep, muffled tones from under the pink coverlet. “Not only am I your husband, but your mother also still believes that I’m like your Uncle Herbert.”

  “I still do not want her to find out this way.”

  “Worried she’ll swoon?”

  “My mother doesn’t swoon.”

  The door creaked open, having been pushed by Hyacinth’s backside as she backed into the room, one hand carrying Charlotte’s chocolate, the other holding a plate of toast.

  “Good morning, my dear!” Hyacinth beamed as she strode across the room. She passed Charlotte’s bed in order to retrieve the wooden bed tray that sat on a chair near the dressing table.

  “I’ve got your chocolate, of course,” she said, now carrying the tray. She gave Charlotte’s room a quick perusal as she returned to the bed.

  On a normal day, Charlotte would have assisted her mother with the tray. On a normal day, Charlotte wouldn’t have a handsome man under her covers currently blowing hot air on her thigh.

  “I’ll take the tray,” she said, holding out her arms. She couldn’t very well let her mother place it on Rothbury’s head.

  Normally, this would be the point where Hyacinth would leave. But her mother just stood there, staring at Charlotte, her hands on her hips.

  Charlotte took an innocent bite of her toast. Not that bites of toast were notoriously guilty-looking.

  Hyacinth smiled tightly.

  Charlotte chewed.

  “Well,” her mother said, finally. “I guess I’ll go see if your father needs me.”

  Charlotte took another bite.

  Turning, Hyacinth strode out of the room, hands still on hips.

  When the door closed, Charlotte breathed a sigh of relief.

  But it was short-lived, for the door sprung open.

  Strangely, Hyacinth closed the door behind her this time. And stranger still, now her mother’s arms were crossed tightly over her chest.

  “What is it, Mother?” Charlotte asked through a mouthful of toast. She hoped to distract her mother further by spurring a stern lecture about the pure savagery of speaking with one’s mouth full.

  It didn’t work.

  “The Martins,” Hyacinth said sternly.

  Charlotte blinked. “The Martins?”

  “Yes, the Martins.”

  “Mother, are you all right? Why are you saying the neighbors’ names?”

  Hyacinth took a deep breath. “Because, my dear, the Martins came to call this morning.”

  “This early?”

  “Yes, it seems they had a thief in their garden last night.”

  Charlotte’s head started to pound.

  “And do you know what the funny thing is?”

  Charlotte shook her head.

  “This thief stole, of all things…tulips. Not unlike the ones you have on your dressing table, my dear.”

  “Are you accusing me of stealing the Martins’ flowers?”

  “No. I am not. For the Martins caught sight of just who stole their flowers before the thief dashed away. And they said that they couldn’t be sure, but they thought it was a man. The Earl of Rothbury, to be precise.”

  “How odd,” Charlotte squeaked.

  “Do you know what else is odd?”

  Charlotte shook her head.

  “That lump under your covers.”

  In the end, Hyacinth swooned. But not because Rothbury was in her daughter’s room, and not because he was now her daughter’s husband. No, she swooned once it became clear that Rothbury was not like dear Uncle Herbert in the least.

  Chapter 21

  Every Gentleman knows the most elegant way to get married is by special license.

  Three hours later, the new Countess of Rothbury was being handed up into the Faramond carriage, which would, naturally, bring her straight to her awaiting husband in a handful of minutes.

  Charlotte could hardly wait.

  After her mother’s initial shock crumbled away, they had all sat down together, including the pious Mr. Greene.

  Charlotte’s father was a bit of a homebody who busied himself with the reading and interpreting of numerous religious tracts, much to her and her mother’s dismay. He stayed with them in the town house for the Season, but never joined them at any social gatherings.

  It was her father’s reaction to the current situation that worried Charlotte the most.

  However, with Hyacinth’s calming presence, Charlotte and Rothbury explained just how their marriage had come about, adding the fact that they were both rather blissfully happy with the outcome.

  Hyacinth’s shoulders visibly relaxed, but William Greene’s countenance changed from disbelief to astonishment, and then, finally, a squinty-eyed glare aimed directly at Rothbury.

  Charlotte nearly groaned aloud, for she knew what was coming.

  William’s posture changed. He stood rigid, his chin held high.

  “We must assemble in the morning room,” he said pointedly to her new husband.

  Her father rose and after a brief hesitation, Rothbury unfolded himself from his chair as well and followed Mr. Greene from the room. He turned for a moment, glancing at Charlotte and raising his brow, but she merely shrugged innocently and waved him on.

  Poor, poor Rothbury.

  There was nothing like a stern lecture about upholding the holy vows of matrimony from a pious old man to scare away one’s new husband. It was all too bad; she rather l
iked being a married woman.

  For the next half hour, her father droned on and on. All the while, Rothbury patiently listened.

  And Charlotte knew it was patiently, for she spied on them by peeking through the crack in the door that opened to her father’s study.

  Sitting in a wing-back chair, his long legs stretched out before him, Rothbury nodded slowly at all the appropriate times, elbows on the arms of the chair, long fingers steepled.

  And then, possibly because he hadn’t had his tea yet, her father’s lecture veered wildly off course, delving into the sins of the flesh.

  Charlotte nearly groaned. But then she stopped. Quite suddenly, she realized Rothbury had found her gaze in the crack in the door. He knew she was there, listening. He winked.

  And for all her past misinterpretations of that particular gesture, she knew without a doubt just what that wink promised.

  So, it was with much anticipation that she now stepped down from the carriage and stared up at his stylish town house.

  The front door opened and Rothbury was there, looking as wickedly handsome as ever. Those hooded eyes of his burned into her with such a stark intensity, she wondered how she never noticed it before—perhaps because he was so good at hiding his feelings. He took her hands in his.

  “Welcome home, Countess,” he said warmly, bringing her hands up to his tantalizing mouth for a kiss.

  He escorted her inside the elegantly appointed foyer, his hand hot on her back the entire time.

  Lined up in the hall were all his servants waiting to meet their new mistress. Charlotte greeted them all with a warm smile. When they were finished, Rothbury dismissed them back to their duties.

  “Come,” he said, grabbing hold of her hand. “I’ll show you our rooms. Though I think you might remember the way.”

  She smiled, thinking of the last time she was in his house, sneaking in like a thief.

  First, he showed her the countess’s room, spacious and feminine, the walls covered in silk wallpaper, a pattern of tiny, lilac-colored flowers and light green vines.

  As their marriage was indeed a surprise, the room hadn’t been readied yet, and crisp white sheets yet covered all of the furniture.

  “The room will be ready for you by the end of the day, I promise. You can redecorate it if you’d like, it’s entirely your decision. But you will always, always, sleep with me in there.” He lifted his head in the direction of a connecting door on the right.

  “Even if I’m angry with you?” she quipped.

  “Yes, especially if you’re angry with me.”

  He walked her around the room, hand still held in his, leading her to the connecting door.

  Opening it, he gave her hand a tug, swinging her arm a touch, meaning her to enter first.

  Unlike the last time she was here, his bedchamber was now awash in light. The colors were masculine, deep brown and tan, offset by a splash of dark burgundy here and there.

  His huge bed crouched directly in front of where she stood. A sudden profound urge to run and jump atop it like a child came over her, but she resisted.

  “Well, it is a beautiful…”

  Her words trailed off when she felt his fingers quickly, expertly, undoing the row of buttons running down the back of her berry-colored day dress.

  She swallowed hard, a profound desire welled up within her instantly, making her feel overheated and shaky.

  Roughly, he tugged her dress down. She helped by pulling her arms through the sleeves. He slid her chemise off next, untying her corset, while she yanked off her gloves and kicked off her shoes. Soon she stood naked before him, wearing nothing but her spectacles, stockings, and…her bonnet.

  She giggled, reaching up to untie the ribbon.

  “No, wait,” he said, darkly, turning her around to face him. “Always in my imagination…I’ve waited for this sight.”

  She watched as his throat convulsed. His chest rising powerfully, his eyes hooded and focused as he stared at her body. He raised his hand, brushing the backs of his fingers against her breast.

  Charlotte was a little surprised to see that his hand shook a little.

  He stepped closer to her, his chest brushing her hardened nipples. It felt so deliciously wicked being practically naked and he still so properly dressed.

  He tipped her chin up and pressed a soft kiss on her lips. Pulling back, he looked into her eyes, “Charlotte, I never thought for a second that this moment would come. Had I, I would have chased you relentlessly from the start. I never thought I’d win you. I’ve loved you for so long.”

  Her heart soared. He sank his mouth atop hers, his lips slowly moving over her mouth with such tenderness, it made her heart ache.

  She reached up, threading her fingers in his tawny hair and moaning into his mouth when his tongue dipped languorously inside. Their bodies pressed tightly together, his hands holding her backside to the hard knot of his arousal, grinding her into him.

  Moaning, she pulled impatiently at his clothes, wanting to see him naked, wanting to feel skin upon skin, but he denied her. His fingers now roamed over her back, at the nape of her neck, knocking her bonnet askew.

  The kiss seemed to go on forever, so slowly escalating into an almost ferocious onslaught. She felt as if she were on fire. Boldly she rubbed her breasts against his shirt, a silent plea for him to touch her.

  His hand now came to a stop at her shoulders. He broke the kiss as he set her away from him, his eyes glistening with passion as his gaze raked over her entire body.

  Both of them breathing heavily, he smoothed his warm hands over her breasts, squeezing them, running his thumbs over the pebbled tips.

  She grabbed the top of his head and pushed him down.

  Gladly, Rothbury licked at them, suckled them, savoring the feel of her in his mouth. She shuddered and he moaned.

  He couldn’t wait any longer. He had to taste her. All of her.

  Dropping to his knees before her, he loved her, worshiped her with his mouth, kissing her stomach, her hips, her thighs, and finally reaching her moist, intimate center.

  She cried out his name and he knew she was shocked at his behavior, but he didn’t care.

  He devoured her, holding her tightly against his mouth as he drank of her.

  Alternating between swirls of his tongue and long, languid licks, he let her moans and sighs be his guide to pleasuring her. Her body shook and he knew she was close. He quickened his movements.

  He slid his hands from her bottom around to her waist, and to her rib cage. Reaching her breasts, he plucked at her nipples while he suckled the tiny nubbin of flesh hidden in her folds.

  She screamed. And he continued his sweet torture until her knees buckled.

  He caught her to him. Holding her close he carried her to his bed, his cock so fiendishly hard he thought he’d go mad if he didn’t take her at that moment.

  In a stunningly short amount of time, he rid himself of his clothes and joined her on the bed. Her legs spread for him and he sank himself between her thighs.

  Her limbs shaking, Charlotte wrapped her legs around his waist and eagerly met her husband’s lips for a kiss.

  His body was simply magnificent, she thought, running her hands down his muscled back, over the hard muscles of his arms and chest.

  Reaching between their bodies, she shyly touched his arousal. Hot and hard, but smooth at the same time. She squeezed the tip.

  He broke their kiss to take a big gulp of air.

  “Did I hurt you?” she asked appalled that she should have done such a thing at a time like this.

  His eyes shut tight, he shook his head quickly, pressing his lips together.

  “Rothbury,” she whispered. “I need to feel you inside of me again.”

  His eyes fluttered open, then met her gaze. Staring into her eyes, he positioned himself at her opening, then with one hand at her hip, he entered her slowly at first, thinking she must be tender from the day before.

  She arched against him, silen
tly giving him leave to enter more fully.

  And he did, then, nearly losing himself in that second.

  Together they began to move, their rhythm steady and firm. Soon her moans grew more desperate and her heels pressed into his buttocks.

  He increased the pace, pumping into her wildly now, determined to bring them both to utter bliss.

  And when they did, he groaned her name over and over. “Charlotte…my Charlotte…”

  They clung together for long minutes, until their breathing slowed, until their hearts steadied, until they both fell into a deep satisfied sleep.

  When Charlotte awoke, moonlight was pouring in through the tall windows across the room. Rothbury lay next to her on his stomach, his arms folded under his pillow.

  Her stomach growled painfully. For a second she thought of waking Rothbury and asking him where the kitchens were located, but instead decided to find them for herself.

  She kissed his back. He muttered something incoherent.

  Sliding from the bed, she tiptoed to the connecting door and stepped inside the adjoined room. Surprisingly, the room was shrouded in shadows, but she was able to locate her bags.

  Looking through them, she quickly found a nightdress and robe and dressed.

  Quietly, she slipped into the hall. Her stomach growled so loudly just then, she feared she might have awoken everyone in the house.

  Terribly hungry, she made her way down the stairs, hoping she could find the kitchens in the dark.

  At the bottom of the stairs, the pungent scent of roses filled the air.

  Charlotte crinkled her nose as she turned down a hallway toward the back of the house. There must be a vase of them nearby, she pondered. And by the smell of them, they had long since bloomed and needed to be thrown out.

  But the further she walked, the stronger the smell became.

  Up ahead, a patch of white sat on the floor. On closer inspection, Charlotte realized it was a sheet of paper. There was writing on it. She bent to pick it up.