“Charlotte,” he breathed. “You’ve no idea…” He leaned in and kissed her, his hands moving to her shoulders, where his fingers slipped beneath the fabric of her gown, pushing it down along her arms until it wouldn’t go any farther without being unfastened. He trailed kisses down her neck to her collarbone, and along the exposed skin of one shoulder.
“I’ve no idea what?” she asked in a shaky voice, desperate to know his thoughts just then.
“How much I want you,” he said, straightening again. “Now turn around so I can attend to my duties as your lady’s maid and get you out of this gown.” She obeyed, lifting her hair to allow him to undo the buttons at the back of her gown. “I never thought I was the type of man to lose my head over a woman until I met you. At first you drove me crazy because…I don’t know why. Probably because you didn’t seem to like me very much.”
His fingers continued at their task, sending shivers of delightful anticipation down her spine, along her limbs, and straight to the juncture of her thighs. “And then you were like an itch I couldn’t quite scratch, which isn’t very romantic, I know.” He placed a lingering kiss on her neck just below her left ear before whispering into it, “I’ll admit my feelings snuck up on me. I can’t pinpoint the moment when I became captivated by you, but it’s true. I am. Completely, thoroughly, irrevocably captivated. Lately, you’ve filled my thoughts day and night.”
His words, so sweet and romantic, filled her with joy and a bittersweet longing, but she refused to rob this moment by thinking of a future without him.
He’d loosened her bodice enough to pull it down to her waist, exposing the light stays she wore over her petticoat and chemise. “Are there tapes at the waist?” he asked, and when she nodded, his fingers slid inside her gown, tugging at the ties until they gave way and her gown fell into a pool at her feet. Taking her hand, he helped her step free of it. “Don’t move,” he said. Then he strode back across the room and draped her gown over the back of an armchair by the fireplace.
“That should dry out any lingering damp from the rain,” he said. It took him no time to undo her stays and remove her petticoat. These he placed on the same chair as her evening gown.
“You’re awfully familiar with the art of undressing a woman,” she remarked when he came back to her side.
“All in a day’s work when I take up the task of being your lady’s maid.” He reached for her hand, and kissed its palm, then the sensitive skin of her inner wrist. “However, if you’re implying I’m familiar because I’ve undressed many women, I haven’t. I trust that doesn’t disappoint you.”
“Not at all,” she whispered.
He smiled and then his gaze, hot and lascivious, traveled along her body. “I’m glad I didn’t know you were wearing such lovely undergarments all this time. My imaginings would have been much more feverish.”
“They’re part of that trousseau I ordered at your sisters’ insistence.”
“I approve. Wholeheartedly.”
“Yes, that’s become rather obvious.” She glanced at the straining fabric at the falls of his trousers. And then with uncharacteristic boldness, added, “Perhaps we should talk less and do more. One of us is a bit overdressed at the moment.”
“I agree.” His fingers trailed a path from her shoulders to the low-cut neckline of her chemise. “But there’s no need to rush. I want to savor this first time with you.”
The last time. But she refused to dwell on that now.
He pulled her against him. One hand cradled her neck while the other slipped around her waist, then moved downward, cupping her backside as he held her flush against him. His lips descended onto hers in a searing kiss that left her weak in the knees and, to remain upright, clinging to his shoulders. One of his hands traced a path up and down along her spine, and the light touch of his fingers felt hot through the fabric of her chemise, making her burn for him. His other hand kneaded her bottom firmly and with a growing urgency that stoked her own desires.
She squirmed against the hard ridge of his erection pressed into her abdomen, feeling a surge of feminine power when he groaned into her mouth. He broke off the kiss saying, “You drive me to the brink of madness, Charlotte. I need you now.”
And before she knew what he was about, he crouched down, untied her garters, and peeled her stockings off. Then he swung her into his arms again, and gently laid her onto his bed.
She raised herself onto her elbows, and watched him as, swift and businesslike, he went about the task of divesting himself of his own clothes. It would be more maidenly of her to avert her eyes, but she was feeling much more the wanton than the prim virgin. She wasn’t going to let feminine sensibilities get in the way of her curiosity or her pleasure.
As he shucked off the last article of clothing, she drew in a sharp breath, her curiosity satisfied. He was magnificent, perfectly proportioned, lean and muscular, with a sprinkling of dark hair across his chest. His skin seemed to glow in the dim light of the room.
He stood a moment and watched her watch him, his eyes dark and shadowed. “Have you seen enough?” he asked, with a husky laugh. “I’m a bit impatient, and now you’re the one who’s overdressed.”
Before she could answer, he was in the bed beside her, gathering her to him, raining kisses on her face, her neck, her breasts through the thin, nearly sheer fabric of her chemise.
She couldn’t hold back an involuntary gasp of pleasure as his lips teased ripples of delicious sensations through her body. She’d never imagined a man’s touch could make her feel this way.
So caught up in these new feelings, she barely noticed his hand as it slid down her side, her hip, the top of her thigh until he hooked his fingers around the hem of her chemise, and slowly began to pull it up toward her waist. The air cooled her exposed skin as he slowly and sensuously pushed the fabric upward, baring her inch by slow, tantalizing inch. Her breath was coming in soft little pants now.
He lifted his head to watch her as his hand made its torturous journey along her skin. Flames of desire flickered low in her belly at his hungry, almost harsh look as he studied her. His gaze held hers captive while his hand moved to the triangle of hair, exposed now that the hem of her chemise rested just below her waist.
She couldn’t quite stifle the whimper that formed in her throat when he began stroking her with a light, sure touch. His nostrils flared slightly at the sound, and his eyes took on a possessive, self-satisfied gleam, but he didn’t say anything. Just continued to ply his lover’s caress, back and forth.
“Open your legs for me, Charlotte,” he whispered, still watching her. She obeyed and his fingers began to work a new kind of magic.
His touch felt so very, very good, and the way he regarded her with such unwavering naked desire…it was erotic beyond anything she’d ever imagined. She wanted to lose herself in the sensations he was creating, the building, throbbing sense of anticipation that his clever, wicked fingers produced with each fluid stroke.
“I love watching you find your pleasure,” he said. “You’re beautiful, Charlotte. Perfect. Without fault.”
Which, of course, wasn’t true. She wasn’t a great beauty and she had many flaws.
“I’m…I’m not perfect,” she panted.
“You’re better than perfect. You’re exactly what I want.”
With a swift movement, he sat up, and pulled her chemise over her head. He tossed it aside, then lay back down beside her, his fingers taking up exactly where they had left off. She thrust herself against them in some instinctual response, wanting more of something she couldn’t quite identify, but somehow knowing he could give it to her.
“Oh, yes, Charlotte,” he murmured. “Do you have any idea how much I enjoy making you writhe like that?”
“It feels…so good,” she said, barely able to talk. It felt so delightful, so wickedly delicious. “So good,” she repeated, her teeth clenched against the low, throbbing pulse that had begun between her legs and now threatened to envelop her completel
y.
He quickened his strokes and her back arched as she thrust against his hand, reaching, reaching for something she couldn’t quite attain. The pleasure continued to build, and she felt incredibly sensitive beneath his touch, but still something she needed was just beyond her reach and she didn’t know how to get it.
He must have sensed what she felt because he changed his technique, focusing solely on her most sensitive spot. She felt herself being pushed to the edge of some high precipice of sensual satisfaction, lost in a haze of passion, almost, but not quite there.
“William,” she gasped, trying to articulate the maelstrom of her feelings with that single word.
“I know, darling. Come for me. Let me see your passion.”
“I’m…trying, but I can’t…quite do it.”
“Have you ever touched yourself this way?” he asked.
His words broke through the sensual fog that clouded her mind. She felt her eyes widen in shock at his question. She knew men sometimes took care of their own needs, but that was because they were men, and supposedly had little self-control when it came to lusts of the flesh. She’d never considered touching herself in the same way.
“No,” she said, giving her head an emphatic shake. “Never.” And then before she thought better of it, added, “Should I have?”
He let out a short bark of laughter and kissed her, first on her brow, then a languid kiss on her lips. “I only asked because I thought you could tell me what you liked best, but we’ll just have to figure it out together.”
“I liked that last thing you did…the way you touched that…that place…”
“I know what you mean,” he said, beginning to do it again, sending her soaring once more to that torturous brink. But despite his efforts, she still couldn’t quite tumble over into the complete fulfillment of orgasm.
“Maybe this will help,” he murmured, leaning down. She thought he meant to kiss her again, but instead he placed his mouth on her nipple, flicking the hard peak with his tongue, sending explosions of pleasure through her.
“Ooooh,” she moaned. “Oh, yes, William. Yeeesss.”
He began to suckle, and something indescribable erupted within her, and she knew it wouldn’t take much longer. Her hands came up, pressing his head to her breast, reveling in the pleasures he provoked. And then her release came in wave after wave after wave, the sensation so intense she could hardly stand it.
* * *
William felt a sharp stab of primal satisfaction when Charlotte shuddered beside him, her body convulsing with a climax he’d brought her to. There was no question now that they belonged together. She was his, and by the same token, he was hers. It had been all he could do to hold back his own desire to enter her and share in that thundering surge of completion.
But he was determined to take it slowly, to make sure it was as much about her pleasure as it was his.
“William?” Her voice, uncertain, tentative, broke into his thoughts. She shifted slightly, and he realized his hand still rested between her thighs. Reluctantly, he moved it to rest on her abdomen.
She frowned at him, and he almost regretted the impulse that had prompted him to delay entering her, because now he feared he’d given her time for second thoughts to settle in. But if they had, if she wanted to call a halt to it right now, he’d respect it.
“Yes?” he asked, steeling himself for the words he didn’t want to hear.
“We’re not stopping there, are we? I mean, don’t you want to…finish what we started?”
“Yes!” Relief washed over him and he kissed her. “I very much want to finish what we started. I was just giving you a moment to recover.”
“I’ve recovered sufficiently, I think.” She smiled at him and her hand drifted down his chest to his abdomen. His stomach muscles clenched involuntarily as her fingertips brushed against his skin before drifting lower.
“Ticklish?” she asked, glancing at him through her long, dark lashes.
“No,” he rasped as her knuckles lightly skimmed the length of him. “But none of that. I’m too close to the breaking point as it is.”
“But shouldn’t I reciprocate?” she asked. “I thought men liked a woman to touch them there.”
“I would like it above all things, but not right now. I’m too close and I won’t last if you touch me with your hands first. Later,” he promised, bringing her hand to his mouth and giving it a kiss. He shifted, settling himself so that his body covered hers, his groin nestled against her thighs. “Right now I’m desperate to be inside you.” He nudged against her, pressing lightly against her opening.
Her legs parted and he pushed inside her slowly, fighting his own impulse to bury himself in her quickly and deeply. He wanted to make this good for her if he could. He gritted his teeth, determined to minimize her pain as much as possible. Her lips fell open and her breathing appeared to accelerate.
“Am I hurting you?” he gasped. “Tell me if I’m hurting you.” He was in paradise, entering her tight, slick heat. And as much as his male pride might wish otherwise, he wasn’t going to last much longer.
“No,” she said. “It feels strange, but not painful exactly.”
“Good,” he grunted. He kissed her as he slowly eased himself in, stopping abruptly when she winced and drew in a sharp breath. “Tell me when it’s better,” he said.
She nodded, and a few seconds later said, “It’s better.”
“I can give you more—”
“No,” she said. “It is better.”
He continued to go slowly until he was fully within her. He didn’t move for a few seconds, except to trail kisses along her cheek to her ear where he gently nibbled the lobe, giving her time to adjust to him.
“Is there something I should be doing?” she whispered.
He smiled and kissed the tip of her nose. “More like something I should be doing, but I didn’t want to rush and hurt you.”
“You’re not,” she assured him. Her lovely blue eyes were large and trusting, and in that moment he acknowledged the truth of his feelings—he loved her.
He loved her.
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her, and yet he was afraid the words might ring hollow if the first time he uttered them was while he took her virginity. Nor did he want to risk declaring his love for her, only to have her retreat behind that wall of reserve once again. He’d speak the words later. Right now, he’d simply show her how he felt.
He began long, slow strokes within her, gritting his teeth as he tried to hold back the tide of his own pleasure, but he was fighting a losing battle. When she began to match the rhythm of his movements, he knew he wouldn’t last much longer. “Bend your knees, Charlotte,” he commanded, hoping this would help lessen any pain or discomfort she might feel. She did, and he thrust into her faster and faster until he reached his own shuddering climax.
He collapsed on top of her, his face buried against her neck. The scent of roses and the clean smell of her skin filled his nostrils, along with the faint musk of their lovemaking. He should withdraw. She’d been a virgin and her passage wasn’t used to a man filling her, but he selfishly savored just a few more seconds of her warmth enveloping him. He still craved a few more moments of union.
Finally, he rolled onto his back and drew her close, cradling her against him. Her cheek rested on his shoulder and her arm was draped across his chest, a soft hand placed just below his collarbone. He grasped it in his and laced their fingers together before firmly placing a quick kiss on her forehead. She didn’t say anything and neither did he. Somehow words didn’t seem necessary. Before long he succumbed to the drowsiness overtaking him.
* * *
Charlotte stayed awake, trying to hang on to every moment. She wished she could expand time, or stop it. Just for tonight, just for a little while as she lay tucked securely in his arms, the heat of their bodies mingling, the slow and steady fall of his chest, the intimacy of listening to the thud of his heartbeat beneath her ear.
But she couldn’t stop time. However much she wished this night didn’t have to end, it would. Inevitably, morning would come, and she’d have to face it clear-eyed and resolute. She knew what she had to do: She had to jilt him now. Pemberton wouldn’t wait forever to leak his damning information.
These were her stolen hours. One night with him before she called the betrothal off. He wasn’t going to like her course of action, was going to expect them to marry now. His honor would demand it. Her sense of honor ought to, and if not for Pemberton’s threat, she might allow the dictates of conscience (not to mention the desires of her heart) to guide her decision.
She thrust away thoughts of the future. Fretting about it now only robbed time in the present. She didn’t want to diminish this time with William by worrying about tomorrow.
* * *
William awoke sometime later. The fire burned low in the grate, and Charlotte was snuggled enticingly next to him, one thigh thrown over his, her breasts pressed into his side, her face buried against his neck as warm puffs of breath tickled his collarbone.
It hadn’t been a dream.
“Charlotte.”
Nothing. She was sound asleep. He smiled to himself. It felt so right to have her tucked up against him, sharing his pillow. Sharing his bed. He raised his head enough to catch sight of the mantel clock. Only five past eleven. They still had a few hours before he’d have to take her home.
“Charlotte,” he said again. Slowly he stroked one hand up and down her back.
She moved against him, making a small sighing sound, but her breathing remained steady. He wouldn’t have guessed she was such a sound sleeper, but while she might not be waking up, his body was.
Not the Kind of Earl You Marry Page 28