Now, Jon backed her gently against the wall beside the door, raising his hands to cup her face and, tilting it, lowered his head until his forehead rested against hers. His lips were tantalisingly close, his breath hot with need, brushing her cheek. Desire pooled deep inside, a taunting, aching need.
His lips gently buffed her forehead then moved down to her mouth, capturing and holding it as he reached up and pulled off her hat. The pompom came off and fell to the floor like a giant, multicoloured dust bunny. ‘Leave it,’ he murmured. ‘I’m going to buy you a new hat. And gloves. And —’
The rest was swallowed by the kiss, urgent and searching as his tongue tangled with hers. Charlie put her hands in his hair and pulled him closer. More.
His hand dropped to her breast as he nipped at her lower lip, pulling it a little. Her blood pumped, a deep, dark, sensual beat in response.
Eventually she pulled away and let her coat slip off to join her hat on the floor. It was dark in the flat and Jon took her hand and drew her in, switching on a lamp as he passed.
‘Kitchen, bathroom.’ He pointed them out, then his eyes darkened as they met hers. ‘Bedroom.’
He slid his tie from his collar and started on the buttons of his shirt, while dipping forward to caress her with slow, tantalising kisses. ‘Can I get you a drink or something?’
‘Later.’
The bedroom was small and masculine. A double bed with a dark, rumpled duvet and two pillows, stacked on top of each other. A pile of books on the single bedside table, a lamp. A clothes basket, wardrobe doors standing open. Signs of haste and everyday life.
The imperfection charmed her, as did the way he looked around in mild panic as if suddenly conscious of the disarray.
He pulled the drapes and switched on the lamp, then opened the drawer of the bedside table and used his hand to sweep in the clutter from the top.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Charlie, ‘I like a man who hasn’t set the scene in expectation of a sure thing. Tidy bedrooms, starched sheets and candles freak me out.’
He grinned and moved to her side, stripping off his shirt on the way. Charlie gripped the bottom of her top and peeled it off; his eyes roamed over her, hot and possessive.
He had a light smattering of dark hair across his chest, trailing down and disappearing under the waist of his trousers. She grabbed his belt and undid the buckle. Anticipation flared in his eyes as she moved on to his zip. He mirrored her actions, unfastening the button on her pants and drawing down the zip. Desire fizzed in her, as she pulled off the pants and stepped out of them.
They fell on the bed in a mad tangle of limbs, his hands stroking her skin reverently. She wanted him to touch everywhere. Every erogenous zone in her body was on screaming, high alert.
He rolled her onto her side and reached around to unhook her bra, sliding it up to gain access to her breasts. He cupped one and let out a low groan. ‘One day you’re going to have to show me how you look in those hippy beads.’
One day. Not tomorrow, next week or before you leave. One day. She reached up and hooked a hand around his neck, drawing him back to her mouth.
He worked her breast, teasing the nipple, then running the tip of his finger down the underside of the curve, sending shivers through her.
Forget the hippy beads. If he kept doing that she’d stand in Leicester Square in a Miss Piggy costume.
His mouth took over from his hand as he pushed her breasts together to better feast on them, massaging with tongue and fingers.
The low, guttural groan of pleasure she released made him twitch. He pressed against her thigh, an insistent hammer of need, and she reached down to stroke him through the thin fabric of his boxer shorts. He gritted his teeth and gave a small, desperate groan as he slid his hand down and into her knickers. She was wet and ready as his hand moved to her mound, massaging gently until one finger found her opening and dipped in, then out to slick up and down her bud. She gave a muffled cry as pleasure rolled along every nerve fibre, and his eyes sharpened, almost predatory in the dim light.
Sensation flowed through her, exquisite, tortuous. Her mind floated, torn away from the moorings of sense as her body strained for release. The speed increased as his finger dipped in and out, finding her rhythm, giving her what she needed. When release came he held her, as she flew over the moon and into the shattering, white-hot light of the stars.
He turned away from her then, keeping one hand on her thigh, as he rummaged in the drawer and found a condom. He eased it on and moved into position above her.
Seeing him, kneeling between her legs, his body straining, made her hot again. This time she wanted him deep inside, and she opened her legs wider as he gave a ferocious growl.
He entered her, slowly at first, with each thrust finding more of her, stretching. She gripped him and he let out a hoarse cry and increased his rhythm.
She tilted her head back, arching her neck until she was looking directly up into his eyes.
There was a new look, a sense that they’d turned a corner. They were no longer two unlikely strangers randomly connected by two paintings, cruising around the edges of lust. He’d told her something he’d never shared with a living soul.
It was the best gift he could have given her. And now this.
She reached up and pulled his head down gently to her lips. The kiss was ragged, their breaths torn from them as his rhythm increased and he took her with him. She flung out an arm and he reached for her hand, intertwining their fingers as he reared up, finding the deepest place, and watching her face as her eyes widened and glazed; this time they travelled to the stars together.
It was only at dawn, as the first light seeped through the chink in the curtains and she lay wrapped in the sleeping Jon’s arms, that she realised that this changed nothing. In the eyes of his family, perhaps even in his own, he was still expected to marry an aristocrat.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Jon could fool himself for only so long.
The last three days had been the happiest he could remember. He’d called the office and taken leave and Charlie had stayed with him the whole time, slipping into his life with surprising ease. They’d explored London, cooked or dined out, talked and made love. And when he woke in the night and found her head on his shoulder he inhaled the scent of her, trying to imprint it on his memory.
There’d been no talk of when she needed to return to Australia but it hung between them, something that needed to be discussed. At odd moments he’d found her standing at the window in his sitting room, looking out into the cold, wintry day with a bemused look on her face. Was she thinking of heat, of scorching blue skies and vast red dust plains?
It made him happy to look up from a book and find her coiled on the couch reading, or pottering in the kitchen. She was sprawled on the rug in front of the heater now, with a massive, crumpled map of London spread out in front of her, a mug of tea by her side. She’d bought black leggings and thick, woolly socks, the sort of clothes comfortable for relaxing at home.
His phone vibrated and he opened it, saw his mother’s number and grimaced.
‘Hello, Mother.’
Charlie traced a finger idly over the map. He moved forward and saw that her finger had left the Underground and streets and was creating an incomprehensible path across London, slashing through buildings, monuments and palaces while she pretended not to listen to his side of the call.
If she’d lost her concentration, he couldn’t blame her. His mother had made her feelings very clear. The family had plans for Jon and they didn’t include Charlie.
That was about to change.
A chunk of hair fell forward over one shoulder, revealing the tender, soft skin of her neck. He’d kissed her there this morning, laying a trail all the way down her back, until, she’d turned, sighing, and pulled him into her arms.
He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on what his mother was saying; he arched a brow as she talked, then hung up.
Charlie’s finger was still on the map
. She’d reached Whitechapel and was just about to demolish the Royal London Hospital.
‘Apparently it’s Vera’s birthday today and they’re having a small dinner for her tonight,’ said Jon. ‘She has particularly asked for you to be there.’
Charlie looked up and smiled. ‘How sweet. I’d love to be there for her. But we are talking about something informal, aren’t we?’
‘I imagine the household has stretched to something a bit grander than usual for Vera.’ He knew dinner would be set in the formal dining room, at the immensely long Sheraton dining table. Barker would have been polishing silver and pulling the best Limoges from the massive bank of cabinets in the side hall. There’d be candles in the Georgian silver candelabras and, for once, a really decent roaring fire in all the fireplaces.
Charlie’s shoulders drooped a little. ‘So it’s formal.’
‘Yes, but don’t worry, you always look beautiful.’ He fell to his knees beside her on the rug and kissed her. He was glad that his mother had called, because it was time to tell her that he’d made some decisions about his life. He’d tell her this afternoon, before dinner.
His future included Charlie. There would be no tiresome house parties where suitable women were inspected. He’d made his choice and they could just lump it. And after he told his mother, he’d ask Charlie.
She pulled away. ‘Yes, but everyone will be Downton Abbey and I’ll look like I could barely gain entrance at a B&S ball.’
He was an idiot, a dyed-in-the-wool idiot. Of course she didn’t have the right clothes. Her face was full of doubt as she chewed on her lower lip. But if they were going to get to Wiltshire, they needed to leave within the hour.
‘Don’t worry. Both Mother and Sarah have plenty of gowns. I’m sure they’ll lend you one.’
‘Ha! Over their dead bodies,’ she challenged him.
He took her in his arms. ‘My darling, having Vera ask for you specifically is like a royal command. Believe me, one of them will lend you a dress.’
Charlie was relieved that the house seemed deserted when they arrived. They glanced into the sitting room but there was no one there. Finally, they found Barker in the formal dining room, setting a table with silver and glassware.
He looked up and smiled, then placed a finely etched crystal wineglass carefully on the table. It seemed an age while he covered the distance towards them, across exquisite Persian rugs. A fire burned in the massive marble fireplace, huge logs already starting to create embers to warm the room.
‘Welcome back, Miss Charlie.’
‘Where are the troops?’ Jon asked.
‘Your mother and sister-in-law are in Devizes shopping, Lady Rushton is resting upstairs and his Lordship is out on business.’
‘Oh.’ Jon let out a deflated grunt and gave Charlie an apologetic glance.
‘Is there a problem, Master Jon?’ Barker asked.
‘Charlie hasn’t got a gown, and I was hoping Mother or Sarah would lend her something.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘What time do you expect them back?’
‘Don’t worry about it. Just leave that with me.’ Barker said. ‘I can organise something.’
Charlie had been put in the Green Bedroom again, and she wondered what would happen later that night. There was no way she was sleeping alone, and if Diana heard her walking down the corridor to Jon’s room, then too bad.
There was a small knock at the door and Barker entered, holding four long dress bags and a large carryall of shoes.
‘Barker, you are a lifesaver. I can’t imagine how much you have to do right now. Don’t tell me you’ve got to cook as well?’
‘It’s a pleasure to do it. I have quite a soft spot for Lady Rushton, miss. I almost went to work for her many years ago but hers is a much grander establishment. For all its faults this suits me better.’
He put the carryall down and crossed to the bed with the dress bags. ‘I’ve saved quite a few of the gowns thrown out in this house over the years,’ he said casually as he laid the bags on the bed.
He glanced up, caught her look and grinned. ‘Better not to ask, miss. Any one of these should fit nicely and they’re all stunning.’
She unzipped the first bag and shimmering, emerald-green silk spilled out. It was like the best shopping trip ever as she unzipped the bags and pulled out the other gowns – red velvet, black brocade and one in midnight-blue silk, the bodice dripping with beads.
‘Oh, I love them all.’ Charlie clasped her hands and rested her chin on them, turning from one dress to the next in delight. ‘They’re stunning. Just beautiful.’ She turned to Barker and threw her arms around him. ‘Oh, thank you, Barker. I won’t feel so out of place now.’
‘You’d never be out of place in any society, Miss Charlie.’ He gave a small cough, pulled away and picked up the shoes carryall.
‘I can’t guarantee the shoes will be a good fit, but you can walk barefoot to the drawing room for drinks and put them on once you’re outside. Then you can slip them off when you’re at table if they’re killing you.’
He must have a million things to do for tonight but he seemed to be enjoying himself. ‘So what are you going to do with your hair?’
Charlie ran a hand through it, fanning it out and letting it drop back into place. ‘I’d thought I’d just leave it loose.’
Barker placed his hands on her shoulders and propelled her across to the mirror. ‘Absolutely not. These gowns demand something special. You should wear your hair up.’ His eyes met hers in the mirror. May I?’
When she nodded he took a handful of hair and lifted it, twisting at the same time. His hand froze as his eyes locked on the back of her neck and he gave a low whistle. ‘Well, well …’
Self-conscious, Charlie raised her hand to the back of her neck to cover the tattoo.
‘That’s a surprise,’ Barker murmured.
‘See, it would be best if I left my hair down. I’m pretty sure this is not the right place for body art.’
Barker stood, seemingly lost in thought as he held her hair.
‘On the contrary. It’s stylish and beautifully placed. You must definitely wear your hair up.’ He removed the lid from a small bowl on the dressing table and pulled out some pins, deftly inserting them into her hair to hold it. ‘See?’
Charlie grabbed the hand mirror and turned her back to the dressing table one, raising the hand mirror to look at her reflection. It was a long time since she’d done this, checked out the elegant little tattoo that sat at the top of her spine. Maybe it was the memory of the day she’d got it and what it had meant that made it painful.
But now, with her hair swept up and the prospect of wearing a gorgeous gown, she pushed that aside.
‘If you’re sure?’ she asked doubtfully, turning from side to side to better see her neck.
‘I’m very sure,’ Barker said, meeting her eyes in the mirror. ‘Trust me.’
They’d gathered in the drawing room. Jeremy crouched by the fire in formal evening attire, idly fondling one of the dogs’ ears while the other nudged at his side for attention. Sarah and Diana sat on one of the sofas, their heads bent towards each other in conversation.
Charlie hesitated at the door. The room was like a scene from a movie or a period drama, with its elaborately embossed silk wallpaper, groupings of chairs and the clutter of polished tables, silver-framed photos and trinket boxes. She half expected Hercule Poirot to make an entrance and reveal an elaborate murder plot. But of course there was no murder. Just a collection of faintly bored people.
She’d worn the red velvet, a long, simple sheath that fell from one shoulder. Barker had slipped away from the kitchen for ten minutes to put her hair up properly and she’d darkened her eyes and applied the deep-red lipstick she’d bought in Harrods on impulse.
Her feet pinched in the borrowed shoes, and the inner slip that had felt so good half an hour earlier had started to itch. Suddenly she wanted her own clothes back, wanted to be outdoors somewhere, breathing fresh air. Sh
e scanned the room for Jon.
Diana looked up and beckoned. ‘Come in, Charlie. Jon’s just organising some music, which he might get working sometime this century if we’re lucky.’
‘Steady on, I’m looking for some Cole Porter for Vera. I’ve almost got it. Damn!’
Jon’s voice came from the far end of the room. All Charlie could see as she moved towards him, was a broad, black-clad back bent over a very old record player.
Music wafted into the room, a frivolous tune with a foxtrot tempo. With a satisfied grunt, Jon straightened and turned. His eyes met Charlie’s and a private, sexy smile curved his lips. His bow tie hung loose from his collar, the top two undone buttons of his shirt exposing a wedge of tanned chest.
‘Oh Jon, do make yourself presentable,’ Diana complained.
‘I’d not nag quite so much if I were you, Diana. You’ll scare him away.’ The voice was tinged with bitterness and Charlie dragged her gaze back to the doorway.
Vera stood there wearing a straight black gown and a double strand of pearls. Her silver hair was smoothed back from her forehead and drifted in a luxuriant cloud around her face. She looked tired and frail. Jon moved quickly to the door and gave her his arm. She batted it away. ‘I am fine.’
She allowed her gaze to travel the room as though challenging herself to stand upright and prove them all wrong. Finally her eyes came to rest on Charlie, and she smiled.
She planted her stick forward and started across the room. Behind her, Jon shrugged and gave his mother a rueful look.
Her progress was slow but eventually she stood in front of Charlie, who found herself almost inclined to curtsey – which was ridiculous, given Vera wasn’t royalty and knowing Cliff’s derisive views on the monarchy.
‘Exquisite.’ Vera pronounced and Charlie blushed. ‘You almost remind me of myself at the same age.’
Jeremy guffawed and earned a look from his mother. ‘Vera was exquisite,’ Diana said. ‘She and my mother were the toast of their season.’
Vera glanced at Jon. ‘A chair, please, Jon.’
Jon moved a deep armchair forward, giving it a central position in the room. It was the perfect place for Vera, Charlie thought. This aged autocrat commanded attention by her very presence
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