“Jesus, Charley? It’s me! Alex.” A burly arm clamped down on her pillow, thwarting further assault. “What the hell are you doing in here?”
“What am I doing in here?” She jerked the pillow still trapped beneath his arm, heart hammering, memories of her kidnapping raw on her nerves. “This is my room. What are you doing in here?”
Alex shifted to his knees on the mattress, tugging back. “George brought me up here. I took a bath in the washroom and then came in here to take a nap.”
“Oh, did he…”
Dear God! Words fizzled on Charley’s tongue and her throat ran dry as desert sand. Shocked, her gaze dropped with the weight of a stone to the lower region of Alex’s oh so trimly muscular frame.
“Yo-you’re—n-n—” she sputtered incoherently. “Where are your clothes?”
Alex stilled, glancing down briefly, and a cocksure grin split his face. “Did you expect me to sleep in that hot, filthy uniform?”
She flushed to the roots of her hair, relieved for the darkness for the stain of her skin likely matched said roots. Even in the meager light every toned swell of his warrior’s body lay in tantalizing detail before her. She took in every inch of him, itching to reach out and smooth her hands along the tapered slope of work hardened muscles.
Sidney’s warning burned in her conscious and she latched onto a thread of anger and hurt. “Did you imply we would be sharing a room?” She grasped the pillow with both hands, yanking yet again. “Because we’re not.”
“No?” Alex held firm to the cushion, eyes glittering a mischievous silvery blue in the meager light. “After three years at war a soldier is sure to be in want of his wife.”
Charley gasped, a bolt of lightning hot desire thrilling her middle. Oh, but she could melt just to look at him, from the luxurious sheen of his dark locks—still wet from his bath—to the strong set of his clean shaven jaw, along those broad broad shoulders, down his powerful arms and chest. Muscles bulged and twitched from places she’d never imaged to exist and a deep silver scar beneath his shoulder lent him a deliciously rugged appeal. Alex’s command presence pervaded even the deepest shadows and corners of the room. Once again doubts faded and all she knew, all she wanted was him.
Charley tore her gaze from Alex’s beautiful form, squeezing her eyes shut. In want of his wife or an heir? She shook her head, grappling for anger, and the righteous resolve not to succumb to his charms until she knew without a doubt she could trust him. “Give me my pillow back.”
“No,” Alex challenged, a stubborn set to his handsome face. Even in the dim light his eyes flashed mischievously. “Why are you so on edge?”
“It could have something to do with being rudely awakened by a man in my bed. A naked man,” she amended, raking a reproachful glare the length of his nude, albeit impressive, frame.
“A man?” he growled, a hint of emotion very much akin to jealousy flared in his eyes, mingled with something more, something forbidden and dangerous... something that quite literally stole her breath away. “I am not just a man in your bed, Charlotte. I am your husband.” He wrenched the pillow, hauling her to his side of the mattress.
Caught off guard Charley scrambled to regain her balance, but Alex clasped an arm about her middle, binding her to him. Her back landed firmly against the unyielding contour of his sculpted chest while the curve of her backside nestled provocatively against his hips and thighs. Naught but the sheer fabric of her wrapper stood between them, and the heat of his flesh seeped through the silk.
She gasped. All those hard muscles pressed into her back, taunting and teasing until all the desires she sought to keep firmly under wraps trembled at the surface of her being, begging for release. For one ridiculous, fleeting instant she wanted nothing more than to turn in his embrace and explore each and every chiseled swell.
“It seems my right to visit your bed whenever I please.” The deep timber of his voice resonated through her and his broad palm splayed across her middle, sending shivers of delight across her skin. Her forbidden places came alive, begging, pleading, for… for… well, she didn’t know exactly what, but something special. Something only Alex could give her. Gently he nibbled the tender, oh so sensitive, lobe of her ear.
She inhaled sharply. The wicked man. Can he actually do that? Apparently so, because he did it again, and her body’s response was doubly intense. Charley shivered and then held perfectly still, waiting for more. She was not to be disappointed. Alex licked—yes, licked—the arch of her ear, and she shuddered from the inside out.
Her heart fluttered madly while her mind grasped at shreds of logic. “Is that all you want then? To visit my bed?”
Alex trailed a work roughened free hand down the soft flesh of her throat, and along her collarbone, lightly teasing the edge of her wrapper. The loose, slippery sleeve slid innocently off her shoulder, affording Alex an uninhibited view of her right breast. His lips grazed her shoulder, shooting tremors of awareness along her spine while his fingers brushed the raised pink bud of her nipple. Excitement tore through her.
Do it again, she silently begged, trembling beneath his touch.
He did and more. Alex caressed her neck, letting his lips rest in the nook between her throat and collar bone. Relishing the velvety smooth touch, Charley’s head lulled against her husband’s shoulder and the world around her rippled in a swirling eddy of new brilliant sensations. Her eyes fluttered closed. Reality ceased to exist. Like a man starved Alex slid a hand around her breast, and Charley stilled completely, scarcely daring to breathe, both shocked and pleasured by the intimate caress. Alex squeezed lightly, weighing the rounded flesh in his hand. She gasped, jerking as though to move away, but the arm around her waist locked her in place.
“What I want…” Alex spun her roughly around in his arms, liquid silver heat pouring from his eyes. “All I want… is you.” His mouth slanted over hers, claiming her lips in a searing kiss.
His mouth molded over hers, firm and demanding, then pulled back, tangling and teasing… coaxing… Charley hesitated, knowing she should stop before she quite literally liquefied in his arms. So many uncertainties burned in her mind and she needed to question his intentions before she risked her fickle heart any further.
“You’re so still,” he murmured, tilting her back so that she lay cradled in his arms looking up at him. “You’ve nothing to fear from me.”
Their eyes locked, the air between them tense with wrought emotion. “Oh, but I do,” she whispered so low he’d never detect the note of anguish in the words. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this? Y-you hate me.”
A keen flicker of sadness shone in his brilliant eyes. “Charley,” he murmured, her name on his lips more intoxicating than any drug. “What I said earlier, about us—”
A hardy rap invaded the room’s privacy. “Milady?” The high pitched voice of Mrs. Kent split the air as the door swung wide. “I came to see—Oh! Lord Coverstone.”
Afternoon sunlight spilled into the room, illuminating Alex and Charley’s compromising position on the bed.
Charley snatched away from Alex like a hot brick, falling backward off the bed in a heap.
“I’m so sorry. What could I be thinking to barge in uninvited?” Mrs. Kent threw a chubby arm over her eyes and stumbled out of the room. “After such a long time at war his lordship is sure to have needs.” Her rambling voice drifted off down the hall.
Gaze fixed to the floor, Charley scrambled to her feet, clutching her wrapper tightly closed at the throat. She skirted the bed, refusing to make eye contact with Alex. “Have a good nap.” She scooped up the red and green day gown laid across the chaise and dashed into the bathing chamber.
How embarrassing! Beyond embarrassing. She may never show her face in this house again.
Six
Mortified and more than a little disgusted with herself, Charley skulked about the manse with her head held low for the rest of the afternoon. How could she have allowed Alex to touch her that way? Surel
y the burgundy hue of embarrassment had permanently stained her cheeks. Dear Lord, to think what Mrs. Kent may have seen if she’d barged in just a few minutes later!
“Oh, Charley, there you are,” Evelyn’s soft voice sounded from behind her.
Charley blanched. Had her mother heard about the awkward situation with Alex?
“Are you ready for tea and scones? I sent Mrs. Kent to find you an hour ago, but you never came and she seems to have disappeared.”
An audible sigh of relief escaped Charley’s lips, and she relaxed just a bit. Mrs. Kent hadn’t blabbed the tale… yet. It was only a matter of time. “I’m ready. Shall we go to the parlor?”
“Excellent.” Evelyn glanced back at Charley, an impish quirk to her lips. “I loved your idea to burn that miserable dress. I still can’t believe anyone would want to hurt you.”
Inadvertently Charley shivered. “Did Alex mention anything about the magistrate when he arrived home?” Charley descended the stairs, dropping a half step behind her mother.
“Not a word, but the poor man looked so exhausted George took him straight up to bed.”
“Um, about that,” Charley hedged, drumming her fingers on the banister. “This afternoon George showed Alex to my room by mistake.”
Evelyn laughed, flicking dancing eyes over her daughter, leading Charley to wonder if she did in fact know of Mrs. Kent’s blunder. “There was no mistake, dear, you and Alex will be sharing your room. It shouldn’t be a problem, your bed is more than big enough.”
Share a room with Alex? Charley stumbled on the next step. “Isn’t there another room for him?” she choked, tossing a harried glance back in the direction of her bedchamber. A vision of his magnificent male frame, bereft of clothing brought a wave of heat swiftly to her cheeks.
Her mother skewered her with a knowing look. “You cannot run from your husband forever, Charley. Back in the day you and Alex were thick as thieves.”
“That was a long time ago, Mama. Alex is very different now, as am I. Besides, he never thought of me like that.” Whatever romantic notions Charley may have nurtured she’d never held any hope Alex would reciprocate—despite their heated embrace an hour before. “The man is married to his career, not me.”
“Charlotte, I’ll hear no more of this. Truly, with the renovations in the east wing only half done I have no other room available. It will not kill you to share a bedchamber with your husband.” A small smile toyed with her mother’s lips. “You may even enjoy it.”
There was no might about it.
At the bottom of the stairs Evelyn swept across the foyer and Charley scowled at her departing back. Charley enjoyed the marquis’s attentions far too much for comfort. And therein lay the problem. The man was doomed to resent her for eternity—not that anyone, even Charley could blame him for it. Any attempts to play Cupid on her mother’s part were sorely misplaced. Alex loved another—one of the most beautiful women of the ton in fact—and had been forced to settle for… tomboy Charley.
The lingering excitement of his touch fell to a swift, though excruciating death, and her spirits were short to follow. As much as she longed to believe Alex had developed feelings of a romantic nature for her, the about face in attitude was far too rapid. Only a blind fool would succumb to his obvious desires without proof of a deeper connection. Dejected, Charley sighed. She’d have to talk with Alex soon about their relationship, but was at a total loss as when or how to bring the subject into conversation. Directness was probably best. Yes, definitely for the best.
Squaring her shoulders, Charley followed her mother into the parlor. The next time she had Alex alone she’d broach the subject, and in the meantime… destroying that expensive gown—bought with Alex’s fortune—was sounding better and better.
* * *
“Have a good nap indeed,” Alex grumbled irritably, flipping onto his left side, clamping a pillow around his head. “Argh.” He rolled onto his back, unable to sleep, but not for the usual reasons. He grasped a pillow, crushing it over his face—anything to block out the sliver of sunlight peaking through the velvet draperies.
This damn pillow smells like Charley.
He chucked the pillow and grabbed another only to find her scent embedded in each and every cushion on the bed. No matter how Alex’s weary bones ached for relief, sleep proved elusive. In this room his wife was everywhere from the hypnotic aroma of cinnamon and honey lingering around him to the book lying open on the bedside table.
Finally Alex sat, tossing yet another offending pillow onto the floor. Lying in Charley’s bed, her sheets tangled around his limbs, was the acutest torture. Every breath drew her essence closer, deeper, until he would swear she swam through his veins—except that she already did. He’d spent months consumed by her. Imagining her. Convincing himself she hadn’t really been with him on the battlefield.
Alex closed his eyes, resting his face in his palms. The vision of Charley kneeling on the bed, her scanty wrapper clinging to her every delicious curve like a second skin, unsettled him to the very core. Never had he yearned for a woman more than he did Charley here and now. Lurid visions of peeling the silken cloth from her voluptuous body seared his mind. Apparently he’d been at war and without a woman for entirely too long.
Has Sidney seen Charlotte in that skimpy garment?
Alex flew from the bed, on his feet in an instant. Sleep be damned, he wouldn’t rest easily until he put the plaguing doubts in regard to his wife and best friend to bed… or rather until he put his wife to bed.
A smile quirked his lips as he ambled to the bathing chamber to retrieve a fresh change of clothes. Oh, yes, he liked that prospect very much.
The shirt and trousers he’d borrowed from Thomas proved a little too tight but manageable for a day in the country house, he cuffed the too short arms just below the elbow and stuffed the shirttail into his pants as neatly as possible. Hopefully his uniform would be washed and readied by tomorrow. Though what he really needed was a trip to his London tailor. Alex lifted his boots and sat heavily on the edge of the bed.
London… The last place in Britain or this earth he wanted to be. Had Witherspoon arrived yet? Moreover, how would Charley react when she learned the husband she’d never wanted was accused of murder?
He jerked the well worn Hessians onto his feet and sighed, lacing the fingers of both hands through the hair at his forehead and resting his elbows on his knees. He contemplated the toes of his boots, endeavoring to pinpoint just where the course of his life had gone so utterly awry. The day he’d met the gypsy woman? Perhaps.
The day he’d married Charlotte Trent? No, probably a little before that.
The moment six years ago he’d realized his feelings for Charley ran far deeper than childhood friends… Yes. Exactly. That is precisely where his life took a sour turn… or rather it had been a culmination of all previously stated events starting with Charley’s seventeenth birthday.
Alex rose, striding toward the door, and paused by the intricately crafted vanity. “She kept it,” he murmured in total disbelief, plucking the miniature knight from it’s perch atop the mahogany box. He’d purchased the box from the gypsies in Spain, and crafted the knight by hand. How many hours had he toiled over the piece while his cohorts gallivanted about drunk in their free time? He rolled the knight, meant to keep her from trouble, in his palm. Had it worked? According to his mother she was as difficult as ever. Alex grinned. He’d spent years bailing Charley out of mischief—from being stuck in trees to lighting the kitchen on fire. Alex was likely the only soul to recognize her antics coincided like clockwork with her eccentric father’s more embarrassing blunders. Charley’s mischief never failed to divert attention from the earl to her.
Gently, almost reverently Alex set the knight back on it’s pedestal. “Thanks for watching over her old friend.” A glimmer of warmth settled in his middle, just below his heart. Perhaps there was hope for him and Charley after all.
Alex left the room and followed the tinkle of
feminine laughter down the stairs to the parlor. He rounded the corner and stopped dead in his tracks, physically struck by the sight Charley sitting on the gray stone floor before the hearth, arms wrapped about her knees in a decidedly unladylike fashion. Heaven help him she was a vision so beautiful he ached. Wavy curls sprung loose from an untidy braid, framing her perfectly manicured, heart-shaped face. Skin paler than cream and decorated with freckles glowed in the warm light of the room. Charley gazed into the fire, her head cocked to the side, a grin of pure joy lighting her face. The dancing flames captured the luminescence of her softly sloping eyes, splashing a dizzying array of golden flakes into the oblivion of those bewitching ovals.
“Imagine Regina if she were to walk in on a scene like this,” Lady Grayson teased.
“Burning dresses, she’d surely swoon!” Charley rocked backward, fingers laced together, arms around her knees. Her musical laughter swirled through the room like gentle snowflakes on a wintry breeze.
Burning dresses? Whatever was she up to?
It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore. Not food or air because then and there Alex lost a piece of himself to her. In that moment he knew the headiest sense of spinning completely off balance and out of control. Like a curricle on an icy road. Never had he been so thoroughly struck by the sight of a woman and certainly nothing so simple as a smile or laughter. Oh, but it was so much more than a smile. Sunshine and magic and a glimmer of heaven’s radiance shone from the curve of her lips. True happiness lit her face. The brand of joy men at war dreamed about… longed for… Alex knew that dream all too well.
“Alex!” Charley glanced from the fire, fixing her enchanting gaze on him. “I did not expect you. Did you sleep well?”
“N—,uh, yes,” he lied, not quite recovered from the unnatural attraction to her.
Evelyn turned to him and beamed cheerily. “Would you care to join us?”
“Thank you, Lady Grayson.” He strode slowly into the parlor, careful not to look directly into Charley’s bewitching eyes, and surprised at the forgiving nature his mother-in-law displayed. Once again he was reminded that the Grayson family values were considerably different than the appallingly competitive household he was raised in. No perceived slight went unnoticed or unanswered in the Coverstone family especially where his mother was concerned.
Light to Valhalla Page 9