“I would have to return to my regiment, possibly in a canoe,” he whispered against her finger, then gave it a kiss.
“Very funny,” she huffed, pulling her finger away. “No kissing.”
He put his index finger under her chin and tilted it up. “Yes, kissing.”
“That cannot be why you came here.” Unfortunately.
“It would be the best of reasons, merely to see my lovely wife again,” he countered. “But I have something you must see.”
She stepped back and glanced over his expression. A serious man, the lines of his face were set even more sternly than usual. Something had happened. She went to a chair next to the unlit fireplace and sat, arranging her skirts.
When her hands were placed demurely on her skirt, she looked up at him. He unbuttoned his frock coat, displaying a tartan waistcoat, tightly fitted around his midsection, and fished inside his coat, drawing out a letter and a box. He handed them to her.
She opened the letter, noting it was not fresh paper, then recognized the date, eighteen twenty. From Woolbrook Cottage, January 13, 1820? She scanned down to the signature. “This is from Prince Edward, on his deathbed?”
“Yes, written to my mother. She passed it to Princess Sophia before she died.”
Charlotte read the letter, then opened the box and looked at the brooch. “Babies look much alike, but this miniature does resemble a portrait I’ve seen of the infant queen holding flowers.”
“The provenance is established; the letter makes that quite clear. Besides, the letter is more important. Here is our own father making it clear I am meant to protect Victoria. How can I do that from Canada?”
“What do you want now? Do you have a new tactic?”
“I want to be transferred to a command in one of the regiments that serve the queen’s household.”
“She will counter that your grandfather placed you in the 32nd for a reason.”
“I can’t imagine he wanted all three of his grandchildren in the colonies for their entire careers,” Edward said.
“Your grandfather died, when, just this past January? Hadn’t you all been in Canada for years?”
“Yes, but King William was still alive then. Look.” He tossed his top hat on a table and ran his fingers through his overlong hair. “We are talking about a decision made more than a dozen years ago, and not by my father. My father’s wish was for my brothers and me to protect our sister. Leaving my grandfather aside, surely you can see we ought to be in London.”
“Does this mean you are giving up your claim to the throne?”
“Not at all, Princess. One step at a time.”
“It’s much more expensive to serve in London than Canada.”
“Our options will change if we live here.”
“You mean you can find a patron, someone who wants you to be king.”
His gaze narrowed. “Do you want to be queen of England, Princess? That could be your reward for being on my side.”
“You will be killed before you ever sit on it,” she said. “I do not want that.”
“My goal is to protect the throne, whoever belongs on it.”
She winced. “We must resolve this quickly, so you can move on with your life.”
“Power is protection, for both me and England. Think about the French Revolution, only two generations ago. Do you think the new French throne is so secure? And ours, hanging on the skirts of a young queen? Her successor another unpopular old man like her predecessors, and his heir blind at that? It is in my best interest to protect her, so the throne doesn’t fall entirely.”
“I don’t know.” She winced, knowing how true his barbs were. Victoria could not be secure on her throne, despite her popularity with the people. That could change with one small event.
“Do you deny that you are her closest confidante?” he asked, going to his knees in front of her.
“Why does that matter?” She sat up even straighter, alarmed by the closeness of his large, male body. So close, only half a body’s width from his all-seeing, beautiful eyes. She blinked, hiding herself away from him for a moment, but it gave him a chance to move even closer. His knees were touching the ruffle of her skirt.
“I am her elder brother. You are her friend.” His voice pitched low. He had beautiful, seductive tone in his voice.
“You are her subject. You have to obey her. For now.”
“Yet you told me not to, and does not one obey a father over a sister in a family matter?” He put his hand on her knee.
She could feel the heat of his palm, the strength of his fingers, branding her skin despite light layers of summer muslin skirts. Oh, for the bite of winter and layers of protection from this man. Her strength was no match for his power to dizzy her. Her mouth hung open as she breathed in his woodsy scent and the clean sweat of a man who’d walked through the hot summer streets to reach her.
“We must protect the queen,” she said, brandishing the letter, the box, giving in to him. As she had already done, when she’d come to his rooms. But her foolish yearning for him destroyed her usual logic.
He took his talismans from her, and set them on the hearthstone. His hand stayed on her knee, but the other cupped the nape of her neck, pulling her forward.
Chapter Seven
Charlotte did not resist now that she had surrendered to him, hoping for another kiss, a branding from his dark, delicious touch. Her breasts had ached for him after they parted. In the dark, alone in her own maiden’s bed, she had rolled her nipples between her fingers, trying to recreate the sensation, but only found dullness where he’d built a sharp ache of desperate longing.
“You seducer,” she said just before his mouth touched hers.
He pulled away, releasing her neck. “You what?”
She twisted her hands together, skin gone suddenly cold. Had she meant to stop him? No, her entire body was alive in his presence.
“I am not a seducer,” he said, a line appearing between his brows. “You brought me here, Princess. The privacy was your doing.”
“I didn’t mean—” she said, hearing desperation in her voice. Her breasts ached for his hands. Her mouth wanted the exploration of his tongue. Even between her legs she felt a betraying dampness, something her mother had told her about. It meant she was ready to receive a man inside her. Her mother had said to welcome the sensation, for it meant a man’s attentions might be pleasurable rather than painful.
His lips pursed. “You are the seductress, Princess. I am a mere soldier.”
“Liar,” she whispered. “You had me when you were nothing but an untried boy.”
“Did I?”
“You are arrogant,” she continued, lifting her hand, holding it inches from his cheek. “You probably think every woman wants you in her bed.” She expected him to demur or even give her a sly smile, indicating he knew exactly how powerful his attentions were.
Instead, he rocked back on his worn heels and stood, a graceful big cat of a man. He turned away from her and she could admire the breadth of his shoulders, that glorious full head of dark wavy hair. She wondered, for the first time, about his buttocks, his thighs. Were they thick and muscled like a cavalry man’s, or long and lean like someone who walked long distances? And his male part? What would that be like? Her mother had said there were different kinds, but she must always act as if any she was introduced to was large and imposing, no matter how silly the appendage looked. And oh, she wanted to see Edward’s.
She stood, her legs trembling, and went to him. He lounged in front of the window, where anyone might catch a glimpse of a man in a lady’s room, though they were up high enough to reduce any true risk. She pulled the curtain closed, but he didn’t turn around. With a wild cry, she put her hand on his back, then slid her arms around him, hugging him from behind. All caution gone, she pulled his open coat from his shoulders and down his arms. Uncaring of the fabric, she let it drop to the carpet, and flung her arms around his waist, letting her cheek rest on his waistcoat. T
he fabric, not so fine, abraded her cheek.
“Edward,” she whispered. “Being a seducer is not such a bad thing.” Had she too much of her mother in her? At the moment, it was the most distant of her concerns.
“I won’t spoil you for your future husband, one your mother approves. Are you done with royal intrigue? Ready to be sent back to your family in disgrace? With me in tow?”
Her arms tightened around him. “I am not offering you my maidenhead.”
“Yet you brought me to a private room. You remove my clothing. Are you not aware of the risk? I might demand my rights as your husband.”
He turned and she let her arms fall away when she saw the coiled strength in his arms and shoulders. She recognized anger, even as she saw the bulge in his trousers and knew he felt desire. It upset him, to see how she had made herself vulnerable.
“I never thought I was ruled by my passions,” she admitted, holding her hands open at her sides. “At least, not since that long-ago summer. But something broke in me when you touched me and I wanted to understand.”
“You want my hands on your pretty breasts again?”
“And your mouth,” she whispered. “Oh Edward, I can hardly stand for the longing of it. Is this why I married you? Because it was always like this between us, even when I was too young to understand what it meant. My mother had told me nothing, in those days. I was a child.”
His knuckles brushed against her cheek and she felt the damp. Frustrated tears. What kind of courtier was she, to be brought so low by lust? When had the game become reality?
“You are still a child. Should I apologize for awakening your body? Your family did you a disservice, keeping you away from me, from any man, for so long.”
“What do I do now? Don’t ruin me for a different man,” she pleaded. “I cannot stand this. I have to be practical.”
“I have no answer but to continue as you have. Protect Victoria and she might yet reward you. Maybe you can make your own fortune, and keep me besides.”
More tears flowed from her traitorous eyes. “Edward, you can’t leave me like this.”
His jaw worked. “I can show you things. Don’t you know how to ease your frustrations? Haven’t you explored the pleasures of your own body?”
“I never had a bed to myself until we moved to Buckingham Palace. I’ve never even seen my own body unclothed.”
He muttered an oath. “And here you are with a full-length mirror. Disrobe, Princess.”
“Oh, I couldn’t,” she said automatically.
His unholy grin was a delightful shock. No wonder he never smiled. He looked like an unruly boy, rather than a man of grave responsibility, with men to command. “Oh, Princess, you can.”
She didn’t stop him when he tugged at her clothes, merely stared into the mirror as the layers disappeared. Oh, she knew he’d done this before. She felt it in the sure moves. But she couldn’t blame him with all those years they’d been apart, and given her lack of experience she needed his.
Her mother had indicated it was possible to find pleasure in the marriage bed. She’d heard a conversation once, between the cook and a kitchen maid, about a touch worth dying for. She wondered if Edward knew how to touch her like that.
His hands though, remained on her clothes, on laces and fabric. She felt a cool rush as her chemise came away from her skin when he removed her stays. It felt so good to have the sweaty, bunched-up linen loosen. The material was fine, close to translucent. In the mirror she could see the thrust of her nipples, the way her breasts pressed against the fabric, how her hips flared out. Her navel was a dark indentation. Her woman’s hair, though light, shadowed against the fabric. She could see the space between her legs as he knelt and undid her shoes, then untied her garters and pulled off her stockings.
Through it all, she stayed as motionless as if he were nothing more than her maid, yet she felt. Intensely.
She shook, unable to control the fine tremors. If she couldn’t feel her toes anchoring her to the carpet she might fly away. Her soul might pull out of her body and flee out through the top of her head. She took a deep breath and her nipples rubbed against her chemise, making her gasp.
“You’re aroused,” he said, coming back to his feet. “Do you know what that means?” He traced around her nipples with his index fingers.
“My breasts,” she said. “Between my legs.”
He shook his head. “No, it’s everything. Every place on your skin. When you are truly aroused you can feel it from the hair on your head, to your earlobes, to the soles of your feet. Every touch of your lover will set you on fire.”
She closed her eyes. “You said you could teach me to pleasure myself.” To not need him so badly.
His head bent and he nuzzled her hair for a moment. She wondered why he didn’t take it down, but he might not have the skill to repair her coiffure. He said something but she couldn’t understand.
Then, he pulled up her chemise, lifted it right over her head. She stared directly into the mirror and she saw everything, for the first time.
A flush covered her chest. Her breasts, the shape of teardrops, had nipples that were small, rosy pink, and pointed upward.
She was not plump like the queen, but built on leaner lines, though she had generously flared hips. Her legs seemed too short for her long torso.
“You are frowning, Princess.”
His hands clasped her waist, almost forming a solid band of darker flesh around her ivory skin. “You are soft and fine. This beautiful skin has never been touched by sun. For all its tenderness, it is even more fragile and delicate below.”
She watched his hands separate as they moved around her hips, then came around the tops of her thighs.
“I could spend hours exploring your body, but we do not have hours, so let us go to the main event.”
She saw her expression of surprise. She looked like an idiot, with her eyes wide and her mouth open. But it dropped open even wider when he bit her shoulder.
She swatted his hand. “Don’t leave marks.”
His upper lip twitched. “I can do far worse than that. I promise I didn’t mark you, even given your soft royal skin.”
Gently, he swatted the tops of her thighs, bringing the awareness of that area to roaring, vibrant life. “Move your legs apart.”
She lifted a foot, set it down farther away than it had been previously. “It feels so strange.”
“It will feel glorious soon enough,” he promised. His hands moved again. One went up her belly, to the underside of her left breast. The other cupped her mound. She bit her lip as something jumped there.
“Feels different, right? Good?”
She nodded. His finger circled her breast again, lighted on a nipple.
“I can intensify the pressure now,” he murmured, gently squeezing. “It feels better?”
“Mein Gott,” she said. She let her head settle on his chest.
His lower hand squeezed her woman’s mound, then he toyed with her maiden hair, tugging individual strands. Her nerves began to thrum. She didn’t know what to notice. His hand on her nipple? His lips on her neck? His hand playing below?
He used a finger to separate her nether lips, creating a channel between them. They dipped just into her inner recesses, then swept up, to a point at the top, below her mound. His fingers circled that area, then swept down again. Almost casually, he repeated the motion, over and over again. So intent on the confusing sensations he made below, she didn’t realize his hand had left her nipple until it curved around her chin and pulled her mouth up to his for one of those glorious, upside-down kisses. He thrust his tongue into her mouth and toyed with her tongue, moving it in time with his fingers inside her nether lips. He’d found some kind of rhythm to play against her, against something, some part of her that had come alive under his ministrations.
She moved her hips with animal instinct, trying to intensify the sensation he created. Her moan into his mouth must have given him a signal he understood, f
or he replaced his damp fingers with his entire palm just below her mound. Her hips moved against the pressure there. She didn’t stop kissing him even when his other hand went to her neglected breast and played.
A spiraling pressure began to take over. She lost sense of everything but that place between her legs. “Oh,” she groaned softly, liking the sound. She groaned again. “Edward, oh, Edward.”
“Let it happen, Charlotte,” he said, lifting his mouth from hers.
She buried her face in his neck as wracking pleasure overtook her, momentarily overcoming any sense of where she was. Her body shook and she only stayed upright because he held her against his strong body. “So gut.”
He continued to touch her, whisper to her, kiss her, letting her relax naturally, as if they had all the time in the world. When she came back to herself, she had turned into his arms, her naked body pressed, trembling, against him, her eyes, leaking tears, staining his cravat. She hadn’t even noticed he was still dressed. As she came fully aware again, smelling a heavy musk in the air that must be the product of her own body, she felt his hard part against her belly.
“Does it hurt?” she asked.
“Only sweetly,” he promised. “But you can only handle one lesson at a time.”
Other than a certain weakness, she felt in command of herself again, though there was a new a subtle awareness that this fever would come again. “I need to dress, but you must wash first.”
He put his fingers to his nose and closed his eyes. “Ambrosia. I would love the scent of you on my cock when I pleasure myself.”
She had heard the crude word before, but only between men who didn’t know she was listening. It gave her a secret thrill, to hear him use it so casually. “I can’t have it on my clothing, so wash. There is water in the ewer in my bedroom.”
He nodded and went to the inner door, returning in a couple of minutes, a drop of water still clinging to the back of his wrist. “You made me wash away heaven.”
She smiled. “You gave me heaven and that memory will need to be enough.”
The Princess Dilemma: A Victorian Royal Romance Page 10