She put her hand on his arm. “I know, Edward. Trust me. I will tell her when the time is right.” Shyly, she ran her finger along his sleeve. “You know I want you to stay, don’t you?”
A muscle jerked under her finger. “No, I do not know that. What am I to you but entertainment?”
She caressed his upper arm. “You have become a friend. Friendship is a rare thing for a royal. You are important to me.”
You enjoyed the orgasm. He pushed the bitter thought aside. What did he know about the contents of her heart? Besides, it wasn’t as if he loved her. They were both players in a game, with a temporary alliance. Her mother wanted her to marry someone far more powerful than him. She was too naïve to understand he was actually a liability to her. He had to be careful to keep her invested in his presence in London without costing her the future she deserved.
“Come here,” he said, tucking her arm around his neck. He grabbed her around the waist.
She complied, leaning her cheek against him when she was settled into his lap, her pert bottom pressed tightly against his throbbing groin. Then her face tilted up. “You groaned. Am I hurting you?”
“Shhh, sweetheart. It’s a good groan.”
“Oh.” He could feel her smile against his jawline.
He held her for a moment, enjoying the feel of her body against his, smelling the chamomile, and the straw, listening to the horse in the next stall whinnying softly.
She tensed.
“What is it?”
She put her mouth to his skin and her voice came out muffled. “Aren’t you going to touch me?”
His cock throbbed at her innocent words, but his mind, still unruly with self-destructive thoughts, put crude words into his mouth. “You want me to put my hand up your skirts again?”
Her chin rose. “Isn’t that what we came here to do?” She said it in a whisper, as if almost too embarrassed, but she’d said it nonetheless.
He liked a woman of strong passions and could only imagine the delight she’d be when fully awakened. Still, he felt like he was being used. The game they played needed to be taken in a new direction. “Sweetheart, there are even better options than that.”
“Like intercourse?” Her voice quavered. “I can’t risk a baby.”
“There are other choices, my sweet. Lots of other choices.”
She fell silent for a moment, but her bottom rubbed against him.
He patted her hip. “Do you want to know about them?”
Her chest fluttered as if she couldn’t quite take a deep breath. Then she nodded.
“Good, because I want to have more of your delectable body for myself.”
He’d seen the princess come apart in his arms, her lovely lips parting as she gasped, watched her chest go rosy with color, viewed her eyes glaze with passion. But he hadn’t tasted her, awakened her untutored flesh with his mouth.
He picked her up, her willowy body surprisingly light in his arms, and kicked the stool up against the stable wall, then lifted her skirts away from her body before placing her, bare-bottomed, on the stool.
“Oooh,” she gasped as her skin made contact with the wood.
“I hope I didn’t give you a splinter.”
“I see that glint in your eye, Edward. I almost think you do want me to have a splinter somewhere I couldn’t explain.”
“I hope you reward your maid well. You may have to take her into your confidence.”
Charlotte shook her head. “I hope not.”
“I guess we shall find out if someone attempts to blackmail you.” He unbuttoned his coat and shed it. The stable seemed warmer than it really was, with the air so full of animal smells and straw. Next, he rolled up his shirtsleeves.
Charlotte stared at his forearms as if she had never seen a man’s arms before. He made a fist, flexing his muscles for her. “Your arm is nearly as thick as my leg.”
He put his hands on either side of her, at the edge of the stool. “The difference between men and women.” Sliding his fingers down her skirts, he enjoyed the fine texture, the cloth similar to that of his best shirt. When he reached the hem, he took her foot and propped it up on a saddle that had been tucked in the corner.
“Lean back.”
“But then I can’t see.”
He repeated his order and this time, she complied, resting her head gingerly against the stable wall. Tucking his hands under her bottom, far finer-textured than the fabric, he pulled her to the edge of the stool. Then, he flipped her skirts until she was entirely exposed to him: the long, slim, pale legs, the darker, pinker flesh between them, glistening with moisture, the shock of wheat-colored curls on her mound.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, putting his hands above her knees and moving her legs apart.
Involuntarily she fought him, attempting to press her knees together. He tapped her legs. “Charlotte.”
She stilled.
“You want to learn more, do you not?”
“Yes, Edward.”
“Then let me have my way. You will still be a virgin when I am done with you.” He pressed his mouth to a spot above her right knee. Her body jerked beneath his mouth. He blew against the moisture he’d left, and continued upward, only reaching the top of her thigh before starting again on her other leg.
“I--”
He looked up, saw her throat working, but no more words. “What?”
“You’re making me restless.”
“You are becoming aroused. Lovemaking does not need to be a rushed affair.”
“We are in a stable. I have duties.”
He shook his head. “It takes time to do this properly.”
“If you put your hands on me it would probably only take about two minutes,” she said frankly.
He tapped her hip. “Lean your head back and take what I have to offer you, Princess.”
She huffed but did as he ordered. Still, she’d made a wise point and he returned to his business with a more acute sense of purpose.
He breathed over the apex of her thighs, wondering if she was so attuned to him that she would feel his breath. Her knee bent and she wriggled even closer to the edge of the stool. Her soft pink lips parted and he saw the glistening core of her, smelled her most personal, delicious fragrance. His mouth watered and he bent closer, breathing in her essence.
When his tongue touched her channel she jerked, but said nothing. He felt her hands cradle his head gently, then, when he licked again, her hands took fists of his hair. He ran his tongue up her length, then circled her hood until her sweet little pearl showed itself. When he suckled her there, she moaned, low and guttural, and tugged his hair, pulling him closer. Smelling nothing but her, feeling nothing but the textures of her skin underneath his mouth and hands, he nipped, licked and suckled.
She said his name and he lifted his head. “Please, don’t stop,” she gasped.
He returned to his work. Her hips moved rhythmically underneath him. His hands found the soft flesh of her bottom and held her tightly against him. She bucked, then cried out. He heard her head thump against the wall as her body shuddered. Lifting his head, he tugged her skirts down, knowing her modesty would reassert itself as soon as her orgasm had lost its power. He sat back on his heels, wiping his lips with his handkerchief, and watched her, still lost in her pleasure.
Eventually, her mouth opened and closed, then her eyelashes fluttered. Her eyes seemed lighter than he remembered, the teak color taking on some of the sun.
She swallowed. “Why did you waste time with your hands, when doing that with your mouth is so much better?”
“You didn’t complain before.”
“I didn’t know any better.”
“You might like intercourse even better than this,” he teased.
She shook her head. “With you, I might.”
He felt that connection to her again as her gaze met his. “When will it happen, Charlotte?”
Her lips compressed. “You know I must remain a virgin for now.”
>
Her words could not dim his male satisfaction at pleasuring her so. He realized he’d quite forgotten how irritated he’d been with her before, and this when he’d taken no satisfaction of his own, only offered. This princess had a strange sort of spell over him. Why was her pleasure such a reward? He’d performed the same act with at least a dozen women over the years. Never had he failed to satisfy. One or two of them had even been virgins. But something about her caught at his heart.
He shook his head. Not his heart, surely, his ambitions. This was something to chuckle over with his brothers when they were old and gray. But where would their old age be spent? He had to stay focused on results, and discard this wife of his if there came any sign that she was not keeping his interests at the forefront.
“Edward?”
His princess looked uncertain. He schooled his features to their normal impassivity. “Yes, Charlotte?”
“I like it when you say my name. It makes me feel like a normal woman.”
“Is that what you want? Normality?” He gestured around the stall, reminding her of where they were.
She smiled sleepily. “It is fun to do these things in such places. I never thought of congress between men and women outside of a bedchamber.”
“I am awakening you to the prospect of more.”
She tilted her head, half-closed her eyes. “I wish I could meet with you again soon, but I cannot risk it.”
“Please do not toy with me,” he said, feeling panic clutch at his heart. “When can you arrange another meeting?”
“Edward, you take my mind off my future. I must keep my options open and try to follow my mother’s wishes.”
“You will only meet men when my sister makes them available to you,” he told her. “Denying me your company will not aid you in husband-hunting.”
She sighed. “I will risk seeing you again when I have an update on Lady Amy. It will take time.”
He reached for her hands and squeezed them. How had she turned him supplicant so easily? “Write me soon.”
“You had better go.”
He nodded, but reached for the upper hand again. “You have the look of a well-pleasured lady.”
Her smile widened. “I would imagine so. You go first, dear Edward. I will follow.”
He did as she suggested after he dressed, grateful that his coat covered his groin. Without completion of his own, it would be a while before his erection subsided completely. What a frustrating woman.
~
Late that night, after an interminable evening at the dinner table and in the drawing room, listening to a deaf, elderly lord drone on about his late wife, with no apparent interest in another, Charlotte paced her room. Down the carpet from the fireplace in her sitting room, through the door, past her bed, to the family miniatures on her shelf, then back again, past her writing table, where a letter from her mother awaited.
She dreaded any return to reality, didn’t even want to bathe, to remove Edward’s touch from her sinful, obsessive body.
Why was she allowing this to happen? He could offer her nothing she needed, except he was everything she needed. How homesick and lonely had she been since coming to this foreign land, that she would seize on a similar fish-out-of-water man and drink him in like he was the sweet water from the well in the courtyard behind Scharnburg Castle?
She wrapped her arms around herself, wishing she could still smell him on her skin. Fantasies that would never be, of them bound in each other’s arms, unclothed, tormented her. Pacing back into her bedroom, she lifted a candle and stared at herself, ghostly in a white nightdress and wrapper. How could this frail human form contain such enormous desires?
None of it mattered, because she knew what that letter from her mother contained. Reminders of family and duty. They were not a simple soldier and his wife, who could buy an inn or something, to make a living. They were a princess and a bastard prince, bound to their duty, bound to royalty, bound to rules.
Their bodies, though, did not follow the same dictates. She longed to learn his skin like he’d been learning hers, longed to use her mouth on him, her tongue, her fingers. Could she pleasure him like he pleasured her? What would the benefit be? Would he be as pitifully full of longing for her as she was for him if she could drive his body to the same extreme?
Tears sprang to her eyes as she contemplated it. She ached, and not just between her legs, not just the tips of her breasts. Fire. She felt like she was on fire. Nothing could quench her flames but his touch, and even that only worked for a while.
She went to the window and pressed her forehead to the cool glass, knuckling away the tears that trickled down her cheeks. Why had she allowed him to awaken her senses so? There were reasons maidens were not allowed to be alone with men. Very good reasons, she had now discovered. It was best not to know how desperately one could long for a man’s touch, to stay unaware of what ecstasy a man could bring.
Ironically, she had no desire to touch herself, to teach herself her pleasure. She only wanted him. Innocent as she was, it seemed unlikely another man could elicit such feelings in her.
Angry now, tears dry, she slammed her candleholder on the sleek wood of her desk and collapsed into her chair, slouching in a way that was painful to one used to proper deportment. She picked up a letter opener and let her other hand hover over the letter from her mother. Instead of taking it up, she poked her index finger into the sharp edge of the opener. She didn’t even cry out as it sliced minutely into her skin, raising a single ruby drop of blood.
Even pain didn’t compare to her pleasure. She could be racked, or stabbed or shot, and would not feel the wound as intensely as she’d felt his mouth between her legs.
Grimacing at her ridiculous personal dramatics, she resolutely picked up her mother’s letter and slit open the seal. For a moment, the words swam uncomprehendingly across her eyesight. Then she realized the letter was in German. She still spoke it quite a bit, but hadn’t been reading much besides English lately. Strange that her native tongue could seem so foreign.
She skimmed the letter, then let her head drop against the back of the chair. School fees. The situation had become so desperate that her brothers could not remain in school unless she provided funds. What did her mother expect her to do?
Her thoughts went to her new jewelry. How much money could garnets bring? To the likes of Edward FitzPrince, they cost a fortune, but pawning them wouldn’t bring much, and surely the queen would remember a gift and expect to see her wearing it.
Charlotte opened a hidden drawer of her writing desk and pulled out the small box that contained the bracelet and brooch. She lifted the bracelet to the candle and examined it. No, she could not pawn or sell either of them. What a pity.
Anger hit hard as she tucked her treasures away. She had been in England less than six months. Had her mother expected her to find a rich husband, or indeed any husband, so soon? Had the woman forgotten her daughter was a poor princess, not some rich, non-royal woman who any single man might happily snap up for the dowry? Even a poor, non-royal woman might have traded on her beauty.
Truly, she could not imagine her mother meant for her to become some man’s mistress, even though she knew her mother had started with her father that way. No wonder she was such a sensual creature, created from that unsanctified union her parents had had. She remembered them disappearing into their rooms for two days at a time when she’d been young, ignoring all duties and imprecations.
Of course, such licentiousness had meant the small kingdom hadn’t been governed terribly well, which led to her predicament now. Her looks were meant to bring a fortune back to her family.
She dropped the letter back to the desk and put her head in her hands. Edward could do nothing for her. He’d already spent all the money he had on her pitiable, beautiful bracelet.
She drifted in a fog of self-loathing until she smelled the smoke. Glancing up, she saw her mother’s letter had fallen on the candle and caught fire. She grabbed the non-
smoking edge and picked up the letter, blowing at it and dashing into her bedroom to throw it into her basin. She poured water over it, completely extinguishing the flames. It obliterated the last of her mother’s imprecations, leaving little but a blob of wax.
Leaving the remains in her bedroom, she went back to her desk and checked to make sure nothing else was burning. No, the fire had been extinguished.
And so, she must either extinguish her lust or make it work for her. As she could not imagine saying good-bye to Edward, she needed to focus on bringing the Lady Amy situation to its conclusion. Could she take the lady-in-waiting vacancy the situation’s end would create for one of her sisters, bring more income to her family that way? She’d write her mother immediately and suggest she make inquiries with the Duchess of Kent, who after all was a distant cousin.
She needed to make sure Sir John was gone for good, and give Edward the credit. If she could not find a more powerful man, she needed to mold her husband to suit her needs.
~
Early evening rain had made Edward’s rooms too stuffy to bear. They were also silent as Quintin had set out earlier for a drink or ten in a pub with former army mates. Edward, as an officer, had not been invited along to this gathering of retired enlisted men, though in isolation in London, he might have enjoyed himself, trading stories of life in Ireland and Canada.
Stuck in between a soldier’s life and a courtier’s was no way to live. With a snarl, he threw down Pickwick, whose author had left behind a delightful shooting episode for more romantic legalities, downed the contents of his glass, and reached for his walking stick. Young men did not belong indoors reading novels on a warm summer night.
The Princess Dilemma: A Victorian Royal Romance Page 15