by Cheryl Bolen
His eyes swept over the length of her, and his breath became even more ragged as he gathered her into his arms and carried her to the bed. He was too impatient to remove the silken counterpane, but laid her on it. With Carlotta on her back, James hastened to remove his own clothing. Since the candle still burned, she greedily watched as he removed first his shirt, then his shoes and stocking, then his breeches. When they fell to the floor, her breath intook and her eyes feasted on his sinewy body, which looked golden in the flickering candlelight.
His eyes riveted to hers, he mounted the bed and placed one knee between his wife's thighs as his hands reached down to cup her breasts.
She found herself raising her hips in order to feel the brush of him at the juncture of her thighs. With each of her thrusts, James's breath grew more ragged.
Soon he lowered himself into her, and both of them began to cry out with pleasure, more frantically with each maddening thrust.
She would never have believed she could be so hungry for this mating, but it was as if she had been starving, and James was her feast.
When she felt his warm seed within her she shuddered beneath him, each quivering shudder matched by the man who plunged into her until he collapsed over her, groaning with pleasure.
He soon removed his weight from her, turning to face her. She turned to him, her hands gently stroking his body. The body that had given her such mindless pleasure.
His arms encircled her as he planted moist kisses over her eyes, her nose, her lips.
Burying her head into his chest, she sighed contentedly. Then she waited for the sweet words of love she craved to hear.
Finally, he ran a gentle finger along her nose and spoke. “Thank you, dear wife. You've made me the happiest man in the kingdom tonight.” He stopped and tenderly kissed her cheek. “This has been . . . far better than ever I hoped for.”
They weren't words of love, but she would take her consolation in them. At least she had made him happy. Also, she drew a strange satisfaction in knowing how strongly he desired her.
Her husband soon drifted into a sated sleep, his big hands splayed across her hips, their bodies pressed flesh to flesh.
She continued to lie within the circle of his embrace, her own hands softly tracing over his supple muscles. She wanted to be ashamed of her own heated eagerness to take him inside her, but she could not. She had enjoyed it too much. More than that, what had occurred between her husband and her felt so right, so utterly satisfying. It was as if she had been born to give pleasure to this man.
* * *
When she awoke the next morning, James was no longer in her bed. She whispered his name, thinking he might be in the adjoining dressing room, but she heard no answer.
Clutching the sheet around her, she got up and snatched her dress from the floor before she remembered it had been torn from her. Her cheeks hot, she moved to the linen press and removed a virginal sprigged muslin dress and proceeded to dress herself. Once she was dressed, she flung open the door of her dressing room, and moved from it to her husband's adjoining dressing room, hoping to find him, but he was not there.
She opened the door to his bedchamber. He was not there, either. Her glance fell on his bed—on the rumpled covers—and her heart sank. He had come back to his own bed during the night! He had not wanted to spend the night in her arms.
Gravely disappointed, she returned to her bed chamber and collapsed in front of her dressing table. Now that she was truly James's wife, she had wanted to feel as if they were married in every way. She had wanted to wake in the morning with him beside her. She had wanted to cheerfully discuss each other's plans for the day. She would have taken great pleasure in watching him dress.
She had been foolish enough to believe that now that she had shared her bed with him, their old camaraderie would return and he would no longer put such distance between them. His secretary, his steward, the mine captain—even her own son—saw more of her husband than she did. She longed for him to spare time for the woman he had married.
She lifted her bottle of lavender water, fully intending to hurl it into her looking glass as Peggy came striding into the room, a cocky expression on her face. “Don't ye go breaking no more mirrors, my lady.”
Carlotta set the scent down and waited for her maid to dress her hair.
* * *
Nothing in his entire life had ever been as painful as leaving Carlotta's bed at dawn. He had wanted to make love to her again and again. But being besotted did not fit into his plan of winning his wife's love. Already his scheme to earn her affection by his absence must be working. Not only had his beloved Carlotta consented to share her bed with him, she had given herself to him with a hunger as greedy as his own.
As he rode Ebony over the moors, he became aroused at each memory of the magical blending between Carlotta and him the night before. He had wanted her for so long and had imagined how fulfilling making love to her could be, but he had not been prepared for how much more powerful the living, breathing, seductive Carlotta could be than the woman of his dreams.
He had hoped she could tolerate his passion for her. He had not thought her own passion could ever equal his own.
* * *
That night he came to her bed again. They had played just one hand of cribbage. He had been unable to play any more because of his overwhelming lust for her.
He had begun to put up the pins, watching her hungrily as he did so. “Shall we go to bed, my love?” he asked in a throaty voice.
Her long lashes lifted and she nodded seductively.
As they had done the night before, they mounted the stairs, his arm resting possessively at her waist. He followed her to the dimly lit bedchamber, where she turned to face him, her gaze smoldering.
He moved to her and crushed her against him, their lips meeting and melding breathlessly. Her hands stroked his body as eagerly as his stroked hers. He deftly unfastened her dress and brushed it to the carpeted floor. Then he removed her stays and reverently cupped her breast and bent to take it in his mouth as she whimpered. He was soon carried away with her rhythm as she ground into his thigh.
His hand reached down to stroke the pelt between her thighs and she moaned with pleasure as he slipped a finger into her moist crevice. Slowly, she backed into the bed and sat on its edge, her thighs parted to better receive his manipulations. She reached down to remove first one stocking, then the other, never removing her eyes from his as his finger plunged deeper and swifter.
Then she slipped her hand beneath his breeches and began to stroke his engorged shaft until he thought he would go mad. He threw off his pants and lunged for the bed and his precious Carlotta and frantically buried himself within her.
When his release came, he shuddered convulsively over her, and with maddening exultation listened as she whimpered beneath him, each of her shudders perfectly matching his own.
Once his heartbeat returned to normal, he slid off his beloved wife, careful not to disengage himself from her down low. Then he passionately kissed her. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her, but that was not part of his plan.
He wanted to grow sturdy again within her, but that, too, had no part in his plan. Instead, he stroked her hair away from her moist forehead and held her close until she fell into a deep slumber.
Then he left her and went to his own chambers, feeling totally bereft.
He knew Carlotta did not love him, yet. But she was growing to crave him as he had long craved her. He would have to take consolation in that. That debilitating pleasure.
Chapter 21
Carlotta was leading a small army of footmen bearing baskets when she nearly collided with Fordyce, who was attempting to post a handful of letters.
“I beg your pardon, my lady.” His glance flicked to the baskets. “Is there a function for which I have not been informed?”
Carlotta's eyes danced. “Not even my husband has been informed. I'm going to surprise him at the mines by bringing the colliers a hearty res
pite.”
“The footmen are assisting you?”
“Only on this end.” She lowered her voice. “His lordship, I am sure, would not wish to flaunt his wealth or servants in front of the colliers.”
Mr. Fordyce nodded. “Say! If you're going to the mines, I beg that you get his lordship's signature on a document for me. I'll just run back and fetch it.”
At the heavily laden carriage, Carlotta had to laugh when she saw Stevie lifting a basket that was nearly as tall as he. “See how strong I am, Mama.”
She and Miss Kenworth exchanged amused glances.
“Here's the document,” said Fordyce, who had just come from the house.
Carlotta took it, glanced at Stevie's nurse, then back at Fordyce. “You are acquainted with Miss Kenworth, are you not, Mr. Fordyce?” she asked.
He nodded shyly to Miss Kenworth. “She was kind enough to invite me to dine with her last week.”
“If you have spent an hour in Miss Kenworth's company, then I daresay she knows enough of you to name your childhood friends. Miss Kenworth has a facility for making fast friends.”
“I must protest, my lady,” Miss Kenworth said. “You give me attributes I do not possess. I know no more of Mr. Fordyce than I did when I was at Middlesex. Methinks he finds dinner conversation obtrusive.”
“I beg your forgiveness, Miss Kenworth, if I gave that impression,” Fordyce said.
Eying the remorseful Mr. Fordyce and the suddenly bashful Miss Kenworth, Carlotta soon realized that the secretary's timidness lay beneath the misunderstanding. And even if Miss Kenworth was no beauty, she was a female, and Carlotta had reason to believe Mr. Fordyce was extremely reticent with members of the opposite sex.
“Miss Kenworth, if you desire conversation with Mr. Fordyce, you have only to speak of the new philosophers—like Mr. Bentham—or government, and his tongue will loosen.”
“Our curate back in Middlesex was a keen proponent of Jeremy Bentham,” Miss Kenworth said, looking up at Fordyce, then clamping her mouth closed.
Carlotta could not remember Miss Kenworth ever stopping at just one sentence. She glanced from her to the young secretary and came to the conclusion the both of them were exceedingly shy in each other's company. And that just would not do!
Carlotta slipped her arm through Fordyce's. “Mr. Fordyce, I beg that you accompany us to the mines today. It's a lovely day to be out of doors.”
“His lordship doesn't pay me to trek through the countryside, my lady,” he replied.
She patted his arm. “Don't worry. I shall take full blame. I promise you, my husband will not object to your coming.”
She could see that the man was torn. “Besides,” she added, “I have need of you this afternoon, and James said I was to have access to you whenever I wanted. So there you have it!”
“Very well,” he said.
They watched as the last of the baskets were tied on top the carriage, then Stevie bounded into the coach. Fordyce assisted Carlotta in, and she sat beside her son. Next in was Miss Kenworth, then Fordyce last.
“When shall we be there, Mama?” Stevie asked.
“In about an hour, love. The drive by way of coach is nearly twice as long as it is by horseback because the coach is restricted to the more out-of-the-way roads.”
“In preparation for his first visit to the mines, Master Stephen has learned to spell some new words. Spell the words for your mother, dear,” Miss Kenworth said.
“Coal. C-o-a-l,” Stevie said. “I thought it was spelled c-o-l-e, but Miss Kenworth taught me the proper way to spell it.”
Fordyce looked at Miss Kenworth with admiration. “But I thought you were the boy's nurse. I did not know you were a governess.”
“Fortunate for me, I can be both,” she answered.
“I perceive that Miss Kenworth enjoys the outdoors,” Carlotta said, “therefore after the lessons, she and Stevie indulge in the pursuits that make a lad happy.”
“We found an injured baby sparrow last week,”Stevie said excitedly, “and Miss Kenworth and I are nursing it back to good health.”
“Where do you keep it?” Fordyce asked.
“Presently, in Master Stephen's room.”
“Should you like to come and see him, Mr. Fordyce?” Stevie asked.
“I believe I would.”
“I've been unable to impart to Master Stephen that birds may not wish to be covered with blankets,” Miss Kenworth said with a laugh.
“I know he likes it,” Stevie said stubbornly. “I got a little piece of wool from Mrs. MacGinnis that is the perfect size for a sparrow blanket.”
Miss Kenworth shrugged. “The sparrow's gender is another matter over which Master Stephen and I are not in accord,” Miss Kenworth said with a dramatic flair. “I say the bird is a she, and he insists it's a he.” She looked up at Fordyce with no hint of a blush. “Pray, Mr. Fordyce, can you tell if a bird is a male or female?”
He sputtered out a cough, shaking his head. “Perhaps there's a book in his lordship's library which might enlighten you . . . on the subject.”
“An excellent suggestion,” Miss Kenworth said.
As the carriage trudged up a hill, Carlotta had the opportunity to observe her son's nurse. A pity the first thing one noticed about her was her plumpness. It wasn't that she was fat. She really wasn't. It was just that she had no waist whatsoever and was not blessed with height; therefore, she seemed the same circumference from top to bottom as she was from side to side.
More the pity was the fact that her coloring was quite lovely with a peaches-and-cream complexion and hair and eyes that were quite dark. She would have been considered quite pretty, if it weren't for her cursed frame.
Carlotta thought Miss Kenworth contrasted well with Mr. Fordyce's fairness and slimness. She also thought there could be no more than five years between their ages.
“Mr. Fordyce?” Stevie asked.
“Yes?”
“Did you know that Miss Kenworth can play cricket?”
The secretary ran an appreciative glance over the nurse, who began to blush. “I did not.”
“You must come play with us one day,” Stevie said. “You do know how to play cricket, do you not?”
A smile crossed his face. “Aye, I do. When I was a lad not much older than you, I played cricket at grammar school. Then again at Cambridge.” He directed a glance at Miss Kenworth. “Pray, how is it you know how to play?”
“My mother was housekeeper to Sir Eldridge, who sired four sons. They were always begging that I join them.”
“Because she's good,” Stevie said. “There's nothing of the girl about her,” the boy added.
Carlotta saw that deeper scarlet hiked up the nurse's cheeks. “That's not really the case, lamb,” Carlotta said. “Miss Kenworth just happens to indulge you with things a lad enjoys.”
“No,” Stevie protested, “she told me she was a tomboy. Always.”
Carlotta shrugged. “She's also a very fine lady.”
“Tell me,” Fordyce said to Miss Kenworth, “were you well acquainted with the curate at Middlesex?”
“I was. Before he brought his bride to our village.”
“Then you and he had discussed Benthamism?”
She nodded, then the two began to discuss utilitarianism until they arrived at the mines.
* * *
James was in the pits when Willy scurried down. “Lord Rutledge! Lady Rutledge is here, and she's brought victuals for everyone.”
But Carlotta hated the mines! Brushing off his hands and muttering under his breath, James hunkered down and moved through the blackness toward the direction of Willy's voice. Turning at an elbow in the shaft, he then followed the light—and Willie—from the pit.
Above ground, he squinted against the sun's brightness and looked around until he saw his wife. Carlotta was directing the unloading from the carriage of a dozen baskets and two folding tables. She and Miss Kenworth supervised the unpacking of the baskets and spread out the feas
t. There was smoked venison, giblet pie, apples, puddings, ham and a basketful of pastries. Another basket held plates and utensils.
Clearing his throat of the coal dust, James walked up to his wife, then immediately broke into a fit of coughing.
A look of concern swept over her face. “Fresh air is what you need, not that wretched air down in the pits,” she chastised.
He ignored her comment. “What, pray tell, is the special occasion?” he asked his wife, his gaze shifting to the tables heaped with food.
“When I came to Yarmouth, I vowed I would learn all your employees by name. This, I think, will be a good start.” She walked up to him and set her hand on his. “And please don't be angry with Mr. Fordyce. I forced him to join us. He and Miss Kenworth had a most pleasant journey. They have, I think, much in common.”
James would have been jealous of Carlotta spending time with any man, and since Fordyce was the only other gentleman available, the unfortunate secretary bore the brunt of James's vehement jealousy. James wished to believe Carlotta had brought the secretary today merely to advance his friendship with Miss Kenworth, but James's illogical jealousy gripped him too tightly. In the middle of James's scowl, Carlotta raised up on her toes and kissed his black cheek. His thoughts leapt back to the night before and how receptive she had been to his lovemaking. It was all he could do not to drag her to the carriage and have his way with her right there.
Instead, he stiffened, then removed a handkerchief from his pocket and rubbed the coal soot from her lips. “I thought you detested the black,” he whispered.
“It looks as if I'm going to have to get used to it if I'm married to you. Come, dearest, allow me to prepare a plate for you.”
She piled his plate high with food, and he had to admit it was most welcome. A man could work up a hearty appetite down in the mines. He sat on a large stone to eat—and to watch his wife personally greet each miner with extended hand. When they would balk at getting her dirty, she scoffed. “Please,” she would say time after time, “It will wash off.”