She thrust her bottom back into him and nudged him out into the corridor, quickly shutting the door behind her. When she spun to face him, she knew she was blushing and, in the candlelight of the corridor, she knew he could see.
When he opened his mouth to speak, she raised her finger in warning. ‘Do not say a word.’
‘But—’
‘Not one.’
He bit his lip to stop himself from smiling, but it wasn’t working. She could still see his lips curving up at the ends.
‘We will go to your room,’ she stated firmly.
‘So that is your room.’ Amusement danced in his eyes.
‘Yes, it’s the one I’ve been using since I came to stay with my aunt, but I did not do that. I did not have my maid do that.’ But she was certain Aunt Clara instructed someone to.
He picked her up by her biceps and moved her aside as if she weighed nothing more than his nephew. Before she was able to stop him, he opened her bedchamber door and stepped inside. She ran behind him.
A fire was already lit in the hearth, casting the room in a warm, flickering glow. And on her bed—all over her bed—were red rose petals. There had to be hundreds of them scenting the room.
Andrew’s eyebrows were somewhere up near his hairline as he surveyed her bed before turning to face her. ‘I can say with all certainty that I have never seen so many rose petals in one place in all my life.’
She tried to smile, but her lips were too stiff with embarrassment. ‘Certainly that can’t be true.’
Running his hands through the petals and watching them drop back down, he parted his lips in fascination. ‘Oh, it’s true. Who—?’
‘My aunt. Or her maid. It doesn’t matter, I am certain this was Aunt Clara’s idea.’
The allure of watching the rose petals drift down from his hand was still holding Andrew’s attention. Not sure what to do, Charlotte shifted on her feet and then reached for the corner of the coverlet.
He took hold of her wrist. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I was going to wrap up the coverlet and shake it out the window.’
‘Why?’
‘What else should I do with them?’
That devilish look was back in his eyes, making her catch her breath.
‘I have a few ideas.’ He released her wrist and gently pulled her towards him by the neckline of her gown. Looking down, he took his time unbuttoning his waistcoat before he peeled it off his body. Next, he undid the knot of his cravat and unwound it from his neck as if he were unwrapping a present for her. With his cravat gone, his shirt fell open, giving her a glimpse of his smooth muscular chest. The shadows from the firelight played with lines of muscles that stretched from his ribcage to the angles of his face. When he looked up at her through his lashes her mouth went dry, but when his gaze dropped from her eyes to her breasts, he was the one to wet his lips.
She was afraid to move. Afraid to break the spell he had over her that was causing her body to tingle in the most intimate places. When he reached behind his head and pulled off his shirt with one hand, she had to grab on to the bed post to steady her legs.
The corner of his mouth crooked up a fraction and he took his finger and trailed a line from her collarbone over the top swell of her right breast and rested in her cleavage. In a tantalisingly slow movement, he slid his middle finger from the swell of one breast, across the swell of the other and back again. The entire time, he didn’t say a word.
It was becoming difficult to take a steady breath and she would have given anything to slip out of her stays. As if he read her mind, he spun her around by her waist and pressed his already hard length into her bottom. He took her hair and pushed it over her shoulder before he undid all the buttons on her dress. It slipped easily from her shoulders, falling down around her feet in a shimmering heap. Holding her hands, he assisted her in stepping out of it.
When she straightened up, he pulled on the string of her stays, looking at her as if he would devour her. His mouth found her nipple and he tongued it through her chemise before sucking it into his mouth. Carried away by her own response, she threaded her fingers through his hair and tugged. A soft moan slipped from his lips as he pulled his head away.
‘I need to see all of you this time.’ His deep voice sounded even huskier.
She looked over at the bed of rose petals and wanted to cry. All she wanted to do was feel him inside her. When she looked back at Andrew, their eyes met as he kicked off his shoes.
He reached for her chemise by her hips and lifted it over her head. She should be embarrassed. She should want to hide from him. But the curse he uttered while his gaze raked over every inch of her had her feeling desired and emboldened, so she undid the buttons on the fall of his trousers. He practically tore them off along with his stockings before he picked her up and placed her gently on the bed. Rose petals flew in all directions.
He stretched himself over her. The touch of his hand was almost unbearable in its tenderness as he traced the line on her collarbone and down between her breast, before trailing down even further. They had all the time in the world and Andrew appeared intent on taking advantage of every second of it. When he slid two fingers inside her, it was impossible to take a deep breath, and she arched her back at the delicious feeling. She wound her arms around his waist, wanting to feel even closer to him. Not wanting to let him go.
Could she say it? Could she be that forward?
‘I want you, Andrew.’
His fingers slipped out of her, spreading her wetness along the way. ‘Now?’
‘Now.’
She barely got to finish the very short word before he leaned his torso over her and thrust himself inside her. Her head flew back while she cried out from the sensation. He claimed her mouth in a hungry kiss that told her she was not alone in her intense desire. She dug her nails into the curve of the muscles in his arms and held on, needing him to ground her. She felt absolutely defenceless against the onslaught of emotions rising inside her.
Andrew found a rhythm that suited them both, at times urgent and then slowing down to long leisurely thrusts. His fingers were tangled in her hair when he pulled his head away and stared into her eyes. There was an unspoken moment that passed between them—a moment where it felt as if they were the only two people in the world and were intent on spending the rest of their lives together. But as suddenly as she felt it, it quickly passed and was replaced by the need to give each other the most pleasure. He leaned down and kissed her once more and before long they cried out their releases in unison, as if their bodies were acknowledging how perfect they were for each other, even though neither of their hearts could see it.
Chapter Nineteen
Andrew collapsed next to Charlotte on the bed while they both were having a hard time catching their breath. The circles of red petals were stuck to his skin that was damp with sweat. Suddenly, the recollection of their child made him roll to his side and look down at her. ‘Did I hurt you? Did I hurt the baby?’
Her eyelids fluttered open and her dark well-arched brows furrowed. ‘You have done no damage to me. And I think the baby is fine. It’s still too small. Look, my stomach doesn’t yet have a bump.’
He looked down at her flat stomach and placed his palm upon it. Their child was in there. He rested his ear against her soft skin to listen for any sound.
She trailed her fingers through the strands of his hair. ‘Olivia recommended her physician to me and I saw him yesterday.’
‘Why did you not tell me?’
‘I didn’t think it was something you would want to know. He said, if we wanted to, we could continue to make love until the time I deliver. It will not harm the baby.’
That bit of information told him that she wanted to keep having sex with him for the time they were together. They didn’t have very long. From now until they parted ways, they should h
ave sex every night. Or every morning. It didn’t matter which. Maybe both.
‘Do you hear anything in there?’ she asked, pulling him out of his thoughts.
He wasn’t sure what a baby would sound like inside its mother, but he listened closely. ‘Just some gurgling sounds. Do you think that’s it?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Do you feel anything moving inside you?’ It seemed logical that she might, but he honestly didn’t know if mothers ever did. He knew his nephews were noisy and moved around a lot as babies, but it was possible when they were growing inside Olivia they were still and silent.
There was a pause, as if Charlotte was analysing what her body was experiencing at that exact moment. ‘No. I don’t feel anything.’
‘Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?’
‘Each day my opinion changes,’ she replied as she softly rubbed the strands of his hair between her fingers. ‘What do you think?’
‘I assume it’s a boy. My family comes from a long line of boys. I don’t think any Pearce man has conceived a girl in hundreds of years.’
Her hand stilled in his hair. ‘That can’t be true.’
He looked up at her. ‘It is. The last girl born a Pearce was in the sixteenth century.’
‘Humph.’ She went back to gently stroking his hair. ‘What would you want to name it if it’s a boy?’
Andrew hadn’t ever given much thought to what he would name a son. He had never wanted one. Or a daughter. ‘I think Edgar is a fine noble name,’ he replied with a teasing smile. The sound of her laughter drifted to his ear. ‘Do you have an idea what you would want to name it?’ The idea that she would want to name it Jonathan brought bile to his throat. He held his breath and waited for her response.
‘I thought we would name it Andrew, after you.’
The gesture humbled him and he kissed her abdomen and hoped his child felt it.
‘But since you suggested Edgar...’
He poked his finger into her side and was rewarded to find she was ticklish.
‘And if it’s a girl?’ she asked. ‘I understand the likelihood is small, however if it is indeed a girl what would you like to name it? Do you have any dead pets you’re fond of?’
‘Not any that were girls,’ he replied. ‘What about you?’
‘I’d like to name her Elizabeth.’
‘After your sister?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why was she not here today?’
Her hand stilled once again. He picked his head up to look at her and saw sadness mixed with something else in her eyes. Something that resembled guilt.
‘She doesn’t approve of this...of what happened between us, does she, Charlotte?’ He knew her sister had had an interest in him, but he had found her shallow and too preoccupied with position and wealth for his taste. She was a duchess. Did she truly fear her position in Society was in danger because of their child? He had married Charlotte. The scandal had been averted.
‘She...she...’ Charlotte looked away and closed her eyes, as if she was trying to block out where she was.
‘That’s it, isn’t it?’
‘Must we talk of my sister now? Here?’
His family had always banded together during difficult times. Facing problems together they were stronger. He had never thought her family would not feel the same when faced with a scandal. And yet, Charlotte still wanted to name their child after her sister. They must have been close at one time.
Andrew lowered his head back down, not liking to see Charlotte sad and wanting to erase this moment of causing her pain. ‘You may name the baby whatever you like.’
There was a long pause. He thought she hadn’t heard him.
‘So, I can name him Andrew Edgar?’ she teased.
He smiled and sent a kiss to their child. ‘If you like. Although we might want to avoid telling our child he was named after a turtle.’
‘It will be our secret.’ She picked rose petals off his back and tossed them to the floor.
Then, just as he thought she had picked them all off, the pad of her fingers began tracing a line on his side below his ribcage close to his hip. As her fingers gently moved back and forth, he knew she had discovered one of his many scars.
‘How did you get this?’ she enquired, craning her neck to see it in the firelight.
‘Fencing,’ he lied and wondered how many more lies he would tell her in their lifetime. If she knew he had been in a knife fight it would stir up questions he wasn’t willing to answer—not truthfully anyway.
She continued to trace the raised scar that was his largest, as if taking a tactile measurement of it, as silence stretched between them. ‘Do you fence often?’ There was a catch to her voice that made him think that, unlike his past lovers, Charlotte would not be an easy woman to convince.
‘Occasionally.’
‘Well, with a scar this size, it’s possible I’ve found the one thing you do not excel at.’
The competitive nature inside him was at war with his rational mind. He had won that knife fight. How he wished he could tell her that.
Charlotte moved her hand up his side and once again ran her nails softly across his back, scrubbing away the reminder of the time he was attacked outside the tavern in Dover. She was bound to see his other scars. He could always blame them on his time in the ring. Not only was it a way to hone his skills with his fists, over the years boxing had always proved an ideal way to explain his other injuries.
It was becoming difficult to keep his eyes open. He glanced at the clock on the mantel and was surprised to see that it was only nine o’clock. This was much too early to go sleep. He hadn’t fallen asleep this early since he was Nicholas’s age. But the warmth of the room, the quality of the mattress and Charlotte’s gentle caresses were lulling him to sleep.
There was only one woman in the world for him. He knew that now and could never imagine wanting anyone else. But their separation was necessary. He couldn’t allow them to develop deep feelings for one another. If they did and something happened to him, there was no telling what another loss would do to Charlotte. He wouldn’t risk hurting her like that. And he could never be an effective operative if he was distracted worrying about leaving his wife and child. Living apart, without any chance of falling in love, was best for both of them.
Even now, sleeping in the same bed together would be a mistake. It was too dangerous and would create too many questions. It was one of the reasons he chose to live in Albany. The restrictions on women being on the premises made it an ideal place to call home.
The nightmares of pulling the trigger on his Uncle Peter had haunted him since that fateful night. He was only able to sleep a few hours, and waking up in a cold sweat with your heart pounding wasn’t conducive to going back to sleep. Charlotte didn’t need to be exposed to that. And how would he explain the gun he slept with under his pillow?
His own room wasn’t far away. He should go there.
Just as soon as she stopped caressing his back...
* * *
Andrew tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids were so heavy. There was a different scent in the air, not like the familiar smell of ash from a fire that had been burning all night and had recently gone out. This smell wasn’t smoky.
A hand dropped on his chest.
On instinct, he rolled to his side, pinning the body beside him down and holding the owner’s wrists above their head with his right hand. His chest was heaving with fear and his left hand dived under his pillow in search of his gun. It wasn’t there. Where the hell was it?
When his vision cleared, he saw Charlotte’s wide eyes staring up at him with fear. Immediately, he released her. He tried to help her into a sitting position, but she knocked his hand away.
‘My God, Charlotte. I’m so sorry. I forgot where I was.’ He knew the power an
d strength he had. He knew he could have easily broken her wrists or injured her in some way. His instincts from years of protecting himself had screamed he was in danger and he needed to subdue his potential attacker. That was why falling asleep with a woman was a bad idea.
The clock on the mantel said it was seven. How was that possible? The last time he had looked it was nine. That was almost twelve hours. He never slept more than a few hours a night. The languid feeling that he had when he first started to wake up was gone. Every muscle in his body was strung tight as he watched her rub her wrists.
He was afraid to touch her now. He wasn’t afraid he would hurt her. Knowing now that it was Charlotte, he knew he never would. However, he was afraid she would once again push him away.
‘What is wrong with you?’ she asked, her tone filled with anger.
‘Please forgive me. I am so sorry. I told you we shouldn’t sleep together. I told you it would be best for me to have my own room.’
‘Because you said you had trouble sleeping at night and wake frequently. Not because you’d try to kill me!’
At her words, the blood drained from his face, and his body ran cold. It was impossible to swallow and every instinct he had was telling him to run. This was why men like him should never marry. But it was too late now.
‘I wasn’t trying to kill you. I was disorientated. I’ve never slept in the same bed with anyone before. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’
Criss-crossing her legs, she pulled a pillow from behind her and hugged it to her chest. ‘Tell me why that happened. Tell me why your first instinct upon awakening was to defend yourself from an unknown enemy.’
She understood exactly what had happened. Perhaps because she was the wife of a soldier. But he couldn’t tell her the truth. He couldn’t tell her about his years of work that at times included fighting for his life. His father had told him countless times to suspect everyone and trust no one.
For a moment, it was years earlier and he was back in the garden of their safe house in Richmond. Flashes of lightning were exploding in the sky around him. Rain was pouring down in sheets as he ran towards Gabriel’s anguished cry. When he came upon him, his friend Matthew’s lifeless body was cradled in Gabriel’s bloodied arms.
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