“How—how do you suppose we’ll end my engagement?”
“Take your cloak off and find out,” he offered, moving toward his quarry.
She stood her ground and released the frog at her throat to let the black velvet pool on the ground. The dress beneath was midnight blue, sweeping off both shoulders, and ruched in a vee shape down the front of the bodice. Her breasts were high, and her waist so small he wanted to wrap his hands around her. What a sweet enticement she was. A banquet for the eyes, and a feast that would only end once his hands and mouth devoured every bit of her naked flesh.
“You plan to seduce me here, then? Is that your bright idea?” She pointed her finger at his chest, halting him midstep. “Because there are so many people here to witness that I’m in a compromising position. Well, let me tell you how I see it, Lord Castleigh: you are no more than a very sad excuse for a rogue, one who could probably take lessons in a proper seduction from me.”
He put his fingers beneath her chin and angled her face so she had to look directly into his eyes. His hold was gentle, and she could easily pull away at any time if she so wished. She evidently did not for she stood still.
Her eyes were dark pools of molten lava, even though he knew them to be a true sea blue. Something was happening between them, and he was helpless to stop himself from exploring exactly what that something was, even though he knew he should release her and take a step back.
She sucked in her bottom lip, the tip of her tongue visible as she wet it. When she exhaled, he was done for. He stole her breath the next moment as their mouths meshed together and their tongues tangled, lost in a passion he never expected from a woman so young and inexperienced.
The way she had her hands fisted around the sleeves of his jacket, it was as though she were unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer. His hands were too rough as they tangled in her hair to pull her in tighter against his body and he gentled his hold, still desperate to taste more of her.
She bit at his lips, the top, and then the bottom. He returned the erotic nibbles, and then thrust his tongue far into her mouth, skimming it over her teeth and around her tongue. He swore he could taste her very essence. He was so wrapped in her rose scent that nothing mattered except kissing Lady Charlotte till she was weak in the knees and begging him for more.
Her hands never moved, and his threaded through her curls, now half falling from the pins. He held her so tightly and their bodies were pressed so completely together in their sudden embrace that neither could move, even though he wanted more than anything to sweep his hands across the soft swell of her breasts to see if her skin was as soft as it looked. He would bet on his life that it was.
How had he been blinded by her youth to not realize the passion sizzling just beneath her witty demeanor?
* * *
This wasn’t supposed to be happening, but Charlotte was helpless to pull away from the marquess. Unable to distance herself when she wanted nothing more than to sink deeper into the kiss. And what a kiss it was.
Their mouths were fused together, and their tongues tasting so deeply, it was as though they were of one mind in their need for more. She might fleetingly have thought she’d like to try kissing the marquess, but she had never truly planned for it to happen. She needed his help and it would be easier to accomplish her goal without any emotional entanglement between them.
His hands finally moved from her hair to slide over her shoulders and then lower to hold her about the waist. She skimmed her hands over the sides of his neck and jaw. And then he pulled his lips away from hers.
There was a raging fire of desire burning in his light blue eyes, and it was so intense she could feel the heat sizzling along her flesh exposed to the night air. Neither released the other; they just stood embracing and staring at each other.
Charlotte was a little out of breath, and her breasts rose and fell rapidly, surging against his chest with each inhalation. His eyes were focused on her lips again. Would he kiss her once more? Did she want him to? Oh, indeed, she did. But they couldn’t. It wasn’t right; it would change their easy friendship to something else … something darkly dangerous, even though she wanted to explore this because it was forbidden.
She dropped her hands away from him, and placed her fingers over her kiss-swollen lips, suddenly shocked by what had just transpired. What had she done? Worse, she wanted to do it again and again until she had her fill of this man. Could she ever truly get her fill of him?
The marquess must have seen something in her expression that disagreed with everything they’d done, for he released her, and dropped his hands to his sides despite the fact that he looked starved for more of her.
Her heart beat so fast in her chest that the sound pulsed in her ears and made her deaf to her surroundings. She could no more escape what she’d done than stop herself from wanting to indulge once again in the sweet touch of their bodies together, and their locked lips.
Though only a couple of steps distanced them, she practically ran back into his arms, this time stealing a surprised kiss from him.
He must have read her intent, for his arms wrapped around her immediately. This time they were not idle, but pressed into her, his hands molding her hips, her waist, her back as they tasted each other for a second time.
Kissing him was so wrong, but it felt so right.
Her breasts were crushed to his chest, her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders and neck, her fingers tangling in his dark hair. The tresses were as soft as hers, but bone straight.
They were so lost in each other that they hadn’t realized someone had entered the kitchen until they heard the clearing of a throat behind them.
Charlotte hurriedly drew herself away from the marquess and turned to the intruder, panting heavily and flushing from the embarrassment of what she’d been doing. How dare this person interrupt something so perfect, so intense.
No, that thought wasn’t right.
She should thank the woman standing before them, because she’d just ensured Charlotte would not find herself ruined by the marquess.
It was the woman from Gunter’s. Her dark hair was down and braided over one shoulder. She was in her nightgown and robe. She looked at odds with staying and leaving, but her gaze traveled between Charlotte and the marquess with interest.
“Bea.” The marquess’s voice was deeper than usual, slightly breathless from their activities. It made Charlotte feel marginally better that he seemed just as out of sorts by what had happened as she was.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt…”
Charlotte eyed her suspiciously. Had she not meant to disrupt their kiss, she would have turned right back around and left them to their own devices—or vices, as it were—in the kitchen. Goose bumps rose along her arms at the thought. Charlotte should be praising this woman for her timely intervention. That kiss might have been an indulgence Charlotte would have liked to repeat, but it had also been wrong for so many reasons.
“I forget myself,” the marquess said, stepping around Charlotte to retrieve her fallen cloak, which he wrapped around her shoulders.
Charlotte redid the frog clasp and tied the satin ribbons together beneath. She suddenly felt the need to busy herself since she could think of nothing to say to this woman she did not know. Her face was no longer hot with embarrassment. Anger filled her instead for letting her guard down and allowing the marquess to prove that he was a practiced roué and how little defense she had against him, especially when she didn’t understand all that seduction entailed.
The woman stood her ground, a look of confusion puckering her pretty brows. She had the same blue eyes as the marquess. Perhaps she was a sibling?
“Can I bring you something once I’ve seen my guest home?”
Charlotte turned to him, unsure why he would say such a thing. She lived but two streets over and she’d found her way here, so she could find her way home, as well.
“Stay,” Charlotte said to him. To the woman he called Bea
she said, “I’m sorry we met this way. Please accept my apologies for…” For what exactly? She couldn’t say for walking in on their kiss, or for being caught in the marquess’s arms when she wanted to be there still.
“I’m not one to judge, but the children could happen upon you here.”
She was looking at Tristan as she said that. But Charlotte wasn’t sure if that reminder was supposed to upset her, or to make her realize the full depth of the stupidity of her actions.
“Understood,” she said to the woman.
Charlotte nodded and turned toward the door that led to the back gardens. She didn’t want to leave from the front entrance and draw any attention to the marquess’s home. The servants’ entrance was less conspicuous. Or at least she hoped it to be.
She couldn’t look upon the marquess. Was he as angry with himself as she was with herself? Did he want to kiss her again as she secretly wanted to kiss him?
“I’ll be home later, Bea,” the marquess said, following on Charlotte’s heels.
“Tristan,” she called out. There was a measure of shock in her voice.
Tristan. How fitting a name when Charlotte wanted to use him to end her engagement to Mr. Warren.
His hand pressed to her lower back as he pulled open the heavy wooden door. It appeared she wouldn’t escape him too easily. Perhaps she should act as though the kiss had never happened, otherwise everything would become awkward between them.
When the cool night air and a wall of fog wrapped around them, he said, “I’m sorry. Rest assured my sister will say nothing about discovering us. I would trust her with my own life.”
Charlotte turned to him. “I’ve already forgotten she was there.”
Her voice sounded defensive to her own ears. The marquess smiled and pulled the hood of her cloak up to obscure her identity.
“I will remind you another time of what precisely transpired between us tonight.”
“I’d rather you wouldn’t.”
She brushed past him, not quite sure she was going in the right direction with fog sitting heavily in the air all around them. He pushed through the clouds of white ahead of her and reached up to unlatch a gate. At least she’d been heading in the right direction.
“The fog will aid us in getting you home without discovery.”
“I made it here undiscovered. I would have remained in the shadows till I was safely back in my own home.”
“What kind of man would that make me, if I let you walk the streets alone at the midnight hour?” The marquess clucked his tongue and shook his head in a scolding fashion.
She snorted and couldn’t help but tease him. “Despite what many might think, you really are a gentleman.”
“I like to believe so.” He puffed up his chest and smoothed one hand down the front of his jacket.
She nearly laughed. He was having fun at himself to put her more at ease.
“You’re not anything like what I imagined.”
“Is that so?”
“I thought you would be different somehow.”
“I may still prove to be the rogue you so desperately desire me to be.” The tone of his voice was darker when he said that—was he disappointed that she had painted him in such a way?
She needed to change the subject of their conversation. Dissecting what was between them was unsettling; especially after the kiss they’d just shared. She needed time to think about all that had happened.
“I didn’t know you had a sister.”
“I suppose you’re too young to have read her woes in the rags.”
“Scandal runs in the family, does it?” she teased.
“Her story isn’t mine to tell.” There was an edge of protectiveness in his voice that brooked no argument. So she wisely left it alone.
“You’re a very interesting man,” she observed aloud.
“You think? No different than my peers, really.”
“Yet you go about society as though no one matters.”
“That is where you are wrong.” They turned onto Grosvenor Street. “Don’t describe me as heartless, my lady, when I do care about the things that matter most in life.”
When he didn’t seem inclined to continue, she prompted him. “What kinds of things…?”
“My children, my sister, Jezebel, my closest friends. Is that enough to appease your curiosity?” he said drolly.
She looked at her toes peeking out from beneath her dress and cloak as they walked. She should be ashamed that she had asked; of course he cared about his family, how could she ever assume or think otherwise? “You make me feel shallow.”
“We are merely at different stages in life. And I certainly can’t blame you for wanting to dissolve your engagement.” He took her arm in his and patted her hand.
“My cousin reminds me often that I’m lucky to have caught Mr. Warren’s attention. Though it’s being arranged by my father.” The betrayal of her father could not be forgiven, not while Papa was willing to ruin the rest of her life to make one small political alliance. Shouldn’t she mean more to her father than to be a mere pawn that would be stolen by the first piece to cross over her square on a chessboard?
They stopped walking. Her house was close, and because he wasn’t cloaked as she was, he would have to retreat into the fog before long.
“I’ll be fine going up to my house alone, my lord.”
“Do not walk the streets unescorted again. You don’t know what dangers lurk in the shadows. And you’re far too precious to subject yourself to any kind of danger.”
“My maid escorted me to your house.”
He smiled at her and reached beyond the hood of her cloak to cup her chin in his hand.
“Will I see you again before I go?” Her voice was wistful and she wished she didn’t sound quite so eager to see him again, but it was too late to take back the question.
“Something can definitely be arranged,” he replied earnestly. “You’re here for a while yet.”
She gave him a smile, not that he could see it beyond the hood of her cloak, but his thumb brushed over her cheek and across her lips, stopping her breathing once again.
“Write me another letter to let me know.”
“I’ll only pen another note if you promise to return the favor,” he said.
Her eyes widened. She opened her mouth to ask if he honestly wanted her to write to him again, but his thumb pressed over her lips.
“Shh,” he whispered. “I’d kiss you good night if I thought we could remain unnoticed.”
Tendrils of light from the gas lamps and the moon that shone bright above them were trapped in the fog swirling around them, and for the briefest of moments, they could see each other clearly. There didn’t appear to be anyone around, and she was tempted to throw him off his game by giving him another kiss, but she didn’t dare. Not after what had happened in his kitchen. Really, she might not be able to stop at simply a kiss.
“I’ll be attending the opera tomorrow,” she informed him.
“Alas, I have a dinner engagement I cannot break.”
She was crestfallen by this news. But it was for the best.
“What are we doing, Lord Castleigh?”
“Does it matter so long as we are enjoying each other’s company?”
“I suppose not.” She stepped out of his reach and stared at the servants’ entrance where she would steal into her own home like a thief. She didn’t want to go, but remaining out here with his lordship was also impossible.
“Good night, my lord,” she finally said, and turned away from her very own midnight temptation.
Chapter 9
A stream of correspondence between two prominent households has been noted. All that’s left to figure out is whom the letters are being passed between and how illicit the words contained within might be.
—The Mayfair Chronicles, June 1846
Dear Lord Marquess,
At your request, I’m penning you a letter—hopefully the first of many. What should I det
ail for you? My daily activities of late are all rather dull. I still haven’t had word on the particulars of our next meeting. Surely you won’t keep this lady waiting in suspense for your next move?
Ever the victor,
C
Dearest C,
One day is simply not enough time to plan what I have in mind. I shall send you the details once they are worked out.
And it was nothing more than beginner’s luck that saw you nearly a victor—I feel I should remind you that our game never officially concluded; therefore, no victor can be named.
I would also like to draw your attention to my very unoriginal address. Really, you must be more discreet.
Lord Marquess
P.S. I’m very interested in your mundane daily tasks.
Dear Lord,
If you wish for me to be original and discreet, perhaps you should not sign yourself as, well, yourself in your correspondence with me.
There is no such thing as beginner’s luck. It’s what poor sportsmen tell themselves when they cannot outwit a worthy opponent.
Lady C
P.S. My morning was spent being fitted for new dresses.
Madam,
I think I prefer “dearest Lord Marquess” to your most recent salutation. I will show you that beginner’s luck is very real. Now stop distracting me with these rose-scented letters of yours while I make arrangements for us to meet once more.
Lord Marquess
Sir,
If you wish to drop formal salutations, then I, too, shall do so. You are taking too long to make arrangements and I grow impatient for your next move. Perhaps we should bring out an hourglass to hurry you along at a pace I would be more content with? Need I remind you that I will be leaving Town in a few days’ time?
Lady C
My dearest, most gracious lady,
Impatience is a failing of youth. Allow me some time, and I promise to make the wait well worth your while. Now, tell me what you’ve done to keep yourself busy—when you aren’t driving me insane with a constant stream of parchment.
Midnight Temptations With a Forbidden Lord Page 11