He kissed the curve of her derriere. “But it is the things you say and the sound of your laughter that move me most.”
She closed her eyes, awash in feeling and emotion. Charlotte looked at life pragmatically, and she felt no shame for her past. The need to survive had long ago overridden her pride. But in all of her experience, she’d never had a man take such time with her, stoking her arousal, making her liquid with desire, as Hugh had done from the very beginning. The sexual act shouldn’t feel this intimate, not when the situation was so temporary. But then he slipped a finger inside her, and she lost her trepidation. He entered a little more, and she tensed, sore from his earlier amorous attentions.
Hugh hummed a coaxing sound, and then his mouth was there, his tongue moving in deep licks, just the way he kissed. He parted her with his fingers, his other hand kneading her breast, rolling her nipple.
“Please,” she whispered, circling her hips into his thrusting tongue, wanting him . . . desperately.
He straightened, and a moment later she felt the hard heat of him, pressing slowly into her, filling the empty ache she hadn’t known was there until he’d arrived. Patient and tender, he stroked her spine, soothing her, as his cock stretched swollen tissues unaccustomed to such constant use.
“Yes . . .” she sighed, when his thighs touched hers, her body stretched to the limit to accommodate him. She arched her hips upward in silent invitation, and he slipped deeper inside with a soft curse.
“This feeling,” he grunted, hunching over her and cupping her silk-covered breasts with his hands. “I cannot imagine ever having enough of this.”
He slid out slowly and then pressed forward again, starting a leisurely rhythm and maintaining it, the steady in and out inundating her with pleasure. She whimpered and began to writhe, begging him to end her torment.
“Do you truly want it to end?” he asked in a husky murmur. “I don’t.”
Her short nails left scratch marks in the rug as he slowed his pace. She didn’t want it to end—this moment, his visit, none of it. But if she didn’t orgasm soon she was afraid she would die. “Please . . .”
He thrust deep and groaned, burying his cock to the hilt and coming, burning her from the inside with hot, pulsing streams of his seed.
Charlotte came just like that, convulsing around him, his chest to her back, his hands on her breasts, his groans with her cries, until she couldn’t tell where she ended and Hugh La Coeur began.
Hugh brushed fiery red curls from Charlotte’s face before kissing the tip of her nose. “I want you to come with me when I leave.” Lifting her from the floor, he carried her to the bed.
She buried her face in his throat. “I cannot leave here.”
“Why not?” He set her atop the counterpane and then slid beside her.
She caught his hand and brought it to her heart, her eyes a soft and misty green. “Because we’re safe here, the servants and I. We have a home where we’re comfortable. It may not be ideal, but it’s reliable.”
Resting against the pillows, Hugh studied her face. “I can be reliable. I shall open an account for you, in your name. I’ve promised you a house, and I’ll provide it. Everything I give you will be yours to keep. Plenty to provide for you and the others.”
Charlotte looked away. “I like Derbyshire,” she said softly.
He stared at her, feeling as if he’d taken a physical blow. She would choose this place, this life, over him? He’d told her how he felt, revealed emotions he didn’t know how to manage, and she shunned him. In truth she didn’t trust him.
It’s reliable, she said. Unspoken was the notion that he was not.
“Jesus,” he muttered, sliding off the bed. He walked to the window and pushed aside the drapes, gazing at the winter scene outside. A few days more and he would be free to move on, free to return to the careless life he’d once enjoyed but now found sadly unfulfilling. If he expired today, what memory would he leave behind? That of a man who was unreliable and irresponsible? He didn’t want to be that man anymore.
“There are things you don’t know,” Charlotte said behind him, her voice soft and tentative.
He kept his back to her but was acutely aware of every move she made. “Are you going to tell me what they are?”
“I . . .” She paused, then sighed. “No.”
“Well, then.” Hugh released a deep breath, his disappointment painful. “I suppose that answers my question.”
“I wish I could explain.”
“Please,” he said, raising a hand. “Don’t say anything further. I asked, you replied. There’s nothing more to be said.” But part of him wished she would tell him, would confide in him, would trust him. Then again, the more he knew, the worse his ridiculous attachment could become.
No, it was best to keep her as an amusement and nothing more, regardless of how he felt at the moment.
Hugh turned from the window and retrieved his trousers. Then he collected his shirt.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
He didn’t look at her. “For a walk.”
“Where?” The sheets rustled. “I can show you around the manse.”
“I’d rather you didn’t, if you don’t mind.” He could sense her hurt from across the room, but he forced himself to ignore it, moving into the adjoining sitting room to create much-needed distance between them.
Having spent most of his stay in the bedroom, Hugh wasn’t familiar with any other wings of the house, but he didn’t imagine it would be too difficult to find the study he’d stumbled into before. Most of his focus had been on Charlotte last night, but if he remembered correctly, there was a liquor-stocked sideboard in there.
And a drink, or several, was just what he needed, to find the frame of mind that kept his emotions far removed from his bedsport.
Chapter Six
It took only a few moments after leaving Charlotte for Hugh to find the study, which was just down the hall. He also found something else. Seated at the desk, with books scattered all around, was a young girl of no more than sixteen or seventeen years of age. Pausing on the threshold, he wasn’t certain if he should enter or not. Propriety dictated the girl be chaperoned in his presence, but then he doubted anyone in this household would take offense.
Who the devil was she? She looked . . . normal. And the casual way in which she made use of the study made him think she must be a member of the household and not a servant.
The girl looked up at just that moment, and her face broke out in a delighted grin. With hair as dark as night and bright blue eyes, she was quite lovely. “Hallo, Lord Montrose,” she greeted as she rose from behind the desk and came toward him. “’Tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” She held out her hand.
Completely dumbfounded, Hugh moved out of sheer habit, reaching for her fingers and bowing. “A pleasure . . . ?”
She giggled. “Guinevere. My mother was a bit of a romantic. But you should call me Gwen as all my close associates do.”
Arching a brow, Hugh studied the chit further. Tall and slender, she held herself with the hallmarks of good breeding but deported herself with an informality that betrayed her lack of proper social training.
“Are you studying?” he asked, looking over her shoulder at the items on the desk.
“I was attempting to, yes.” Gwen smiled. “But history is simply not holding my attention today. Where is Charlotte?”
“I’m not certain.” Surely she wouldn’t still be in his room. Most likely she’d never grace it again, leastwise not while he was occupying it.
“Ahhh . . . a lover’s tiff,” Gwen murmured sagely. “Surprisingly early, but inevitable, I’ve been told. And the deeper the attachment, the more hurtful the row.”
“How the devil would you know of such things?”
Shrugging, Gwen turned back to the desk. “There’s not much of interest out here, my lord, and few people with whom to talk. Around these parts the only true form of entertainment appears to be courtship, and I’m a curious sort. It’s rather like an opera, you see, or a play. Quite fascinating the way the sexes associate with each other, wouldn’t you agree?”
Hugh shook his head. He’d never encountered a stranger group of individuals in his life. “I require liquor,” he muttered, moving with long strides to the sideboard, where several crystal decanters sat lined up with tumblers. Tossing back one drink, he savored the burning heat in his stomach, before pouring another and turning to face the young Guinevere again. “Are you related to Her Grace?”
Her brows arched. “I’m her ward.”
“Right.” He finished his second drink. To these people it would make perfect sense to leave a young girl in the care of a duchess not quite right in the head.
“ ’Ere now!”
Hugh glanced at the doorway, where Artemis stood with hands on his hips. “You shouldn’t be talking to ’im,” the servant scolded Gwen.
“Beg your pardon?” Hugh stiffened.
Artemis turned his bulging eye toward him. “I tole ’er Grace you’d be nothin’ but trouble. But she wouldn’t listen to me. And look what you’ve done!”
“What the devil are you talking about?”
“She’s cryin’ and yer in ’ere imbibin’ spirits and swearin’ in front o’ Miss Guinevere. And ’alf dressed, too! Disgraceful.”
“Oh, dear.” Gwen gave a regretful shake of her head and moved to make her egress. “That must have been some row you had.”
“I’ve done nothing,” Hugh cried, affronted at the unfair accusation, and a tad embarrassed. Artemis was correct. He wasn’t acting the gentleman. “I’ve yet to be introduced to Lady Glenmoore. I’m certainly not the cause of her distress. Most likely it’s you. Lord knows I’d be in tears if you worked in my household.”
Artemis gasped, his hands coming to his hips. “See?” he blustered to Gwen. “I tole ye how they are!” He lifted a finger to the side of his head and spun it in a circle. “All the Quality are a bit—”
“Damnation!” Hugh slammed his empty tumbler onto the sideboard. “Of all the insolent—”
“Good heavens,” Gwen interrupted, wrinkling her nose. “Artemis, stand down.”
Hugh crossed his arms. “He’s mad as you please.”
“Eh?” Artemis snapped. “Ye can’t even recall the name o’ the lady you’ve been entertainin’ all mornin’.”
“Oh, my.” Gwen blushed, her hands lifting to her cheeks.
Hugh froze. His horrified gaze shifted to Gwen. When she winced, all the pieces fell into place. Stunned, he shot a glance at Artemis, who for once had the grace to look chastened. “Good God.” He leaned heavily against the sideboard. “Where is she?”
“Perhaps you should wait until you’re less surly,” Gwen advised.
“I am not surly!”
“You’re yelling,” she pointed out.
“I am not—” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He was yelling. Despite the foul mood brought on by Charlotte’s lack of faith, he needed to control himself and deal with the situation rationally. “I need to speak with her.” Opening his eyes, he said, “She’ll be safe with me.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Gwen said with a smile. “’Tis obvious you are both a bit soft on one another. Artemis, do you know where Her Grace is?”
The butler gestured toward the hallway. “ ’Er room. Third door down on the right.”
“Thank you.”
Artemis blocked the doorway for a moment. He opened his mouth and then snapped it shut, moving out of the way.
Halfway down the gallery, Hugh paused and took another deep breath. There was so much to comprehend at once, it was nearly impossible, and in the end, the only one who could clarify anything was Charlotte. And feeling a cad that he’d made her cry, Hugh was suitably contrite when he knocked on the closed door. He heard her bid him entry and walked inside.
She sat at the escritoire, studying the map. With her bright red hair piled atop her head and dark green dressing gown, she was a vision. When she looked up, her eyes were as clear as a field of grass in spring, her nose pert and not red. She hadn’t been crying at all. It was easy to deduce that he’d been duped. Obviously the butler felt Hugh should know the truth.
Her chin lifted. “Good morning, my lord.” Her voice was cool and impartial, far removed from the temptress who’d been on her hands and knees for him just a short time ago.
Goaded into it by her chilly demeanor, he replied, “Good morning, Your Grace.”
Charlotte flinched, a slight movement of her brows that he would have missed if he hadn’t been determinedly searching for it.
“Artemis,” she muttered under her breath. “Drat him.”
Hugh closed the door and waited.
She sighed. “Very well, then.” Coming to her feet, she moved around the small desk and approached him head-on, just as she approached all her difficulties. “Is there anything else you discovered?”
“You refer to Guinevere?” He realized then that their meeting could not have been unplanned. Had the young girl studied in her room, he would never have learned of her existence. For whatever reason, the members of Charlotte’s odd menagerie wanted him to know their secrets.
Pursing her lips, she gestured to the nearby settee, waiting until he sat to continue. “Everything I told you was the truth.”
“Truth by omission,” he argued.
“But the truth nevertheless.”
“Was that you in black and shrouded in lace?”
“Yes, that was I.”
He released a sigh of relief. He’d thought he was insane for feeling aroused by the darkly clad duchess. Knowing it was Charlotte in disguise put the whole encounter in perspective.
