Charity (25 page)

After a moment, he gave a tiny new push but stopped when her eyes widened in surprise. He leaned forward, his fingers still laced with hers. “Kiss me, kitten,” he whispered against her lips, and when she complied, he surged into her, breaking the barrier, taking her small cry of pain into his mouth. He held still once again, buried deep within her moist heat, fighting the urge to move until she stirred beneath him.

Charity shifted her hips slightly, the pain already subsiding, replaced by the most curious stretching sensation. She broke off the kiss and buried her face in Lachlan’s neck. Slowly he pulled back. Thinking he was stopping because he’d hurt her, Charity wrapped her legs around him to keep him there. “No! Don’t go, please. I-I’m okay.”

Lachlan half groaned, half chuckled. “I couldn’t go anywhere if I wanted to. Trust me on this. Follow my lead. Your body knows what to do,” he whispered, and began moving within her again.

Charity watched his face, awed by the expression of sublime pleasure on his handsome features, but a moment later she was ensnared by the sensual web he wove and closed her eyes. He began to pick up the rhythm. She caught her breath and then began moving against him, trying to imitate what he was doing, trying to help, timing the motions of her hips to meet his thrusts.

“Yes, love, that’s it.” His voice was taut, strained with the effort he was exerting to hold back his own pleasure until she found hers. “Let it come to you,” he added. And then the world spun away and there was nothing but his body and her body and their quickening heartbeats.

Charity’s hands roved her husband’s flesh, touching him
anywhere they could reach, drinking in the feel of his muscles through her palms and fingertips, the fine sheen of perspiration making her hands glide without effort over the rippling valleys and planes. Lachlan sighed and whispered in the shell of her ear, words that weren’t words, words that somehow made perfect sense, and she responded with moans and mews, her body and eyes begging him to take her to a place she could not name. And then, at last, she crested that peak, threw her head back, and cried out her completion.

When her body contracted around him, Lachlan scooped Charity up from the bed and pulled her into him, her back arched over his forearms as she rode the crest of her pleasure. He drove into her again and again, and she writhed, her hips clearly moving of their own accord, her thighs gripping his hips, until at last he cried out her name, thrust one final time and fell forward, carrying her with him, spilling himself deep within her womb.

They lay there, legs tangled, bodies connected for some time while their heartbeats slowed, neither wanting to break the spell with words. Lachlan opened his eyes and pushed himself up on one arm. The exquisite girl in his arms stirred, too, but her eyes remained closed. Her russet lashes lay like dark fans on her pale cheeks, and while he watched, a single tear slipped from beneath one eyelid. It rolled slowly down her cheek.

Lachlan caught it with his tongue. “Charity,” he said. “Look at me.” She opened her eyes and he caught his breath. All the love in the world was right there in those cerulean depths.

Charity smiled, but the words she wanted to say to her husband got caught in her throat, lodged there in the thick swell of emotion that engulfed her. There was no need to say them, though. Lachlan knew. “I love you, too,” he whispered,
then rolled onto his back, Charity held securely in his arms.

He settled her astride his hips, and then began teaching her all the ways they could learn to please each other.

Twenty-six

Good
morning, my lord.”

At the sound of his younger brother’s voice, Lachlan looked up in surprise from saddling Apollo. Typically he was the only member of the family out and about this early in the day.

“Good morning, Lewiston,” he replied with a smile. “So formal. Since when did you start ‘my lording’ your big brother?”

Lewiston grinned. “Mother hates it. I think it’s good to occasionally remind her that you’re not the only one who can push back.” He tilted his head toward the horse. “Resuming your rituals, I see.”

Lachlan nodded. “Yes. I find I’ve missed my morning rides more than I realized.”

“So much that you left the bed of your charming bride so soon?”

Lachlan raised a brow but did not stop preparing his mount. “Charity was sound asleep when I left and will likely remain so for hours.”

They had been up most of the night, laughing and talking and making love. Charity had finally fallen asleep in his arms near dawn. With all the events of the past few days crowding his mind, Lachlan had found it impossible to sleep. When the sun began to paint the morning sky with the pinks and oranges that heralded a new day, he gave up, kissed the top of his wife’s curly head and slipped
from the bed. Quietly he’d dressed in riding clothes, pulled the drapes closed so she wouldn’t be awakened by the morning sun, and left the room. The hills were calling him.

He finished saddling Apollo and led him out into the paddock. Lewiston followed.

“Speaking of mother,” the young man began, but then he stopped with a grimace.

“She’s unhappy. I know. She is always unhappy with me. I wasn’t suffering under the delusion that she would feel any differently about my marriage.” Lachlan gave his brother an assessing look. “Why? What has she said?”

“Very little, once I set her straight about Charity’s background and family.” Lewiston watched his brother swing up into the saddle. “She’s taking a trip into the village this morning. Said something about obtaining a proper lady’s maid.”

“For Charity?” Lachlan’s voice registered surprise. “What an uncharacteristic thing for her to do.” Apollo danced sideways, eager to get out and run free after weeks in the paddock. The marquess stroked his neck soothingly.

“I think she means to find one for herself,” Lewiston clarified, his tone wry. “She’s never had one in all the time we’ve known her, but now that you’ve brought an English lady into the house who is accustomed to such a luxury I suppose she intends to do whatever she can to appear less provincial.”

“Ah. That makes more sense.” Lachlan nodded at his brother and tugged on Apollo’s right rein, pointing the horse toward the gate. “Ironically, the only time Charity has ever had a maid was during her very short time in London this Season. And I believe she shared the maid with her twin sister.” He grinned and dug his heels into the stallion’s flanks. “Have a good morning,” he tossed back over his shoulder.

A rustling punctuated by occasional bumps and knocks slowly penetrated Charity’s consciousness. She woke slowly and opened her eyes to the gloom of a dark, unfamiliar room. When she heard the sound of a drawer being quietly opened and then closed again, she pushed herself to a sitting position, clutched the bedclothes to her chest, and scraped tangled curls from her face.

After she registered the fact that she was alone in the most enormous bed she’d ever occupied, it took a few seconds for the events of the previous evening to come flooding back. She blushed a little, and then a slow smile spread across Charity’s face. She stretched one arm upward, yawned hugely, and tilted her head back, reveling in the sensation of her hair swishing across her shoulders and the decadent feeling of her naked legs against the soft sheets. With a happy sigh she plunked back down into the soft pile of pillows, snatched one up, and hugged it to her chest. There was, she decided, a very naughty sort of beauty to waking up nude in her husband’s bed. She doubted she would ever sleep clothed again.

Expecting to find Lachlan near the wardrobe getting dressed for the day, she glanced toward the source of the noise. Instead, she saw a short, burly man she didn’t recognize rifling through the contents of her husband’s drawers, his back turned to her. With a quickly stifled gasp of alarm, she sat up, tugged the sheet from where it was tucked at the end of the bed and gathered it around her body in a silent, desperate attempt to cover herself.

Keeping an eye on the intruder, she scooted, as quietly as possible, toward the side of the bed nearest the doors to the bathing chamber. Without warning, the bed creaked. Loudly. Charity froze. The man straightened and turned toward her. His face was lined, craggy, and distinctly menacing.

His dark eyes locked on hers, surprise evident in their glittering depths. When he took a step forward, Charity scrambled into action, calling out, “Don’t make another move!” She gathered the sheet more securely around her body. “My husband will be home soon,” she warned. “Any minute now he’ll be back.”

The man stopped in his tracks and stood frozen, watching her warily. Charity slid down from the bed, taking her makeshift dressing gown with her, and sidled toward the fireplace, hoping to secure one of the long iron tools from the stand to use as a weapon.

The man followed her progress and, realizing her intention, hastened to reassure her. “My lady, I mean you no harm. I simply did not realize you were in the bed.” He smiled but was utterly unaware that his effort to be charming only made him look even more frightening. “I’ll just go on downstairs—”

Charity lunged the last few steps to the fireplace. “You’ll do no such thing!” She grabbed the poker and spun around, brandishing it like a sword. “I’m not afraid to use this!”

With her head high, her chin outthrust, and her eyes spitting blue sparks, she looked absolutely glorious, even clad only in a wrinkled bedsheet. The man’s smile broadened into a grin, and he held up a placating hand. “I believe you!” He chuckled. “Aye, his lordship must have his hands full with you, lass. I am Niles, my lady. Your husband’s valet.”

Charity lowered the poker a fraction of an inch and glared down its length. “You don’t look like a valet,” she accused.

“Well, begging your pardon, love, but you don’t look much like a marchioness.”

She narrowed her eyes at his audacity.

Niles chuckled. “I believe I like you, my lady. What do
you say we drop the animosity and begin again?” His voice held only the slightest trace of a Scottish accent, and his words were cultured and intelligent, in startling contrast to his rough appearance.

Charity cautiously lowered her arm, which had begun to ache with the effort of holding up the long piece of heavy metal. With a toss of her reddish-gold head, she drew herself up as tall as possible and gifted him with a withering stare. “If you would be so kind, I’d like for you to leave.”

She tightened her grip on the sheet that served as her only covering as Niles nodded and glanced at the scattered scraps of clothing she had worn the previous day, now littering the floor beside the bed. Color flooded her cheeks.

“I brought your things from London, if you’d care for something fresh,” he announced. “The trunks have already been taken to your chamber.” He gave the fire poker a last rueful glance and then bowed and left.

The second the door closed behind him, Charity dropped the poker and fled through the bathing chamber to the safety of her own room.

“Ah, Niles. You’ve arrived sooner than I’d expected.”

The valet looked up from his task of putting away the things he’d brought with him from London, a gruesome smile on his craggy face. “Aye, my lord. We made good time by traveling at night and stopping only long enough to rest the horses.” He reached into a pocket and withdrew a folded piece of paper, which he handed to his employer. “This is from the Duke of Blackthorne, my lord. His grace was of the opinion that you would need me here as soon as possible, so he told me to hurry.”

He glanced toward the doors that connected to the marchioness’s chamber. “Now that I’ve met your young lady, I
imagine he thought you’d need someone to watch your back.” His dark eyes danced with humor.

Lachlan slipped the note into his pocket without reading it, followed the direction of Niles’s gaze, and fixed the burly valet with a questioning look, refusing to acknowledge the shorter man’s insinuation that he might need physical protection from his wife.

The valet’s grin broadened. “Quite the lady, my lord. She wields a rather mean poker.”

The marquess raised his eyebrows. “You appear provokingly unharmed,” he drawled. “I trust my wife is the same?”

“Aye, my lord. Nothing hurt but her pride. I didn’t realize she was asleep in your bed when I arrived. We . . . Hmm.” He paused as though searching for a properly descriptive word. “We
surprised
one another,” he finished.

Lachlan gave the valet a long look. “My wife was not dressed when I left her, Niles.”

“No,” he agreed. “Nor when I arrived.” He tilted his head toward the bed. “I imagine the maids will be wondering where the sheet has gone when they come to tidy up.”

Lachlan’s eyes roved from the bed, to the doors, and then back to his valet’s amused face. “So you’re telling me my wife held what she thought to be an intruder at bay with a fire poker while she was clad in nothing but a sheet?”

Niles nodded. “The poker wasn’t her only weapon, my lord. She was also armed with a rather hot temper. With that mop of the thickest reddish-blonde hair I’ve ever seen in my life, are you sure she isn’t Scots?”

“Quite sure,” Lachlan answered over his shoulder. He had turned on his heel and strode toward the connecting doors.

“Well, I like her,” called Niles at his master’s retreating back. “I like her a great deal,” he finished to himself, and returned to his task.

When Lachlan entered his wife’s chamber he saw Charity kneeling on the floor before her giant wardrobe, muttering darkly to herself as she tried to find places for all the shoes her sisters had sent from London. He couldn’t help but grin.

“Who in the world needs this many pairs of shoes, and why did I let them talk me into ordering them?” Without looking around, Charity reached back for another pair and then abruptly lost her balance, falling backwards onto her trim derriere. The location of her personal items in the mess she’d made unpacking her trunks was still a mystery, and she hadn’t been able to properly brush her hair. With an exasperated sigh she shook tangles of her curly hair from her eyes.