To Wed a Wicked Earl (31 page)

She reached up, threading her fingers in his tawny hair and moaning into his mouth when his tongue dipped languorously inside. Their bodies pressed tightly together, his hands holding her backside to the hard knot of his arousal, grinding her into him.

Moaning, she pulled impatiently at his clothes, wanting to see him naked, wanting to feel skin upon skin, but he denied her. His fingers now roamed over her back, at the nape of her neck, knocking her bonnet askew.

The kiss seemed to go on forever, so slowly escalating into an almost ferocious onslaught. She felt as if she were on fire. Boldly she rubbed her breasts against his shirt, a silent plea for him to touch her.

His hand now came to a stop at her shoulders. He broke the kiss as he set her away from him, his eyes glistening with passion as his gaze raked over her entire body.

Both of them breathing heavily, he smoothed his warm hands over her breasts, squeezing them, running his thumbs over the pebbled tips.

She grabbed the top of his head and pushed him down.

Gladly, Rothbury licked at them, suckled them, savoring the feel of her in his mouth. She shuddered and he moaned.

He couldn’t wait any longer. He had to taste her. All of her.

Dropping to his knees before her, he loved her, worshiped her with his mouth, kissing her stomach, her hips, her thighs, and finally reaching her moist, intimate center.

She cried out his name and he knew she was shocked at his behavior, but he didn’t care.

He devoured her, holding her tightly against his mouth as he drank of her.

Alternating between swirls of his tongue and long, languid licks, he let her moans and sighs be his guide to pleasuring her. Her body shook and he knew she was close. He quickened his movements.

He slid his hands from her bottom around to her waist, and to her rib cage. Reaching her breasts, he plucked at her nipples while he suckled the tiny nubbin of flesh hidden in her folds.

She screamed. And he continued his sweet torture until her knees buckled.

He caught her to him. Holding her close he carried her to his bed, his cock so fiendishly hard he thought he’d go mad if he didn’t take her at that moment.

In a stunningly short amount of time, he rid himself of his clothes and joined her on the bed. Her legs spread for him and he sank himself between her thighs.

Her limbs shaking, Charlotte wrapped her legs around his waist and eagerly met her husband’s lips for a kiss.

His body was simply magnificent, she thought, running her hands down his muscled back, over the hard muscles of his arms and chest.

Reaching between their bodies, she shyly touched his arousal. Hot and hard, but smooth at the same time. She squeezed the tip.

He broke their kiss to take a big gulp of air.

“Did I hurt you?” she asked appalled that she should have done such a thing at a time like this.

His eyes shut tight, he shook his head quickly, pressing his lips together.

“Rothbury,” she whispered. “I need to feel you inside of me again.”

His eyes fluttered open, then met her gaze. Staring into her eyes, he positioned himself at her opening, then with one hand at her hip, he entered her slowly at first, thinking she must be tender from the day before.

She arched against him, silently giving him leave to enter more fully.

And he did, then, nearly losing himself in that second.

Together they began to move, their rhythm steady and firm. Soon her moans grew more desperate and her heels pressed into his buttocks.

He increased the pace, pumping into her wildly now, determined to bring them both to utter bliss.

And when they did, he groaned her name over and over. “Charlotte…my Charlotte…”

They clung together for long minutes, until their breathing slowed, until their hearts steadied, until they both fell into a deep satisfied sleep.

When Charlotte awoke, moonlight was pouring in through the tall windows across the room. Rothbury lay next to her on his stomach, his arms folded under his pillow.

Her stomach growled painfully. For a second she thought of waking Rothbury and asking him where the kitchens were located, but instead decided to find them for herself.

She kissed his back. He muttered something incoherent.

Sliding from the bed, she tiptoed to the connecting door and stepped inside the adjoined room. Surprisingly, the room was shrouded in shadows, but she was able to locate her bags.

Looking through them, she quickly found a nightdress and robe and dressed.

Quietly, she slipped into the hall. Her stomach growled so loudly just then, she feared she might have awoken everyone in the house.

Terribly hungry, she made her way down the stairs, hoping she could find the kitchens in the dark.

At the bottom of the stairs, the pungent scent of roses filled the air.

Charlotte crinkled her nose as she turned down a hallway toward the back of the house. There must be a vase of them nearby, she pondered. And by the smell of them, they had long since bloomed and needed to be thrown out.

But the further she walked, the stronger the smell became.

Up ahead, a patch of white sat on the floor. On closer inspection, Charlotte realized it was a sheet of paper. There was writing on it. She bent to pick it up.

Rothbury,

I cannot do this any longer. My affection resides elsewhere and I must go to him now. Please do not try to contact me.

Charlotte

“What in the world? I didn’t write this.”

And then a slice of pain bloomed on the top of her head and all went black.

A loud thump woke Rothbury.

He sat up in bed with a start, his eyes alighting on the empty space next to him in bed.

“Charlotte.”

Rothbury knew instantly something was dreadfully wrong. Throwing off the covers, he leaped from the bed.

He dressed with haste, dashing down the hall, taking the stairs three at a time.

He didn’t know where she went to, or what that noise was, but a knot of dread tightened in his chest.

At the bottom of the stairs the nearly overwhelming aroma of roses assaulted his nostrils. He knew that smell.

Grabbing a brass candle holder as he passed the side table in the front hall, Rothbury took care that his footfalls went unheard.

He saw the sheet of paper as soon as he turned the corner. Sliding it closer to himself to take a look, he bent to retrieve it without taking his eyes from the dark hall before him.

He held it up, letting his gaze skim the words briefly.

Only for a second he felt as if his heart stopped. And then, he pushed the thought away.

The back door slammed shut. He raced toward the sound, catching a glimpse of two figures, one holding the other by the hair, her muffled cry seeping into his soul.

Charlotte.

He knew who had his wife in their cruel grip. He knew without a doubt.

Other than their collision in the hallway at the Hawthornes’ masquerade ball, Charlotte couldn’t think of a single occasion involving Lady Gilton that would warrant such violence.

But then, when one was being dragged by her hair down a dark alley, a letter opener at her throat, it was entirely possible that some imagined slight had slipped her mind.

“Little mousy bitch,” Lady Gilton said through her teeth. “Thought I would give him up so easily, did you?”

Abruptly, she paused, panting from the strain of pulling a resisting Charlotte along.

Charlotte stumbled, and as a result, the letter opener punctured her skin. She inhaled sharply at the pain.

“Damn it to hell! Got yourself nicked, did you? He’ll be disappointed. Wants you perfect and unsullied.”

“Who?”

“Witherby. Your new lover,” she said with a sickly sweet smile in her tone. “I’m to take you to him. Of course, he’ll be quite disappointed to know you’ve probably given yourself to my Rothbury before he could get to you.”

A sudden and powerful anger rose up in Charlotte. She twisted in her captor’s hold, freeing herself and kicking Lady Gilton in the stomach in the process.

Falling back against a brick wall, Lady Gilton snarled, holding the letter opener menacingly above her head. But just before she would have lunged at Charlotte, a pistol cocked from some place behind her.

Lady Gilton froze.

Charlotte spun around.

“Rothbury,” Lady Gilton whispered.

He shook his head. “What in the hell are you doing, Cordelia?”

“I’m…I’m helping her,” she rushed out, looking like a wild animal that had been cornered. “I’m taking her away. She doesn’t want to be with you…”

“And you do, I suppose.”

“Of course I do.”

“Well, if you’re trying to endear yourself to me, you’re failing.”

Cordelia gulped.

“You see, my dear,” he said, his eyes taking on a wicked gleam. “I don’t like my wife being manhandled.”

“Your 
wife?”

“Indeed.”

She looked at Charlotte then, her eyes large and hurt. “I love him,” Lady Gilton said suddenly. “So much, that I…I think I could kill you for him.” She looked down at her hands as if she had never seen them before. “What’s wrong with me?”

As she spoke, Rothbury moved closer and closer to Lady Gilton.

When he grabbed her arm, she didn’t even fight him.

“We’re going back to the house now,” he said, “I’m sending for your husband.”

“Oh, no. No, you mustn’t.” She shook her head. “I’ll go. I’ll go,” she said, her voice sounding hollow.

But in the end, he did discreetly send for her husband. And they discussed privately the possibly unstable state of Lady Gilton’s mind. Lord Gilton, having many affairs outside of marriage himself, knew his wife did the same, but was surprised to find his wife at Rothbury’s town house.

The pair left an hour later, Lady Gilton muttering to herself.

As soon as they left, Charlotte ran to Rothbury, hugging him tightly.

He held her close, pressing kisses in her hair.

She looked up at him. “You didn’t think it was I who wrote the letter, did you? You knew it wasn’t I?”

He gave her an unsteady nod. “Well, I…I hoped.”

“I love you,” she said. “I do. And I’m never going to leave you.”

He smiled, his own love shining in his eyes. “You’re not lying?”

“No, of course not.” And she suddenly remembered something. “I have lied to you, though.”

“I suppose we’re even. I have as well.”

“Well, not really. You misled me. But I have…well, I guess I have misled you as well.”

He raised a questioning brow.

“That night, when you came to my house and ended up in my bed. I heard you talking softly. It woke me. So I pretended to sleep.”

“Pretending to sleep? That’s how you misled me? Charlotte, that’s hardly worth bringing up.”

“Perhaps. Well, then, you might not be so surprised to know another little secret. I can understand French fluently.

Late the next day, Charlotte stretched like a lazy cat on her husband’s bed.

They had recently made love, for the third time that day, and her limbs felt gloriously heavy.

Could anyone die of happiness? she wondered, grinning.

News of their secret wedding had now reached London and the salver in the front hall held an avalanche of invitations. No doubt from all the biggest gossipmongers.

Rothbury had just stepped out into the hall, his solicitor needing him to look over some sort of letter.

The door swung open slowly. Charlotte, naked, sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest, a sudden alarm quickening the pace of her heart as she saw the look of shock on her husband’s face.

“What is it?”

He held up the letter. “It’s a note, Charlotte.”

“And…”

“From Father Armstrong. It seems, upon further investigation, the bridge we crossed was still on English soil. The Scottish village of Dirleton is about two miles down the lane.”

“Which means…”

“That I am truly a despoiler of innocents, and you, my dear, lovely woman, are not my wife. We are not married.”

A moment of silence filled the air as they both stared at each other.

And then they both laughed, great big soul-cleansing laughs.

Joining her on their bed, he continued to chuckle. Then the chuckling turned into kissing, soon changing into sighs of pleasure, then admissions of love, then plans of obtaining a secret license later in the day…

Epilogue

Aubry ParkAugust 1814

“I
n the presence of God and in front of all these witnesses, I, Adam Bastien Aubry Faramond, give myself to you, Charlotte Faye Greene, to be your husband and take you now to be my wife. I promise to love you, to be faithful and loyal to you, for as long as we live…”