Charlotte was betrothed to a man she did not know. The irony of it made a bubble of laughter choke her. A year ago, perhaps even a month ago, she might have accepted the offer of a man with an impeccable reputation and a hefty income, knowing that she was doing her duty for her family. And she might have managed to find some happiness with her faceless swain.
But not now. Not when she was in love with another man. It would be unfair to this Linley and utter torment for herself. Maybe someday she would be able to gift herself to another, but at this moment, her love was too new, too hot, too bright to imagine anyone but Max in her life...and in her bed.
Max. Charlotte stared down at the page, a sob of denial escaping her throat, as the recognition of his betrayal knifed through her. Since Wycliffe said you were anxious to wed. The phrase made her dizzy. All along, she had known he would never step so far beneath himself as to marry a vicar’s daughter, but she had suspected that neither did he want her to belong to another.
Charlotte remembered what she had come to view as his jealous rages, how he had lost his temper whenever he found her with another man, and she wondered, suddenly, if she had imbued him with her own motives. With a sickening twist to her stomach, she recalled how she had accused him of driving away her suitors, when in fact he was just waiting for the most advantageous offer.
Embarrassment and pain shot through her at the realization that she had been reading into Max’s gestures some sort of affection that simply was not there. His interest had been, and always would be, strictly that of a peer toward one of his lowly tenants.
And his kisses? Those Charlotte had a more difficult time explaining until she remembered what Sarah had told her years ago. Men had urges they could not always control, and that is why a girl should not beg them to kiss her. Hadn’t Max warned her of the same thing? Those few times he had lost his vaunted self-restraint and touched her, he was simply giving in to such impulses.
Charlotte threw back the covers and leapt out of bed, as if the very air agitated her. Her skin prickling, she wrapped her arms around herself as a wave of nausea hit, turning her lovely memories of the evening before into nothing but a bad taste in her mouth.
Last night. Charlotte could not fathom it. She could not reconcile the man who had joined her yesterday in the dining room, tossing away his dignity as easily as he did the champagne, with the cold-blooded character who had accepted a proposal without even consulting her. And he had known! Max had known last evening when he had stood over her, sporting with her like a friend.
Shivering, Charlotte remembered lying on the floor, looking up at him and seeing something in his eyes, hot and glinting, that made her feel strange all over. The wet tangle of her clothes had suddenly become exciting, the sheen of champagne on her skin exotic and demanding of something... She did not know what.
Nor would she ever know, unless the mysterious Lord Linley had a penchant for bathing in champagne. The thought made her cringe. Had the viscount been at the party last night, too? Charlotte did not know. Her eyes had been only for Max. Although she had never had another chance to see him alone, they had danced together and talked briefly of their mutual interest in mythology, and all the while he had known of her betrothal—and said nothing. How could he?
I plan to do something. Max’s threat came back to her abruptly, making her stiffen. That day on the roadway, bedraggled and sore and furious, he had vowed to put an end to her escapades. Charlotte’s eyes slid to the letter lying on her bed, and bitter anger bubbled up through her pain.
It appeared that the earl had found a most expedient way of ridding himself of her forever.
* * *
Maximilian was in the process of dressing when Hoskins knocked on his bedroom door. “My lord,” Hoskins said, his face showing a strain of some sort. “A young woman has arrived who is most adamant about seeing you—”
“Max!” At the sound of Charlotte’s voice, Maximilian hurriedly tucked his loose shirt into his breeches, gazed down at his stockinged feet and grimaced. It would have to do. If she insisted on bounding into his private apartments, what did she expect but to find him in his shirtsleeves—or worse? Heaving the sigh of the eternally burdened, he nonetheless smiled a greeting.
“Max!” she repeated. Although Hoskins placed himself in the center of the doorway, apparently with the hope of detaining her, Charlotte handily evaded him and rushed into the room.
“My dear girl!” Hoskins spluttered. Obviously appalled by her lack of convention, he looked like he was going to have a stroke.
“It is all right. Hoskins, Levering, you may go,” Maximilian said. Levering, his valet, went with a curious glance toward Charlotte, but Hoskins seemed reluctant. “You may go, Hoskins,” Maximilian said more firmly. When the butler still did not move, Maximilian shut the door in his face.
“Good God, Charlotte, you practically gave my butler a coronary,” Maximilian complained in a surprisingly even tone. “What the deuce are you doing here—in my bedchamber—at this hour of the morning?”
“As if you did not know!” Charlotte responded, glaring daggers at him. Her eyes were flashing green fire, and her hands were on her hips in her most martial stance. She appeared fierce enough to carve out his liver. He wondered idly if she were armed. “Oh, Max, how could you?”
“What?”
“Marry me off to a...stranger!” The fury that Charlotte wore so valiantly and so well seemed to waver before his gaze. As he watched, her lovely pink mouth drooped, and he felt a pang of guilt for upsetting her. He opened his mouth to speak, but she thrust a paper at his chest.
“Oh, Max, how could you? To write Papa, without even discussing it with me, and get all their hopes up!” She shook her head, freeing some curls that had obviously been pinned up in haste, and Maximilian took a moment to admire the soft tendrils that sprang about her face.
“But isn’t that why you came to London, to find a husband?” he asked evenly.
“Yes, but...I do not even know this man!” Charlotte protested.
Maximilian shrugged. “I imagine you will quickly enough.”
“I will not.” The certainty in her voice made him pause, and he slanted a look at her.
“Oh, Max,” she whispered miserably. The anger that she had worn before her like a shield dipped and fell, revealing a trembling lip and lashes that blinked back some kind of emotion. “I cannot. I tried, I really tried, but I cannot marry without...affection, and I have none for this Viscount Linley.”
“Are you so sure?” Max asked softly, taking a step toward her.
She nodded, her head bent, the coils of her hair bobbing like soft down upon her crown. “I hate to fail my family, but I cannot, will not, wed any of my suitors. That is my final word, and you may break it to his lordship.” Her voice broke at the end of her speech.
Maximilian cleared his throat. “You feel nothing for any of them?” he asked, stepping closer again.
Charlotte tugged anxiously on a finger. “Well, I suppose I like Raleigh well enough, but it is not the same as...” Her voice trailed off and she deliberately looked away.
“The same as what?” He was near enough to speak in a hush, and taking her by the shoulders, he gently turned her to face him.
“The same as...as giving one’s heart,” she concluded softly, staring down at her yellow skirts. At her words, Maximilian felt a convoluted sense of victory that she felt nothing toward all the others, coupled with a bitter defeat that he must needs be included in the throng.
With some effort, he reined in his raging emotions. “There is an alternative,” he suggested softly. He could smell the fresh fragrance that clung to her, reminding him in some lunatic way of sunshine and green meadows and great, shading trees. The logic of equating this spontaneous creature with a peaceful setting escaped him, but what about this entire affair made any sense?
“What alternative?” Charlotte asked quietly.
He spoke as lightly as he could manage. “Me.”
; Her eyes darted to his immediately. He felt them searching his while she choked back a laugh. “Do not tease me, Max.”
“I am not teasing you,” he answered. His hands were still on her shoulders, his thumbs methodically, absently stroking her skin. “I believe we have been in the most compromising of situations many times, culminating with this early morning visit to my bedroom.”
Charlotte appeared truly horrified. “Oh, Max, I did not come here to...to compromise you. That was truly not what I intended,” she protested. He believed her. She was too guileless to plan such a trap. She probably viewed this charge into his bedchamber as no more dangerous than visiting her grandpa’s sickroom. Maximilian scowled at the thought.
“I know,” he said a bit bitterly. He tried to imagine what it would be like to be seduced by Charlotte, her slim hands on his body, her breasts pressing against him.... His breathing quickened, and his groin tightened. He focused on her face. “I realize that you see me as a fatherly figure—”
Charlotte’s bright burst of laughter surprised him. “You can hardly believe that after...when...” She seemed unable to complete her thought. Lowering her lashes against flushed cheeks, she placed one palm against his chest, and he felt the heat of it through his shirt.
His heart began hammering with a painful, hopeful beat. He chose his words carefully. “You do hold me in some regard?” he asked, cursing the stiff and formal sound of the question. He gripped her arms tighter, a flutter of panic gnawing at him.
“Of course,” Charlotte answered softly. “Surely you cannot doubt it?” She lifted her eyes, wide and glittering with what he dared not name, to his.
“Then I see no obstacle to our marriage.”
“Oh, Max,” she protested with a trembling frown. “You do not want me.”
“Don’t I?” he asked hoarsely.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Slowly, so very slowly, Maximilian slid his hands along her shoulder to her throat and up the curve of her neck to her nape. His body was humming, all hot need, the blood thrumming through his veins in some primitive beat. Just one taste, he promised himself, to prove to her just how very much he wanted her.
Her lips were soft and yielding as he touched them with his own, shaping and slanting across them before sliding his tongue inside. She was as fresh and sweet as her fragrance, and he pulled her closer as he thrust deeper into her mouth. She made a soft sound before slipping her arms around his neck.
So good. He had never felt so good as when she clutched him, pressing her soft body into his own. He ran his hands down her back to cup her buttocks and pull her up against his hardness. Did he want her? Dear God, he had never throbbed and ached this way for any woman.
Charlotte sighed into his mouth, her delicate tongue making tentative forays against his, and he gripped her bottom. Its round, lovely contours made him think of her other curves, and he abruptly tore his lips away from hers. Pressing a hot kiss against her throat, Maximilian tried to catch his breath while he thought of her bosom, her lush, tempting bosom... He should not. He knew he should not, but...
Good God, his hands were trembling. For a moment, they fumbled with her gown and then they were pushing it down, off her shoulders to her waist. He barely glanced at the thin wisp of material that was her chemise before dragging it down, too, while his heart thudded madly against his ribs.
Then Maximilian released them, full, milky breasts with wide rosy nipples made for suckling by an infant—or a man, he thought. He took them in his hands, cupping them, letting his fingers learn their texture, smooth and silky and so heavy... And all the desire he had ever felt for her, submerged to duty and honor, surged to the fore, driving away all that should have held him back.
With a groan, he buried his face between the soft mounds. His mouth roved over her creamy skin, licking and tasting until he found his goal. Then his lips closed over her nipple and he rolled it against his tongue, teasing and pulling, while Charlotte threw her head back and whimpered.
She arched against him, her thighs straining at his, and he eased her back onto the bed, stroking her bottom as he pulled it to him. Charlotte had such a luscious, round rump; he could feel its firmness even underneath her clothes. Before he could muse further on that delightful part of her body, her hands were in his hair, forcing his head to her breast, and he sucked harder, first one ripe globe and then the other until she was rocking against him, rubbing herself on his groin in an action that pushed him even further toward the edge of what would surely be madness.
Lifting the hem of her gown, Maximilian slid one hand up her leg, over her dainty ankle and her smooth stockings to the silky skin above. He caressed her bare buttocks, making wide circles and cupping her curves eagerly beneath her chemise. She was so incredibly soft, so sumptuous... He continued to feast upon her breasts while she murmured beneath him, urging him on with her whimpers and the thrust of her hips against his.
Finally, Maximilian moved his hand to the juncture of her thighs. Just one touch, he told himself, but he met a hot, slick wetness that was his undoing. He groaned. Unable to stop himself, he slipped a finger into her tight sheath. Oh, to be inside her himself...
He worked her flesh gently, stroking her throbbing core and slowly sliding his fingers in and out until she was writhing beneath him. Sweet, innocent Charlotte—she was like a wild thing, her head thrashing back and forth against the bed covers as she made indistinct sounds of pleasure.
Maximilian’s hair had come loose to fall down about his face, washing over her chest, and Charlotte grabbed it in great handfuls, clutching him to her full breasts while she pushed herself against his hand. Together they created a rhythm that made sweat bead upon Maximilian’s brow. Then suddenly she tensed beneath him, and he felt contractions take her body. “Max!” she cried out in hushed pleasure.
Maximilian couldn’t think. He was beyond thought, mired in desire such as he had never known. He fumbled with the fall of his breeches and released his sex, hot, hard and eager. If he could just...
Pushing up her skirts to her waist, he spread her legs wider and settled between her thighs, guiding himself to her opening. She greeted his head with moist heat, and he glided inside, the pleasure of his entrance so sharp that he bit back a cry.
Maximilian had enough sense left to force himself to go slowly, although he wanted nothing more than to bury himself to the hilt in her welcoming tightness. He moved carefully, his fingers gripping her pale thigh as he struggled for the very last semblance of control. Just a little more... He met her maidenhead at the same moment that a knock sounded on the door.
Maximilian froze, then swore underneath his breath. He looked down at Charlotte. Her face was flushed, her lips were parted, and her green eyes were wide and awash with sated desire. Her hair had come loose and was flowing about her like a cloud. Never in his life had he wanted anything more than to pound into her until he spent himself.
He withdrew.
“Charlotte,” he whispered painfully. His whole body trembling with need, he pulled her gown over her legs. Then he fell onto his back, unable to do more. The knocking, loud now, did not seem to penetrate his senses, for he was still rock hard and throbbing. “Charlotte... Oh, God, I’m going to burst.”
Then her face was above him, her beautiful features so familiar, but so changed by her passion. She blinked, surprise and concern in her gaze. “Oh, Max,” she whispered. “Tell me what to do.”
Maximilian moaned, hesitating for an instant before the last vestiges of his legendary control deserted him. Then he told her. “Touch me,” he begged. She reached out, and he took her hand, guiding it to him and closing her fingers around his shaft.
With a groan, he dropped his hand and watched her. Her hair was awhirl about her, drifting down to her glorious, milky breasts, still bared to his view, while her pale, slim fingers gripped the arousal that thrust upward from the open fall of his breeches. That sight alone was nearly enough...
“Stroke me,” he whispered, his mou
th dry with need. “Up and down. That way, Charlotte. Yes!” he cried. He jerked against her hand, once, twice, and then release—blessed, endless release—came, and he spewed his seed across the covers even as Hoskins shouted at the door.
Charlotte moved back with a little cry, as if startled by the response from his body, but then she leaned over him and pressed a quick, warm kiss to his mouth before moving from the bed. While he fumbled with his breeches, she stood and arranged her gown as best she could.
“My lord! Are you in there?” Hoskins’s voice rang out. Now that he was satiated, Maximilian turned his energy toward becoming wholly enraged at his butler’s behavior, beginning with a violent urge to strangle the man. Giving Charlotte a cursory glance to make sure she was dressed, he leapt from the bed, strode to the door and swung it wide.
“What is it?” Maximilian asked through clenched teeth. His fingers twitched, itching to strike the man who had served him so long and so well—until today.
If Hoskins sensed the enormity of his folly, he did not show it, for his features were as impassive as usual. “I have taken the liberty of readying a carriage for your visitor,” he said stonily.
“Hoskins,” Maximilian said, hardly daring himself to speak.
“Yes, my lord?”
“You are dismissed.”
“Max, no!” Charlotte protested. She came to his side and laid her fingers on his arm as if to restrain him. Maximilian looked down at the capable, pale hand, the same that had brought him to orgasm, and he felt dizzy. “He was only trying to...”
“Trying to protect you from me?” Maximilian supplied coolly. She dropped her gaze, and her cheeks, already flushed with their loving, now turned crimson. “Unfortunately, that is not his job.”
The Vicar's Daughter Page 21
