by Diana Quincy
Cam wasn’t surprised the baron appeared unaware of his brother’s clandestine activities. “What do you know of your brother’s movements since leaving Shellborne Manor?”
Charlotte’s brother shrugged. “All I know is that Fuller worked at a mill in Leicestershire. But he ran into trouble there.” He released a long exhale. “Not that that was any surprise. He has never known his place.”
Cam bit back a retort. “In some families, the two of you would have been raised as the brothers you are.”
“My father, the late baron, did not acknowledge him,” Shellborne said, his voice chillier than Cam had ever heard it. “That was his choice.”
“Indeed it was.” Cam shifted back to his real focus. “What became of Fuller after he left Leicestershire?”
“I had no idea where he was until I discovered him here, in service to His Grace.” Shellborne stood, bringing the discussion to a close. “As you’ve no doubt surmised, we are not close.”
After Shellborne excused himself, Cam closed his eyes and ran the baron’s words over again in his mind. Something about the exchange unsettled him, as though he was missing the key piece to a puzzle. But he couldn’t, for the life of him, put his finger on precisely what it was.
…
This time, when Cam came to Charlotte’s chamber in the middle of the night, she expected him. He let himself in as if it were already his right, disrobing in quick, efficient movements. She watched with hot curiosity, her body craving him now that she fully comprehended what she’d missed all of these barren years. He pulled his white linen shirt over his head, the movement causing the muscled contours of his chest and stomach to stretch and ripple.
When he bent to shed his breeches, the fires light glowed over the sleek lines of his narrow waist and across the indentations at his hips. Naked, he turned toward her and the impossible fullness of his engorged flesh sprang proudly from a nest of tawny curls. He eased his weight onto the bed next to her and even the mattress seemed to groan with admiration.
Pulling her into his arms, he kissed her soundly. His tongue moved into her mouth, branding her with every stroke. He stopped and pulled back, his amber eyes shining in the firelight. “Will you take off your sleeping gown?”
Heat suffused her, but she was eager for him. Sitting up in the bed, she pulled off the thin white gown. Propped up on his elbow, he watched with obvious appreciation. It still surprised her that Cam wanted her above all others. That he, who could have any woman, had chosen her.
He ran a warm hand over her bare back, leaving tingling sensations in his wake. Sitting up, he moved behind her, pulling Charlotte’s sitting body back up against his. His hands stole over her breasts from behind, coaxing them into fine points as he kissed and nipped her neck. “I trust Fuller does not make a habit of sneaking into your chamber at night.”
With a contented sigh, she leaned back into the smooth hard warmth of his body. A throbbing sensation began to build. “If he does, I’ll be terribly compromised.”
“It’s fortunate we’ve already decided upon marriage,” Cam said raggedly, his breathing becoming shallower.
Marriage. Guilt niggled in her chest. Had she been right not to tell him the entire truth? She hadn’t revealed everything, convincing herself she protected both Cam and Nathan by not doing so. Perhaps now was the time to tell him. But then he lifted her, sheathing himself inside of her from behind in one smooth, quick stroke, and all rational thought tumbled out of her mind.
“Oh,” she said responding to the combination of surprise and sensation. There were no words to express how wonderful it felt. “I did not know it could be done like this.”
Cam gave a rough laugh as she began to move experimentally atop him. “Yes, just like that,” he ground out. “There is so much we have yet to explore together, my love.” He scraped his teeth lightly along her back in a sensual movement that made her tingle and shiver. Cam helped her move, thrusting upward into her, hard and fast.
A conflagration of fire and passion flooded through her. She began to move faster, the tension inside her growing. Cam moved with her, helping her keep the rhythm of her quickening movements. He ran his hands over her back and shoulders, around to cup her breasts, and then to the place between her legs, rubbing and coaxing. When she cried out, Cam came with her, both hurtling over a precipice that rendered all thought impossible.
Later, they made love again, enjoying the newness of each other’s touch, the preciousness of what they’d found together, their bodies and limbs still intertwined when they finally dozed off. It seemed as if they’d barely closed their eyes when Charlotte awakened to the flickering, reddish haze of a new day.
She stretched with a satisfied sigh before rolling over to Cam. “Wake up,” she crooned, running her hand over the curly amber hairs on his chest. “I shall be utterly and completely compromised if Molly finds you here.”
Cam stirred, groaning as he pulled Charlotte closer. “It cannot possibly be morning yet.” He ran his hand over Charlotte’s belly. “And I am not done ruining you.” His voice went deep with intent as his hand crept lower.
Her skin jumped with excitement at his touch, but she forced herself to grab his hand, impeding its progress. “Look, the day is upon us.” She gestured toward the window. “You cannot be found here. Poor Hugh will have an apoplexy for certain this time.”
Cam uttered a grumpy sound and reluctantly swung his legs over the side of the bed. Sitting up, he glanced out over the red dawn visible through the window. “Morning came entirely too quickly. I’m as tired as the devil.” He twisted around to grab Charlotte, pulling her across to sit on his lap. “I suspect my weariness is entirely your fault, my future marchioness.”
“I am practicing at being a competent wife.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I do like to excel in all things.”
“I’m a most fortunate man.” Their mouths met. They took it slow, sliding their tongues against each other in deep, leisurely movements, drawing out their pleasure in each other.
She finally pulled away and stood up to draw on her dressing gown. She reached for Cam’s clothes. “Come now,” she said pulling at his hand.
He rose and began to dress. As he fastened his breeches, something about the flickering, orange hue of the new day distracted him. His eyes widened in realization.
“By God, that is not the sun.” Pulling on his shirt, he raced toward the door. “Those are flames. The stables are on fire!” Before Charlotte could react, Cam flew out into the hall and barreled down the stairs yelling, “Fire, fire!”
Someone else had apparently seen it, too. A bell began to peal and urgent shouts erupted beneath Charlotte’s window.
Fear blasted through her. “Nathan,” she whispered struggling to pull on the gown she’d worn just a few hours ago. She prayed he’d escaped his sleeping quarters above the stables. Finally dressed, Charlotte burst into the hallway, rushing down the stairs and out the door. Sprinting toward the blazing structure, she was swept up in the stream of servants running in the same direction as shouts and curses filled the air.
A massive ball of flames engulfed the north side of the stable. The shooting blaze roiled into the sky. Billowing smoke formed an ominous halo around the vicious orange, yellow, and white flames. Coughing grooms led the horses to safety. Their faces were covered with soot and the whites of their eyes floated in the amber-tinged darkness.
Terror seized Charlotte, paralyzing her lungs. She looked around wildly almost sobbing her brother’s name. She grabbed at one of the groom’s arms. “My bro…Nathan Fuller, the coachman. Have you seen him?”
“No, ma’am,” he said before turning his attention back to the two horses he rushed to safety.
She became aware of Hartwell calling out orders. She had never seen the duke looking less than flawless in his appearance. But this evening, his long, dark hair, usually pulled back in a queue, hung loose, somehow softening his sharp features. His white shirt was over his breeches. Something about seeing the u
sually immaculate duke in a state of dishabille, silhouetted against the surreal, reddish haze of the mammoth flames, heightened Charlotte’s mounting distress.
The acrid air snaked into her lungs making it hard to breath. Intense heat slapped across her skin, moistening it with sweat and fear.
She saw Cam then, his height allowing him to stand out above the people around him, his wild leonine mane tousled and free. He commanded the staff to form water lines and they were soon passing buckets to help douse the fire.
Cam joined one of lines, helping pass the buckets. His fine white lawn shirt bared some of his chest, which, like the smooth planes of his face, glistened in the scorching heat.
Charlotte ran to him. “I cannot find Nathan.”
Cam shouted some commands down the water line and then turned his attention back to her as he passed the buckets onward. “He’s a strong and able man, Charlotte. Surely, he managed to escape.” He shouted to be heard above the roaring flames. More urgent calls came from down the water line and he sprinted in that direction to see what was amiss. Calling back over his shoulder, he called, “Wait here. I’ll find him, Charlotte. You have my word.”
More people continued to arrive. Word of the crisis must have reached the tenants. Someone grabbed her arm. She turned to see Hugh.
“Have you seen him, Charlotte?” Hugh cried out, his voice thick with emotion.
“No!” Charlotte’s lungs burned. “Have you?”
Hugh’s eyes were rounded with fear. The orange light of the flames cast a sickly hue over his face. He shook his head slowly, sadly.
Charlotte couldn’t breathe. Her stomach twisted into painful knots. She choked back a sob and looked toward the fire. Where could Nathan be? No one who remained inside the stable could survive the inferno devouring it.
“Miss Livingston?” She turned to see Digby, the butler. “Is it Mister Fuller, the coachman, that you seek?”
She nodded, coughing from the smoke burning into her lungs. “Have you seen him, Digby?”
If it perplexed the butler to find Charlotte overwrought over the well-being of a servant, he showed no sign of it. “Yes, Miss Livingston. I am certain I saw Fuller running toward the manor just a few minutes ago.” A grateful sob escaped her throat. He was safe.
It was Hartwell who first saw the smoke coming from the manor house itself. Charlotte only realized something was amiss when she heard a thundering, animalistic cry and turned to see the dark duke hurtling toward the manor to where his wife lay, mostly alone and vulnerable, her body impossibly swollen with his child.
Cam sprinted behind Hartwell, his unruly hair more wild than usual, his face glistening with perspiration and his damp white shirt darkened with soot and sweat. Charlotte scrambled after them, but both disappeared in the throng of people.
She could smell the new flames before she saw them, the air laden with the sharp smell of smoke interlaced with a pungent citrus aroma. She reached the orangery in time to see Cam and Hart running in with massive drapes torn down from a nearby formal room. They batted at the blaze, trying to smother the fast-moving flames that licked, threatened, and sometimes succeeded in jumping to a neighboring orange or lemon tree.
Cam threw a chair through one of the palladium windows, shattering the glass. The two men tossed the burning tree plants out of the broken windows. Others, servants and tenants, streamed toward the orangery. Some on the outside had already formed a bucket line, and the containers of water passed through the windows into the orangery to quell the flames. It seemed the duke had spotted the fire in time. He and Cam had managed to confine it mostly to the orangery, preventing the destruction of the massive historic manor.
A bloodcurdling scream rang through the air, and Charlotte immediately recognized it as Willa.
Hartwell knew it too for he raced out of the orangery, rocketing up the massive stairs, his glistening, soot-blackened face a mask of fury and dread. Cam and Charlotte were right on his heels. They tore through the endless corridors towards the family wing where Willa remained on bed rest.
As they rounded the corner near the family apartments, the rancid smell of smoke assaulted Charlotte’s nostrils. The smell of fire clearly emanated from the vicinity of Willa’s chambers. She choked back a sob. What if they were already too late? Then a shadow came around the corner, followed by the sight of Nathan, disheveled and damp with perspiration, carrying a moaning Willa in his arms.
The duke cursed and reached for his wife. Nathan lowered his eyes as he handed Willa into her husband’s anxious arms.
Charlotte rushed to her side. “Are you all right?”
Willa coughed. “Yes, yes, it was the smoke. I was overcome.” She looked up into her husband’s worried face. “I screamed when I saw the flames. Truly, I am fine.” A group of house servants who had rushed up after them now stood in the hallway, a respectful distance away.
Cam turned to them. “There is a fire in the family wing. Quickly, another water line.”
“No,” said Nathan.
Cam’s face hardened. “No?”
“What I mean to say is there is no need.” Nathan rubbed the back of his hand against his forehead. “I managed to put out the fire. It was just the curtains in Her Grace’s chamber.”
Suspicion gleamed in Cam’s amber eyes. “And what, pray tell, were you doing here? What business do you have in the family wing, much less Her Grace’s bedchamber?”
Anger and resentment flashed across Nathan’s face. His retort was drowned out by a cry from Willa. She writhed in Hartwell’s arms, clutching her stomach, her face contorted in pain.
The duke blanched. He strode across the hallway and kicked open the door to the nearest guest chamber. “Mrs. Chalmers,” he bellowed to the housekeeper as he entered the room with Willa in his arms. “Have this chamber prepared for Her Grace.” The housekeeper scurried in after the duke while Nathan hurried down the hallway and around the corner.
Charlotte rushed after her brother, alarm filling her chest as she swept down the stairs after him. “Nathan. Nathan!”
He halted abruptly. “What is it?”
“What is going on?” she asked trying to catch her breath. “Why were you in the duchess’s bedchamber?”
“I went to save her.” He looked around to see if they were alone and then led Charlotte a few steps back into the empty, darkened library. Closing the door for privacy, he said, “This was no accident, Charlotte. It was a Luddite attack.”
“No.” Shaking her head with disbelief, she put a hand to her chest. “How can you know? You cannot mean you are a part of this.”
His face darkened. “Of course not. I saw faces I recognized in the crowd.”
“Machine breakers,” she breathed.
“Yes, and one was headed for the main house. I knew he meant to cause harm.”
Relief flowed through her. “Thank God you got to Willa in time.”
“Do you have so little trust in me, Lottie?” His voice was gentle in its reproach. “Did you really think Ned Ludd had taken up the cause again?”
Guilt scoured her chest. “No, of course not, forgive me. It’s been such a trying evening.”
“You weren’t alone in thinking it.” He rubbed the side of his head wearily. “Some of the Ludders who saw me this evening didn’t realize I’m now the head coachman here. Like you, they surmised I’d come back to lead the charge.”
“They still see you as their leader. You are Ned Ludd. There can be no other.”
A dark emotion passed over Nathan’s face. “It is well past time for Ned Ludd to vanish forever and truly become a myth.” He looked at her with troubled eyes. “I never wanted any of this, Charlotte. I just wanted justice.”
“I know.”
“This,” he gestured into the air with his hand, “is not what I had expected. The violence, the killing—” His voice trailed off before turning brisk and businesslike. “I must go. The fire is under control, but I must sort out whether we lost any animals and where to hou
se the ones that survived.” With a quick peck on Charlotte’s cheek, Nathan slipped out of the library.
She sensed another presence before she actually saw him. Unease shivered through her, the hair on the back of her neck tingled. Forcing herself to turn around with as much calm as she could muster, she peered into the dim recesses of the long, rectangular room. Like almost everything at Fairview Manor, the two-story library was oversize and impressive, with stocked bookshelves soaring up the two floors.
Her searching gaze finally found him as he slipped from behind the stairs which lead to the library’s second floor.
Shadows fell across the worn and disheveled figure. His amber hair was even more rumpled than usual, and his soiled, white lawn shirt hung loose over his trousers. He watched her through lowered lids, with the deceptively lazy gaze of a predator in repose.
“Cam.” Her scalp tingled. “I did not see you there.”
“Obviously.” He took a slow, menacing gait toward her.
She took a reflexive step back. “What are you doing here?”
“I was following your brother. When I heard you coming behind me, I slipped inside here to stay out of the way.”
“Oh.”
“Yes, oh. It appears I was correct to be suspicious of the man.”
Terror rained down inside of her. He’d overhead everything.
He watched her face intently. “Why did you not tell me, my dear, that I’ve already had the pleasure of meeting the illustrious and most elusive Ned Ludd?”
Chapter Sixteen
The underlying ice in his voice chilled Charlotte’s soul. Gone was the twinkling amusement she adored in his sunlit green eyes, replaced by a hard stare that pierced her heart.
“I was trying to find a way to tell you,” she said, surprised at how calm her voice sounded.
“Obviously you didn’t try hard enough.”
“What good would it have done?”
“What good?” His carved features contorted in anger. Lunging at her with the swift agility of a mountain cat, he grabbed her arm, hauling her to him. She went willingly, knowing he would never harm her. Not physically at least. She could smell liquor on him, intermingled with the musky, masculine aura that never failed to captivate her. Even now.
