Nothing but Trouble

by Allegra Gray

  She landed with an oomph. Graeme landed across from her, and the coach took off at a pace that was surely unsafe on London’s busy streets.

  This was not her first experience with being kidnapped. Though, if she came willingly, Charity supposed it couldn’t quite be called kidnapping. This time, she knew one thing for certain, deep in her gut: Graeme had no intention of hurting her. From the very first night they’d met, he’d had the opportunity to take advantage. Yet he’d done nothing but protect her, even defend her. He admired and believed in her when the family and friends she’d grown up with did not. Reminding herself of that, she took a few slow breaths and tried to quell the nerves that raced through her.

  “I left instructions with my secretary,” Lord Maxwell informed her. “If I have not returned by tomorrow at noon, he is to deliver a pre-written note to your family, informing them of my—or rather, of our—intentions.”

  She considered this. “You do not wish them to fear for my safety.”

  “Precisely.”

  “Nor do you wish them to catch up to us.”

  “Smart lass.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh. “I suppose it is as gentlemanly a gesture as one can make, given the circumstances.”

  “I try.”

  She could only imagine the pandemonium in her mother’s house when that letter was delivered. She was almost sorry to miss it.

  Charity had never in her life been able to say “no” to an adventure. She was certainly attracted to Lord Maxwell. Very much so. In fact, it was her inability to resist him that had landed her here in the first place. His solid strength, coupled with that smoldering gaze she often found focused on her, seemed to enthrall her. She longed to touch him, to sink gratefully into all he offered until she was lost. She supposed, all things considered, insisting on immediate marriage was the only gentlemanly thing he could do.

  If it weren’t for her fears of marriage in general, of revealing her troubles when one of the uncontrollable nightmares came on, she’d have no qualms about marrying Graeme Ramsey Maxwell.

  As if he could read her thoughts, he said, “All will be well.”

  “But…” Her ability to reason was shrinking in the face of his confidence. Finally she could come up with only one word. “Marriage!”

  “Aye, marriage.” His smile fell away as he searched her face. “Of course, I could never force you to speak the vows. I see I have taken you by surprise. You are nervous. Understandable. But think on it, love. If, by the time we reach Gretna Green, you decide you truly are against this marriage, I will relinquish my claim.”

  “By the time we reach Gretna Green,” she muttered, “it will not matter.” The trip to the little town just over the Scottish border would take three days, even traveling fast. By then, she’d have spent so long in the sole company of Lord Maxwell, with no chaperone, relative, or even a maid present, any remaining shreds of her reputation would be destroyed. If she refused to marry him at that point, even her own family would likely cast her out.

  He peered at her, then nodded. “You have a point. It is a risk I am willing to take.” He sat back, looking so smug she had to stifle the urge to wipe the look off his face with the back of her hand.

  “You’re actually enjoying this,” she accused.

  “What’s not to enjoy?”

  “You’re kidnapping me!”

  He cocked his head. “Now, now, lass. No need for such dramatics. Do you wish me to stop the carriage?”

  That silenced her. If she said yes, she had no doubt he would, in fact, stop. He would let her go. She trusted him.

  It was a tough realization to swallow. It meant she had a role in whatever actions they took next. If she said nothing, if she continued on with this hare-brained scheme of his, she would have to own that choice.

  One word from her, and he would stop the carriage. She knew it. But what would she go back to?

  She would return to a life where she was nothing but a burden to her family. Confined by their protection, yet fearful because no amount of protection could guarantee her former captors would not someday find her. Alex’s men had found no trace of them. Most likely they were in countries far away, living new lives. They probably never thought of her. They might not even know she’d lived.

  What if all her fears were for no reason? She could be living in a trap of her own making. If she went home now, she would almost certainly end up a spinster. Her own actions had ensured that. Lonely, with nothing but her fears—and tipsy Cousin Lily—for company. Compared to all that Graeme offered, there really was no choice.

  She scuffed the toe of her slipper on the floor of the carriage.

  “Charity?”

  She didn’t respond. Couldn’t. She felt two strong fingers beneath her chin, the touch both easy and firm, commanding her to look at him.

  “Do you wish me to stop the carriage?”

  “No.”

  It was barely a whisper. She couldn’t hear it herself over the clattering wheels of the coach, but the movement of her lips was enough. He dropped his fingers and took her hand in his, instead.

  “Try not to worry, lass. These things have a way of working out.”

  “They do? How would you know? If you had done this before, you would already have a wife, and therefore have no need of hauling me off to Gretna Green.”

  He chuckled. “I assure you, I have never ‘hauled’ any woman to Gretna Green—nor entered vows of marriage in any other venue—before. I have never even desired to do so. You are the only woman who has ever driven me to such lengths.”

  She smiled weakly. “I suppose that is a compliment.”

  “Of the very best sort.”

  She had no response to that, so they rode in silence for a while.

  Charity assumed she would spend this journey on the edge of her seat, her knuckles white from gripping the edge, her head sore from her nervous habit of tugging at her hair. Instead, she fell asleep.

  Outside of London, the coach slowed to a pace that allowed the driver to navigate around the inevitable ruts and pits left by spring rains. Graeme’s driver was skilled, and the gentle rocking of the carriage lulled her like a babe. Charity stared out the small window as the lights they passed grew fewer and further between. Eventually, she felt her head begin to nod.

  Graeme noticed too, shifting quickly to sit beside her. He eased her head onto his lap. She was too overwhelmed to protest. Besides, it felt nice, she thought sleepily. He smelled good. And he was stroking her hair, making her want to stretch and purr, like a cat. She couldn’t remember why she was supposed to be mad at him. Oh…yes. He was abducting her. But he was going to marry her. And she wanted him to. That made it all right.

  Charity shook awake a short time later, as the country road grew bumpier, the ruts unavoidable. Still, she awoke cradled in Graeme’s arms, his body shielding hers from the bumps as best he could. She opened her eyes slowly and found him gazing down at her.

  “Why me?” She spoke the first words that popped into her head.

  “Why what, lass?” His voice sounded rough, as though he’d been asleep too.

  “You are an earl. You have your choice of women. Why me?”

  “Fishing for compliments, are we?” he teased.

  She pulled back in mock outrage, but doing so deprived her of the delicious heat of his body. She snuggled back closer.

  “How is it,” she asked, “that an absurd solution such as running off to Gretna Green, and the Scottish wilderness after that, seems entirely reasonable when proposed by you?”

  He chuckled. “Three reasons. One, I am a Scot. Runaway marriages are practically a time-honored tradition for my people. I am only doing what any respectable Scotsman would do. Two. You, my sweet, have a penchant for adventure, and I dare not guess how exotic a suggestion would have to be before you would truly deem it absurd. And, three,” he paused, cupping the side of her face and gazing intently at her. “Sometimes, you just know.”

  “Mmm.”
>
  He tipped her chin up, brushing her lips with his. “And then, there’s the kissing…”

  “Oh, yes, the kissing,” she murmured against his mouth. He tugged at her bottom lip playfully, then traced the edge with his tongue until she reciprocated. At her capitulation, he plundered her mouth, coaxing and stroking as heat pooled in her center and moved lower, down to her woman’s core, suddenly aware and aching.

  Too soon, he tore his mouth from hers, shifting focus as he trailed kisses along her jaw, until he reached her earlobe and gently nipped it with his teeth. His tongue traced the delicate line of her ear, until he found the spot just behind her earlobe. Desire shot through her as he lingered there. Her head dropped back, giving him greater access.

  He cradled the back of her neck in one hand, as his other came up to cup her breast.

  She moaned. Too much. Not enough. Too much fabric in the way. She wanted that large, rough hand touching her where she needed it most. She didn’t dare say anything, though. Ladies didn’t think such things.

  Thankfully, she didn’t need to say anything. He was of the same mind. His nimble fingers worked the laces and hooks that held her bodice in place, until he’d loosened them enough to tug it down, freeing her breasts to his attentions.

  “So beautiful,” he murmured.

  Charity registered, in some distant corner of her mind, that this was not how ladies were supposed to behave. Especially not before they were married. But, after all, they were in a carriage rushing pell-mell toward Gretna Green, which was, when one thought about it, only one step away from actually being married. And Charity was not one to quibble over trivialities.

  Especially not now, when Graeme’s large thumb scraped over her nipple, his palm cupping and pushing her breast up to meet his mouth.

  Charity closed her eyes and stopped thinking. Oh, God. He drew her nipple into his mouth and sucked. Desire arced through her, and she grew moist. She shifted, needing more, running her hands restlessly over him.

  She found his erection, and at his sharp gasp, she knew. She ran her palm over him, marveling at his hardness. Wanting to see, to touch. She stroked him and watched his eyes grow dark.

  He took her other nipple in his mouth as she stroked him, his other hand playing with the one he’d lavished first. Their movements became frantic. She couldn’t tell his moan from hers.

  Finally he moved her hand. “You have to stop that, or I will lose control.”

  “Lose it, then,” she invited him, too caught up in the sensations he made her feel to be shocked at her own audacity. “Only, don’t stop.”

  He smiled. “I never said I was going to stop. Only that we had to stop that.”

  She paused, curiosity getting the better of her. “You don’t want me to touch you?”

  “Oh, I do,” he assured her. “But if you keep touching me now, we will be celebrating the wedding night before the wedding.”

  Heat filled her cheeks. But then he assured her, “Don’t worry, sweetest. There are other ways to give and take pleasure.”

  He dropped to his knees on the floor of the carriage, his hands finding the hem of her gown and sliding beneath it. He took her ankle in one hand, smoothing over her calf, pushing up her gown, exposing her undergarments—what little of them she wore. The theater gown was cut in the daring French style so favored among the London set this Season. Beneath the supple fabric, Charity had worn only a short corset to lift her bosom, and the thinnest of her muslin petticoats as a concession to propriety, or the possibility of an evening chill.

  If Graeme continued touching her…

  She twisted away in sudden panic.

  He looked up. “Too much?”

  She thought about that. He kept his hand still on her calf, awaiting her answer. The heat in his gaze reignited her own desire. “No. Not enough.”

  “Ach, lass. You definitely must marry me.” He returned his focus, his hands moving higher, massaging her thighs.

  “We shall have to send to London for the remainder of your clothing,” he murmured. “I find I quite like these new styles. They have not made it to the highlands just yet.”

  “No, I imagine not,” Charity breathed, just before his fingers reached the apex of her thighs, and her ability to hold up her end of any conversation evaporated.

  His fingers skimmed the folds of skin, teasing. He brought his lips to the inside of her knee and kissed her there. He trailed kisses higher, and again higher, until his lips reached the same folds his fingers caressed and took their place.

  “My lord?”

  “Trust me.”

  She did. Oh, she trusted him. Even when he was touching her in ways she’d never imagined. And when he began to lick, long, slow strokes in her most intimate place, she was lost. Her eyes closed and her head fell back. He traced her shape, then settled in, licking and massaging, over and over until her body felt like it had melted, her limbs all turned to liquid, all but the singular sensation of his tongue at her cleft. The sensation built, the ache and need spiraling, until she was twisting on the carriage bench, grasping his shoulders. More. More. If only—

  Waves of pleasure rocketed through her, again and again, until she shuddered and lay still. Limp. And utterly content.

  Charity’s eyes flickered open. Graeme raised his head. He looked quite…pleased.

  Graeme stayed on his knees, heart pounding. He wasn’t certain he could move if he tried. His need to make love to her was so intense it crippled him. He bowed his head, willing his raging erection down. He met with no success.

  She was so damned sweet. So damned passionate. He knew from the way she’d hesitated that she’d never had a man taste her before, but the abandon with which she’d given herself over to him once she’d realized…God. He’d never get tired of her passionate abandon.

  He’d gladly bring her to pleasure a thousand times before finding his own, if it meant hearing that sweet cry of ecstasy, watching her beautiful skin flush from head to toe.

  But his young English beauty was not finished. She pushed herself up on her elbows until her eyes were level with his. “Your turn,” she said.

  For a second he forgot to breathe. Then the blood rushed from his head and centered at his groin. His already-hard cock pulsed with the surge of fresh arousal, straining against his breeches.

  “Tell me what to do,” she whispered.

  “What to…” he repeated stupidly, the fog of need so thick his brain struggled to form a sentence.

  “How to make you feel like…that,” she clarified, an impish twinkle in here eye replacing the languid, satiated glaze of moments before.

  Sweet Jesus. She was asking him to tell her how to make him come. “Do whatever pleases you,” he rasped. “As a general rule, if you liked a particular touch, I will, too.”

  Her tongue darted between her lips, moistening them, and he watched her gaze drop to the bulge in his trousers.

  Graeme hardly dared to breathe. He shifted himself back up onto the bench beside her.

  “Earlier, you seemed to like this.” She reached for him. Stroked him. A shudder ran through him.

  Her fingers lingered at the laces holding his breeches fastened. “But, if what you say is true, then I think you will like it better if this clothing is not in the way.”

  “Aye,” he agreed hoarsely.

  She unfastened the breeches slowly. He couldn’t tell whether her fingers were fumbling or if she was simply drawing out the act. Either way the torture was exquisite.

  He shifted his hips, making it easier for her to tug his shirt up and away from—

  Ach. Her small fingers closed around the length of him. He pried his eyes open and found her studying his member with wide eyes.

  Tentatively she moved her hand, and pleasure shot through him. “Good?” she asked softly.

  He nodded. He couldn’t speak. She rubbed him again, pushing the fabric of his breeches further down to explore him fully. Her other hand stroked his inner thigh and cupped his balls.
>
  She looked at him questioningly, then slid to her knees on the floor of the carriage, where he had been moments ago. She bent her head.

  He nearly came undone. Maddeningly, she had taken his words to heart. If you liked it, I will too. She kissed the inside of his knee, her palms braced on either side of him for balance. His cock ached with the loss of touch, begged him to bury himself deep inside her. But he knew the path she was following. The same he’d done to her. Which meant that in mere moments…

  Her lips touched the inside of his thigh. Then her tongue. The sensation was foreign. Exotic. He never wanted her to stop, and yet if she didn’t touch him again soon, he might very well go mad.

  She did touch him. Her lips brushed the head of his cock tentatively. He groaned, his eyes drifting closed again. Her tongue traced the length of him.

  She paused. He was prepared for her to stop. Amazed she’d done this much. Well-bred young ladies, he’d been told, did not do such things. Naturally she might find it…disturbing.

  He steeled himself against the knowledge he was likely to spend the next hour with a painful erection.

  Then her mouth closed around him. He heard his own cry of pleasure. She gave a low hum of satisfaction in return, and the vibration against his cock was too much. His body clamored for release.

  She flicked her tongue against the sensitive head and sucked, the way he’d drawn her clit into his mouth just before she came. The memory of her taste as she came, shattering against his mouth, combined with the hot wet sensation of her mouth on him, pushed him over the edge.

  With sheer will he pulled from her mouth, just as he came, his seed spilling out in a hot rush, his body racked with a tidal wave of pleasure. His head fell forward and he rested it on hers.

  When he could move again, he drew her up, pulling her into his arms and onto his lap. “Charity, my love.” He tucked her head under his chin and stroked the soft skin of her arms. Would she regret what she’d just done? God, he hoped not.

  “Did you…that is, did I make you feel the same as what you did to me? Should I have gone about it differently?” She sounded uncertain, but hopeful.