At last, after a tedious evening, he could finally relax and speak with his wife. Admittedly, He had been waiting all day for a chance to put to her more questions.
Removing his gloves, he turned to Charlotte to initiate conversation, but she was already in conversation with someone else. Well then.
How silly of him to assume they’d talk as usual at a dinner party when the whole of the evening was meant to entertain others, not themselves. He turned to Lady Hallewell on his other side, ready to play host. The rub was, she was already speaking to the person to her left.
Drake grunted. Begrudgingly, he sat silently through the first course, admiring the back of his wife’s head between bites of food.
The room filled with a cacophony of clinking cutlery and voices, but above all he heard the contralto sound of Charlotte. The smells of food wafted to his nostrils, but he focused on her feminine scent, allowing her to invade his olfactory with the usual lemon mixed with a touch of jasmine. She smelled heavenly.
He meditated on her while trying not to pout.
As he sipped his soup, his knee itched. No, that wasn’t quite right. It tickled.
Something was touching his knee. It was a queer sensation that worked up from his knee cap to mid-thigh. Just as he set down his soup spoon and reached a hand to his lap, the tickle was replaced by a squeeze. In surprise, his knee jerked up and banged against the table. A hush fell at his end of the table, all eyes turning to him. He smiled broadly until they turned back to their conversation.
Charlotte paused her own conversation long enough to turn to him.
“Are you well, Your Grace?” she inquired with a sly smile.
“Yes, perfectly well,” he answered with an inquisitive stare.
She returned to her conversation, and he felt the squeeze again. With a subtle glance at his lap, he nearly laughed aloud in surprise. Charlotte’s hand rested on his thigh, long fingers stretching across the silk breeches. The devil!
He smirked and turned back to his soup, trying not to focus on the warmth of her now gloveless hand on such an intimate part of his body as his thigh, but simultaneously not wanting to focus on anything but the feel of her hand. She conversed animatedly, no one the wiser.
It was in that moment, Lady Hallewell turned to acknowledge him.
“It is so good to enjoy a party hosted by your lovely wife. I daresay she’s making quite the impression,” she said.
“I concur wholeheartedly, my lady,” he said, sampling his wine.
As the liquid warmed his pallet, Charlotte’s hand inched upwards until her fingers brushed the crease between his thigh and his groin.
He choked so violently, all heads at the end of the table turned to him. He waved a hand and feigned a grin while gasping for air.
After regaining his composure, Lady Hallewell gave him a squinting look of skepticism and turned back to the person on her other side. Drake sat still, too concerned about the hand to eat.
Not long did he wait until the hand moved again, thankfully away from his groin. He wasn’t at all sure he could handle that sort of proximity without embarrassing himself further.
Charlotte’s hand moved agonizingly slowly down his thigh, her nails scratching against the fabric of his breeches until she reached his knee again where she drew circles with her finger tips. His leg was on fire. He was on fire. Every part of him burned with desire.
Footmen arrived to exchange dishes, bringing the meat to replace the soup. As he watched the dance of plates, Charlotte’s thigh pressed firmly against his.
Dear Lord. She’s gone mad, he thought.
The venison with its garnishes and rich aroma sent his stomach into a deep rumble, but Charlotte’s leg took precedence, somersaulting his belly, winning the battle over his hunger. Food looked less appealing when his stomach lurched at her every touch, waves of heat and shivers of excitement tremoring through him. His body responded against all good judgment.
Was he nothing more than a school boy now? The silk breeches tightened against his lap as Lord Nimble thickened at her touch. Down boy, he commanded silently.
He closed his eyes and swallowed. Of all the times to flirt with him, she chose a crowded room, reducing him to a helpless boy with raging hormones. Cruel, bewitching seductress!
The entirety of the next course caused Drake to tug at his starched collar, for it felt tight, hot, and scratchy in large part because he was perspiring more than he cared to at a dinner table full of guests. Her leg rubbed against his, and her hand massaged the length of his thigh. The sounds in the room funneled into a low hum, the only two prominent sounds being the roar of blood in his ears and her dulcet tones. When she moved, the rustle of her dress joined the symphony.
Madness was the only explanation. What did Charlotte think she was doing? Did she want him to humiliate himself? Choke on his food? Spew his wine? Good Lord. When had the room become so unbearably hot? He had half a mind to excuse himself from the dinner and the party, pick up his wife, and carry her to his bedchamber. This time, he wouldn’t allow her to hide behind a bathing screen, not after this torture.
Instead, he gave up on food altogether and slipped his hand below the table, reaching for hers to still it. He then decided to return the favor and slinked his way to her leg, grasping none too gently her slender thigh. Without so much as pausing in her dialogue, she slapped his hand.
Right then.
When the vixen returned her hand to his thigh to resume her caresses, he interlaced his fingers with hers. Didn’t she realize he’d need to rise from the chair after dinner? The last thing he wanted to do was stand and salute the guests, or worse, necessitate the spilling of wine on his breeches to explain the wet spot her caresses might ultimately leave.
To be safe, he held her hand for the remainder of dinner, both enjoying the physical contact with her and trying to still his nerves. Down, boy, he repeated until the women retired to the drawing room and the men stayed for port and cigars.
There wouldn’t be an opportunity to get Charlotte alone again for at least a day since some of the guests would be staying the night, but he eagerly awaited that moment. The little devil!
Chapter 20
The next morning, Charlotte floated through the manor on a cloud of contentment. The guests had showered her with compliments regarding the party—her first successfully hosted dinner party!
Looking back to when she arrived at the manor, she was amazed at how worried she’d been about embarrassing herself. Nothing scandalous had occurred and no one complained or looked bored. She could be confident no one would leave her party with stories of how rottenly she hosted or how ill-behaved her husband had been, which, if she were being quite honest, had been one of her concerns.
After wishing farewell to the few remaining guests who stayed the night, she spent time with Lizbeth, one of the many sisterly moments she’d been able to share with her sister. She suspected her sister thought her to be a silly ninny, but she looked up to Lizbeth. Liz had always been the courageous and carefree one, the one full of unbridled passion. They didn’t always get along, namely because of their seven-year age difference, but also because they were wholly different people with often opposing tastes and beliefs. That didn’t stop Charlotte from wanting her sister near.
She’d spent the past few days trying to talk her into moving in. Lyonn Manor had more than enough space, the library would keep Liz busy given her love for books, and it wasn’t fair for her to be a burden to Papa when Charlotte could support her. It would be silly for Lizbeth to seek employment when the Annick family was so very wealthy, not that she’d ever understood Liz’s interest in keeping busy and feeling useful.
They strolled through the formal gardens, arms linked.
“I’m proud of you,” Lizbeth said. “You’ve made the best of your decision to marry, and I couldn’t ask more of you than that. I expected you
would beg me to hide you in the luggage on the way home, but no, you’ve made a home for yourself despite the troubles. I couldn’t be prouder.”
Charlotte directed them through the crab apple hedges to better admire the autumn flowering with vibrant yellows and reds.
“There isn’t much to be proud of, at least not yet,” Charlotte rebutted. “I’ve stumbled and fumbled my way to this point. One wrong move, and I’m positive they’ll see me as an impostor.”
“Nonsense. You were born for this position. When I wanted to romp in the fields, you wanted to host tea parties with your dolls. This is your calling, Charlotte.”
Unsure what to say, Charlotte smiled bashfully and steered them to a bench. Her sister may enjoy walking, but Charlotte much preferred to sit and admire the scenery. The air was chill, but not cold. This was just the sort of coze Charlotte needed.
“Was Aunt Hazel able to advise you on your marital troubles?” Lizbeth asked.
With an awkward, stuttering laugh, Charlotte said, “Oh, you know Aunt Hazel.”
“Is there any way I may help? Anything I can do or advise?”
“Lizzie, you’re always trying to save everyone. I mean that kindly because that is precisely why I sent for you. I wanted you to save me. As it turns out, I don’t think I need saving after all. Isn’t that funny? Though I wouldn’t turn down an offer of you telling my mother-in-law to pack herself off to the dower house. I’ve had quite enough of her.”
“Catherine? Goodness. I rather like her. A bit frosty, a tad forbidding, but she’s soft on the inside if you get her talking. We had quite the whinge the other day. I ran into her at the folly on the wilderness walk.”
Charlotte was stunned. Lizzie was already on a first name basis with Lady Annick? And she rather liked her? Never would Charlotte consider her mother-in-law a bit frosty or a tad forbidding, and never for a moment soft. The woman was a she-devil!
“Whose side are you on?” Charlotte accused.
Lizbeth laughed softly. “I’m not on anyone’s side. I can see why you might not like her, but have you tried chatting with her? She loves to walk and takes great pride in the park. If you started with such a conversation topic, I think she would open to you.”
“I have no intentions of any such thing. The last thing I want to do is talk about follies with her. She has done nothing but insult me since the moment I arrived. She has it in her head this is her house, and she intends to defend it to the death.” Charlotte shivered when a crisp breeze blew by them.
“All I did is speak to her as though we were equals. Don’t let her bully you. I would imagine she is a lonely woman who would treasure companionship from an equal. Speak your mind, Charlotte.”
“Ha! And be struck down by the cane? No, thank you.” Resting her head on her sister’s shoulder, she added, “I do envy you, Lizzie. You have courage I could never have.”
They sat in silence for a time, listening to the wind rustle the leaves. Lizzie finally expressed a desire to walk in the garden alone. Charlotte kissed her cheek and returned to the manor.
When Charlotte returned to the manor, she discovered everyone was busy with their own plans. Hazel was enjoying refreshments with the dowager duchess in the conservatory. Mary was visiting her friend, Arabella. And Drake was nowhere to be found, though the butler assured her he was home.
Her body tingled at the memory of the bold flirtations during dinner. She wasn’t certain what had come over her, but he was all she could think of during dinner. A flood of confidence fueled by Hazel’s words of seduction and Drake’s irresistible maleness had washed over her.
He’d dressed to the height of fashion, tailored, silk knee breeches and form fitting coat accentuating his physique. His stockings were clocked and emphasized his long, muscular legs. His cravat was accented with lace and emeralds, and his waistcoat was embroidered with a floral and greenery motif, all in an effort to match her own gown and jewelry.
He’d been breathtakingly handsome. It hadn’t been lost on her that most of the girls in attendance had ogled him, namely those dreadful Argot sisters.
With the evening going so well and the thoughts of seduction foremost in her mind, she couldn’t resist temptation. The knowledge that he could do nothing in response had excited her more, leading her to bolder moves. She’d been completely in control. The aftermath of her braveness left her feeling abashed for the remainder of the evening, as well as the teensiest bit wicked.
All night she’d thought of ways to prompt the exploration she planned to do, a carefully plotted seduction that would set her more at ease with sensuality and build her confidence rather than worrying about embarrassing herself. Though, knowing he’d only been with one woman made it less intimidating. He wasn’t so worldly to find her inadequate and inept. Armed with the tips from her aunt, she was eager to play out every step of the seduction. Last night had been the beginning.
She wanted to see him now and gauge his reaction to her behavior. Having disappeared after showing out the guests, he most likely hid himself in the music room. Knowing where to find him awarded her a sense of security she hadn’t expected, a kind of intimacy between them. After all, who else knew to locate him in the music room or that such a room existed?
Opening the bookshelf in his study and stepping inside the windowless but candle-filled room, she immediately spotted him sitting behind his desk, quill in hand, looking quite startled.
Her body tremored at the sight of him. His coat and waistcoat were slung over the harpsichord lid. He wore only a shirt, and she assumed breeches, as well, or at least she hoped so. His sleeves were rolled up, and a sprinkling of black hair shown through the vee of the shirt. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined finding him in a state of undress. Her pulse quickened.
Drake wheezed a single laugh. “Charlotte? What are you doing here? I mean, come in! You’re the first person to open that door aside from me. You’ll pardon my state of shock.”
He returned the quill to its stand, then stood and stepped around the desk, his lips curled in a pleasing grin. He walked to her and held out his hand. She didn’t move, arrested by the sight of his bare throat and upper chest.
Briefly, she wondered how she would ever be able to explore, as her aunt had said, if the sight of his bare flesh butterflied her stomach aggressively.
“Come. Sit. I can’t tell you how pleased I am you’re here. And perfect timing because I have a surprise for you!” He announced as she slipped her hand into his and let him lead her to the bench at the harpsichord.
“A surprise?”
Settling her at the bench, he dashed back to the desk. “Pardon the mess. It’s not finished. I’ll clean it up when I finish.” Taking sheets from his desk, he made his way back to the harpsichord, then set the music along the rack. “I’d be honored if you’d tell me what you think.”
She hesitated to turn around, not because she didn’t want to see the music, but because the tufts of ebony hair at the top of his chest still distracted her, not to mention his body in nothing but a shirt. Without the waistcoat and coat, his form displayed to advantage, his shoulders wide and his waist tapering to his breeches. He most certainly didn’t wear padding.
She hadn’t noticed before just how strong was his physique. Clearly muscular from fencing, his arms and torso were long, lean, and agile. She resisted the urge to touch the skin at the vee of the shirt and instead took a deep breath and turned to the music.
Before her sat a piece for four hands. A scan showed a simple enough theme with a more complex recapitulation. The music looked enjoyable to play with some of her favorite elements included, the very elements she had mentioned at dinner the previous week. Had he written this for her only since then? Flattered didn’t do her feelings justice. Honored came closer. Flabbergasted came in at a close second. Whatever she felt, it filled her with joy beyond words.
She looked up a
t him, seeing before her The Composer rather than Drake. He smiled differently, but she couldn’t put her finger on what was different about this smile. Before she could study the smile further, he sat next to her.
“I wrote it for four hands so we could play together. Want to give it a go?” The Composer rolled his sleeves one more fold until the fabric rested above his elbows, his forearms flexing with the movement.
Nodding, she smiled shyly.
He had composed something for them to play together. She couldn’t decide if it was that knowledge, the fact that the left side of his body pressed against her right side, or the heat of the room, but she felt lightheaded and exhilarated. Suppressing Aunt Hazel’s advice on seducing her husband proved more difficult than expected given his bare arms next to hers on the keyboard. She couldn’t very well seduce him now, could she?
With a gulp, she readied her hands on the keys and her eyes on the music. Drake counted them off, and then they played.
The music began with a warm, sinuous melody, then established a dominating theme from that melody, building and complicating it with bold and feisty phrases. Repeated and recapitulated themes reigned. Although this was her first time seeing the music, she played it with graceful ease, confirming he had indeed written the piece for her skills and her pleasure. It was written precisely for her abilities and preferences.
Another surprising discovery was how well they played together. They felt each other’s style almost intuitively. She sensed when he wanted a ritardando, just as he sensed when she preferred a section in larghetto. The music was far from finished, as none of the tempos were marked, yet she felt how it ought to be and played it thusly, she and The Composer working in tandem.
She laughed aloud when their hands crossed in one part, her right hand shifting up two octaves while his left moved down two and then back over. When their hands joined for an entire line to play overlapping chords, she laughed so hard she nearly had to stop playing. The heat of his palm held only an inch from the top of her hand, their fingers moving together in perfect unison through the chord progressions.
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