The music ended in the middle of a dramatic phrase. Ah, yes, unfinished.
She sighed both from the pleasure of the experience and disappointment that the piece wasn’t finished. She wanted to know how it ended.
“Do you like it?” he asked, his eyes searching hers for approval.
“I do! Oh, Drake, I like it very much! And what fun for us to play together. Will you promise to finish it?” She pleaded.
He smiled deeply. “Anything for you.”
And then she realized the difference between Drake’s smile and The Composer’s smile. Drake’s smile was a playful, almost sardonic grin, lopsided with coyness. The Composer’s smile reached his eyes, a genuine and wide smile that lit up his face and revealed dimples in his cheeks.
He had dimples! All this time, and she never knew he had dimples. She had known him since May, been married since June, and here it was mid-September, and she only now discovered dimples.
Without thinking first, she pivoted on the bench and reached a hand to touch one of the dimples. Drake flinched in surprise, his smile faltering. She looked into his sea blue eyes and smiled until his dimples returned, then reached up her other hand to touch the opposite cheek.
“You have dimples.” She stated the obvious.
“Do I?” He raised his eyebrows with genuine surprise.
She traced the divots with her fingertips.
Urged by the physical contact she initiated, Charlotte leaned her body against his and kissed him. Drake’s bare forearm slid up hers to grasp her hand, interlacing their fingers as her lips explored his mouth. Her tongue pushed its way past his teeth and encircled his tongue, drawing it into her mouth. The waves of heat trembling through her body shocked her, as did the aching pulse between her legs. Was she ready for this? Was she ready to follow through? Was she seducing him?
She leaned back, ending the kiss as quickly as it had begun, albeit reluctantly. His eyes, full of unsated passion, were such a deep blue they almost looked black in the candle light. If she didn’t leave now, she would act rashly, and she didn’t want her carefully planned seduction to be acted out on pure impulse. No, she couldn’t do it haphazardly. It had to be perfect.
Pushing back the bench, she stood to leave.
She could feel the redness of her cheeks and neck like a branding iron against her skin. Stiffly, she said, “Thank you for the music. Tell me when you’ve finished it. I’d very much like to play it with you again.”
Curtsying, because she couldn’t think of what else to do in her fit of nervous excitement, she bee-lined for the door.
Drake watched her scuttle out of the room and felt the thunk of the bookshelf more than he heard it, felt it in the pit of his stomach.
He wouldn’t take her visit or the kiss for granted, but the disappointment of her departure lingered. Patience and understanding were his only hope. Did she intend to continue running from every sexual encounter? She had initiated the teasing under the dining room table after all, so why run when he was giving her the upper hand in all physical interactions? Drake was being as passive as he could, allowing her to control all encounters. Was she trying to be attracted to him but finding she wasn’t, or was she still coltishly skittish?
His body ached from the tension, and his spirits deflated. With a grunt, he walked back to his desk, setting down the last page of the composition so he could work on it more. Standing at the desk, he frowned at the page, wondering if he ought to go to her or let her be. The problem was, he wouldn’t see her again until dinner, a terribly long wait in his opinion.
Armed with that awareness, Drake was unprepared when the bookshelf opened within minutes of closing, flooding the room with temporary sunlight from his study.
He blinked in confusion to see Charlotte standing in the doorway, biting her bottom lip. She hesitated, both hands on the back of the bookshelf. His stomach flip-flopped, and Lord Nimble rose to attention at her silhouette against the lighted backdrop. He questioned her with an eyebrow, and she pulled the bookshelf firmly closed, shutting them both in the room once more.
“Sit,” she commanded, walking towards him with determination, her shoulders back and her chin up.
Pulling out the desk chair, he sat obediently. Was she going to lecture him because of the kiss? She had kissed him for crying out loud! The whole visit had gone well from his estimation. She enjoyed the music; they laughed while playing; and she had kissed him. Nothing could warrant a scolding. Still, there she stood in front of his desk looking as prim and reprimanding as a governess. Her hands linked in front of her, her lips pursed. All she needed was a rod with which to whip him. He gulped.
As she stood with the candle light flickering her features into light then shadow, she visibly began to relax. She unclenched her hands and hugged her waist. As her breathing shallowed, she stepped around the desk towards him. Dear Lord, she wasn’t really going to whip him with a rod, was she? He tensed.
She stopped when their knees touched, her legs trembling against his. He studied her face but found it unreadable. Then to his surprise, she leaned forward ever so slightly and touched the top of his chest, just at the open vee of his shirt.
Well then.
Her fingers scalded his skin with a soulful fire as they traced the shape of the vee then flitted through the light dusting of hair just below the hollow of his neck. She licked her lips, and it was his undoing.
Emboldened, he dared to ask, “Shall I take it off?” Risky business to break her concentration. He hoped he hadn’t ruined the moment.
Unperturbed, she stilled her hand and nodded.
The shirt came up and over his head fast as lightning, and he tossed it carelessly on the floor behind her. He leaned back against the cold leather of the chair, watching her watch him. The feel of her eyes roaming over his bare chest could only be described as a scorching caress. His skin tingled and burned at her visual inspection.
“And those,” she whispered hoarsely, lowering her eyes to his legs.
With arched brows, he asked, “My stockings or…?”
“Everything.”
His heart stopped. In an extended and exacting minute, he sat perfectly still, shocked, confused, and achingly excited.
A wicked little smile played at her lips. “Now,” she demanded.
Without hesitation, eyes locked on hers, he rolled down his stockings, tossed them aside, then stood. He loosened the ties in the back of his breeches, slipped the two top buttons in the front through their holes, leaned over to loosen the ties and buttons on either side of his knees, and then slipped down the breeches, kicking them away. He sat back onto the leather, wincing at the sharp coolness against his bare buttocks.
He enjoyed the sight of her widening eyes as she visually examined his male form. Lord Nimble, invigorated by the attention, leaned hard and throbbing against his stomach. When he was confident her eyes couldn’t get any wider and was positive her gaze rested on his manhood, he flexed the muscle. Her jaw slackened until her mouth fell open. He bit his forefinger to keep from laughing.
“Care to join me?” He teased.
The only response was the rapid shaking of her head.
Well, damn. Did she only want to stare at him? Not that he minded. This was, after all, certainly progress in their relationship. But he would be damned if he had to imitate a statue for any length of time.
He gave his lordship another flex for her viewing pleasure. Drake knew he tested the fates by teasing her. Any minute now, she would flee.
Then she did something he never would have dreamt in a lifetime of dreams, something no woman had ever done in his limited experience. She placed two palms on his bare thighs and kneeled before him, scooting herself on the floor between his legs.
With the same wicked smile she flashed earlier, she explored his chest, arms, and legs with her hands and eyes. Fingers tickled and traced, p
alms massaged and squeezed, eyes studying every inch of him. She ran her hands through his chest hair and traced his nipples, felt the toned muscles in his arms and his legs.
When he thought he might go mad from her touch alone, she propped her forearms on his thighs and lifted herself just enough to lick his chest from the middle of his pectorals, up his throat, and to his lips, ending the lap with a ravenous and open-mouthed kiss that tasted salty from his sweat. She ended the kiss by returning to her haunches, her copper eyes glittering in the candle light, the mischievous smile teasing him.
Need coursed through his limbs, aching for her to remove her dress and climb on top of him.
Why was she still dressed? He didn’t wait long for an answer.
She had no intention of undressing or of climbing on top of him. A hesitant hand slid between his legs and touched his maleness, one tentative finger at a time, sliding curiously down the length of him. All he felt was silken fire. He threw his head back in a throaty moan at the sensation, resisting with all his might to thrust against her fingers.
An open palm replaced the fingers, caressing the tender base and tracing the ridge stretching along the underside. The fingers wrapped one-by-one around him and squeezed. He growled at her and clenched his fists.
With fierce guttural tones, he asked, “Shall I show you how?”
“Hush,” she responded, the once hoarse whisper now a strong mandate.
Fists still clenched, he bit his knuckles as she squeezed and released then caressed. Not long did it take him to realize she wasn’t actually trying to pleasure him, rather she wanted to explore, acquaint herself with his body. As much as he could understand that, he worried he might mess on her dress at an unexpected moment if she continued to touch and grope with those wondrous fingers.
Just when he thought he couldn’t take much more of her twirls and tickles, she leaned in and licked the length of him from base to tip, then of all the audacious actions, she looked straight into his eyes and giggled.
He gasped and groaned simultaneously and uttered something akin to a curse and a prayer rolled into one. Her tongue, wet, warm, and strong, revisited to award more pleasure. She took him, then, into her mouth, and encircled him with lips, tongue, and hands.
He couldn’t say for certain after that what happened because he threw his head back and felt nothing less than the sheerest bliss of his life. His entire body felt like he dipped into a pool of molten pleasure. Splashing waves of rapture rolled through him. He shouted to the ceiling more curses, more praises, and a few prayers.
He reached down to push her away when he couldn’t take much more, but she slapped at his hands and stayed steady until he burst into a warm and moist euphoria. Vaguely, he was aware of crying out at that moment, extolling a goddess named Charlotte.
Drake stared at the plaster ceiling for some time, panting, trying desperately to remember his own name. When he looked down, his darling wife still sat between his legs, smiling up at him as if he had given her the most memorable gift of a lifetime. He laughed in spite of himself.
“Was that acceptable?” Charlotte asked timidly.
“Like hell it was. Give me a moment to recover, and I’ll return the favor.” He gasped, still panting for air.
“No!” she said hurriedly, waving her hands. “No, this was for me. I needed this. You know, to understand how it worked.”
“Uh, right. You needed this,” he echoed, scratching his chin. “Well, now you know. Is your curiosity satisfied?”
“I believe so.” She thought for a moment. “I feel a bit like a trollop. Do trollops do this?”
Drake stuttered a laugh. “I have no idea, Charlotte. This was a first for me, if you must know. I don’t want you to feel like a trollop, though. You’re my wife for crying out loud. And lest we not forget, the last time you said that, I had a bruise on my shin for a week.”
She pushed against his legs to stand up, and then tried to iron the creases in her dress with the palms of her hands. “I would have never dared to say this before, but I’m feeling confident, so I’ll say it. I enjoyed that. Do you think less of me for enjoying myself?”
“Quite the opposite. I think it is safe to say I am the luckiest man to have you for a wife. Are you certain I can’t return the favor?” He was starting to feel somewhat exposed sitting naked and post-pleasured in the chair with her fully dressed and virginal.
“Oh, no, please. Lizbeth is likely to return from her walk soon, so I want to be in the parlor when she arrives.” Charlotte side-stepped around the desk.
“You’re leaving? At least let me dress.” Drake stood and snatched up his breeches, and as quickly as his fingers could manage, laced and buttoned them into place, and then pulled on his shirt, leaving it untucked, the stockings still on the floor.
Uncertain how much physical contact he could get away with while she was still feeling gutsy, he took a risk and swept her into his arms for a full embrace, linking his hands behind her back and kissing her gently. She didn’t tense as he expected, but instead relaxed against him and wrapped her arms around the sweaty nape of his neck.
When he released her, he kept his hands on her hips and fell into her golden-brown eyes.
“God, you’re beautiful, Charlotte,” he whispered.
Laughing, she wriggled free of his gasp and twirled towards the door.
“Wait! Give this to Lizbeth.” He crossed over to one of the bookshelves and grabbed a book from the top most shelf. “I don’t know if she brought any books with her, so this will give her something to read.”
Charlotte took it from him and looked at him inquisitively. He shrugged and smiled.
“Thank you. I will see she gets it,” she said before tiptoeing to kiss him on the cheek.
Chapter 21
Drake’s horse trotted home, leading the way while Drake woolgathered, reflecting on the past two weeks since Charlotte’s bold move to pleasure him.
He should be analyzing his morning’s loss to Winston during their regular sabre practice. He should be examining how he missed Winston’s obvious feint so he wouldn’t make the same mistake again. Such a feint in a real duel could have left Drake maimed or worse, not that he ever found himself in real duels, but such errors in judgment with a sabre were worth reflective study.
What he should be thinking and what he was thinking were quite different. His thoughts remained steady on Charlotte.
While she hadn’t initiated any physical encounters since that one blessed afternoon, she had surprised him every day with at least one stolen kiss. During two afternoons in a row, she had even gone so far as to grope him during an unexpected corridor kiss. The first such incident was nothing more than her hand sweeping under his waistcoat to tickle his stomach through the fabric of his shirt, but the second fondling involved her hand slipping behind him to grab his derriere.
Needless to say, he whistled for the rest of the day. If she wanted to grab his tush in a hallway, then by all means, she could grab his tush!
And that wasn’t even the best part of the past two weeks. The best part was that Charlotte visited the music room every afternoon when Lizbeth and Hazel were elsewhere engaged. The visits consisted of mostly harpsichord playing, a few times her accompanying while he played violin, and a handful of moments spent talking about the compositions.
Their only point of contention was her desire for him to debut his work. He was less inclined to have that discussion and skirted the topic. It wasn’t from shyness so much as a fear of censure.
What would people think of the music? What would people think of him? Would the similarities between father and son be forefront in people’s minds? He knew it was cowardice, but after a lifetime of shielding himself with a false reputation and a faux mistress, he couldn’t sacrifice it all with a single moment that would lead to a lifetime of doubt. Now, he had even more reason to protect the Annick name
, for he wouldn’t have Charlotte subjected to ridicule. Charlotte insisted he was being silly and hounded him about it all the same.
And that proved their only point of contention.
The significance of her visiting the room superseded his desire for more physical contact, for nothing could make him happier than spending time doing what he loved with someone he loved. Well, that wasn’t quite accurate, was it? Did he love Charlotte? He was undecided how he would know if he loved her or not, for he had little on which to base such an emotion. His only experience was loving Maggie. Now that he knew what it felt like to have Charlotte by his side, he knew without doubt he had never truly loved Maggie, only loved that someone showed him kindness and tenderness when he’d known nothing of the sort.
Based on his limited previous experience, he decided it safe to say he was falling in love.
No matter how many times he saw her in a day, his heart skipped a beat at the sound of her voice or a glimpse of her dress whisking around a corner. He smiled more often with her than he ever had at any other point in his life, a deep smile that reached his heart, not the surface smirk. She even instilled confidence in his compositions. For the first time, he held hope in the palm of his hand.
When Drake first met her, he saw her inner passion and was drawn to it, desiring more from his marriage than duty, but for the first month of their marriage, he feared he had been mistaken and she wanted nothing from the marriage, leaving him to the same empty life he had already been living for far too long; yet, now, oh, now, he held hope. He could see ahead a marriage of love and happiness, of passion and sensuality. With Charlotte, he thought it possible to be the man he had always wanted to be, a lover and composer.
DukeAndEnchantress_PGolden-eBooks Page 23
