Seduced at Sunset (Love at Pembroke Palace Book 6)

by Julianne MacLean

  “In a bare-knuckled fight,” he replied, “it bloody well hurts.”

  “Hurts you or him?” she inquired further.

  “Both of us, I suppose.”

  “Then what, may I ask, is the appeal?”

  He continued to circle around the bag, his eyes hungry for love play, while she moved in the opposite direction. “A question I’ve often asked myself over the years,” he replied. “Was it the cheering crowd? The triumph when the other man fell at my feet? Or the buckets of money?”

  “How big a fortune did you win?” she boldly asked.

  “Enough to buy my passage to America and purchase holdings in three different railroads once I got there.”

  “Very impressive.” She ran her fingers over the smooth brown leather and looked up at the rope that was slung over the beam. It creaked like an old ship whenever the bag swung back and forth. “How much does this weigh?”

  “Forty pounds, I imagine.”

  “That’s heavy.”

  His eyes narrowed with amusement. “Are you teasing me, Lady Charlotte?”

  “I don’t know. Am I?”

  He stopped his circling and stared at her. “I reckon you are. A tease, I mean.”

  Her pulse thrummed with excitement. “Clearly I am a very naughty lady. What are you going to do about it?”

  His mouth curled up in a devilish grin, and he shoved the punching bag aside. The next thing she knew, it was swinging back and forth across the width of the stall and she was pinned up against the back wall, while his big hand slid over the curve of her hip. She turned her head to the side to allow him full access to the sensitive flesh at her throat, which he kissed hungrily, sending a flood of tingling arousal into her core.

  Heaven help her. She could barely comprehend the magnificence of his muscular shoulders and back as she ran her fingers over the muscles, still slick with his sweat. Then his mouth found hers and he kissed her roughly, sweeping his tongue inside while his hands tugged her skirts upward and he worked at the fastenings of his breeches.

  Seconds later, he was making love to her up against the wall, and she gasped with delight at the delicious wickedness of it. Last night she had dreamed of this after her return from the ball. While memories of the music played in her head, she had imagined Mr. Torrington’s hands on her body, and had trembled with pleasure at the mere thought of being taken by him, just like this—quickly and efficiently, without foreplay, up against a wall. It was all so expected, yet so very shocking to her lady-like sensibilities. What had become of her?

  She was not a wanton woman, yet she felt like one whenever she thought about this man or fell shamelessly into his arms. She cared for nothing but the hedonistic pleasure of his embrace, the masterful stroke of his hands, and the sumptuous flavor of his flesh upon her lips and tongue.

  A climax rose up within her and her body clenched tight and convulsed. She was still crying out when he groaned like a beast in a cage.

  Suddenly weakened, he drew back. Her skirts fell to the floor while she fought to regain her sanity. He fastened his breeches, then collapsed onto the rug. Legs stretched out, he leaned on both arms and looked up at her in amazement. “I meant to withdraw sooner. I don’t know what happened.”

  Charlotte decided to join him on the floor to recover. “Neither do I. That was wild. But I think it’s a fairly safe time.” Her courses were due soon, but one could never be certain. She was surprised he had taken that chance.

  For a long while, they sat in a quiet haze of sensual fulfillment.

  “Did you attend the ball last night?” he asked, out of the blue.

  “Yes. It was very enjoyable.”

  “Did you dance?”

  “Quite a bit, actually.”

  He stared at her. “How many times?”

  Charlotte frowned at him, for she could sense his displeasure at the image of her swirling around the floor in the arms of countless other men. “I couldn’t tell you the exact number—I would have to consult my dance card—but I saw no reason to refuse any invitations. The music was lively, and the room was festive. It was a crush, but a most excellent crowd.”

  He continued to stare at her, then flopped onto this back, bent his knees, and looked up at the rafters. He reached out and pushed the bottom of the punching bag. It swung back and forth across the stall.

  “I was in a foul mood last night,” he said, “knowing you were there, doing Lord knows what with God knows whom.”

  “I was dancing.” She wiped at the perspiration at the back of her neck. “You could have come, you know. I would have secured you an invitation, then we could have danced together. I would have enjoyed that.”

  He sat up again. “I told you, I don’t go to balls. Not in London.”

  “Then why are you asking me about it, as if I had been disloyal by going without you?” She stood up and brushed the dust off her skirts, then went to fetch her bodice from the hook on the wall. She pushed her arms into the sleeves and was fastening the buttons when Drake stood up as well and came to assist her.

  “Let me do that,” he said.

  She stood in silence while he took over the task. Looking up at his face, she studied the details of his many scars and wondered what he was thinking. “You made it clear you didn’t want to come to the ball,” she reminded him. “Yet you seem annoyed with me. Are you jealous?”

  His blue eyes lifted. “Jealous? Yes. I want to thrash every man who put his hands on you.”

  She smiled at that. “Then you should come next time and put on a show. The Prince and his Marlborough Set would love a scandal like that. Fisticuffs in a ballroom. They would talk of nothing else for weeks.”

  Drake fastened the last button and turned away from her.

  “You are not laughing,” she said. “I was only joking.”

  “I told you I want no part of the social Season.”

  “But you want to be with me,” she clarified.

  “Yes. Privately.”

  “And then what?” She watched him move to a table in the corner, pour a glass of water from a tin pitcher, and guzzle it. “You will return to America and we will never see each other again?”

  He turned to face her, wiped at his mouth, and tilted his head to the side. “Charlotte…”

  She scoffed at what she took to be a patronizing tone. “What…? Am I not permitted to imagine that you might wish to accompany me somewhere interesting? A museum perhaps. Or would we have to wear hooded cloaks and masks?”

  His eyebrows pulled together in a frown. “What is wrong? You knew the rules when we entered into this.”

  She made a fist and gently punched the leather bag. “Of course I knew the rules. You were very clear about them. I am simply frustrated, I suppose. It was not such a perfect night at the Halloway ball.”

  “How so?”

  She moved to the wall, leaned back against it, and crossed her booted legs at the ankles. “I was missing you, for one thing, and none of the gentlemen could distract me from thoughts of you. On top of that, one particular gentleman, who I believe is destined to marry my mother, danced with every other lady in the room before saying the smallest hello to her. He eventually danced with her, but it felt as if his actions conveyed a message to remind her that she has no claim on him. I was hurt and angry.”

  “You speak as if it were your heart at stake, not your mother’s. How does she feel about it?”

  “Oh, her feathers are never ruffled,” Charlotte replied. “She insists they are just friends.”

  “Maybe they are.”

  Charlotte shook her head dismissively. “No, that cannot be so. He was her first love, and she almost cancelled her own wedding because she couldn’t bear to leave him behind. They were desperately in love but were torn apart like Romeo and Juliet. Now my mother is a widow and he is also free. He never married, in fact,
which I believe is a testament to his undying love for her. She is out of mourning now, and I believe with all my heart that she deserves to live out the rest of her days with the man she never stopped loving.”

  “I am sure she deserves every happiness,” Drake said, “but it sounds to me as if you are playing matchmaker and might want to consider minding your own business.”

  Charlotte was taken aback. “I only want my mother to be happy.”

  “But perhaps another marriage is not what she wants,” he said. “They are adults now, not children. I am sure she knows her own heart.”

  “I don’t agree with that at all,” Charlotte argued.

  “Which part?” he said with a laugh, as if she were a fool.

  Charlotte gaped at him. “I assure you, I know my mother better than you do, and I am positively certain that she is lying about her feelings. She loves this man with every inch of her being, and always has, but she is too proud or perhaps too frightened to admit it.”

  “Why does she need to admit it?” Drake asked. “If they love each other, it will happen on its own. They shouldn’t require you to act as their guide. It is not up to you to strong-arm people into love.”

  Charlotte crossed the stall to fetch her hat and riding crop. “I don’t know why I brought it up. Perhaps I am too much of a romantic, while you are, quite clearly, the opposite.”

  She placed her hat back on her head, tucked in a few errant wisps of hair, then pulled on her gloves. “I must go. I told my driver to return in an hour. He will be out front by now.”

  “I will walk you out,” Drake said as he pulled on his shirt, then his waistcoat.

  Charlotte turned to leave before he was fully dressed, and he was still buttoning the waistcoat when he hurried to follow her across the gravel courtyard.

  “When will I see you again?” he asked just before they reached the front of the house.

  “I am not sure. I have some things to do this week. I may keep my Victor Edwards identity a secret, Drake, but I still have a social life, and it is very full.”

  She stopped beside the coach, and the footman hopped down from the box to lower the step. “Good day, Mr. Torrington,” she said.

  “Good day,” he replied, just before the footman helped her inside, shut the door, and the coach drove off.

  Chapter 10

  Women. Drake ran a hand through his hair as he watched the coach pull away from the curb. Lady Charlotte did not look back, and he wondered what the devil he had been thinking back there in the stables. He had actually admitted to being jealous that she danced with other men. And that wasn’t all.

  He should have kept his big mouth shut about her matchmaking schemes instead of openly criticizing her and shining a light on the fact that he had no romantic inclinations whatsoever. He had effectively reminded her that this was a temporary affair, and there was no danger of his heart becoming involved because that was not what he wanted.

  However, that particular assertion caused him some distress there on the pavement as he watched the coach grow distant—for he was completely flustered and angry with himself. Should he go after her and apologize? Would that smooth things over?

  Hell, he knew better than to argue with women over matters of the heart. It was a losing battle every time. Hands on his hips, he paced back and forth for a moment, then tried to sweep the argument from his mind as he climbed the front steps. He entered the house through the front door but stopped in the entryway when he locked eyes with his mother, who appeared out of the parlor.

  “Who was that woman just now?” she asked, looking displeased.

  “No one,” he replied, and started for the stairs.

  “Wait. I want to speak with you.”

  He paused with one hand on the newel post. “About what?”

  His mother cleared her throat. “Come into the parlor where we can speak privately.”

  With a heavy exhale, he followed her into the front room and watched her close the door behind him.

  “Sit down,” she said, uncorking the decanter and pouring him a glass of brandy.

  He accepted the drink, but said, “I prefer to stand.”

  “Fine.” She moved to the sofa and sat down. “I saw you just now, leaving the stables, half dressed.”

  “I was training.” She knew he kept a punching bag in one of the stalls.

  “With a woman?”

  He eyed his mother intently, took a sip of the brandy, and grimaced as it slid hotly down his throat. “That is not your concern.” Then he realized it was the second time in twenty minutes he had spoken similar words to a woman.

  “To the contrary,” his mother replied, “it is very much my concern when you are carrying on a torrid affair with the daughter of a duke. Don’t look at me like that, as if I have been spying on you. The Pembroke crest was more than visible, emblazoned on the side of her coach for all the world to see. It was parked out front for quite some time. It was Lady Charlotte, was it not? The woman who required your assistance after her purse was stolen? Oh yes, I know who she is. She is an attractive woman, the sort you’ve always admired—tall, blond—but she is not for you, Drake. Surely you know that.”

  “I know no such thing.” He finished his drink and set it down.

  “Don’t be a fool. You are only here for the summer, and you are not part of her world. Besides, she is a spinster, as I am sure you are aware, and I daresay she is clinging to her respectability by a mere thread.”

  “How so?”

  “She is far too independent, for one thing. They say she has her own income. That she earns it. From writing.”

  So…it was not such a well-kept secret after all, he realized, and wondered if Charlotte knew she was the subject of gossip.

  Damn London Society and all its aggravating flapping tongues. Did people have nothing better to do? There were certain social circles in America where things were no different, especially in New York and Newport, but the majority of plain folk were too busy working their way up in the world to be bothered with such frivolity.

  “I don’t give a damn if she has her own income,” Drake said. “In fact, I respect her for it, and so should you. She does not rely on a man for her happiness. She is intelligent and self-sufficient.”

  His mother rolled her shoulders haughtily. “I see. Do you intend to marry her then?”

  He scoffed. “Did you not hear a word I just said? She is independent. She is not seeking a husband.”

  “Ah, there it is then,” his mother said. “The improper nature of your acquaintance, just as I suspected. It is a secret and no doubt torrid affair.”

  He shook his head in disbelief.

  “I just don’t understand how this could have happened,” she continued. “You have remained hidden from the world since you arrived, like some sort of night creature.”

  Drake took a moment to still his temper. “I didn’t come home to socialize,” he told her, “and I thought we discussed this already and put an end to it. I am here to settle our financial affairs and see that your future is secured. I have a life in America, and I will be returning to it as soon as possible. Other than that, how I live my life while I am here does not concern you.”

  His turned and strode from the room.

  “What about Lady Charlotte?” his mother asked, rising to her feet. “Is she aware that you will be leaving?”

  He paused in the doorway. “Yes, she understands, so there is no danger of heartbreak, if that is what worries you.” Though he doubted that was the problem.

  “Wait! Please, Drake. It is an improper affair. You must break it off.”

  Drake frowned and turned to face her. “Why does it even matter to you? Nothing else about my life has ever mattered before.”

  She squinted irately. “You forget that I am always left to mop up the scandals you leave behind. It will be my
reputation that is tarnished if word of this gets out.”

  “It won’t get out,” he firmly told her as he walked to the stairs, suspecting that the affair was already over, for Charlotte had left on a very bad note.

  Charlotte stepped out of the coach, entered her family’s London house, and handed over her hat, gloves, and riding crop to the butler who greeted her at the door.

  “Brandy, Lady Charlotte?” he asked, for he understood her moods, and though he never spoke a word otherwise, or asked any intrusive questions, he somehow took one look at her and knew when to bring tea and when to bring brandy.

  “Yes, thank you. To my boudoir, if you please.”

  “Right away, my lady.”

  A few minutes later, she flopped onto her bed and covered her face with her hands. What is wrong with me? Why did I walk out on him like that?

  Sitting up, she removed all her hairpins, ran her fingers through her hair, and shook everything out to cascade freely down her back.

  A knock sounded at her door, and her maid arrived with a drink tray. “Would you like me to brush out your hair, Lady Charlotte?” she asked as she set the tray on a table and poured the amber liquid into a glass. “Or prepare a bath before dinner?”

  “No thank you, Mary. I would prefer to rest awhile.”

  “Very good, milady,” she said. “I’ll close the drapes and make sure you are not disturbed.”

  “You are an angel.” Charlotte waited patiently for her maid to leave before she moved to the chair by the window and went over every ridiculous thing she had said to Mr. Torrington before she walked out of his stables.

  Or perhaps it had not been ridiculous. Perhaps it was an unconscious act of self-preservation—to spoil everything now and protect herself from what might transpire if she continued with this affair. Perhaps she wanted to sabotage it.

  It had all seemed so exciting when she made the decision to enjoy Mr. Torrington as a lover, seemingly without any consequences, for he would soon be gone. Eventually it would all seem like a dream, as if it had never really occurred.

  But there was a risk of pregnancy, and she was well acquainted with how such an accident could ruin a person socially. Her brother Vincent had taken a mistress, and together they had borne an illegitimate child. The scandal was so monstrous, they had been forced to leave the country, and it was ten years before they returned. And Vincent had actually married Cassandra. Charlotte wasn’t sure that Mr. Torrington would propose marriage in such a case.