Seduced at Sunset (Love at Pembroke Palace Book 6)

by Julianne MacLean

  Her hair was like spun gold in the early evening light streaming in through the window, and like Eve, she stood before him, the embodiment of temptation. He knew then that it had indeed been a mistake to come here, for clearly he was losing control of this affair, but it was too late to turn back now, for he wanted her with a raging desire that was unmatched in its intensity.

  “I hope you don’t mind that I snuck in so soon,” Charlotte said alluringly as she approached. “But I couldn’t wait until later. It feels as if I have been waiting for days. I tried, but another minute without you seemed unbearable.”

  Passion blazed through his senses so forcefully, that he found himself tearing at his neck cloth with one hand while simultaneously cupping the small of her back with the other. He pulled her close.

  The kiss was hard and rough and when their tongues met, a savage lust pounded through his brain and filled him with urgent discontent, for he was tired of fighting this. He wanted to surrender to it, to enjoy this woman’s passionate affections without any worries about the future.

  “Take me to the bed,” she breathlessly pleaded, and he swept her into his arms, carried her a few short steps, set her down, and quickly unbuttoned his waistcoat. Seconds later he had ridded himself of the garment and was tugging his shirt off over his head in a mad rush to feel her luscious body against his bare skin.

  He ached with need. It was a fierce yearning that reminded him of days gone by—when he had yielded eagerly to his violent side. But this was something else. He didn’t want to pillage or destroy. All he wanted was to possess.

  The next few moments were a frenzy of desperate gasps, as if they were both drowning in their sexual appetites.

  “Is the door locked?” Charlotte asked as he came down naked upon her.

  “No,” he replied, though perhaps he should have lied.

  “Pray God no one walks in,” she whispered, and that was enough. It was all he needed—permission to love her with all the wild intensity that had exploded like a bomb inside his brain over the past few days, ever since their lovemaking under the willow tree by the river.

  She clung to him and in that moment, he felt transformed, like a man without sin or shame. His body trembled against exquisite sensation as he made love to her, his mind unaware of the physical world beyond the delicacy of her body. He made a sound of deep, primal satisfaction that caused her to moan softly in response, like an echo, as their passions grew together to a heightened pitch.

  Moments later, they lay weak, sated, and happy, clinging to each other like two lost souls.

  “I missed you so much,” Charlotte whispered, and the words aroused him anew.

  “I missed you, too,” he replied. “Nothing was the same. All I did was count the minutes until I could see you again.”

  Had he really just said that aloud? Had he let down his guard completely? He—the undefeated boxing champion of England—was surely down for the count, blinking up at the ceiling in a foggy haze of infatuation.

  But he wasn’t about to admit defeat. He hugged Charlotte as tight as he could without crushing her and reveled in the sensation of her legs entwined with his.

  He was still inside her, drowning in bliss. It was the second time he had taken such a risk by neglecting to prevent the conception of a child. The fact that he was not concerned about that was a miracle in itself, for if such an event occurred, he would have no choice but to marry Lady Charlotte. Despite what some might say, he was a man of honor.

  But it was more than that. Perhaps a part of him wanted to face such a future. Her pregnancy, though dangerous, could tie them together forever and not permit him to leave her behind. But a pregnancy? No one knew better than Drake the risks of such a condition.

  Charlotte shifted beneath him and he felt her delicate ribcage expand. Recognizing the effort that it took for her to breathe with his heavy weight upon her, he carefully rolled to the side.

  Charlotte reached down to pull the coverlet up over their bodies, then curled into him. He wrapped an arm around her and she rested her head on his shoulder.

  “This is the room where my mother stayed the night before her wedding to the duke,” Charlotte said. “Remember when I told you that she almost didn’t go through with it?”

  He nodded.

  “Well, that was not nearly half the story,” Charlotte continued, “for she actually planned to run off with her young man. He came into this very room from behind the tapestry, just as I did tonight, and they tried to leave together to make their way through the tunnels. Her father caught them before they could flee, however, and dragged my mother back after beating the young man to a pulp. She went through with the wedding only to protect him, because her father threatened to kill him otherwise.”

  “How barbaric,” Drake replied.

  “I agree.”

  “Did you know your grandfather?”

  “No, he died before I was born.”

  Drake stroked Charlotte’s bare shoulder and kissed her on the forehead. “Was your mother very miserable in her marriage?”

  “At first, yes, but she says they eventually grew to care for each other. The duke mellowed in his old age.”

  He sighed. “Well, from what I gather the dowager duchess seems like a lovely person. She deserves happiness. I hope she finds it.”

  “I hope you find it, too.” Charlotte lifted her head to look up at him.

  “Who says I haven’t?” he replied without smiling, for that very serious confession was unplanned and left him reeling. He felt caught in a maelstrom, spinning deeper and deeper into passion and love. Now that he was here at Pembroke, he didn’t want to spend a single moment away from Charlotte. He wanted to make the very most of it.

  Perhaps they both simply needed to take their fill before summer’s end, and then they would part as friends. But when her lips touched his, something swelled inside of him, and he felt a deep connection to her, one he knew could last a lifetime, if given a chance.

  He thought of how she must have mourned the death of her fiancé and unborn child, just as he had mourned the death of his wife and child. Charlotte had not gone on to marry another; neither had he. Now she wanted her mother to be happy and settled, which was the same reason he had come home—to ensure that his own mother was taken care of. So many things the same…

  He kissed Charlotte tenderly in the twilight and was glad he had not told the coachman to turn around. It didn’t matter that she lived in a palace, nor would it have mattered if she lived in a hovel. He desired her, and he simply had to have her.

  “I’m so glad you came,” she said with a smile.

  “So am I.” He kissed her again, but she pulled away and slipped out of his bed.

  “Where are you going?” He didn’t want her to leave.

  “It’s time to dress for dinner,” she explained. “I need to sneak out of here before someone catches us.”

  He lay back on the pillow, tossed his arms up behind his head, watched her don her chemise and petticoat. “What would your brother do if he did catch us?” Drake asked. “Give me a good thrashing, I suppose.”

  “Heaven help him if he tried. He’d end up unconscious on the ground. He wouldn’t even know what hit him.” She bent to pick up her corset and fastened the hooks in the front, then pulled on her skirt.

  “Maybe he would bring out a shotgun and force me against my will to marry you.”

  Charlotte picked up a pillow and pitched it at him. With lightning fast reflexes, Drake caught it in front of his face.

  “Maybe he would be required to hold a shotgun to my head,” she replied, “to force me to marry you.”

  She was laughing as she said it, but Drake suddenly found himself leaning up on an elbow, studying her expression. “Is that what it would take? A gun to your head? Or would you marry me willingly?”

  Her expression grew seriou
s, then she turned away from him to pick up her bodice. “I don’t know,” she said, pushing her arms into the sleeves. He wished he could see her face. “I never liked hypothetical questions.”

  It was better than a ‘no,’ he thought.

  Feeling rather satisfied, he lay back down on the pillow to watch her fasten the buttons up her front. She had turned around at last, then leaned over the bed and kissed him quickly on the mouth. “I have to go now. Otherwise we might find ourselves facing shotguns—unhypothetically.”

  “If you would stay ten more minutes,” he said, “I guarantee it would be completely worth it.”

  She gave him a mischievous smirk, then circled around the bed and disappeared behind the tapestry, leaving him alone to ponder his life.

  With a burst of excitement, Charlotte left Drake’s room, entered the dark passageway and picked up the candle she had left in one of the wall sconces. Had he really just said those things to her about marrying him willingly? Was he only teasing, or did he mean it? Would he welcome a shotgun wedding?

  Would she?

  Why was she so inconceivably happy at the thought of it? How ridiculous!

  It was not a proposal, and even if it were, she was not sure she would want to marry Drake Torrington. She must maintain control of her intellect and not become swept away by the magic of his kiss and the pleasure of his hands on her body. For all she knew, he could make a terrible husband, and she certainly did not want to live like a recluse.

  No, she mustn’t become swept away.

  But she would enjoy this. She would enjoy the dream of him for as long as it lasted.

  Chapter 15

  After dinner, when the ladies retired to the drawing room, the men remained at the table to smoke cigars and partake of some excellent brandy in a sparkling crystal decanter, which was brought to the table by a servant in black and white formal attire. The duke was the first to snip off the end of his cigar and light it. Soon they were all lounging back in their chairs in conspicuous silence.

  “I suppose I am about to be interrogated?” Drake asked, sitting forward to tap his cigar ashes into a gold-plated tray.

  “Indeed,” Lord Vincent replied. “We heard all about your gallant rescue of our sister’s reticule, but we have yet to hear the gory details. How hard did you really hit the scoundrel? Did you break anything? A nose? A jaw perhaps?”

  The duke chuckled and shook his head. “Vincent, you have no shame.”

  “I never have, and I make no apologies. Come now, brothers, don’t lie. You know you want to hear all about it.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Blake said. “I am sure Mr. Torrington does not wish to go into it, and certainly not at the dinner table.”

  “The ladies are gone,” Vincent said. “What could it hurt?”

  Drake glanced at the duke who sat back leisurely in his chair with one leg crossed over the other. He and Lord Vincent shared similar looks. Each had jet-black hair and a commanding physical stature. In fact, they could have been twins.

  The duke shrugged a shoulder as if to suggest that Drake could speak as freely as he wished.

  “I didn’t break anything,” Drake explained, “but the villain was out cold for a good twenty minutes.”

  “A concussion, then,” Vincent said.

  “No doubt,” Drake replied.

  Vincent took a deep drag of his cigar, then leaned forward to tap the ashes into the tray. “Violence is a dreadful thing, but when you’re a purse snatcher, you take your chances.”

  “Charlotte mentioned,” Blake said, “that he was a gambler who owed money to the wrong people.”

  “That is what the constable confirmed,” Drake said.

  The duke also tapped his ashes in the tray. “Allow us to thank you, Mr. Torrington, for coming to our sister’s aid. She means a great deal to us.”

  “Naturally,” Drake replied.

  “In that regard, I’m sure I do not need to remind you that we do not wish to see her hurt. You may not be aware, but she has been through some difficult times in her life.”

  “For pity’s sake, Devon,” Vincent said. “Give the man space to breathe. Charlotte is a grown woman. She can take care of herself.”

  There it was. The implication was clear. They all knew he and Charlotte were involved in more than just a polite acquaintance, though Drake suspected they would be shocked if they knew the whole truth of it. Or perhaps not. Lord Vincent certainly seemed a liberal sort of man. But still, Charlotte was his sister.

  No one said anything for a moment. Then the duke changed the subject. “We thought to go riding to the lake house tomorrow,” he said, “and do some fishing. The ladies will join us for lunch. Do you ride, Mr. Torrington?”

  “I do,” Drake replied.

  “Good. By the look of things, the weather promises to be fine. I predict it will be a most enjoyable day…whether we catch any fish or not.”

  The following day, it rained buckets. The wind howled like a fiend over the palace rooftops. Since the fishing trip was called off, Charlotte thought carefully about how best to keep Mr. Torrington entertained, and settled upon an old family tradition—a private stroll, just the two of them, through the cold, damp, dark, and allegedly haunted palace catacombs.

  “The key should be right here,” she said, crouching down in the chapel to remove the loose stone in the floor in front of the choir stall. “The door to the tunnels is behind the pulpit, beyond which there is a steep set of stairs leading straight down into the very bowels of the earth. Are you up to it?”

  Drake, who was holding the lantern, offered a hand to help her rise. “It sounds delightfully romantic, Charlotte. Of course I am up to it.”

  She grinned at him. “Then follow me.” She led him to the secret door and unlocked it with the key. He held the lamp aloft, but it lit only the first few steps. Beyond that, it was as dark as midnight at the bottom and smelled damp and musty.

  “Are you mad?” he asked. “I can almost hear the rats screeching for us to come and join them.”

  “It’s not the rats you should worry about,” she said. “It’s the spiders. My brothers used to torture me with them when we were children. I’ve had more than a few webs stuck in my hair over the years.”

  “How enchanting,” he said. “And what about the Pembroke Palace curse you mentioned when you convinced me to come here? Should I be worried?”

  “Not at all. That curse was thwarted years ago.” She smiled and reached for his hand. “But I did promise to tell you about it, didn’t I?”

  He followed her down the steep stone staircase. “You said your brothers were forced to take wives to protect their inheritances. Does that mean none of them married for love? It seems difficult to believe. They all appear to be devoted husbands.”

  “They most certainly are, which is why I believe the curse was actually a blessing. Though none of us ever truly believed in that crazy old curse. We did, however, believe in the power of the law.”

  “How was that a part of it?”

  They reached the bottom of the steps and began moving down the first corridor. “It’s a long story,” Charlotte said, “but my father…the duke,” she clarified, “went mad in his old age. He believed a flood was coming and that it would destroy the palace. The only way to stop it was for all of his sons to take wives before Christmas of that year. Little did we know that he had changed his will to force them into it. The will was deemed valid because he was not considered mad when it was drawn up. We hired solicitors to fight it, of course, but my brothers felt it best not to risk losing that battle, so they went on a highly controlled wife hunt. I happen to believe that fate stepped in and presented the right women at exactly the right time.”

  “You believe in fate, then?” Drake asked.

  “Yes.” She believed in it absolutely. “But poor father…he dug up the beautiful palace g
ardens to move his beloved roses to higher ground, and he believed the ghosts of the dead monks were haunting him at night. That was a difficult year. Once my brothers were happily married, it seemed to calm him.”

  Charlotte and Drake came to the end of the corridor, which branched off to either side. “This is the best way to go,” she said, indicating that they should turn right. “The other way is a shorter distance, but we’d have to pass through a narrow section, and that is where I always heard the ghosts.”

  “I thought you said it was all just legend.”

  “One can never be sure,” she said with a teasing smile.

  They walked on. “What if the lamp goes out?” Drake said. “How will we find our way back?”

  “I have matches in my pocket” she replied. “I learned a long time ago not to venture down here unprepared. In the worst case, we could escape out the other end and walk back through the rain.”

  And so, they pressed on, holding hands, saying very little to each other after that. It was a silence that felt full and communicative, however. Every so often Mr. Torrington would look at her with those arresting gray eyes and hold her in his gaze for long moments. And the occasional squeeze of her hand was a great comfort. She felt alive and euphoric, which made no sense at all, for she knew their time together was limited. Eventually she would be forced to live without him. She should be living in a constant state of dread.

  She was no stranger to loss, however, which was perhaps why she had accepted the situation. She had entered into this with a guarded heart, and come hell or high water, she would see it through with her armor intact—for what was the alternative? To put a stop to it now, just to avoid pain later on?

  No, that would not do. This was far too much fun. She would be brave and soldier on and have wonderful memories to cling to when Drake returned to America. She would treasure every precious moment of this incredible summer.

  “The exit door is not far,” she told him as they rounded a curve in the corridor. “There it is.”