Up ahead, a small set of wooden steps led up to a heavy oaken door that was barred shut. Drake handed the lantern to Charlotte, climbed the steps, and raised the bar. He had to pull hard to open it, for the entrance had been cloaked in ivy for over a century and some of the vines had tangled around the ironwork.
When he pulled it open, the sun was setting and the pink light that poured in was almost blinding. He peered out, then turned around to offer his hand. Charlotte took it, climbed the steps, and bent to keep from hitting her head on the low beam over the door. Together they pushed their way through the vines and emerged into the sunset.
The forest was quiet. The rain had turned to a soft mist, and a hole in the clouds allowed glorious rays of light into the clearing. The grass and foliage sparkled with wetness. Water dripped from the trees in heavy, fat drops that beat a tattoo all around them.
Mr. Torrington closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “I can smell the earth. How exquisite. England has its own unique fragrance, you know. Until arriving home, I didn’t realize how much I missed it.” His eyes searched her face.
She laid a hand on his shoulder. “Then you must enjoy it to the fullest while you are here.”
Those seductive eyes of his were silvery in the mist, and she felt a stirring of desire. It was a constant between them, ever present, and she had no notion to resist it.
“I want to kiss you,” he said. “How private is this place?”
“Very private,” she replied. “Even more so if we go that way.” She pointed to a thick grove of junipers on the far side of the clearing.
He took the lantern from her, set it down by the door, then clasped her hand to lead her there.
The hem of her skirts soaked up the water as she stepped over the tangled grass. When they reached a safe distance, out of sight of the ancient door, he took her into his arms and held her close until at last, his lips touched hers. It was a magical kiss that seemed to melt away the rest of the world, leaving just the two of them in this lush green garden of bliss.
He took her face in his hands, while she clutched at his broad shoulders. Then he kissed her throat and found her mouth again, devouring her like a starving man.
Suddenly there was a flash of light. Seconds later, a tremendous crack of thunder exploded in the heavens.
Charlotte jumped and Drake looked up at the sky as a heavy downpour began.
“It’s a sun shower!” she said.
“We shouldn’t be out here.” He grabbed her by the hand, and they laughed as they ran across the clearing. They were nearly to the door when Charlotte let go of Drake’s hand and stopped.
Water dripped from his hair as he whirled around. “What are you doing?”
She was quickly becoming drenched, and her hair fell forward into her eyes, but she had never felt such joy. She laughed again and spread her arms wide as the cool rain hit her face.
“It’s so beautiful,” she said.
He approached her in the golden twilight and his hand settled on the curve of her hips. “We’re going to get struck by lightning.”
“I don’t care.”
Then his lips found hers again while the rain soaked through their clothing and drenched their bodies. In the end, nothing else mattered but the splendor of the moment as he held her close and kissed her.
Over the next three days, Charlotte and Drake spent every waking moment together, except for the hours when he was invited to join her brothers in some sort of manly activity that left the ladies behind. This included fishing the day after the rainstorm—the ladies merely joined them for lunch—and a game of billiards the following evening, which lasted until midnight.
As for the hours between midnight and daybreak…they belonged solely to Charlotte and Drake, and she surrendered herself completely, without inhibition, to their passions.
When it came to lovemaking, he was a master of sensation. Those strong hands that could kill a man in a single blow were always gentle and teasing, and he moved them over her with a grace that left her dizzy with rapture.
They spent hours exploring each other’s bodies, feasting on each sensation as if every moment were the last, which was not far from the truth. But Charlotte did her best not to think of the time when he would eventually leave her. Instead, she focused on physical sensation, the flavor of his skin when she tasted him, the sound of his voice in her ear, and the glorious feel of his rippling muscles beneath her fingertips.
At times they were exhilarated in bed, relentless in their vigor. Other times, they lay exhausted on the rug before the fire, languorously sated, too tired to even speak, until he touched her a certain way, or she tasted him with her mouth. Then it would begin again—another round of exquisite lovemaking.
Caught up in the magic of those private hours alone with Drake, Charlotte felt as if time could stand still and she could remain lost in this beautiful dream forever. Nothing mattered but the wonder of the moment…one after another to be savored. She refused to let the future enter her thoughts, for she wanted to remember this enchantment, perfect just as it was. Nothing would spoil it. No matter what occurred, she would have these days to remember and cherish for the rest of her life.
Chapter 16
Charlotte had learned early in life that all good things must eventually come to an end. When the final hour came at dawn—when it was time to leave Drake’s bed and say a public good-bye to him that morning alongside her family—she gazed up at him as he lay upon her, looking into her eyes.
“I don’t want you to go.” She rested her hand on his cheek, rough with stubble beneath the soft flesh of her palm. “This week has been so perfect.”
“Only because we didn’t get caught in bed together,” he said. “If I stay another day, we will most certainly be pushing our luck.”
He kissed her tenderly on the mouth, and the lingering fever from her affections coursed through her blood.
“You will come back to London though, won’t you?” he asked, as she rolled to the side. “I am England for another fortnight. I want to spend that time with you.”
“I want to spend it with you as well,” she replied, but secretly wished he would ask for more. What about the future beyond those two weeks? It was taking every ounce of will she possessed not to cling to him and beg him not to leave, or to ask him to take her with him—but he had made it clear from the beginning that this was a temporary affair. She did not wish him to remember her as an emotional wreck, weeping and pleading at his feet.
Instead, she took his hand in hers, kissed his palm, and pressed it to her heart. “Last night was perfect, but we both know it’s time for me to return to my own rooms.”
“Before we are caught,” he said.
“Yes.” Her body trembled with regret as she slipped out of the bed and pulled on her nightgown and robe.
“When will I see you again?” he asked.
A small part of her wanted to make him suffer, as she was suffering. What if she said she had changed her mind and did not want to return to London after all? Would he simply say good-bye today and forget about her? Or would he decide he could not live without her, and reconsider the approaching end of this affair?
“I am not sure yet,” she replied. “It may not be for a few days.”
“You’re killing me,” he said.
Good. Because this is killing me, too.
She fastened the belt on her dressing gown and circled around the bed. “I really must go now.” She was about to sweep the tapestry aside and open the secret door when Drake rose from the bed and clasped her by the wrist.
“Wait.” He pulled her into his arms and held her tight, then pressed his lips to hers.
She melted beneath the heat of the kiss. If it were not yet dawn, she would have succumbed to another hour in bed with him, but his train would be leaving in a few hours and the coachman would soon be waiting in
the courtyard to deliver him to the station.
Charlotte pressed her hands to Drake’s shoulders and pushed him away. “I have to go,” she said, rather testily.
This time, he did not try to stop her.
It was not easy to say good-bye to Pembroke. As Drake shook the duke’s hand and thanked him and the duchess for their hospitality over the past few days, he understood why Charlotte had invited him there. She had wanted to show him that life could hold certain pleasures in the company of good people, and not all English aristocrats were shallow gossipmongers.
She was right. The Sinclairs were a decent bunch, fiercely loyal to one another and easy to rub along with. No wonder she was so proud of her family and happy to spend the rest of her days here. Though she had lost a great deal in her life, she would always have this. Her home.
“It was a pleasure to have you visit us, Mr. Torrington,” the duchess said. “I hope you will come again one day soon.”
He said good-bye to the other siblings—Vincent and Blake, and their lovely wives—then he turned to Charlotte who stood waiting at the open door of the coach.
She looked staggeringly beautiful in the early morning sunshine. A light breeze was blowing at her skirts. The peachy-pink hue of her gown matched the color of her lips. And those eyes…they never failed to affect him.
He kissed her hand. “Thank you again, Lady Charlotte.”
“No, thank you, Mr. Torrington,” she replied, “for the heroic rescue of my reticule.”
It was all she could say, for the others were watching and listening.
Something wild in him wanted to grab her by the hand, drag her into the coach, and steal her away, but he maintained a civilized composure and simply bowed to her before stepping into the coach.
As the door was pulled shut and the vehicle began to drive away, he forced himself not to look back, for he felt agitated by the rolling of the coach wheels that took him away from her. Two weeks. That was all they had left.
Unless…
He finally, at long last, allowed himself to consider the possibility of something more.
Charlotte spent that day in the nursery playing with her nieces and nephews. She arranged a painting exercise with the older children that helped keep her mind occupied. Deep down, however, when she looked at the watercolor pictures, she saw Mr. Torrington’s face in all of them, and was consumed by an emptiness and heavy sense of loss.
How perfect the past few days had been, talking with him and laughing, spending the nights tangled in his bed sheets, wrapped up in his strong arms.
When it came time to dress for dinner that night, it all seemed like a fantasy she had concocted in vivid detail—just like in one of her novels. She knew it was real, however, for she was overcome with longing.
All the while, that old familiar grief hovered just over the horizon. She knew it all too well but was determined not to let it conquer her this time, as she had all those years ago. Mr. Torrington would be gone in two weeks. That was a fact. She would simply have to let go of her love and move on with her life.
If that’s what it was. Love. She wasn’t entirely sure. Perhaps it was just a very intense infatuation, and when he left and the memory faded, so too would this feeling of loss.
When she entered the drawing room, her family was already gathered for drinks before dinner. Adelaide sat in a chair gazing at the floor, hardly paying attention to the conversations around her. Charlotte approached her and Adelaide’s eyes lifted and warmed instantly.
“No doubt you were sorry to see Mr. Torrington leave this morning,” she said. “He is such a pleasant gentleman. We all liked him very much.”
“I am pleased to hear that,” Charlotte replied. “And yes, I am disappointed, but I mustn’t feel too sorry for myself. He is gone. That is all there is to it. In two weeks, he will be steaming his way back to America, so I had best get used to this and not set myself up to wallow in any foolish romantic imaginings. It is over, and that is that.”
Adelaide took hold of her hand. “My darling. You know how proud I am of you for all that you have accomplished. You are one of the strongest women I know, but sometimes I worry that you are too strong. You have yet to allow yourself the smallest vulnerability.”
“Why should I?” Charlotte asked defensively, surprised by her mother’s sudden leap into a very intimate conversation. “I am happy with my life the way it is. I have never felt lonely or deprived. I am not looking for a man to share my life with or to provide me with future happiness.”
She glanced around at the others—who thankfully weren’t listening—and lowered her voice. “More importantly, I do not think now is the time to be entertaining hopes for a man who has made it very clear that he is not seeking a wife. A man who intends to leave the country before the end of the month. I would be foolish to entertain any such hopes where Mr. Torrington is concerned.”
“But is there any chance that he might decide to stay?” Adelaide asked. “He has family here. He is an Englishman at heart.”
“Yes, but he has known hard times here.”
“As have you. At the same time, Charlotte…you are free to leave if you wish.”
Charlotte studied her mother for a moment and inclined her head. “What are you up to, Mother? Is it possible you are playing matchmaker? Suggesting that I should pack up and steam off to America to be with him?”
“Not at all,” she replied with her most charming smile. “A fresh start can be found anywhere.”
Charlotte considered her mother’s insinuations. “You think he should stay here?”
Adelaide shrugged, as if she did not know, either way.
Charlotte couldn’t help but marvel at how things had turned out. A few short weeks ago, she had resolved to bring her parents together, as she believed they were meant to be, yet there she sat, the object of her mother’s similar aspirations.
“We are too much alike, you and I,” Charlotte said.
“How so?”
Charlotte gave her a look. “Do not pretend that you weren’t aware that I dragged you off to London to try and match you up with Dr. Thomas. All I wanted was for you to be happy.”
“And you believe that a woman requires a man in order to be happy?” Adelaide asked. “What did you just finish saying to me, Charlotte?”
Charlotte accepted a glass of sherry from the footman who presented it on a silver tray. She held it up, as if to toast their shared modern ideas about happiness and independence.
“Touché. I do not believe a woman requires a man to be happy,” Charlotte said, “but I will not deny that the right man can bring about a curious and unexpected wealth of excitement in a woman’s…” She paused. “Heart.”
Adelaide raised her sherry glass as well. “I wholly agree.”
They sipped their drinks and contemplated this universal wisdom.
“We have written to each other, you know,” Adelaide said, out of the blue.
Charlotte inched a little closer on the sofa. “Who? You and Dr. Thomas?”
“Yes. Please do not be angry, Charlotte, but I told him about your friendship with Mr. Torrington, how he helped you that day, and that we invited him to Pembroke to thank him. I never revealed Mr. Torrington’s name, of course, because you had made it clear that he prefers to remain anonymous here in England, but William was very happy for you. And then our letters went somewhat beyond that. He wrote to me about his work, which I am always so very eager to hear about.”
“You are back in touch with each other?” Charlotte asked. “I am so pleased.”
Adelaide looked down at her lap. “I am pleased, too, but at the same time I feel uneasy.”
“How so?”
“Well. For one thing, you told me he is courting someone else, and he has been very open about it. I know it to be so, yet I still correspond with him. I cannot help but feel th
at is wrong. I certainly would not appreciate it if he were my gentleman caller and he was secretly corresponding with an old flame.”
“You are not an old flame, Mother. You are much more than that. What exists between you and Dr. Thomas is a deep, lifelong love. If there is another woman involved, she is the flame that could—and should—be snuffed out.”
“Charlotte,” Adelaide scolded with a frown. “We know nothing about this woman or what exists between her and Dr. Thomas. She could be deeply in love with him, while I have broken his heart time and time again. If there is any justice in the world, she shall win him, and I will have my heart stomped upon. Lord knows I deserve it.”
“So you do feel more than friendship,” Charlotte said. “But how can you say that you deserve to be miserable? You don’t really believe that, do you?”
“It is the truth. He has always been there for me, and I always took advantage, yet I never gave anything in return. I never sacrificed anything for him, and he knows it.”
“Sacrifice. That is an interesting word,” Charlotte said. “Do you believe it is a necessary requirement for love? Must we prove our love by giving something up? Or is it enough just to accept and give our love?”
“I have taken so much from William.”
“That is not true. He must know how you respect him. Put the past behind you, Mother. If he got down on his knee today and proposed marriage, would you say yes? Would you give him your whole heart for the rest of your life?”
Adelaide’s eyes lifted, and they were wet with emotion. “Yes. I would marry him tomorrow if he asked, and I would spend every waking moment making up for lost time and thanking him for always being my friend. For putting my happiness before his own. For never betraying my trust and for forgiving me for when I betrayed his. He is a selfless, pure-hearted human being, and I love him for it.”
Charlotte clasped her mother’s hand and felt a deep stirring of certainty. Adelaide and Dr. Thomas were, without a doubt, meant to be together. Charlotte’s clumsy attempt at matchmaking was not yet lost.
Seduced at Sunset (Love at Pembroke Palace Book 6) Page 13
