She also wondered what time it was, though she could not see a clock anywhere. She and Francis would have been missed by now because the duke was notorious for keeping track of all of his guests at all times. Still, she wished she could see a clock to give her some idea of how long they had been gone, but there were none about. What she did see as she looked around was Francis sleeping on a couch across from her, his large form sprawled out a bit indecorously as his banyan gaped open to his knees – and just a bit higher.
Charlotte had never seen a naked man before, and she reminded herself that she wasn’t truly seeing one now. At least not really. However, she was seeing a great deal more of Francis than she ever had and the sight of his bare legs drew her gaze so fully that she was unable to look away.
Pushing herself up into a sitting position, she winced a bit as her own leg tightened, but a quick test against the floor indicated she could put at least some weight on it. So not broken then but more likely strained. The fall from Daisychain had been hard, but it had been the way she landed more than anything that had both knocked the breath from her and twisted her leg beneath her in such a fashion that she had been unable to move it. Well, that and the bushes constantly snagging on her skirts hadn’t helped much either, leaving her in a hopeless tangle.
Using her arms as leverage, Charlotte managed to rise up on unsteady legs and take a tentative step to close the short distance between the two couches. While her leg ached a bit, it was not intolerable and she took the four necessary steps to bring her close to Francis without too much difficulty.
Once she reached his side, she sank down on her knees and continued to study him intently, uncertain when she would have another opportunity like this. His legs were muscular, far more so than she had expected, though she had guessed certainly given the way his breeches clung to him rather delightfully. They were covered in springy-looking, light-colored hair that was darker than the hair on his head, but not by much. She wanted desperately to touch him, but she didn’t dare. Mostly, she was afraid that he would wake up if she did and she wasn’t quite finished with her perusal just yet.
Francis’ feet were long and a bit thin, his toes more or less in a straight line. Though on both feet, the toe directly next to his big toe was a bit longer than the others. She thought she recalled some silly rumor about that being a sign of royalty or being descended from the ancient Greek gods or some other nonsense. Really, Charlotte just thought that quirk made him all the more interesting and since this was the first pair of male feet she had ever seen, it was a bit fascinating. So she kept on looking
His left thigh, or what she could see of it, was indented a bit as if part of it was missing, but perhaps she was imagining things. What she was not imagining was the way his calves seemed to flex, even in sleep, hinting at a hidden strength, one she suspected she had barely seen herself. One she wondered if he even realized he possessed.
Francis also looked different in sleep, Charlotte decided. Less guarded, as if he was not constantly looking over his shoulder for the next disaster to strike, some part of his past to return to haunt him.
Charlotte considered that for a moment. Was that why he hesitated to wed? Was he worried about something from his past or another disaster befalling him? For she had to admit that he was not the luckiest of men. Well in some ways, at any rate. Though he was now a wealthy viscount in line to inherit a marquisate, he really had endured a great deal of wretched luck from the time he was born. After all, not many gentlemen were kidnapped at birth, sold to another couple, and then raised as another man for the better part of their lives, only to lose all memory of that life in what might or might not have been a tavern brawl. At which point he was forced to start life anew with the name he had actually been given at birth.
If there were other such men in the world, Charlotte did not know of them.
She then considered his past, or at least what any of them knew about it – which, to be fair, wasn’t much. Back in Cornwall, Francis had been something of a recluse when he had lived as Lord William Denton, likely because his parents had known that his true identity might be discovered if he was seen too often in public. Tracking down former servants had been something of an issue as well, at least according to the Bloody Duke. Everyone who had ever worked at Cross Hill seemed to have vanished in the last few years, leaving no one, not even family, to reveal Francis’ past.
Family.
Did Francis have other family no one knew about, not even him? Sisters, perhaps? Or even another brother or two? Not blood family, of course, but people he had grown up with? Cared for?
Or even a wife?
That thought sent a chill through Charlotte. Did Francis have a wife? A woman he had cared for and wed when he was William Denton? Perhaps even…children?
The truth was, Francis was almost one and thirty, well beyond the age he should have wed and begun filling a nursery, especially for a country gentleman living in a place like Cornwall.
Was that what he was hiding from her? Was that the reason for his hesitancy to wed? Did he have a wife or suspect he might, even if he did not know for certain? A wife and family he could not remember?
Oh, Lord. Had she fallen for a man she could not have because he was already wed to another? That would, of course, be just her luck.
However, if Francis had a wife, why could no one find her? Why wasn’t she at Cross Hill, if she existed at all? Especially if there were children involved? After all, children needed constant care and were not easy to hide.
Then again, what if his wife was dead and he couldn’t remember?
If that was the case, did this possible first wife matter in the end?
Whatever that said about her own morals, Charlotte wasn’t certain. Then again, given the options she was considering for her own future as of late, she did not think she was in a position to lecture anyone about morals.
But back to the problem at hand…
If his wife was gone, he was free. If she wasn’t, could Francis be held to a marriage made under a false name, even if he hadn’t known it at the time? Charlotte rather doubted it, though she wasn’t a scholar of the law like her friend Pearl’s husband, Jacob.
Was Francis holding himself back from her because he feared he would be responsible for this unknown woman, if she even existed? Probably, for that would be very much like him.
There were simply too many questions whirling through her mind and Charlotte had no time to think of any more to add to the ever-growing list, for just then Francis opened his eyes and she immediately became lost in the turquoise depths.
“You are awake.” Stupid comment to make for Francis could see with his own eyes that Charlotte was. However, he had been so surprised to wake up and find her staring at him that he did not know what else to say just then.
“I am,” she said softly.
“How is your leg?” He blinked a few times, attempting to clear the fog of sleep from his brain. He hadn’t meant to sleep so soundly. Some knight in sodden clothing he made.
Charlotte shrugged. “It hurts a bit, but nothing too terrible. My spine hurts more than anything from the wild ride Daisychain took me on. I think I could have stayed on her had she not spooked a third time from more lightning. That was when I fell. Or perhaps it was more that she bucked me off. When you found me, I was more caught in the brambles and allowing my imagination to get the best of me than anything, I’m afraid.” She smiled a bit wanly. “Though I am rather glad you rescued me. I should have hated to freeze to death.”
Reaching out, Francis stroked a lock of hair back from her face, grinning himself at her attempt at humor. Just as quickly, he sobered. “I would never have abandoned you, pet. Never.”
She looked down to study her nightrail-clad form and he inwardly winced. What if she was displeased that he had undressed her? “You took off my wet things. Thank you. I tried but I could not manage that myself.” Her voice was still soft and almost hypnotic, as if she was putting him under a spell. T
hen again, he had felt that way since they first met. This moment was no different – or so he kept telling himself.
“I came back inside from caring for the horse and you were…having difficulty.” He swallowed hard. “I had no wish for you to catch a chill.”
Now it was her turn to touch him and Francis nearly went up in flames when she laid her ungloved hand on his bare arm. “Charlotte, I…” To his own ears, he sounded as if he was dying.
“Francis. I’m sorry.” Quickly Charlotte withdrew her hand and looked down, a blush creeping up her neck. “I didn’t mean to presume.”
“You should presume. I told you before, Charlotte. I want you. That has not and will not change.” He was tired of fighting against his desires. The woman in his dreams be damned. What if she could never be found? What if she didn’t exist? Would he throw away what he could have with Charlotte for a ghost that might not even be real? “Today when I thought you were lost, or injured, or worse? I nearly died inside. I was ready to bloody Snowly’s nose and blacken both his eyes for having abandoned you.” He paused. “Mostly because shooting him would have been too good for him. I know you fancy the fool, Charlotte, but I cannot…”
“Shhh.” She placed a finger to his lips. “I don’t fancy him. Not in that way.”
“You don’t?” Francis was extremely confused.
Charlotte shook her head. “I don’t. I kissed him today, Francis. It was…pleasurable. But he was not you. I did not feel with him the way I felt with you. He does not make me feel like you do.”
“He doesn’t?” Oh, this was good news, indeed, Francis decided.
“No,” she whispered as she toyed with the belt on her robe. “He doesn’t.” She bit her lip and he had a feeling he knew what she would say next. “He has offered me marriage, Francis, and you know that is what I desire.” There was something in her eyes that hinted that she was not telling him the entire story, but Francis was not in the mood to sort out the reason either. All he wanted was Charlotte beneath him, her legs around his waist as he took her.
And he needed that to happen now. He was tired of waiting and his cock was so hard that he thought it might explode. This nonsense had gone on far too long. It had to end. It was time to take what he wanted, to be the rogue he sensed he might be at heart.
“I will wed you in time,” Francis finally said, having concluded as he rode wildly over Fullbridge’s estate that even if it took an act of Parliament itself, he would wed Charlotte. If only she could be patient just a little bit longer.
Her eyes were soft and wide. “I want to believe you.” He could see that she truly did. “However I cannot wait much longer.” She bit her lip then, another telltale sign that she was not being completely truthful. Then again, neither was he.
“It will not be forever,” Francis promised, unable to stop himself from reaching out and pulling her to him. “I swear.”
He could tell she wasn’t pleased by his response but he didn’t know what else to say. There was nothing else he could say until he knew who Violet was. So rather than say anything, he kissed her as he had in the garden yesterday morning. It was a kiss full of heat and passion and longing. It was also a kiss full of everything he could not yet say. Whatever else happened later, they were both here now and they both desired each other. For the moment, it was enough.
The moment Francis’ lips met hers, Charlotte lost her breath, finding it swept away by the demands of his kiss. For this was no gentle kiss. Nor was it a kiss like those he had given her yesterday. This kiss was different than all of the others. This was a kiss of surrender, as if Francis was finally allowing himself to admit that he cared enough for her to eventually wed her. It felt as if a wall between them – one that had existed for the last few months – was finally coming down.
It was wonderful. It was blissful. And it was all the encouragement she needed.
Emboldened now, Charlotte’s fingers once again sought out the delightful expanse of Francis’ chest, far easier to access now than it had been last evening. She was tired of waiting, tired of dancing around what she desired from the man she loved.
At that, her hand stilled for a moment. Did she love Francis Augustus Deaver? Even with this marriage issue hanging between them? Did she even dare to discover the truth?
Slowly, Charlotte stroked her fingers over Francis’ chest. Wasn’t this why she had come to the house party, after all? Or rather, why she had remained after that first night? To sort out her feelings where Francis was concerned. Hadn’t she kissed Noah that morning for that very reason, to see if his kisses inflamed her the way Francis’ did? And didn’t she already have her answer to that question?
Yes. Yes, she did and looking up into Francis’ eyes once again, Charlotte knew what that answer was. She loved him. She likely always had.
“Make me yours,” she whispered, not caring just then about marriage or even anything that came after this moment. She simply wanted to continue to feel the way she did now. “I want to be yours, Francis. Please.”
“Are you certain?’ She could see the hesitation in his eyes and hated that she was the reason for it. For she had given him reason to doubt, especially with the shameless way she had been flirting and carrying on with Noah.
Charlotte nodded firmly. “I am. More than I have ever been certain of anything.” She rose up on her knees and slowly stripped off the robe he had covered her with earlier. Then, with her eyes fixed firmly on his, she got to her feet and raised the edge of her borrowed nightrail, yanked the thin fabric over her head in one smooth motion, and dropped the garment to the floor.
Francis tried not to look. He truly did. After all, he wanted more of Charlotte than just her body, but at that precise moment, her body was all he could see. And what he saw was perfect. How could he have been such a fool as to push her away several weeks ago when she had first offered herself to him? Was he daft?
Perhaps he had been then, but no longer. The dream woman be damned. He would deal with the consequences of her existence – if she existed at all – later. All he could think about then were Dr. Longford’s words from earlier in the day. Whatever his gut instinct said was likely correct. It remembered things even if his mind could not. And just then, his gut said that there was nothing standing between him and Charlotte. Nothing at all.
Francis allowed his eyes to drift lower then, taking in the generous swells of her breasts, her berry-hued nipples, already swollen and peaked with desire. He took in the flare of her hips, the very hips that had first attracted Fullbridge. Francis could understand why, for they were as absolutely perfect as the rest of her. Then his gaze traveled lower, down over the slight swell of her belly, down over the most intimate part of her that was covered by a thatch of downy curls and then finally down the long, slim length of her legs.
“Perfection,” he whispered. “You, Charlotte Marie Cleary, are absolute perfection.”
“And I am yours,” she replied just as softly. “Make me yours, Francis. Please.”
With deliberate slowness, he rose, not wishing to harm his leg any further but also not wishing to disturb whatever spell was being woven between them. Carefully, he shrugged out of his banyan until he was just as naked as she, well aware that his cock was already swollen and erect and rising proudly between them. He was not a small man and he had no wish to scare Charlotte, but she needed to see him just as much as he needed to see her.
“Just as I am yours,” he replied as he took a step toward her. “I want to be yours, Charlotte. In every way.”
Charlotte blushed. She knew she did. She had never seen a naked man before, especially one so…big. She had heard whispered stories in the ladies’ retiring rooms at balls, but she had never imagined anything quite like this.
“Will we…” She licked her lips, her tongue darting out to moisten the lower one in particular. She watched how Francis’ eyes followed her movements. How much they flared with desire – for her. And only her. Not Lady Priscilla. Charlotte could admit now that s
he had been just a bit worried about the other woman. “Will we…” she tried again.
“Fit?” Francis grinned at her wickedly. “Indeed we will.” He took another step toward her, the back of his hand stroking down over her breast. “You were made for me, Charlotte. There is no question in my mind that we will fit perfectly.”
With that, he leaned down and took one of her breasts in his mouth and began suckling. This was not the first time he had touched her that way, nor even taken her in his mouth, but it felt different. She felt different. As if everything her body was feeling was somehow more vibrant, more powerful now. When Francis’ hand came up to cup her other breast as his fingers toyed with her engorged nipple, she thought she might faint. Nothing in her life had ever felt so good.
Bad leg and all, Francis could not resist scooping Charlotte into his arms so that he could carry her upstairs to one of the bedchambers. For as he had suspected during his mad dash through the upstairs to find dry clothes, this was a love nest, and the beds would likely be designed for just what he had in mind.
As he climbed the stairs, a part of his mind still whispered that he should stop, that he should do this, not when the truth about Violet was so uncertain. And perhaps he would regret this tomorrow. But not now. Not when he had a warm, willing woman in his arms. Not when Charlotte, the only woman he could ever imagine loving, was naked in his arms, begging him to take her.
Love. For he did love her. He had from the first time they met. He was simply too pig-headed to admit it. But he did love her and even if he did not get to keep her for his own, he was not so good and noble of a man that he could resist what she was offering him tonight.
Charlotte sank into the bed as Francis laid her down, his eyes still roaming over her body, his gaze heating as he looked his fill. The knowledge thrilled her. She was already wet between her legs and she knew well enough that meant her body was preparing to accept his. She should have been ashamed, she supposed, but she wasn’t. She had made her choice and it was this man – no matter what happened later.
A Lady to Desire Page 18
