A Lady to Desire

by Bethany M. Sefchick

  “Lovely,” Francis whispered as he gazed down at her with heated eyes. “So perfectly lovely and beautiful.”

  “I am not that beautiful,” she whispered, feeling suddenly shy. She couldn’t remember being shy a day in her life.

  “You are to me,” he replied as he lay down beside her. “You are everything I could ever desire, Charlotte.” He ran a hand down over her hips before allowing it to come to rest on her thigh, just by the curve of her backside. “Everything.”

  There were so many things she wanted to say just then but she was afraid uttering any of those words would break the spell between them. For the room was dark, the fast-fading daylight giving way to fog-shrouded twilight. A single candle flickered and burned in the hall, mixing with the muted light from the fire in the hearth below that sent heat upward and surprisingly, into this room. Rain still pattered on the roof, no longer a raging storm but something quieter, something softer. All of that combined to make it seem as if the two of them were in their own little world with no one to disturb them.

  No one to see what they did. No one to know if she gave herself to him.

  Charlotte understood that wasn’t really true, knew that not far away was a manor house teeming with people likely wondering where she and Francis had gone, possibly even fearing them dead. Yet she could not bring herself to care. Here in this snug little cocoon, she had everything she needed, wanted and desired. She had Francis and he was about to be hers. He was about to introduce her to pleasure, just as she had desired for so long.

  “Please, Francis,” Charlotte begged again and he obliged her by bringing his mouth down to her breasts again, rekindling the fire that had been banked a bit as he carried her upstairs.

  His mouth seemed to feast on her while his hands explored her body, learning her curves. His fingertips traced the bones of her spine before going lower to cup her backside and pull her closer, close enough that she could feel his erection, hot and hard against her leg.

  When she rolled closer to him, he allowed it. When she reached out, eager to trace the lines of his muscles with her own hands he did not stop her. And when she decided to be bold and stroke his erect cock, he did not pull away but instead shifted so that she could reach him better.

  “Do you like the way I feel when you touch me?” he asked, likely knowing this was the first cock she had ever encountered.

  “I do, yet you are not at all as I imagined,” she confessed. “So hard and yet so soft. Like velvet over iron.”

  “And soon to be inside you.” Francis pulled her hand away and rolled her back over so that she was beneath him, now, his legs keeping her pinned to the bed. There was an expression on his face that she could not read but she thought it looked a bit like pain. Or was it simply a form of pleasure she knew nothing about? “But first I need you to come for me, Charlotte.”

  She frowned, not understanding what he wanted from her. She hated that for the last thing she wanted was to disappoint him. Not when they were so close to finally belonging to each other. “Come?”

  “Find your release, as I will find mine when I am inside of you.” Francis leaned down to kiss her again, his tongue meeting hers as she opened to him. “I need you wet, Charlotte, for you are an innocent and this will hurt. The wetter you are, the easier this will be.” Reaching down, he slid a finger through her intimate channel and she could feel the way he spread her natural essence around as if testing her readiness. “Please, Charlotte. Allow me to please you. I want to do this for you. For us.”

  She could deny him nothing, but especially not that. “I am ready,” she whispered and then his fingers were there, dipping inside of her before she could say anything more. First one finger and then a second, followed by a third. It felt strange at first, as if she was being stretched beyond her limits.

  Then Francis began to stroke his fingers in and out of her tight channel and what was strange moments ago quickly became wonderful. It became even more wonderful when he used his thumb to seek out the little nub of pleasure deep within her folds. She knew what that nub could do for she had pleasured herself before, mostly beneath her covers at night as she dreamed of this man. However, she had never imagined that he might wish to touch her there as well. Not to mention touch her more skillfully than she ever could herself. For nothing she had ever done to herself felt this marvelous.

  But Francis did and with each stroke, Charlotte opened to him. Her legs, once tightly locked together slowly fell apart, allowing him to settle himself more firmly between her legs. She grew restless, her body beginning to arch into his almost of its own accord. Inside of her, a tension grew, one that she didn’t quite understand but knew would bring a pleasure all its own if she could only reach it.

  “That’s it, Charlotte,” Francis whispered as he switched his attention from her breasts to her lips again. “Come for me, pet. I know you want to.”

  She did and with each stroke, Francis took her higher and higher until she was hanging on the very edge of reason. Then he thumbed the little nub hard once more and that was all it took.

  Charlotte shattered, her release washing over her as she cried out his name. Except that Francis swallowed her cries with his kiss just as he thrust into her hard and fast. He stilled for a moment, allowing her to adjust to the feel of his cock inside of her, for his entry had hurt, though not as much as she had heard it would.

  “You are as perfect as I had imagined, Charlotte, and you feel so damn good around me.” Francis slid himself out of her body. She whimpered before he slid himself back inside her tight sheath, and she reveled at the delightful sensation the friction between them created.

  “Do you like that?” he asked and she found that she could only whimper again and nod in response.

  “That is perfect, for so do I.” She felt him clench, as if holding himself back. “But I need you to relax, pet, so that you can find your pleasure as well.”

  As he spoke softly to her, Charlotte found herself relaxing just as he had asked, the pressure of his cock sheathed in her tight heat more delightful now than distressing. With each stroke Francis took, she felt the now-familiar pressure began to build again. And she wanted more for she shifted her hips, hoping that would enable him to slide in deeper. She wanted all of him, all the pleasure he could offer her. And she wanted it now.

  When it came to bedsport, Charlotte was quickly coming to the conclusion that she did not like to be kept waiting for her pleasure, something that surprised her. Who would have thought she was such a wanton at heart?

  Francis must have felt the change, too, for he shifted his body as well, repositioning himself so that he could begin thrusting his hips hard and fast. Charlotte responded by digging her nails into his back – hard. So hard she was afraid that she might draw blood.

  “Faster,” she urged. “More. Please, Francis. I need more.” Then, to her shock, she scraped his shoulder lightly with her teeth. What had come over her? Just then, she didn’t care.

  “I wanted to be gentle,” he swore as he drove into her harder and faster as she gloried in the way he claimed her for his own. “I wanted this first time to last. I wanted to go slow.”

  “But I don’t,” she whispered in his ear as she clung to him. “You are doing splendidly just as you are.”

  For she didn’t want slow. If anything, Charlotte wanted him to go faster still, though she did not yet know how to ask for what she desired. Instead, she wrapped her legs around his waist, silently urging him to go faster, go deeper. To take what he desired from her in case this was the only time they were together like this.

  She felt him tense, but only for a moment, and then he thrust again, so hard this time that she cried out his name and she felt him spill his seed inside of her. She felt him mark her as his and just then, she knew that one time with this man would never, ever be enough. She would always want more. Like the true wanton she was at heart.

  Francis didn’t know what time it was when he awoke next. Likely close to midnight but, ju
st as it was downstairs, there were no clocks in this bedchamber. Likely for a reason.

  After making love to Charlotte for the first time, they had both slept a bit before rising to go in search of something to eat. After all, Charlotte had been hungry long ago and she was now likely famished. They managed to find a few foodstuffs in the pantry, as he knew they would. Nothing fancy, but enough to sustain them through the night. For a single peek outside the love nest door was all they needed to see to know they were not going anywhere that evening.

  The road Francis had followed was now a small, rushing stream, the water obliterating any trace of where the path might have been. While the back of the cottage was slightly better, a stream of water still ran around the back of the shelter where the horse remained tethered, essentially making the love nest its own isolated island.

  That was just as well for now that Francis had tasted Charlotte, he knew that one time with her would never be enough. Almost from the first, he had desired her again, though he had managed to restrain his baser desires until they had both eaten their fill from the pantry’s offerings and made a pot of tea.

  After that, however, with the candlelight flickering and dancing across her lovely, peaches and cream skin, he had been unable to hold back and he had taken her again in front of the fire, this time teaching her how to pleasure him with her mouth before he did the same for her.

  Francis had assumed she would be weary after that and had suggested they return to bed. Charlotte had readily agreed, though not for the reasons he assumed. For she was not tired, or at least she didn’t appear to be. What he could not have anticipated was that by bedding her the first time, he had unleashed her inner wanton. That wanton had yet to be satisfied – even though he repeatedly insisted that she would be sore in the morning because of their actions. Still, he had tried to satisfy her – repeatedly.

  “Francis,” Charlotte mumbled beside him, her voice thick with sleep. “Is something amiss?”

  Probably. Maybe. No. Yes. Perhaps.

  He didn’t know. Now that Francis had bedded Charlotte, that whisper in his mind that he had pushed aside earlier was growing louder again. It reminded him that he might not be free to take her as his wife and wasn’t that what had started this entire mess? That little voice? The possibility that he was already married? Her desire to be wed?

  “Nothing is amiss, my darling,” he reassured her as he turned back to her, unwilling to shatter this perfect illusion they had created. “Go back to sleep, pet. I was merely adjusting my leg.” Which wasn’t a complete lie. Though much improved with some rest – even with their rather strenuous activities – it did still bother him a bit, though that might have been because of the rain. His leg was sometimes cranky in damp weather.

  Charlotte was silent for a long moment, which he knew usually portended nothing good. “Francis?”

  “Yes?” He was almost afraid to hear what she was about to ask.

  “Are you sleepy?” She sounded almost hopeful.

  “No.” He really wasn’t. In fact, he felt surprisingly refreshed.

  “Good.” She paused. “Can we do that again?”

  “You will be unable to walk in the morning, pet.” Had he known she was this insatiable, he would have bedded her long ago and damned the consequences.

  “I don’t care.” Another pause. “Please, Francis?”

  “Oh, very well.” He grinned in the darkness, even though he knew she couldn’t see him well for the fire had died down, taking its light with it. She chuckled. Well, perhaps she could see well enough after all. “If you insist.”

  “I do, Francis. I really do.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Town Tattler

  Oh, will this rain never stop? I am told yesterday’s deluge that continued well into the night has washed away roads between here and Bath and beyond! Or if not washed them away, then damaged them. Rumor has it there were important travelers eager to reach London’s outskirts before nightfall. Now? They are stranded. Then again, my sources also tell me that one party, in particular, has been stranded due to a broken carriage wheel so one cannot only blame the weather for such delays. Though blaming the weather is easier.

  Rumors also continue to swirl around Lord Fullbridge’s house party, though I am hearing he is no closer to selecting a new bride than he was when the party began. Pity that. Ah, well. Hopefully, this blasted weather will end the madness of these infernal spring house parties. If we were meant to exist outside of London at this time of year, we would! Lords would not be in session, and no one would plan a single ball.

  If only Lord Buxton were about. He, rogue of all rouges would be able to provide us all with some entertainment. Though I’ve no idea where he has gone. Neither has anyone else, apparently.

  -Lady A

  By the next morning, the rain had stopped and Francis helped Charlotte dress for she still could not quite manage to do up her own buttons and her riding habit was not completely dry, making it difficult to get into. While he saw to the horse, she tided up the kitchen area. She also made the bed as best she could, but that had never been her best domestic art. Besides, once they returned to the manor house, everyone would realize where she and Francis had passed the night – and that a bed had been used.

  Given their shared past, it would not take much of a leap of logic to conclude what she and Francis had been about the night before, and even Francis hadn’t actually bedded her, everyone would, of course, assume he had. Even if now he was acting as if he rather wished he hadn’t.

  Though Francis seemed as congenial as always, there was a part of Charlotte that suspected he regretted what they had done. Or, if he didn’t regret the act itself, perhaps regretted something else, such as spilling inside her instead of withdrawing in time. For there was something definitely amiss with him this morning, even though he denied it.

  Their ride back to the manor house was largely silent, though Charlotte could not truly complain too much. The path was still covered in water in places and it took all of Francis’ concentration to keep the horse moving forward, the weight of two riders being almost too much for the poor creature to bear over such a distance.

  When it seemed as if the horse might take up lame, Francis dismounted, relying heavily on his walking stick for balance while Charlotte remained atop the animal. It seemed to her as if Francis was doing his best not to speak with her, but then she wondered if her imagination was running away from her again. It would not be the first time, especially recently.

  However, it was not her imagination that Francis sighed wearily when the two of them, plus the bedraggled horse, drew up in front of Havenhurst and at least twenty people came flying out to greet them, hands flapping and a cacophony of noise accompanying them, causing far too much and too loud of a commotion for his liking. Charlotte felt much the same way. She was simply better at hiding her distress than he was.

  “You have found her! Thank God above!” That booming proclamation came from Fullbridge who had come dashing out the front door the moment she and Francis had turned into the sweeping front drive. “We all feared you had been washed away by the rains! Not a quarter hour after you left, the northern paths turned to veritable rivers!”

  That was something of an overstatement, but Charlotte wasn’t about to argue. She was too tired and too confused, not to mention that she really wanted a nice, hot bath just then. “We are fine, your grace. Truly. A bit damp and muddy but we survived the night.” She gestured back in the direction they had come. “There is a little cottage just up the way a bit. Very snug and well stocked. We were never in danger of harm. Or of being washed away.”

  Fullbridge blushed a bit, which surprised her. “Er, yes. I know just the one.” His eyes flicked to Francis while the rest of his servants hovered anxiously in the background, keeping back the prying eyes of other guests as well. “And you found her well and unharmed, Underhill?”

  For a long moment, Charlotte wondered what he migh
t say. Finally, Francis nodded wearily. “I did. It took a considerable amount of time to locate her, for she was off in some shrubs by the thicket of trees just northwest of the cottage. Difficult to see in there and her skirts were all tangled. Nasty thorns and what not.”

  “I know the very place,” Fullbridge nodded, his face full of concern once more, whatever had disturbed him about the cottage earlier long gone. “It is fortunate you found her. Another man might not have.”

  “I was simply lucky.” Francis’ face tightened with anger as he spoke though his gaze was shuttered, leaving Charlotte unable to know what he was thinking. “Once I managed to free Miss Cleary, I remembered you mentioning the hollowed out rocks with keys, so we were able to take refuge in that cottage she described. With her leg in questionable shape at the time, I did not believe the horse could convey us both back here safely, so the cottage seemed a logical choice for refuge. It suited our needs well and I don’t think either of us will suffer the ill effects from being out in the rain and damp for so long as we were able to build quite a nice fire.”

  Charlotte was thankful Francis had not mentioned how early in the day he had found her. Otherwise, the crowd of people – including even more party guests – now gathering around them might look at her more askance than they already were.

  “I feel terrible that there was no way to let anyone know we were well and safe,” Charlotte offered, “but with the rain, the flooding, the darkness, you know…” She left that last part deliberately vague.

  “I am aware,” Fullbridge replied, his lips set in a grim line. “Well, at least you are safe for we had all feared the worst.” Then he flicked his gaze to Francis. “Underhill? Clean up and then we should speak. There is much to discuss, I believe.”

  Charlotte watched as Francis nodded vaguely, though his reaction was more like that of a man on his way to the guillotine than a man faced with the very real possibility of marrying the woman he had just made love to so sweetly the night before. “Of course, your grace. I would expect nothing less.”