A Lady to Desire

by Bethany M. Sefchick

  “Most likely.” Charlotte sobered for a moment. “I could be wrong and she could be your wife. But I very much doubt it.” Then she surprised him by stepping closer and looping her arms around his neck. “That said, it is also a risk I am willing to take.”

  Now she shocked him to his very core. “You are?”

  Charlotte nodded. “I am. I did not say this properly before, so I shall say it now.” She tilted her head up to meet his eyes. “I love you, Francis. You and only you. I was not confused before. I know that now. I was, however, afraid. Afraid of so very much.”

  “And now?” he asked, hopeful for the first time that he might truly have his heart’s desire.

  “I am still afraid. I would be lying if I said otherwise.” Francis could see the honesty in her eyes. “But I am willing to take the risk if it means being with you. No matter what my father or anyone else threatens.”

  Charlotte kissed Francis then and she swore that this kiss was different than even the one from last night. This kiss was sweeter, more tender, as if stripping away the secrets and lies had somehow brought them closer. Or perhaps that was all in her fanciful imagination, but whatever the reason, she refused to question. She would simply enjoy.

  In response, Francis pulled her tighter against his body, so tight that she could feel his arousal through the thick skirts of her gown. “You are mine, Charlotte,” he growled. “Mine. I know we vowed this very same thing just last evening but it feels like an eternity has passed since then. So I say it again. You are mine.” Then he kissed her just as passionately as she had kissed him, once more igniting the fire in Charlotte’s blood.

  “Yours,” she echoed. “I am yours.”

  For Charlotte, this admission was different than the one last night. Last night, they had still been cloaked in secrecy and lies. She had questioned the existence of a wife and child from his past. Now that it seemed unlikely, now that she had decided to free herself from her father’s despicable plans, she felt free. Free to truly love Francis as she had from the first. Free to be with him and damn the consequences.

  Though they hadn’t been particularly careful last night, either. So perhaps there would be more consequences to come than either of them was anticipating.

  “I want you,” Francis whispered as he placed her back on her feet and then slowly drew her down to her knees in front of the toasty warm fire. “I want to see all of you, Charlotte. I wish to savor you and taste you and do all manner of wicked things to you.”

  She reached for his cravat almost immediately. “I desire that as well. I desire you, Francis, just as much as I suspect you desire me.”

  “Just as much as I love you,” he corrected.

  Charlotte laughed, a light and musical sound that was foreign to her own ears. She could not remember feeling this light-hearted in ages. “There is no reason we cannot have both.”

  “No, there is not,” he whispered as he gently turned her so that he could begin undoing the buttons on the back of her gown. “Oh, Charlotte. You are so very lovely.”

  “And so completely yours.” She glanced back over her shoulder a bit coyly. “Take me, Francis.” She shrugged out of the bodice of her gown, revealing only her bare back to him, the gown fitting so tightly that she’d forgone both her corset and chemise. “I am begging you.”

  Charlotte felt his lips upon her back, gentle at first. So soft that she wondered if she was imagining things. Then she felt his tongue trace the length of her spine and she knew she was not imagining anything. She felt the warm glide of his fingertips next, tracing the curves of her body as if he wished to memorize them.

  She leaned back into his touch, allowing the rest of her gown to fall away. Daring to be bold, she shifted and allowed her gown to pool at her feet until she was naked save for her stockings, garters, and the diamonds that still encircled her neck.

  “No drawers,” Francis grinned as he rose and began to divest himself of his clothing as quickly as he could.

  “I was hopeful.” She looked at him almost shyly. “Afraid but still hopeful.”

  Charlotte moved to take off her stockings, but Francis stilled her hands. “Leave those on.” His voice sounded strangled, as if he could barely breathe. “Please.”

  She looked like a courtesan with barely a stitch on. Charlotte was certain she did. However, if Francis continued to look at her from now until the end of her days as he was just then – as if she was the center of his world – then she would dress in this fashion every night if that was what he desired.

  “As you like,” she replied softly as she leaned back into the nest of pillows. She hadn’t realized when he had lowered her to the floor that they were scattered about the room, but now she saw that they were, in fact, artfully arranged. Ready for seduction. As was she. “I need you, Francis,” she whispered and watched his hooded eyes darken with desire as she spread herself before him, not caring a whit that she likely looked like a common trollop. As long as Francis didn’t care, then neither would she. “Now. Please.”

  Falling to his knees in front of her, Francis slid his hands up the inside of her legs, far bolder than he had been last night. Charlotte hissed with pleasure as he moved higher, seemingly in a rush to reach his goal and yet still slow enough to drive her mad with want. First up her silk-clad calf. Then over her knee. Then finally past the edge of her stocking and up to the bare expanse of skin on her thigh. His gaze locked with hers as his hands rested there, his thumbs stroking back and forth in a maddening sort of way, making her become wetter between her legs than she already was.

  For long moments, he just looked at her, his thumbs teasing just outside of her heated core while his arms held her open to his gaze. She wanted to cry or beg or do something that might urge him to touch her intimately. But she didn’t. Instead, Charlotte held still, allowing Francis to caress her until she felt the tension leave her body, tension she had not even know was there.

  “I am going to taste you, Charlotte,” Francis whispered. “I am going to be wicked, so very, very wicked. And when I am finished? Then I will fuck you.”

  Charlotte knew she should be embarrassed by the crass words but instead, her passion only increased and she had to fight to shift restlessly against his hands, wanting him closer. And then suddenly, he was.

  Francis moved between Charlotte’s legs, his tongue darting out to taste her intimately before he settled himself more fully at her center and began to lap at her as if she was the most divine feast he had ever tasted.

  She should have been shocked or outraged. She should have protested. Instead, she reached down and clutched at his hair, refusing to let him go as his mouth moved over her most intimate of areas, driving her passion higher until she was squirming under his touch.

  “That’s it,” he whispered as he reached up to caress her breasts, all the while his tongue still teasing her little nub of pleasure as he spoke. “Come for me, Charlotte. I want to see you when you finally let go.”

  “I…I can’t.” She was hanging on by a thread. Charlotte knew this. However, she could not quite find the same release as she had only the night before.

  She heard his chuckle, felt it inside of her. “Then I will help you.”

  Charlotte felt a finger slide inside her tight sheath to stroke her lightly. Then another and still a third before he began stroking her intimately, his other hand toying with her stiff nipple while his tongue pressed hard into that hidden pearl that never failed to bring her pleasure. With each caress, he pushed her higher until she was thrashing beneath him now, the feel of the diamonds tightening at her throat pushing her strangely toward something even more intense that she could not name.

  Then, as if he had planned it – which he likely had – Francis hit all of her most sensitive spots at the same time.

  Charlotte shattered, screaming his name so loudly that she feared everyone back at the manor house might hear her.

  Before she could even come back to her senses, Francis settled himself quickly betwee
n her legs and thrust inside with one long, smooth movement. She came again, a second release flying through her body, causing her to tighten around him so that he groaned loudly in response.

  Francis thrust again, harder this time, passion driving him differently than it had last night. This was so very, very different. More intense. More possessive. “You are mine, Charlotte,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “Mine and no other’s.”

  “Yours,” she agreed again, though she could barely manage that single word, so powerful were the sensations coursing through her body just then.

  After that, there was no more talking, for Francis redoubled his efforts to please her, stroking in and out of her so hard and fast that Charlotte’s body all but started to hum with pent-up desire. With each thrust, she clutched at his naked back, digging her nails in so deeply that she was certain she would leave marks.

  She felt their joined bodies become slick with sweat and she wrapped her legs around his waist in response, for fear that she might lose the pleasure he was bringing her. She arched up, giving him all that she was, offering him all of her body as long as he would only end this sweetly building torture with the release she craved.

  Beneath her hands, she felt his spine stiffen and then she felt his release as he surged hard into her once more. At that, Charlotte shattered, screaming Francis’ name again as she found her release as well.

  Like the kisses that came before, this coupling was even sweeter than those last evening. He was hers. She was his. Finally. It felt as if every dream she ever had was coming true. She simply hoped that there was nothing lurking in the darkness to steal them away once more.

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty

  Town Tattler

  Word has it that there is romance afoot at the Duke of Fullbridge’s spring house party. I still find those events nothing more than tedious – not to mention unnecessary – madness, but if it brings couples like Lady Charlotte and Lord Underhill closer to the altar (which I am also hearing it has done) then I suppose they serve a purpose after all. Though obviously not for the duke, for I am told that he has yet to find a lady of suitable breeding hips that matched the rest of his rather extensive criteria for a new bride. Pity that. Then again, if the duke would be a touch less stuffy, he might find his mate far more easily.

  Though even if the duke does not find his next ladylove by tomorrow, rumors are swirling that his sister might. Or perhaps not. Who can say? After all, what do we know of Lady Priscilla Trew, really? Not much I am afraid. Therefore I cannot even venture a guess as to what sort of gentleman might capture her attention. She has been liked to other titled peers in the past, but that was in her youth, and she has spent a great deal of time on the Continent since then. Has the time away from England changed her and what she desires in a mate? Or is she still attracted to the same sorts of rogues she has always fancied? Only time will tell, I suppose.

  In other news, it is reported that a small caravan – and by small I mean a party of four that was once a party of two – is slowly making its way toward London. Who are these people? I assure you, dear readers, that I have no idea. However, those who have seen the caravan report that it is an odd lot of travelers at best, which makes one wonder if something else is afoot to gossip about in the coming days. Oh, I can only hope so!

  I do love a nice, juicy bit of gossip. Don’t you?

  -Lady A

  The next morning could not have been more different than the last as Charlotte and Francis laughed and teased each other as they dressed. They had spent the night making love in the snug little cottage, blissfully unaware of whatever else might be going on outside of its whitewashed walls. Nor did they particularly care what anyone else was about. They were together and they had reached an understanding – of sorts. That was the important thing. Or so Charlotte hoped.

  There would likely be repercussions after their second night alone together – possibly in several different ways – but Charlotte did not care. She and Francis were in love. They would be wed eventually. That was all she had ever truly desired.

  The specter of both her father and Noah still lurked in the back of her mind, but she did her best not to allow those fears to dampen her excitement. She could not dwell on what might be, though she did admit to herself that in the harsh light of day, those old fears were much more difficult to ignore than they had been last night.

  “Are you prepared to face them, pet?” Francis asked as they pulled up to the side entrance of Havenhurst in a borrowed coach, hopefully reducing the chances they might be seen by curious eyes.

  “Not really, but we have no choice. And what if someone sees us?” Despite her bold words last evening, Charlotte was suddenly a good deal less certain than she had been – about everything.

  To his credit, the duke had sent a carriage to fetch them in the early morning hours, ensuring that they would return before most of the other guests arose. Charlotte had not been quite ready to return to reality, but then, the entire evening had bordered on the absurd – what with a respected duke helping plan a wicked assignation for her beneath his own roof – so she supposed that reality must intrude soon enough.

  After all, fantasy could not last forever.

  Francis shrugged and she wondered if he was as unconcerned as he seemed. “I shall leave the explanations up to Fullbridge. This was his mad scheme, after all.” He squinted up at the side of the house. “Not that I think anyone other than the servants is awake just yet, mind you.”

  In that, Francis was wrong for as soon as he and Charlotte stepped through the usually deserted entrance, they were immediately pounced upon by both Cilla and Phin.

  “Hurry. To your rooms, both of you! Before anyone else awakes!” Cilla had Charlotte by the arm and was propelling her forward toward the servants’ stairs before she could even remove her cloak. “Copper tubs await both of you so that you may freshen up immediately.”

  “Why?” Charlotte asked, dragging her feet as icy claws of fear dug into her heart. “What has happened?”

  “Guests.” Phin glanced from Charlotte to Francis and then back again. “A friend of yours has arrived, Lady Charlotte.”

  “My father?” Oh, she hoped not! She needed more time. This was too soon!

  To her immense relief, Phin shook his head. “No, though I am told by my runners that he is on his way here as well.” He glanced at her askance. “At the very break of dawn this morning, a man who goes by the name of Count Cristobal Marino arrived on my doorstep and he was rather insistent and anxious to see you.”

  Charlotte wrinkled her nose, not understanding. “Uncle Cris? But I can’t imagine why he is here. Not something with my mother?” She was fairly certain that the count would have been sent directly to the love nest, propriety thrown to the wind, had this been an emergency.

  “He is here to represent your interests, my dear. Feels it is necessary as the ‘man of the family.’ Or so he says. He also wished your father to perdition thrice over, so I gave him the benefit of the doubt. Anyone who dislikes your father cannot be all bad by my reckoning.” Then he pinned Francis with a curious look. “Still, I might have tossed the man out on his arse anyway, had he not been accompanied by two people you might find very interesting.”

  “Oh?” Now it was Francis’ turn for his blood to run like ice in his veins. Charlotte could see the fear plainly on his face.

  Phin grimaced as if he was uncertain about what he would say next and how that news would be received. “Lord Buxton has arrived. I did not think we would see him here since he was at Lord Hambly’s less than a fortnight ago, but the man travels fast. And he has company.” The duke paused. “He has located Violet. She is here.”

  Charlotte froze, all happiness from her night spent in Francis’ arms washed away in an instant. For despite her brave words that the missing Violet Denton could not possibly be Francis’ wife, some part of her still doubted. There was a chance and a chance – no matter how small – might yet ruin he
r hope for happiness with the man she loved and force her back into Noah’s arms.

  “Did anyone else see them arrive?” Francis ran a hand through his hair, his expression more worried than Charlotte had ever seen it.

  “No.” Phin nodded to the army of servants rushing about. “My staff has made certain everyone remains in their rooms with the curtains closed for now. I’ve no idea what story my butler concocted to tell them but I am told it was successful. Now that the two of you have returned as well, I do not have to worry about keeping you out of sight.”

  “Phin.” Cilla’s single word held a note of warning not to mention a wealth of emotions.

  The duke sighed. “My sister is right. The time grows short if we wish to keep your night away from the manor quiet, as I had hoped. Go to your rooms now and pray that the guests who are awake are not yet too restless. I require a bit more time to arrange things to my liking.”

  “And Miss Denton?” Charlotte heard the fear in Francis’ voice. He was finally about to confront his mysterious past. She wasn’t certain he was ready. She wasn’t certain he would ever be.

  “She has been given a room, as has Count Marino, Lord Buxton, and an older woman traveling with them that the count claims is serving as a companion to Lady Violet.” Fullbridge glanced at Francis again. “They were very insistent that Miss Denton is a lady.” He held up his hand to stave off Francis’ next question. “I did not ask after the particulars. I shall leave that up to you. I will not make her status my affair unless you wish it to be.” Fullbridge inclined his head. “One hour, in my study, if you please.”

  Charlotte watched as Francis’ face grew shuttered again. “Of course.”

  “And you both must come with me this instant. There is no time to spare.” Cilla gestured toward the servants’ stairs again. “We have peculiarly early risers amongst the guests this time and I do not know how much longer we can contain them.”