by Susanne Lord
At his husky words, sensation shimmied down her neck to her toes. Laying her hands on the wall of his chest for support, she aimed her eyes downward and smiled in wonder at the lean, muscled torso, the carved ridge of his hips above his powerful thighs, the hard, segmented abdomen. And finally to the male appendage near her stomach, with the veined shaft and heavy sack beneath looking so soft and vulnerable.
“Oh…my,” she breathed.
“Am I what you expected?”
She rested her head limply against his chest, feeling his heat to her toes. Her hands slid over the cobblestone of muscle but she didn’t dare touch him lower. “Much of a muchness…”
His hands paused in their gentle stroking. “What’s that?”
“I asked Wally if a man’s male parts were the same and he said they were all much of a muchness. Which is no answer at all.”
His hands stopped altogether. “You asked your brother this?”
“I was curious.”
“Of course you were,” he murmured. “Much of a muchness, is it?” He moved her hand and squeezed her around him. “I’m a little larger than most.”
The shock of touching him there seized her breath, and she was afraid to do anything but rest her palm against him. Will covered her hand and used it to stroke himself from base to tip. Large as he was, her fingers could barely reach around him.
The slip and movement of skin fascinated her. She closed her eyes, imagining the pulsing flesh deep inside her. Helpless to the desire coursing through her, she pitched forward against him, her legs weakening.
Oh heavens, she was going to fall. No—she was going to swoon and swooning was so gauche.
Will saved her the indignity, lifting her and laying her on the bed. His naked body came atop her, and the room would not stop spinning. With a groan, he lifted off her and moved lower.
“No…Will?” She fumbled to hold his shoulders but he slid lower, pressing her flat on her back when she would sit up. “I want what you did before.”
He pushed her nightgown up, parting her legs gently, and a soft, nibbling kiss behind her knee made her jerk, then tremble. “Oh…my…that’s nice, but…before…” She was dizzy with the effort of speaking.
Another soft, nuzzling kiss. “I know, I promise. Relax, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart. He’d never called her that before. He’d never called her any endearment. She smiled and closed her eyes, trying to relax as he wanted.
She’d been so patient—and patience was not one of her virtues—waiting for when he might allow them the pleasure they’d given each other at the hermitage. Soon. Oh, soon—don’t distract him. As soon as he was finished kissing her knees and thighs and her—oh, he was kissing her higher. That tickled, actually.
His head dipped under her nightrail and her eyes flew open. He would see her! “Will?”
His hand held her flat against the mattress. Yes, he was definitely seeing her. All of her. With nowhere else where her legs might go, he guided them over his shoulders. Fingers parted her and hot breath fanned her in the instant before he kissed her as intimately as she could be kissed.
Oh…this was naughty, this was—“Oh my God!”
His rough tongue lapped her again and again with slow, deliberate strokes. Teasing a pleasure that was almost pain from the junction of her legs, until he was gripping her bucking hips to lock her against his mouth. He sucked and swirled, his hard backside clenching and grinding into the mattress in an erotic rhythm.
She cried out, moaning like a wanton, but she couldn’t stop and she couldn’t look away from the large, powerful body working to bring her pleasure. The ache was building and building, her legs squeezed him tight, wanting more, wanting his hard flesh inside her, to fill her so there was no more room for this ache within her. “Please…oh yes, please…”
Will’s hand squeezed her breast in what should have been pain but was only the most exquisite restraint. Strong as he was, gripped tight as she was, she couldn’t move for lack of breath. Then his large finger penetrated her and she shattered. Her head arched back into the pillow, her body bucking off the mattress, until she went limp, paralyzed with bliss.
Her flesh shuddered, raw and quivering, and at last Will took mercy upon her, soothing her with his tongue and slipping his fingers from her gently.
* * *
Will pushed shakily up and lunged heavily to plant his mouth on Charlotte’s. Their kiss was flavored by the essence of her sex and she shied from the taste on his tongue, but he wouldn’t let her. He twined her soft hair through his fingers, holding her secure by the nape of her neck, and kissed her long and deep.
Christ, he was going to explode. His cock was granite, desperate for the wet sheath so tantalizingly close. But he’d not lose control.
None of this was for him.
He smiled and their kiss broke apart on her lips. “Was that all right? I’ve never done that before.”
A choked, utterly unladylike sound burst from her lips. He chuckled and Charlotte clapped a hand over her lips and nodded fast.
Still chuckling, he kissed her, losing himself in the erotic taste of her, the heady perfume. Even before he knew the word for it, he’d dreamed of putting his mouth on a woman there. “You taste so good,” he whispered.
“I need…”
“What do you need, sweetheart?”
“I need a moment to talk—think. I mean think.”
He chuckled. “You mean talk, don’t you?”
“What is that called? The…tasting?”
He whispered the word into her ear and she shuddered. She liked new words.
“Will…?” She smoothed his hair back from his brow, her eyes a little guarded.
He’d never gone that far before. No wonder she was confused.
“How much wine did you drink?” she asked.
“A half glass.”
“Is that all?”
He nestled his cock along her slick folds, careful not to penetrate her. The rigidity of his flesh hurt, but it was a pain edged with rapture. Clamping her hips against his, he rocked slow and steady. “Come on, sweetheart. Come for me.”
He moved faster, harder, and the grind of their bodies was making his vision blur and darken. Instantly, she seized with pleasure all over and his triumph crested with hers, but he held his own release at bay.
She went limp under him. God, he wanted to plunge into her, make her his. She was so luscious, so wet and ready. But he remembered his purpose…her words at the hermitage…
Only you…I would only feel this with you…
Only him. Not that bastard Spencer…or any bastard like Spencer.
His cock pulsed, jerking with denied release, but steeling himself, he positioned himself to start again.
But Charlotte’s fingers slid around his length before he could. “What can I do? I want you to feel it, too.”
He bit back the growl clawing at his throat. Her grip was so soft compared to his, so innocent—but he wouldn’t come. He captured her wrists in one hand above her head so he could work unhindered.
Trying not to look at her and lose control, he positioned his erection against her. Damn, she felt like paradise, it would be paradise if he could. “Let me. We’re so good together. I can make you come again.”
“Will…wait.”
He slid his cock on her, faster, harder. Her body tensed. Blue eyes, sultry, smoky, beckoned to him until, mercifully, they closed.
His Charlotte. His sweet Charlotte. Christ, she was almost there— “He can’t make you come.”
Her eyes blinked opened. He took her mouth, needing to feel it under his, but she slipped away, turning her cheek.
“Who, Will?”
Frustrated, he kissed behind her ear, her neck, but it wasn’t working. She was stiffening beneath him.
“Will?” She touched his cheek. “What are you doing?”
“You know what I’m doing.” He gripped her supple hips, tilting her to notch tighter against him. He checked h
er eyes, seeing the desire ebb and flow, slowing his rhythm but not stopping.
Her face changed, hardened. “Stop.”
“Promise me you’ll find a good man, a kind man.”
Her eyes widened. “Promise you?” She shoved hard against his hips. “I said stop!”
Her palm slipped, shoving his cock, and pain sizzled into his loins. “Argh! Dammit!”
She pushed at his chest but he was too heavy, the throbbing agony in his body paralyzing him. “Charlotte—” he gasped.
“Do you think me a child?”
“No, I—”
“Get off me.”
“Listen to me.”
“Get off!”
He caught her head in his hands. “Listen! You don’t know men, you don’t know how cruel they can be.”
She stared, her eyes glimmering. “I am beginning to.” She pulled at his hands. “Go away. I don’t want you in my bed.”
“Yes, you do! Damn it, listen!” He grabbed her shoulders, forcing her still. “You want a man in your bed badly, and I’m telling you not any man will do. You make me kiss you every day and sleep with you every night. You feel desire and lust, but it’s not enough.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “I thought—”
“There are so many men who’ll get pleasure from giving it to you as well as taking. Promise me you’ll never wed a man like Spencer.”
Tears stream down her red cheeks. “Promise you?” she whispered. “How dare you speak of another man? I am married to you. Get off of me.”
Desperate, he gripped harder. “I won’t be here. He’s dangerous, you can’t trust—”
“Stop it!”
Her beautiful blue eyes filled with tears. Panic filled him. Stop crying. “Just…stop, Charlotte, please…”
“How could you? How could you make love to me to manipulate me? To persuade me from Hugh?”
The bastard’s name from her lips unleashed a fresh anguish. “I wasn’t making love to you—I was making you come!”
“Get off.” She pushed, but he caught her wrists easily. “Get off!”
His hands tightened, pinning her. But her chin trembled and her eyes were wet. With a hissed curse, he pushed himself off her. “Fine.” He rolled off the bed and stalked to his bedchamber. “I only mean to protect you.”
He slammed the door behind him. Goddammit! He looked back at the door to his bedroom, to Charlotte.
She didn’t understand. He wouldn’t apologize. He wouldn’t. He was right about men. He wouldn’t be here.
He sank on the edge of the bed, his body shuddering and painfully aroused—damn it all. He dropped his head in his hands. She was furious.
She was crying.
He rose and moved to the door, leaning his forehead against the cool wood. Say something, Charlotte. Anything.
But there was only silence.
Leave her alone. Let her sleep in peace.
The room was cold and dark, the fire dying. The servants never bothered to build a proper one. Why should they? No one slept here.
He dragged himself from the door and stared at the large bed, unused these five weeks.
Let the bloody dreams come then.
It was no less than he deserved.
* * *
Something woke her. Will’s voice, muffled and agitated.
“No!”
The hoarse cry jolted her upright, her heart lurching. Will? She launched to her feet and into his chamber. Thank God he’d not locked the door.
The fire was banked, red embers flickered, and sinister shadows leapt against the walls. Will was naked atop the blankets, his body flinching against an unseen tormentor. A sob burst from her. “Oh…God…Will?” She climbed onto the mattress, laying her hand on his shoulder. “Will? Wake—”
“No!”
An arm flew at her, the back of his wrist landed on her cheek. The blow knocked her teeth together. Pain rattled through her skull and her vision blackened at the edges, blinding her in the already dim room. The bed beneath her rocked.
Will had hit her.
Will’s legs thrashed, agony contorted his sweat-streaked face. “Don’t touch her!”
Dear God, what was he seeing?
“Will, wake up! It’s me. WAKE UP!”
Her voice did not reach him. His fists were clenched and his arms taut with barely leashed strength. With a whispered prayer that he would not strike out, she threw her body on his and hugged his head against her chest.
“No!” A mighty contortion of his body lifted her off the mattress and nearly onto the floor. With a jolt, his eyes opened, wild and unseeing. “Charlotte!”
The scream reverberated against her chest. “I’m here,” she whispered. God—who had done this to him?
Searching hands swept her body. “Charlotte?”
His heart…his heart would burst. “Wake up, Will.”
“Charlotte?”
“Yes, dearest. Just a dream. You’re safe.”
Panting hard, he clung to her.
She stroked his hair, damp with sweat. Dear God, how could she help him? What happened? Tears choked her but she would let no sound escape. She kissed the corner of his eye, clenched shut, again and again until the skin eased.
His arms loosened, but when she moved to slide off him, he cinched tight and burrowed his face in her neck. “Don’t go. Don’t.”
This was his nightmare? She hadn’t understood when he’d warned her. She hadn’t understood at all.
She reached for the blanket but Will’s hold did not allow its retrieval. He seemed satisfied to use her for covering, so she relaxed her weight on him, the linen of her nightgown pasting to his clammy skin.
Her cheek touched the pillow and her breath was a hiss of pain. She tested her jaw gingerly, and an ache throbbed to the bone.
Will’s head slackened on the pillow; sleep had claimed him. If there had been a trace of anger and sadness in her from their earlier argument, it evaporated at the sight of his face. Terror had etched deep lines there and his hair was dark with sweat in the chill room.
Cradling his head as close as she dared lest she wake him, she stared at the wall and recalled fragments of memory from those early months. Will’s eyes, rimmed red with sleeplessness. His head, drooping with fatigue, over his books. His limp, his injury.
I’ll skin you alive… And it can be done… I’ve seen it…
Charlotte hugged him tight and did not sleep the rest of the night.
Twenty
This was the wrong bed, the wrong room. Where were his blankets? Grumbling, Will huddled closer to Charlotte. At least it was the right woman, though she usually slept in the bend of his arm and not with her back to him. He shifted closer—
Something was wrong. His eyes blinked open to add sensory confirmation to the knowledge he was naked. Oh…hell.
The memory of last night rushed back, bitter and shaming. Everything he’d said, everything he’d done. That’s why he’d left their bed—she’d ordered him from it.
He stretched the sheet over his hips, the modesty idiotic considering the intimacies they’d shared.
Intimacies. When had it all become intimate? The taste of her was still on his tongue, but she was more his in a hundred other ways: teasing him about his habit of untucking the sheet before climbing into bed, forever asking to borrow the pencil he carried in his pocket, bringing him a cup of tea before he knew he wanted it.
He chased off the sleep-muddled thought and replaced it with cold truth. Charlotte wasn’t his. So why the hell did he have to keep reminding himself of that?
He rubbed his eyes. Why was she in bed with him?
He reached for a blanket to cover her, but they were on the floor.
Like when he slept alone. Like when he dreamed of Tibet—
He’d dreamed last night. Dreamed of something worse than he’d ever dreamed before. So much worse because Charlotte was there.
He placed a kiss on her shoulder that lingered. Had he cried out? Had h
e scared her? Sweet Charlotte. She’d come to soothe him even when she’d been furious with him.
He rose and covered Charlotte with the blanket. Would she forgive him? Would she come to breakfast? He had no idea what she’d do.
He dressed and went to breakfast. Normally, he’d wait for Charlotte, but this was not a normal morning. And he needed a cup of coffee before he faced her.
The footmen looked at him strangely when he entered the dining room, though he greeted them normally. Uneasily, he focused on his breakfast. If he had to put a name to those looks, he might call them pitying.
The coffee was drunk and he was nearly done with his breakfast when Charlotte’s steps sounded in the hall. He stood to greet her and froze. A black bruise marred her china skin across her cheek. He stumbled toward her. “Oh God…Charlotte?”
“It looks far worse than it feels, I assure you.”
His fingers hovered over her skin. “What happened? Did you fall?”
Her head tilted a fraction. “You do not remember?”
His blood went cold. Dragging his gaze from her injury, he searched her eyes. “Remember what?”
“When I tried to wake you…? You were dreaming…?”
His stomach roiled and he reared back, his hands dropping to his side.
You were dreaming.
“I did this?” he asked. “I hit you?”
“Not intentionally.” She tipped her head to smile into his eyes. “I hope. Though after our quarrel—”
“Christ, Charlotte! Don’t laugh. Not of this. Has a doctor been sent for?”
“Goodness no. I have no need of a doctor. Cook will have any number of salves—”
He ran into the hall. “Jamie! Peter! Where the bloody—Goodley! Call the carriage, then send a footman—Jamie, send Jamie—into the study. And do we have ice? Bring ice and a towel.”
Goodley hurried belowstairs. Will turned sharply toward the study and pain lanced his thigh from knee to hip. Good—you bloody well hurt, you bastard. Oh God, he had hit her. How could he hit her?
Charlotte followed him. “Don’t fuss. A doctor is completely unnecessary.”
He retrieved paper from the desk, and the pencil always in his coat pocket. Damn him. There was that boy…the one in his crew who’d knocked his head on an outcropping of rock and developed fits. Another fell, wrenched his neck, had vertigo for weeks.
