Charlotte

by Virginia Taylor

“He didn’t sound specific.”

  “Nick.” She rested her other hand on the flat of his hard chest. “A wife is not supposed to avoid fornication with her husband. Am I tempting you to try with me?”

  He cleared his throat. “Are you standing close enough to feel my temptation?”

  She breathed in. Despite the fullness of her petticoats, she could feel the growing size of the part she had fondled previously. She would have liked to touch him there again, but once rebuffed, she didn’t have the courage to try again. “Yes.” She brushed her lips against his. “It’s my duty as a wife to reform you.”

  He gave a twisted smile, reached for the knob, and opened his bedroom door wide. “How very noble when you feel not a pinch of desire.”

  She moved into his room. His bed was cherub-topped like hers. A side table held books tilted in a precarious angle, a stack of opened letters, an empty bottle of spirits, and a tumbled set of shirt studs. “You said you could remedy that.”

  He slung off his jacket, dropping the garment on the plush chair beside him. Eyeing her, he unknotted his tie, and then he sat on his bed. After unbuttoning his shirt, he took off his shoes and silk socks. Although interested in every detail of his life, she knew she shouldn’t stare.

  “Not undressing?” He sounded bored. “I thought you were keen to copulate.”

  “I don’t know what I should be doing.”

  “Getting this over with.”

  She gave an uneasy smile. “Should I change into my nightgown?”

  “Just undress.”

  Her hands began to shake. “Easier said than done.” With numb fingers, she worked at the buttons of her gown, made more clumsy by the speculative glint in his eyes.

  He leaned back. “Don’t go any farther. Truly, my pretty, you don’t have the skills to gain my interest.”

  Her eyes closed briefly. “I have a lot to learn.”

  “Apparently. You seemed to have moved through life without living.”

  “Perhaps we’re perfectly matched.” She pulled at her buttons. “You avoid life, too. You fill your time, but you accomplish nothing productive.”

  He gave a harsh laugh. “Go away, Wife. I don’t want you.”

  “You don’t want involvement.” She left her bodice and stood, hands clenched at her sides. “Nor did I. The difference between us is that I’m prepared to change.”

  “To change from a woman who married a man for his money to a woman who is prepared to whore for that money?” He gave a short laugh.

  “To change from a woman who accepted she wasn’t good enough to one who realizes that if she never asserts herself she’ll never win the prize.”

  “And the prize is…?”

  “Respect,” she said in an undertone. “Equality.”

  “Do you imagine I’m going to respect you because you offered yourself to me?”

  “No,” she said through her teeth. “But I imagine you won’t bother with me or try to know me if I didn’t, and then of course we’ll be nothing to each other. Nothing. And that’s what I want to change.”

  He massaged the back of his neck. “You want us to be friends—confidantes? Because we fuck?” He shook his head. “That’s not how it is between opposite genders. Best you continue to surround yourself with serene indifference. If I bedded you, I’d want to change you into a bed partner I could enjoy.”

  Her jaw firmed. Her hands relaxed, and she gazed at him. “What sort of bed partner could you enjoy? You couldn’t possibly couple with a man.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “What makes you say that?” His eyes searched hers.

  “Logic. It’s not possible, physically,” she said, voicing her true belief, which wasn’t the reason why she had said that. She’d slipped and almost let him know she knew he wasn’t a man lover.

  He sighed, and for a brief moment, his lips quirked. “Then we will proceed. Come here.”

  Stiff-shouldered, she stepped over to him. He settled her knees between his. With a single hand, he undid the rest of her gown, and using both, he edged the garment off her shoulders. Yards of fabric slithered past her hoop onto the floor. As if talking to a child, he said, “Step.”

  She kicked her gown aside.

  He stared into her eyes. “Last chance. You can leave now or put up with anything I might do.”

  She gave him her serenely indifferent smile as she blotted her palms on her chemise. He’d intimidated her and the act ahead frightened her. Her mother had told her that a woman’s duty was to please a man. He’d implied he didn’t particularly want her to do her duty, and yet she was almost sure he hid his true feelings. He’d ridiculed her more than once, but in the repelling, he managed to draw her closer.

  He tugged the ties on her crinoline. “Step.” He collected the yards of her petticoats and her cage and threw them both to the chair where they settled like a deflating balloon.

  Her mouth dried. She focused on the top of his head, on his gleaming brown hair, on his wide shoulders, and her skin quivered. Despite his attitude and her apprehension, she wanted to know the pleasures of the flesh.

  He bracketed each side of her head with his palms and brought her face down to his. His eyes changed from their amazing light blue-green to glinting, almost impossible silver. His lips took hers, demanding. Like the witless fool he assumed her to be, she tightened her fingers on his shoulders, impelled by a strange possessiveness. He tugged at her hair, sliding her clips from her shoulders to the floor.

  His palm flattened against the side of her neck, and his thumb tilted her chin. Her mind emptied. She knew nothing but the tease of his tongue. He shifted forward, slightly off the bed, clamping her legs between his. One insistent hand worked at the ties of her chemise. He made a sound of appreciation and bared one of her breasts.

  Her insides shivered, twisted, and tangled into wanton confusion, and her fingers grasped his hair. He lifted his lips from hers, stared at her, and said words she had never heard before, not words of love or passion but long, descriptive words she knew as self-disgusted swearing.

  “Don’t look at me like that.” His gaze left hers.

  “Like what?” Her voice trembled.

  He laughed harshly. “The way I wanted you to look at me.” Rising to his feet with a growl of suppressed tension, he dropped his hold to her waist, opening his hot mouth over her throat. The rub of his shaven chin abraded the skin of her chest. He gentled. She gazed at the fans of his thick lashes, sliding her fingers again into his crisp hair.

  His mouth moved to her breast, licking and kissing. He took her moistened nipple into his mouth while skimming away the other strap of her chemise, leaving both breasts bared and both straps hanging to her elbows. She struggled to free herself, and he leaned back a little so that she could lift both arms out of her confinement. Her nipples had changed, standing out from the puckering around.

  He stared at her, breathing through his mouth. His eyes looked hazy, desirous. Very slowly, he ran his palms down her upper arms and his thumbs along the outer sides of her breasts. Her skin heated with anticipation.

  “You have a beautiful body,” he said in a constricted voice. “Pray for my control.” With that, he nuzzled into her other breast.

  This time his fingers dug into her waist. His nuzzling became sucking, and the pit of her belly jolted with sensation. He dragged and nipped, and she tugged at his hair, not sure whether she urged or repelled.

  She didn’t understand herself. She knew the mechanics of coupling and still she craved him. In her imagining, his large part forced between her legs and tore her, and yet in that same place she throbbed, wanting the pain, craving the pressure inside. She’d enjoyed touching his male part, and her urge to do so again made her fingers clench.

  He tugged the tie on her under-drawers and with her chemise both slid to the floor. She couldn’t step for his knees held her legs together. His mouth left her breast, moved to her ribs, her stomach, and pressed there, nippi
ng, licking, hungry, exciting. The muscles of his shoulders strained against the fabric of his shirt. She wanted to see his beautiful skin naked. She groaned softly, wondering if she loved him.

  “You’re a surprise,” he murmured, his thumbs caressing her hipbones. He sat her onto the bed beside him. “I hadn’t thought you’d be so responsive. Perhaps I can give you what you need.”

  Leaning back, he took her to the middle of the bed with him. She lay on top of him, but he rolled her over. Her underwear tangled with her shoes and stockings around her ankles, and with a gleeful laugh, he peeled off the lot.

  “A bit constricting,” he said, kissing the side of her mouth. “Though, a man likes the whorish look of a female who has nothing covered but her calves and ankles.”

  She acknowledged his words with a smile. A man as clever, handsome, and rich as he would never need to know a whore.

  By lifting and arranging her bare body, he made her comfortable, her head on his pillows and her body in the center of his bed. The last time they’d shared a bed, he’d been semi-naked, and she had worn a nightgown. Apparently, this time they would change roles. Although unbuttoned, he remained clothed.

  She laughed with the tickle when he kissed her neck, her face, and her ear. He smiled back and rolled her onto her stomach, leaving the places his mouth had pleasured to re-warm against the sheets. As his hand ran lightly down her back, she felt his lips on her ankles. She wriggled her toes with enjoyment and pressed her smiling mouth into the pillow. His lips progressed slowly up her legs, cooling and warming at the same time.

  She appreciated his taking his time. Her mother had not told her that a man could be so wonderful with his teasing, so inventive with his kisses. When he reached her buttocks, he nipped gently. She almost lifted to beg for more, and she murmured with pleasure while he pressed soft kisses all the way up her spine to her armpit. He licked there, and she shivered with delight. He’d already made up for the pain he would inflict soon.

  His kisses continued as he rolled her over to face him. He ran his lips over her shoulders and moved down to her breasts again. A faint whimper eased from the back of her throat when he drew one hardened nipple into his mouth. Her fingers pressed avidly across his shoulders. He breathed out, lifted, and buried his tongue in her navel. Her body pounded with excitement. He even sucked her toes.

  She couldn’t think where to put her hands, and so she clenched them, threshing her head on the pillow. His mouth moved up her legs again. His hands glided under her thighs. He moved them apart and dipped his head between them, licking at the aching wetness.

  Her knees shook. “Don’t, Nick. Stop.”

  His mouth breathed on her, heated her, and his tongue flattened, soothed. Somehow, he sent a bumping excitement through her.

  “You’ll love this, petal. Relax and let me pleasure you.”

  His tongue circled until she couldn’t think.

  “I’m supposed to be pleasuring you,” she whispered.

  “That comes later when you know how to.”

  Unable to restrain herself, she lifted, pressing the flats of her feet onto his waist. He gave more, with his lips, with his tongue, with his teeth, and she didn’t care about being good, or bad, or expressing her emotions. She threshed, wanting more, wanting less, wanting Nick. The words “I love you,” tore from her throat.

  “What!” He stared into her eyes.

  “I love you,” she repeated softly.

  He took his palms from her buttocks. “This is not love. This is lust.”

  His face firmed as he pushed himself to the full extent of his arms. She noticed the taut flexion of his shoulders and every muscle in his neck as he lifted.

  “You’re too inexperienced. I shouldn’t have done this. Why didn’t you go back to your room when I told you to?” He rolled over her leg to the side of the bed, lying face up with his elbow across his eyes, jaw tensed.

  She lifted herself onto her elbows and stared at his tight face. “Why did you do this if you knew you shouldn’t?”

  “You’re a temptation, my precious, and one I don’t need.” His lips firmed.

  “So not all men have a need to couple?”

  “I don’t know about all men.”

  She dropped her gaze to his unbuttoned waistband where the large and rod-like shape she had touched before stood clearly delineated. He certainly wanted the pleasures of the flesh.

  “Why do you deny yourself?”

  “I can satisfy myself any time I like.” He slid his hand into his trousers. “Like this, if I choose,” he said, glancing at her as if testing her reaction.

  She breathed in. The thought of him touching himself beneath his trousers made her embarrassingly warm. She lifted his sheet and pulled the linen over her shoulders to hide the quick puckering of her nipples. While knowing nothing about the married act, she wanted him inside her. He, experienced, didn’t care to be there.

  “You know I’d let you satisfy yourself with me.”

  “In you? No. I wouldn’t have done that. I would have taught you to do what I’m doing now. No matter which method I choose, I don’t spill my seed productively.” His hand stroked slowly, and his head arched back.

  She couldn’t fail to see his enjoyment. His face looked stark with pleasure, his eyes half hooded.

  “Teach me to do it now.”

  Almost with reluctance, he took his hand out of his trousers. “There’s no point. We won’t be together again.”

  “Why?”

  “Because coupling with you would be a sin,” he said tersely. “You’d want to get involved in emotions I lost years ago. You’d be thinking about love and babies and other impossible things.”

  “Is a baby impossible?”

  “Of course. Why else do you think I won’t take you? You can’t imagine that I don’t want you. You can see I’m rigid with wanting.”

  “I can’t see anything,” she said desperately. “We’re married and being together is not a sin.”

  “Copulating causes babies,” he said roughly. “And I won’t give you one.”

  She stared into the corner of the room. Her clothing had tangled with his on the chair. Not too long ago, her body had tangled with his. “You’re refusing me because you don’t want a baby?”

  He closed his eyes. “I gave you what you wanted.”

  “And now that you’ve amused yourself, you’d like to sleep.”

  He sighed, and with a lowered gaze, he separated a strand of her hair and pulled the curl through his fingers. “Scarcely that.” He took her into his arms and snuggled her head under his chin.

  He stroked her head and shoulders for some time. Baffled by his behavior, she remained silent. He’d seen her body, which he’d touched and licked everywhere, and she wanted him, physically. Yet, she had no sense of ownership of him or of knowing him.

  Frustrated, but taking comfort in his warmth, she finally slept. A little before dawn, when she left his room with her clothing gathered in her arms, she saw he slept, still in his clothes. His dishevelment gave her lewd thoughts.

  She’d changed from an impartial virgin bride to one completely seduced by her confusing husband.

  * * * *

  Nick awoke alone. He noted the imprint of Charlotte’s head on his pillow and he stretched. He’d never taken a woman he loved, for he’d loved none. Lust had impelled him, never the finer feelings. He couldn’t let himself love Charlotte, but he hadn’t withheld her fulfillment because of that. Perhaps his new role as a tentative husband had caused a form of moral rectitude.

  Scowling, he poured himself a glass of brandy. Too long without alcohol and he sweated. Best not to risk showing his need.

  After he’d washed, breakfasted, and read the paper, he thrummed his heels. He was bored, bored, bored. A long day lay ahead with nothing to do but stretch out idle occupation. He might have sought Beth’s company, but for realizing she wanted more from him than he was able to give while he
could think only of his wife. Instead, he waited for Sarah, prepared to ride with her.

  “I’m not riding today,” she said when she arrived late in the breakfast room dressed in a morning gown. “Daphne and her sister are taking me to the museum for a day of sketching.”

  He nodded and watched her eat a normal breakfast, appreciating the fact that, when pre-occupied, she didn’t need to be the center of attention.

  “I thought I might do some sewing,” Charlotte said after she came in from her ride. She didn’t meet his gaze. “With a few other ladies at Nell’s house. Unless there is something pressing for me to do at home.”

  He shook his head. “I wouldn’t know. That’s your province.”

  His father would spend his day with his business manager. His cronies would sleep late and wander off to various sporting or social events. He could do the same, always had. He had no need of money and no ambition but to drink his life away. He slammed his newspaper onto the table. A man who could sire no living child had no need of an existence!

  “Bad news?” Alfred asked, entering the room.

  “Do you want company today?”

  “Yours? You’d be bored. Today I plan to sort out my new row of city cottages.”

  “You wanted me to occupy myself. I’m offering.”

  Alfred raised his eyebrows. “I accept. If you don’t learn to manage our affairs before I’m gone, you’ll be in a pretty pickle afterward.”

  “Lord. You’re expecting to turn up your toes at any moment.” Nick put his head in his hands. “Funds and trusts and properties and stock markets. I don’t know if I’m up to it.”

  “Not if your head isn’t clear.” Alfred rang the bell. “Eventually, you will need a long discussion with my man. Today you can start smaller. Supervise the detailing of the new cottages. I want them sold and off my hands within the next six months.”

  Nick spent his first morning inspecting Alfred’s houses, a row of four built for the average workingman in bluestone and sited in a city street. Each had space for a tiny garden in the front and a vegetable garden at the back. In his opinion, each needed to be slightly different from the others.