Captivated by a Lady's Charm

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Captivated by a Lady's Charm Page 28

by Christi Caldwell


  Prudence sank onto her heels. His expression may as well have been carved of stone. “What happened was not your fault.” She thought of the young man in the crimson uniform grinning in the abovestairs painting. “You were merely a child.”

  “I was eighteen,” he rejoined.

  “A boy.”

  “A man who knew my mind.”

  An obstinate one at that. She could have only imagined him eight years earlier.

  Before she could issue any further protestation, he said, “You are eighteen, Prudence. Are you a girl or a woman?”

  Prudence wrinkled her nose. “I am a woman, but this is entirely different.”

  “Oh?” He folded his arms. “And how?”

  She gave a flounce of her curls. “Well, I’m a woman and we are more practical and logical than a man at that same age. You race your phaetons and douse yourselves in cologne and run through town as though you’ve just shed free of a too-strict governess.”

  His lips twitched. “And hiking along a riding tract is so very practical?”

  She swatted his arm. “Do hush, that is entirely different.”

  He flashed a smile, displaying two rows of perfectly white teeth. “Of course it is.”

  Her belly fluttered. Oh, God how she loved his smile. Hated to see him sad. Ached to make him happy.

  Prudence knew he intended to divert her attentions with that easy grin and teasing words. A pang struck. How many years had he spent adopting a carefree façade when inside he was the tortured boy who’d gone off to fight? “I do not believe your friends blame you,” she said solemnly, bringing them back to the discussion he needed to have, needed to have eight years ago. Lord Maxwell’s devotion was testament to the bond they shared.

  A spasm of pain contorted her husband’s face. “Blackthorne has not spoken to me in six years.”

  “Did you try to see to him?” Or had guilt kept him away?

  He gave a brusque nod. “When I returned, for the first two years I would try to visit. He saw me once.” Something dark glinted in his eyes. Memories of those long ago visits? “The other times I was always turned away.” The column of his throat worked. “I miss that friendship. He, Maxwell, and I were once as close as brothers.”

  Her heart ached for his friend’s loss and yet… “It was a mistake, Christian. And surely with time, that anger has healed. You should try to see him again.”

  Christian shook his head. “He will not see me.”

  “But if he would?” she persisted.

  Without hesitation, he said, “Undoubtedly.”

  Hmm…

  “I believe—” Her words ended on a soft gasp as he drew her to him.

  “I do not want to speak any more about Blackthorne,” he whispered against her lips. “Or my past.” He brushed a kiss against the corner of her mouth.

  Her eyes fluttered as he continued to trail kisses around her lips, teasing, enticing her in such a way that a breathless anticipation caused a heat in her belly that spread lower, warming her. “You are just trying to silence me,” she managed to rasp as he dropped his attention to the swell of her décolletage and placed a row of kisses along the exposed flesh.

  “I am just trying to make love to my wife.” He gripped her hips, bringing her flush to the swollen length of his shaft pressed against the front of his breeches.

  A moan climbed up her throat and she rubbed herself against him, needing to ease that aching pressure pulsing at her center.

  An agonized groan rumbled in his chest.

  Concern jerked her away. “Did I hurt you?” In response, he ran his hands up and down her hips in a tantalizing manner, urging her to resume those slow, rhythmic movements. Then, with a staggering precision, he expertly released the row of tiny buttons along the back of her dress. He worked the gown free of her body and it sailed to the floor in a pile of white ruffled lace. Christian drew her shift overhead and tossed it atop her dress.

  Her skin burned under the heated intensity of his gaze and she drew her arms close to shield the thatch of curls between her legs and her modest breasts.

  “Do not.” That harsh command ripped from his throat, ragged with desire.

  She hesitated and then let her hands fall to her sides. As though worshiping a long searched after treasure, he palmed a small breast. His sure, deliberate exploration was that of a man who committed the feel and shape of her to memory.

  Christian continued to pass his fiery stare over her. “So beautiful,” he whispered.

  Her breath hitched as he captured a swollen, pink tip and rubbed the bud back and forth. He continued to tease and tweak the turgid bud until her hips undulated with a hungering need for more of his touch.

  “You are so beautiful,” he whispered, dipping his head. And before she knew what he intended, he captured a nipple between his lips and suckled.

  Her legs buckled, but he was prepared and easily caught her to him. Guiding her backward so she had the support of his desk, he never broke contact with her breast. He trailed the tip of his tongue around her nipple and then blew on that crest until he wrung a cry from her.

  She bit her lip to keep from crying out as he gently nudged her legs apart with his knee and pressed his oak-hard thigh against her core. Prudence moved against him, gripping the edge of the desk to keep from falling back. She fought to breathe. God help her, she’d never felt anything akin to what coursed through her now. She moaned and continued to ride his leg, knowing she should be ashamed at her scandalous response to him, and yet she could no sooner stop her body from straining to him than she could stop the earth from spinning. All she felt was a hunger for more. For him.

  “From the moment I held you in my arms for that waltz, I have dreamed of this moment,” he whispered against her ear. He captured the soft lobe of her right ear between his lips and sucked.

  Incapable of words, she turned herself over to feeling, reveling in the strength and power of his touch. He slid a hand between them and found her center with his fingers.

  “Christian,” she cried out, clenching her thighs reflexively about him.

  He was relentless in his efforts, palming the soft, dampened thatch of curls that shielded her womanhood.

  Prudence dropped her legs open, needing more of him and he slid a finger slowly inside until madness loomed. Her head fell back and a wanton groan lodged in her throat. She moaned in protest when he pulled away from her but he merely shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it into a quiet heap on the floor. He tugged off his snowy cravat. His waistcoat and shirtsleeves followed suit until he remained bared at the waist before her.

  Her breath caught as she took in the whipcord strength of him. She trailed her fingertips along the muscles of his forearms and they strained at her attention. Emboldened, she continued her exploration to his flat nipples and she caressed him. Did her touch drive him to the similar madness he’d brought her to? Prudence stole an upward peak. Christian studied her through thick, hooded lashes, desire burned from his gaze. She swallowed hard and then with a sense of power at the knowledge he was as affected by her as she was of him, she pressed her lips to his chest.

  The air left him on a hiss and he caught her to him. His mouth covered hers. There was nothing gentle about his kiss. It was a fiery meeting of two people who’d hungered for one another and she boldly returned his thrust and parry. She dimly registered him carrying her to the leather sofa opposite the hearth and laying her down. The blazing heat warmed her skin and she shoved herself up onto her elbows to examine him. Clad in nothing more than his boots and breeches, she longed to see him naked before her.

  As though following her unspoken, bold wishes, he tugged off his boots with an ease any valet would have admired and tossed them aside. He lowered his hands to the fastenings on his breeches. Not taking his gaze from hers, he shoved his pants down then kicked them aside.

  Prudence wetted her lips, as her mother’s early lessons intruded on her earlier desire. A spear. She’d said it was like a spear and that
had sounded like a deuced awful experience. Though, there had been nothing awful about any of what had come before this moment. Perhaps her mother had been wrong and had merely had it…wrong. She stole a peek at his spear and then her cheeks promptly burned. Oh, bloody hell, must her mother have proven correct about this? She shot her gaze to Christian’s. He studied her still through those deeply veiled lashes.

  “We won’t fit,” she blurted. She gave her head a shake. “That.” She motioned to his long, plum-tipped member. “Will never fit.”

  The ghost of a smile played on his lips as he eased himself over her. “It will fit. I promise you.”

  He made to kiss her lips, but she angled her face away. “You can’t be truly sure about that.” And even if he proved correct in this regard, it was going to hurt like the deuced devil.

  “Oh, trust me, I am sure,” he said with such masculine arrogance she frowned.

  “Because you’ve been with others?” she said tartly. She knew the warnings and whispers he’d been a rogue and yet she’d never known him to be that man. She’d only known her Christian. Suddenly, she despised all those faceless, nameless women to come before.

  Christian furrowed his brow and then blinked slowly. He lowered his mouth close to hers and froze, their lips a hairsbreadth apart. Their rapid breaths merged in an unsteady cadence. “I know because your body was made for mine, just as I was made for you.”

  “Oh, Christian,” she whispered, caressing his cheek with her fingers. Her heart swelled with love for him.

  He claimed her lips once more in a kiss, slipping his tongue inside. The leather groaned in protest as he shifted himself over her and continued his exploration with his mouth, dragging his lips in a path over her body. Her neck, lower to her previously neglected breast.

  She bit the inside of her cheek as he closed his lips over the turgid bud. Her hands came up reflexively and she fisted the long strands of his blond hair, anchoring him to her chest. Desire pooled at her center, leaving her burning and aching for more. A cry of protest burst from her lips as he ceased lavishing his attention on her tender breast, but he was moving down her body. She forced her heavy lids open and shoved herself up on her elbows as he settled himself between her legs. “What—?” Her words ended on a soft keening cry as he put his mouth to her moist curls. He slipped his tongue inside the curls and caressed the swollen, aching nub at her core, laving her wildly until she collapsed backward. Prudence scraped her hands along his shoulders. “Th-this is scandalous,” she managed to rasp out.

  He paused, looking up at her. “Do you wish me to stop?”

  She would die if he did. In silent reply, Prudence tangled her fingers in his hair once more, and turned herself over to the sensation. He pushed his tongue inside her, taking her up higher and higher on this illusive peak, so all she was capable of was feeling.

  A cold emptiness filled her as he ceased his shocking ministrations, but he shifted his body over hers. She dimly registered the hard length of him pressing at her damp curls as he slid easily inside her. Prudence wrapped her arms about his back, urging him on. Then he stopped, his shaft bumping the entrance of her womanhood. A pleased smile turned her lips. How very wro—

  “Right,” she cried out, as the sharp tear cut across the haze of desire. Her bloody mother had been proven right. Oh, why must she always be right?

  Her husband froze, his chest heaved with the force of his breathing. “What is right?” His words came out fast and ragged.

  “My mother.” She winced and moved experimentally. Bloody hell. It still hurt. Her center throbbed in a way that was not at all pleasant.

  Christian flinched. And it appeared to hurt him, too. “I would rather we not speak of your mother at this precise moment,” he whispered and turned his attention to her breast.

  “Yes, but you see…” She gasped as the stirring in her womb was reawakened at his wicked caress. He reached between them and found her slick nub, rubbing the button once again until the pain receded.

  “Yes?” he breathed, switching his attention to her other breast and suckling on her nipple.

  Her hips of their own volition lifted, searching for him once more. “Did I-I say something?” Her body was a bundle of nerves and heightened sensations so that all she was capable of was feeling his touch.

  Then he began to move within her—long, languid strokes. He slid his hardened shaft deep inside and then withdrew. In and then out. In a slow, tortured rhythm that drove back all earlier discomfort and left, instead, in its place a burning ache for…for…

  “Christian,” she cried out, as he increased his movements. Her hips rose and fell in time with his until their bodies were matched in a synchronized harmony. A bead of sweat dotted his brow and his face contorted. “Are you in pain?” she whispered, brushing back the faint sheen of perspiration.

  “Yes.” Agony underscored that one word utterance.

  Oh, God, he needed to stop. It would kill her if he stopped. “D-do you need to stop?”

  “I will die if I do.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I do not understand you men. You would…” He palmed her center and all thought fled.

  “Yes?” he whispered, trailing his lips down her cheek and then nibbling at the corner of her lips. All the while, he thrust deep inside until her body climbed that peak once more and then crested.

  She stilled, her body freezing, and then on a shattering scream came undone in an explosion of white light. He followed her over that precipice, going taut in her arms. He spilled inside her, coming in long, rippling waves. Christian continued to thrust into her, wringing each agonized drop of pleasure-pain from her, until she dissolved into a shuddery puddle in the folds of his leather sofa.

  Christian collapsed atop her. His breath came in rapid, painful spurts. He adjusted his large frame rolling sideways and taking her into the curve of his arm. They lay that way a long while with her buttocks tucked against the vee of his legs; replete, no words needed.

  A pleased smile played about her lips as she burrowed close. He’d given her magic. From across the room, the precious branch he’d given lay forgotten, abandoned upon the floor by his desk. She ran her fingers up and down the length of his arm, wanting to learn all of him. He spoke of having nothing to give her, and yet, he’d given her so much. Yes, marriage to her had provided him the funds he desperately required, but she wanted to give him something more. Prudence froze. There was something she could give him. Nay, someone. And hopefully that someone could provide the peace he’d long denied himself.

  He pressed a kiss to her ear. “You are quiet, love.” His breath tickled her skin.

  “I am thinking,” she whispered, turning into his kiss.

  Christian cupped her breast, toying with the erect nipple. She moaned. “It does not speak well of my efforts if you are capable of thought after that.”

  “Hmm?” she murmured arching against him.

  He rolled her underneath him once more. “Much better.”

  There would be time enough for thinking later…

  Chapter 24

  Lesson Twenty-four

  You can tell much about a man by the loyalty of his servants…

  For the first time since he’d inherited the title of Marquess of St. Cyr, a weight had been lifted off Christian’s shoulders. After handing the reins of his mount to a waiting groom, he strode toward his townhouse. He bounded up the broken steps and Dalrymple pulled the door open in greeting. “My lord,” the man said, easily catching the cloak Christian tossed to him.

  He tugged free his gloves and handed them off to the servant. “Dalrymple, a wonderful day is it not, my good man?” And it had been wonderful ever since he’d wed Prudence three days earlier. He grinned and the other man smiled in return.

  “A good meeting with the solicitor?”

  The first good meeting he’d had with Redding in, well, in any of his meetings. It was not, however, the sudden improved finances but rather the woman waiting here for him. A grin f
ormed on his lips as yesterday’s memories rushed in of making love to her last evening. “It was a splendid meeting.” He’d the funds now to not only secure his current staff’s posts but to grow the members of the household. He rubbed his chilled palms together. “Where can I find my—?”

  “She is in the White Parlor, my lord.”

  He inclined his head. Whistling a jaunty tune, he continued along the threadbare carpets that had once served as a pressing reminder of his circumstances and onward to the White Parlor. His grin deepened. A perfect place for his white gown-wearing wife to spend her time. He came to a stop outside the doorway and paused a moment. Unaware of his presence, Prudence was seated upon the window seat overlooking the London streets below, staring intently out, her nose pressed to the glass.

  Christian narrowed his eyes. He had known his wife less than three weeks. Longer, if one considered their chance meeting on Bond Street prior to Christmas.

  As such, he knew her well enough to know she was up to something. He studied the sketchpad opened on her lap as she devoted more of her attention to the overcast skies outside that window. “Do you find yourself uninspired?” he drawled from the doorway.

  Prudence shrieked and the book tumbled to the floor and landed with a loud thump. She swung her legs over the bench and hopped to her feet. “You startled me.”

  He folded his arms at the chest and lounged against the doorjamb. “Were you expecting another, love?” A guilty blush stained her cheeks and he frowned. “Were you expecting another?”

  She trilled a laugh and slapped the air with her hand. “Oh, Christian, you are hilarious. Who would I be expecting?” It did not escape his notice that she returned a question with a question.

  God, she was a deuced awful liar. He entered the room then proceeded over to the tray of refreshments and tea set out and rescued a tart.

  Prudence flew across the room. “That is not for you.”

  He froze with the pastry halfway to his lips. His wife plucked the delicate treat from his fingers and crumbs flaked off, dusting the black of his jacket. “Then who is it for?” he asked with a frown as she rearranged the tray of assorted pastries.

 

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