by Tamara Gill
Mason ran a hand through his hair. “You deserve better, Charlotte. Leave him and be damned the scandal.”
Charlotte came over and clasped his hands. “I know you would support me should I do such a thing. You’re the best of men, but I cannot. I don’t care about my own reputation, but should I leave James I’d ruin my sister in an instant. My parents would never recover from the shock.”
“Do they know how violent James is? Surely your father would not wish you to come to any harm.”
“Of course he wouldn’t, but no they do not.” Charlotte stepped away and started to look for her gown. “He may be cross and talk to James but that would only ensure another beating for me at his hands. I’m married and that is that.”
“It’s not that.” The vehemence behind Mason’s tone sent shivers up Charlotte’s spine.
She pulled on her dress and started doing up its buttons. “I know I’m being selfish in wanting you without any recourse or commitment. In fact you may think me fast, a woman best suited for the demi monde than the society we grace. But I just wanted you. I’ve wanted you for so long it, physically hurt.” Charlotte took a calming breath. “Let us have some time together, please. If my sister marries then I will leave James as soon as the ink is dry on the marriage register.”
Mason stared at her a moment then came and pulled her into his arms. He smelt divine, of sandalwood and her. Charlotte snuggled into his chest and reveled in the beat of his heart.
“So, we’re to have a repeat performance of tonight? You are wanton, Charlotte.”
She laughed the sound almost foreign to her. “With you I am, my lord. When can I see you again?”
“Are you attending Lord and Lady Wilson’s ball tomorrow evening?”
Charlotte nodded, having received the invitation to London’s most looked forward to event. Every year his lordship always threw a ball where something happened. Whether it be a betrothal, a performance or special guest, Lord Wilson always had something to keep his guests occupied and happy.
“So? We will speak then.”
Charlotte leaned up and kissed him quickly. “I shall miss you.”
He growled and swooped her into his arms. “Who said I was ready to let you go?” And he didn’t let her go; not until the hour before dawn.
Chapter Nine
Charlotte couldn’t wipe away the smile from her lips as she watched Lord Helsing stroll across the room toward her. Tonight he wore a blue, superfine, long tailed coat with a pristine white shirt and waistcoat beneath. His neckcloth was tied perfectly and only accentuated his handsome visage, very much like his black satin knee-breeches that fit his masculine thighs to perfection. He looked regal and tall, a gentleman with a roguish grin that left her knees weak.
She swallowed as heat coursed throughout her body, remembering what he’d done to her the night before. After seeing him as a man at her father’s lake all those years ago, Charlotte had often wondered what he’d be like when intimate with a woman. And now she knew and was anything but disappointed with her findings.
As luck would have it, her husband was still absent since his departure the previous evening, and so tonight, Charlotte was here by herself. Of course, Amelia waltzed about the floor with Lord Furrow, but no longer did she feel the need to impinge on the happily married couple’s time. At least not as much as she’d formerly done.
For now, she had another more fascinating companion. Lord Helsing.
“Good evening, Lady Remmick. May I say how beautiful you look this evening?”
The devilish twinkle in Mason’s gaze made goosebumps rise across her flesh. Charlotte tapped her fan against his arm and curtsied. “Good evening, my lord.”
He came and stood beside her with his hands behind his back before he leaned in and whispered against her ear, “May I also say how delicious you look, Charlotte. Good enough to eat, in fact.”
Charlotte refused to blush and instead laughed to cover her nervousness. “Behave.” She met his gaze and the heat she read in his eyes made her breath hitch in her lungs.
“I don’t want to.”
How could just four simple words leave her aching with need? She had, after all only left his bed in the early hours of this morning. And yet, here she was, panting like she’d run about the block in a tightly strung corset. “Then we’re in agreement. Although the thing is, my lord,” Charlotte said moving closer to his side to ensure privacy, “what are we to do about it?”
Mason took two flutes of champagne from a passing footman and handed one to Charlotte. “Well that is yet to be decided. But I can imagine one thing we’d both enjoy immensely.”
Charlotte laughed and took a cooling sip of her drink. “Later?”
He nodded and excitement thrummed in her veins. Were she not married, her urge to clasp his arm and declare to everyone present that he was hers would have been beyond her control. Charlotte pushed away the depressing thought that he wasn’t hers and instead turned her attention to the guests at the ball.
The musicians played an elegant piece of music while the dancers moved gracefully about the floor, partaking in conversations before their dance began. Wax candles in crystal chandeliers ran the length of the room and basked everyone in a forgiving light, giving the room an air of mystery.
“Would you care to dance, Charlotte?”
She smiled but shook her head. “You should dance with someone else. People will talk if you show too much inclination toward me.”
He shrugged. “Let them talk.”
At her raised brow, he growled and downed the last of his champagne before stepping away from her and moving about the room with casual elegance. Every step reminded her of a large cat searching for its next victim. Yet no one could be a victim when it came to Mason. Never had she known a better man than Lord Helsing. And after her marriage with James and meeting the friends he frequented the gambling dens with, she wondered if she could count on her fingers how many good men she knew, in truth.
Mason walked toward the card room and slipped out of Charlotte’s sight lest she make him dance with a green country girl ripe for the picking. He looked about the room and spying his friend, George Lord Mountbatten playing piquet, joined him.
“Helsing,” his friend said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Good to see you.” George gestured to the gentleman sitting across from him. “You remember Sir Phillip Penry?”
Mason nodded and sat. “Of course,” he said as he watched George play for a moment before he won the hand with a flurry of excitement.
Sir Penry pushed back his chair and stood. “Well that’s me done for the night. I’ll leave you gentleman to it, shall I?”
George laughed and started to slide his winnings toward himself. “Come man, the nights still early. You never know, I may have a bad round and you could win all your blunt back.”
“Lord Mountbatten have a bad round?” Sir Penry scoffed. “That is something I shall never see.”
Mason laughed. “How many good men have you fleeced tonight, George?”
“A few,” his oldest friend said, sitting back and lighting a cigar. “What brings you in here? Are you running away from the maiden debutantes that are nipping at every gentleman’s heels hoping for a marriage proposal?”
The thought of Charlotte and her anything but debutantes nipping assailed Mason’s mind and he shifted in his seat. “No. Not a debutante.”
George whistled and leaned forward. “Who is she? Do I know her?”
Mason debated telling his most trusted friend for only a moment. George would never disclose his secret and bring censure down on Charlotte. “Lady Remmick,” he said, without ceremony. George’s shock was clearly visible before he composed himself with a gulp of brandy.
“She’s married.”
“I know,” Mason said, stemming the urge to roll his eyes. “But...”
“What?”
“I want her. I think I’ve wanted her a lot longer than I would admit to even myself.” Mason rubbed his jaw
and met George’s stunned gaze. It wasn’t often he could confound his friend, but on this occasion he had.
“Lord Remmick will never let her go. He’s not a man I’d wish to cross. You’d better be certain Lady Remmick is worth–”
“She is,” he said, cutting him off. “You’ve seen the bastard. He whores around worse than the women walking the streets in Drury Lane. And it’s only a matter of time before he kills Charlotte either by disease or force.”
“He’s violent?”
Mason nodded. “Yes. Often. Charlotte says he loses his temper over the simplest things and no matter what anyone says or does, there is no stopping his rage. He’s unbalanced, to say the least.”
“What are you going to do?” George asked, summoning a footman for more drinks.
“Charlotte wants to keep it a simple, secretive affair. But how can I let her go home and share her with that bastard?”
George shook his head and sighed. “You’ll have to. Until Lady Remmick is ready to leave his lordship and face the fall from grace she undoubtedly will, you can do nothing. My advice is to enjoy your liaison. It’s been too long since you’ve had one.”
A shiver of unease rippled down Mason’s back and looking over his shoulder, he spied Lord Remmick glaring at him from the gaming room door.
Mason turned back to George and swore. “The bastard’s here.”
“I noticed. And what’s more, he’s coming this way.”
Mason braced himself for the forthcoming confrontation with his lordship. His skin crawled when Charlotte’s husband slumped into the chair across from him and smirked.
“Gentlemen,” Lord Remmick said, the smell of spirits and sex emanating off his breath and clothes.
Mason fought not to cringe. “Lord Remmick,” he drawled. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
“Come Lord Helsing. Or should I call you Mason, as my delightful whore of a wife does?”
Mason noted George visibly stiffened at the insult to Lady Remmick. Mason shrugged lest he clasp the bastard about the neck and strangle him. “You may call me whatever you choose. But call Lady Remmick, your wife should I remind you, a whore once more and I’ll make sure you cannot speak another word for a week.
Lord Remmick grinned and pulled out a container of snuff. “You owe me.”
Mason raised his brow. “What for?”
“For fucking my wife, of course. You should know there is nothing that Charlotte does that I do not know about. And last night she left our home and did not return until the early hours of this morning. The way you watch her, pant at her flesh like a dog in heat makes it easy for me to know it was you she visited.”
“Really?” Mason took a sip of brandy and wondered who in Charlotte’s household was spying on her. Not to mention the thought that she could possibly be beaten later tonight by this blight on society made his blood boil. “Prove it.”
“Ah, but you see that I cannot do. Perhaps not this time at least. Even so, I want five-hundred pounds delivered to White’s in my name by tomorrow lunch.” Lord Remmick smirked. “And don’t delay.”
“I will not. Wherever Lady Remmick went last night it was not to me,” Mason lied. “So you may keep your requests for funds to yourself. Perhaps you ought to ask Lady Remmick’s herself for blunt if you’re so short. She was the one, after all, who brought all the money back into your family name.”
Charlotte’s husband’s face mottled red in anger. Mason relished the sight, wanting to strike at him in any way he could. But never would he disclose to this bastard what Charlotte and himself had done. He had made love to her, and no man, not even the pathetic specimen of manhood before him would mar his memory.
“Touch her again and I’ll ruin you.”
Mason laughed. “You’ll ruin me? A man already ruined by his vices of hard living and drinking? Should you spread such vicious lies about London, you’ll not only hurt Lady Remmick ,but yourself. Don’t be a fool.”
His lordship stood and clasped the table for support as he swayed. “Five hundred. Not a penny short,” he said, before leaving.
Mason met George’s worried visage and inwardly groaned.
“He knows.”
“So it would seem,” Mason said, thinking over what he could do and coming up blank. “He can’t prove anything. And there is not an iota of a chance of me paying him a penny. I’ll not let Lord Remmick make Charlotte into his prostitute.”
“You’ll have to be careful from now on,” George said. “Lord Remmick will be watching her like a hawk now that he thinks he can gain funds from her nightly pursuits. And if that fails, he’s likely to challenge you to a duel.”
Mason drank down the last of his wine and pushed back his chair. “Lord Remmick will be lucky if I do not challenge him. And I will ensure that Charlotte’s reputation is safe from scandal,” he said, walking back toward the ballroom.
He found Charlotte standing beside Lady Furrow, her puckered brow and pale countenance indicative of her recent encounter with her husband. Anger thrummed through Mason’s body and an urge to come across Lord Remmick in a darkened ally had never sounded more desirable.
He bowed as he came to stand before them and smiled at Charlotte who didn’t seem to be the jovial woman he’d left, not a half hour before. “Would you care for a stroll, Lady Remmick?” He kept his gaze on Charlotte and waited for her to decide. She bit her lip and something in his gut clenched. Married or not, he was attracted to this woman like his lungs were to air. The need to make her happy, to be with her in any way he could, was like a drug to his system. “Charlotte,” he prompted.
She cast a nervous glance at Lady Furrow, then nodded. “Of course.”
Mason took her hand and placed it on his arm before moving toward the French doors leading out toward a lawn patio, overlooking the garden.
“Your husband arrived and sought you out, I see,” he said, as they walked toward the corner of Lord Wilson’s townhouse.
“Yes. He was here.” She paused. “He wanted to know if I enjoyed myself last night.”
Mason shook his head at the scum’s audacity to ask such a question to his wife, especially given the way Lord Remmick lived his own life. Yet, a prick of guilt stabbed at Mason that he was being selfish wanting to continue the affair with Charlotte. But then the memory of her beaten black and blue from her husband pushed away such guilt. Lord Remmick didn’t deserve her. And Mason wanted her and would have her, at any cost.
“What did you say?”
“That I did. And then Amelia, Lady Furrow, obviously noting my husband’s furious countenance said we’d had a delightful time at her home playing cards.” Charlotte smiled. “James didn’t know what to say or do. He left shortly after.”
They slipped around the corner and the smell of London, the distant sounds of the city, echoed across the sky. The yard this side of the house encompassed a small pavilion covered in a rose climber and neat garden beds set out in symmetrical shapes with lawn between the beds for ease of walking. Mason pulled Charlotte closer to his side and walked them toward the private pavilion. This side of the house was shadowed, moonlight their only means of light.
Walking into the circular structure Mason noted no chairs only the railings which looked out onto the foliage about them. Charlotte stopped and looked up at him expectantly. He slipped a lock of her hair behind her ear and ran a hand down her nape, electing a shiver to course through her body. His own hardened before he leaned forward and kissed her.
She met his eagerness with one that matched and his breath hitched in his lungs. The feel of her tongue twining and mimicking his had him as hard as a rock within moments.
He spun her about and pushed her against the railing, then slowly lifted her gown from behind. From here should anyone look, they would only see a couple taking in the garden around them and nothing more. Not a man who was about to take a woman up against a garden structure and enjoy every delicious, sensuous moment of it.
“Mason, what are you doing?”
she asked, gasping when he slipped his finger to run around her stockinged thigh.
“Seducing you. I want you,” he said feathering kisses across the back of her neck. Charlotte didn’t say anything, just pushed against his straining cock and Mason had his answer. He strained against his breeches and closed his eyes when her hand came behind and clasped him through the material.
Untying the frontfalls quickly, he lifted her skirt and stepped further between her legs. His cock strained for release yet the urge to tease Charlotte, make her want him as much as he did, made him rein in his baser needs.
He slipped a finger into her hot, wet passage and fought for control when she tightened about him. “You’re so sweet, Charlotte,” he said, kissing her neck while he kneaded her breast with his free hand. “I’m going to make you come.”
“Yes.” Charlotte rode his finger and undulated in his arms like a woman beyond thought. Mason removed his finger and stroked his phallus against her sex. She gasped and lifted her arms to clasp him about his nape.
“Please,” she whispered, hardly audible.
“What, darling,” he said, slipping a little inside of her before rubbing once more against her sex. “Tell me what you want.”
“You.” She tried to move and impale herself on his shaft and Mason bit down on a groan before continuing to tease them both senseless.
“I want you. All of you.”
Unable to hold off any longer, Mason leaned Charlotte a little over the railing and slipped inside. Her hot core clasped tight about him and he felt a slight tremble course through her sex. “You’re so close,” he gasped, sheathing himself fully within her.
