Charming Sir Charles (Dashing Widows Book 5)

by Anna Campbell

  By God, it was time to take charge and show Sally just how much he wanted her. And if heaven stayed on his side, she’d finally admit that she wanted him, too.

  Anticipation thrummed in his blood like a drum beat. Although given his lack of success so far, he might be over-optimistic about how this might play out.

  Whatever happened, he couldn’t ignore this chance. He just had to trust that fortune favored the brave.

  * * *

  Chapter Nine

  * * *

  Shocked and outraged, Sally waited on the steps for Sir Charles to return from what was sure to be a futile pursuit. She’d seen Meg’s determined expression as she drove away, and she was under no illusions that her niece intended to be caught.

  What had got into the girl? And what did she expect this ridiculous prank to achieve? Was this a ploy to leave her alone with Sir Charles, so he could obtain Sally’s permission to seek Meg’s hand? It seemed a bizarre way to ensure an interview.

  “She outran me,” Sir Charles called as he came out of the trees.

  “I could strangle her,” Sally said, too angry to pretend that this was a minor escapade. “What on earth is her game?”

  Sir Charles crossed the forecourt and ran up the steps toward her, his smile wry. “I think she wants to give us a chance to talk.”

  Oh, no. Perhaps he was about to ask her permission to marry her niece. Sally would have to say yes, but it would feel like drinking acid.

  She regarded him warily. “We talk all the time.”

  He grimaced. “Not lately. You’ve done your best to avoid me over the last few days.”

  “Oh.” She’d hoped he wouldn’t notice.

  When he took her arm, she jumped like a startled rabbit. She told herself to pull away, but the warmth flooding her veins was too delicious.

  Dear Lord, she was a disaster. How could she hope to scotch this infatuation if she stole every opportunity to nourish it?

  “Come inside,” Sir Charles said, his deep voice steady. “There’s no point staring after her. She won’t come back until she’s ready.”

  How she appreciated his equable temper. Many men, her late husband included, would rage and curse at Meg’s foolishness. And probably end up blaming Sally for their predicament.

  “She’s usually such a biddable girl.” Sally said, not entirely honestly.

  “When it suits her, I suspect,” Sir Charles responded wryly. “Miss Meg and I understand one another very well.”

  What exactly did that mean? Did understanding Meg mean they had an understanding? Sally was too much of a coward to ask. “When she comes back, I’ll speak sternly to her.”

  “I doubt it will do much good. She’s a headstrong creature in her self-effacing way.” Sir Charles kept hold of Sally’s arm and drew her back inside the house. “Although I’m sure you’ll feel better if you read her a lecture.”

  “Should we ask Mrs. Brown for help?” Sally struggled to control a pang of disappointment when he released her and wandered over to stare out the window.

  “She’s going to her sister’s. We caught her on the way out. And Mr. Brown is twenty miles away.”

  Oh, dear, it sounded like they were stuck here. Trepidation trickled down Sally’s spine. It had been hard enough hiding her yen for Sir Charles in a crowd of people. Here where they were alone, she had a sick feeling that he’d discover she felt much more than friendship for him.

  And that promised years of awkward family gatherings, once he’d married Meg.

  Her hands unsteady, Sally took off her bonnet and set it on a carved Jacobean chest against the wall. “Is there a village nearby?”

  “No. I warned you both that the property is isolated. The nearest village is Upton, but it’s a good ten miles away.”

  “Anyway,” she said, striving to be sensible as she stripped off her gloves, “we need to stay here and wait for Meg to come back. There’s no point in us getting lost, too. Do you know how far the Gailes estate is from here?”

  “Seven miles at least.” He turned to her. “If you wish, I can go cross-country to find it. Or try to make it to Upton.”

  Sally shook her head. “What would that achieve?”

  “We’re alone in this house. I don’t want you to feel unsafe.” He moved behind her to help her take off her pelisse. When he leaned close enough for her to catch the clean scent of his skin, her ungovernable heart missed a beat.

  “I trust you,” she mumbled, trying to steady her breath.

  Of course she trusted him. He wasn’t interested in her.

  “Thank you. I appreciate that.” To her astonishment, he placed his hands on her shoulders and gave them an encouraging squeeze. “But you must know if word gets out about this, it will damage your reputation.”

  She made a dismissive sound and turned to face him, dislodging his hold. But the heat of his touch still sizzled through her veins and whispered temptation. “I’m a widow of advanced years and unsullied reputation. Nobody is going to question our actions.”

  “Devil take you, Sally.” He frowned as he tugged off his gloves and shoved them in his pocket. “I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

  “Do what?” She’d forgotten that it was dangerous to look into his face. He was close enough for her to see all the varied shades of brown in his eyes. And the thick black lashes shadowing them.

  For one lost moment, she swayed toward him, before sense asserted itself and she stepped away. Her knees felt horridly shaky.

  “Talk about yourself as if you were too old for scandal. You’re a lovely, sparkling woman and, believe me, if society finds out I had you to myself, the male half of the ton will be green with envy.”

  She started to laugh, but something in his expression quashed her amusement. “Sir Charles, I think you mean that,” she said in surprise.

  A muscle flickered in his cheek, and those toffee eyes focused somber and intent upon her face. “I’ve never meant anything more.”

  “You’re so kind,” she said wonderingly, suffering once again that powerful urge to lean into him.

  He caught her hand. The shock of his bare skin on hers shuddered through her like a lightning strike. “No, damn it, I’m not being kind.”

  She wanted to argue, but couldn’t summon the words. Having spent days avoiding the penetrating dark gaze, she stared up into his chiseled features and couldn’t look away even if an earthquake struck.

  “What have I done to offend you?” His grip on her hand tightened, and his expression turned urgent. “Lately you’ve barely given me the time of day. Whatever it is, let me make it up to you. I hate it when you’re cold to me.”

  Somewhere at the back of her mind, a voice screamed that he shouldn’t care, that she played no important role in his life. But that piercing gaze held her captive. And her awakening desire nailed her feet to the floor.

  It was intoxicating to have this marvelous man staring down at her, as if nothing else in the world existed.

  “You haven’t offended me. How could you?” She licked dry lips and watched his eyes flicker down to the betraying movement. With a desperate attempt to return to something like their usual interactions, she said, “I don’t think you should be holding my hand.”

  He didn’t let her go. “I like it.”

  “So do I,” she admitted, before she questioned the prudence of honesty.

  “Sally—”

  “And I don’t think you should call me Sally.”

  “For God’s sake, call me Charles.”

  Urgency roughened his deep baritone and made her shiver with longing. She’d been so wise to avoid his gaze. Now that she stared up at him, she couldn’t stop.

  She’d never before realized how many shades of brown there were in the world. Honey. Russet. Deep, dark brown. Burnt caramel. Gazing into Sir Charles’s eyes, she felt like she drowned in hot treacle. What a splendid path to oblivion.

  Her hand trembled in his, but she still couldn’t summon the will to withdraw, when this might b
e her only chance to touch him. Her heart beat high and frantic in her throat.

  It was like being utterly terrified. Except somehow she wasn’t.

  She made a halfhearted effort to pull away, but didn’t get anywhere. “We’re alone here.”

  His lips flattened. “Believe me, I know.”

  “We should…we should try and remember the proprieties.”

  “Why?”

  She made herself blink, but still everything in this room except Sir Charles’s powerful form receded into unreality. She felt dizzy, and her unreliable knees threatened to collapse beneath her. Her grip on his fingers firmed, and she told herself, without believing a word of it, that she only held onto him because she was afraid of falling.

  “Because…”

  Heaven help her, she couldn’t think of a single reason. She fell back on repeating herself and knew in doing so, she lost the argument. “Because we’re alone.”

  His gaze sparked with the humor she’d noticed and liked from the first. Those fascinating lines around his eyes deepened. “All the more reason to seize my chance.”

  Had he edged nearer? The heat radiating from his large, masculine body made every hair on her skin stand up. A hot, heavy weight started to throb in the pit of her stomach. Her breath jammed in her throat, making her even more lightheaded.

  Heaven help her, she’d never felt like this before.

  “I think…I think I need to sit down. I’m not feeling at all well,” she said faintly.

  “Let me help you. You’re looking a little flushed.”

  She quivered with wanton delight as a powerful male arm curled around her waist.

  “Sir Charles…” She tried to make his name sound like a protest, but even in her own ears, it emerged like a sigh of surrender.

  “Charles.”

  She placed her hands flat on his chest and tried to ignore how broad and hard he was under her palms, like sun-warmed rock. “You should let me go.”

  “Never.”

  “This isn’t right,” she whispered. Her tight throat made speech almost impossible.

  Surely that couldn’t be desire in his eyes. If she’d come to terms with one thing during these last days, it was that he couldn’t possibly want her.

  “It feels right to me. Doesn’t it feel right to you?”

  “I…” She struggled to lie and say it didn’t. But the woeful truth was that she loved being this close to him. She loved the drift of his warm, musky scent, and the pressure of his large, capable hand against the small of her back. Especially when she’d never imagined he’d touch her like this. “I can’t see this as proper behavior.”

  Had he moved closer still? “I’m not doing anything that I haven’t done when we’ve danced.”

  “In a room full of people.” That large, capable hand firmed, curving her toward him.

  It would be so easy to succumb. She wanted him so much. In a final, desperate attempt to wrench herself back to bitter reality, she forced herself to mention the forbidden topic. “What about Meg?”

  His grip tightened on her waist, and hard as she tried, she could find no trace of guilt in his face. “To hell with Meg.”

  “What?” she stammered.

  “What about us?”

  She told herself to resist the press of his hand, but she felt her bones softening in surrender. “There is no us.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  The awful truth was she didn’t. She battled to muster further protest. The mention of her niece should have brought this always gentlemanly gentleman back to his senses, but his eyes only burned hotter as he surveyed her.

  “I…”

  “You say you trust me, Sally.”

  “Of course I do,” she said quickly, even though right now she wasn’t sure that was true. “And don’t call me Sally.”

  He gave a soft huff of laughter. “I can’t call a woman I’ve kissed Lady Norwood.”

  “Ki…” She gulped for air and told herself to put this impudent fellow in his place. “But you haven’t.”

  “I’m getting ahead of myself.” His other large hand cupped the back of her head. Heat sizzled through her, stole what little air remained in her lungs. “You must forgive me.”

  Why the devil didn’t her legs work? One might almost imagine she stood here and agreed to let Sir Charles kiss her. “I won’t forgive you if you kiss me,” she whispered.

  She saw he didn’t believe her denials. Why would he? She certainly didn’t. The shameful truth was that if he didn’t kiss her in the next second, she’d shatter into a million pieces.

  “It will be worth it.” His face was now so near that his breath whispered across her lips like a promise of the kiss to come.

  The teasing delay was torture. She forgot everything except her need to feel that clever, sensual mouth on hers. Even if she was damned for it.

  She couldn’t contain a choked sound of yearning.

  Of course he heard the incoherent desire in the whimper. His brown gaze flared gold, then her eyes fluttered closed as his lips touched hers. With a sigh, she arched into him and parted her lips.

  His mouth was hard and purposeful, and the masterful contact shook her to the soles of her feet. She’d expected gentleness because he was a kind, considerate man, a civilized man. But he kissed her as if he wanted to devour her.

  Sally made a muffled sound of astonished delight and kissed him back with every ounce of secret longing in her heart.

  His arms lashed around her, crushing her to him. When she’d stared into his eyes, she thought she’d come close to drowning. She’d had no idea. A towering wave of sensual enjoyment overwhelmed her, destroyed all capacity for thought, banished fear of scandal, made her a slave to her clamoring senses.

  His hands moved up and down her back, and he tugged her against him so she felt the hammer blows of his heartbeat. She also became aware of his blatant arousal.

  His unabashed desire excited her, fed her own desire. Shamelessly, she pressed into him. On a surge of excitement, she dug her fingers into his head to deepen his kiss.

  She couldn’t bear for this to end. She couldn’t bear to go back to being lonely and unwanted.

  Charles wanted her. She could have no doubt of that. His tongue swept into her mouth, making her moan in welcome. The next time he did that, she tentatively met him, fluttering her tongue against his.

  He groaned and gathered her higher, cradling her between his thighs, making no secret of his need. Her core ached for that hard weight to fill her, pound into her, claim her as his.

  With a groan, he staggered forward until her back hit the wall. She gasped into his mouth, and he raised his head to look at her.

  Perhaps even then, if she hadn’t met his eyes, she might have doused the conflagration building between them. If she’d seen a trace of triumph in his face, she’d have found the strength to pull back.

  But what she read in his expression sliced straight to her yearning heart. He looked tender and desperate and eager.

  She knew he asked her a question. However silently. A question that flew in the face of her duty, and her virtue, and all her plans for the future.

  Staring up into his face, her only answer could be yes.

  She summoned a shaky smile and ran one hand from his shoulder to where his heart thundered with desire for her. “Charles…”

  When he heard her say his name, his lips curved in an answering smile that brought out those beguiling dimples. He touched her cheek with a tenderness that matched the tenderness in his eyes.

  This time, in his kiss, she felt reverence as well as hunger. Sally’s husband, the only other man to touch her carnally, had never treated her as if she was anything special. Charles was shaking with need. The last vestiges of her resistance melted away to nothing.

  When Charles stroked her breast, she made a husky sound of encouragement.

  “Lovely.” His thumb flicked a nipple beaded with arousal.

  A searing thrill ripped throug
h her and stoked that restless, heavy feeling between her legs. “Yes, lovely,” she sighed.

  Charles placed his other hand on the wall near her head and kissed her again. This time his kiss was sweet. At least at first.

  Soon she was clinging to him and sucking his tongue deep into her mouth. He tasted like heaven. Male and powerful and hot. She ran her fingers through his thick brown hair and gave it a subtle tug to tell him not to stop. When he squeezed her breast, she cried out.

  Abruptly he raised his head and tugged her away from the wall. With an easy strength that made her heart cartwheel, he swung her up into his arms and carried her through to the next room where a chaise longue stood near the unlit fire.

  Sally sucked in a quivery breath as he laid her down. She tried to tell herself they’d gone far enough. She should stop him now before they did anything irrevocable.

  But as she saw him standing over her in the shadows, she couldn’t gather the words to banish this spell that held them captive. She’d never felt so alive as she did when Charles kissed her. The thought of returning to her cold, lonely life made her stomach cramp in horrified denial. Nobody there kissed her as if it was a matter of life and death.

  She might never have another chance to experience pleasure, to give herself to the man she wanted above all others. It asked too much of a mere mortal to reject the exquisite gift of his passion.

  Right now, this magnificent man wanted her. She meant to have him, whatever it cost her.

  She sat up against the arm of the chaise and stretched out her hand. “Come to me, Charles.”

  * * *

  Chapter Ten

  * * *

  Even through the rush of rising excitement, Charles knew he should question this sudden capitulation, this quick switch from distance to desire. He should slow down, declare his intentions, inquire after Sally’s, gain some commitment that her consent meant to her what it meant to him.

  But he’d spent endless weeks longing for her, separated from her by a pane of glass he couldn’t shatter. To have her with him now, warm, welcoming, willing, how the devil could he pause and take stock before proceeding?