Robin, too, had taken the opportunity to freshen up and change his clothes.
Out on the toll road, when she slumped against his shoulder, he took control of his rampaging emotions. “Tired? We’ll reach the coaching inn before nightfall. The proprietor is a good fellow, and I’ve found it well run when I’ve stayed there.”
“A little tired, perhaps.” She smiled up at him and yawned behind her hand. “But so very happy.”
“Me too, my love.”
“I hope the portrait has been carefully packed. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to it.”
“I made sure the footman secured it properly.”
A slight frown creased her forehead. “It won’t be your official portrait, Robin. I would like someone else to paint it. You can have that done at some later time.”
“A family one, perhaps.”
“I’d like that,” she said, her voice trembling.
She was more emotional than he’d ever seen her. Tired out, with the rush to be married, and the uncertainty. Protective of her, he wanted to envelop her in his arms, to take care of her and keep her safe and happy forever. He hadn’t forgotten her independent spirit, however, which would make that difficult. They would have their battles, but they were for another day. His arm around her, he palmed her chin gently and raised her face to brush his lips over hers. “You might like to sleep awhile.”
“Mm.” She leaned into his chest, closed her eyes, and quickly fell asleep.
He settled the carriage rug over them both and watched the play of late afternoon sunlight flicker across her lovely face. Her delicate beauty would be ageless. Grateful to the depths of his soul that she trusted him enough to sleep in his arms, he stretched out his legs and closed his eyes.
“Your Grace?” Robin woke with a start. The footman had jumped off the back of the carriage and set down a step. It had grown dark, and the carriage lights were burning. They’d both slept through it. Charity stirred in his arms.
“We’re here, darling.”
She sat up and patted her hair. “I slept all the way! It must have been the champagne.”
The footman opened the door, and they stepped out into the inn forecourt as the ostler scurried over. The inn was well lit and welcoming, the warm brick walls covered in ivy. The proprietor greeted them at the door. “Your Graces, such a pleasure to welcome you to my humble establishment. Shall you require dinner? My wife has prepared a suckling pig, and she makes the best apple pie in this county.”
After she and Robin had a light supper in a private parlor, the maid showed them to their bedchamber. “Do you require my assistance, Your Grace?”
“No,” Robin said, answering for her. “That will be all, thank you.” He picked Charity up and strode inside then deposited her, giggling, onto the carpet. “Does this chamber meet with your approval?” he asked as the door closed.
The room was well furnished. A fire of fragrant apple wood burned in the grate warming the room.
Charity removed her hat and carelessly plucked the hairpins from her hair as she eyed the bed. She turned to look at him, her cheeks flushed. “It’s perfect.” Her glossy fair hair flooded over her shoulders in a dense waterfall.
He raised his hand to stroke a glossy lock. “As you didn’t bring your maid, may I assist you out of your clothes?” He shrugged out of his tailcoat, his fingers itching to do just that.
“My maid balked at leaving Tunbridge Wells,” Charity said. “She thought Northumberland was in another country.”
He ripped off his cravat. “There are plenty on my staff who could make do until you employ a lady’s maid.” He was speaking as if they would remain there. He wanted to hold on to that for as long as he could.
Charity slipped off her shoes and came to put her arms around his neck. “I’ve wondered how I’d manage this in bare feet.” She smiled, her fingers caressing the nape of his neck. “You’re so tall. But fortunately, I am tall as well.”
“We fit together perfectly,” Robin said, running his hands over her waist to grip her hips and pull her closer.
She threaded her fingers through his hair and tugged gently at his curls. “I’ve thought about this too,” she said with a small smile. “While I was painting you.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And what else did you think of when you were painting my portrait?”
She slipped her hands under his unbuttoned waistcoat and roamed across the planes of his chest encased in linen. “What you looked like naked.”
“Oh, did you?” He laughed and raised an eyebrow. “I thought only men thought of ladies that way.”
“So, you’ve thought of me that way?”
“I’m thinking of you that way, now,” he said huskily and turned her so he could undo her gown.
When she stood in a puddle of skirts and petticoats, in her chemise and stockings, Robin lost his breath. His gaze lingered on the curves of her breasts, where they pushed through the thin chemise, and the swell of her hips. He could see the soft outline of her sex at the juncture of her thighs. He began shedding his waistcoat and dragged his shirt over his head, dropping them to the floor in a pile.
“You have no valet, remember?” She began gathering the clothing up, giving him a view of a perfect heart-shaped bottom.
He grabbed the garments from her and tossed them onto a chair. In his trousers and stockings, with an already uncomfortable cockstand, he hefted her in his arms and strode to the bed and placed her on it.
She gazed at him expectantly with wide blue eyes. He could detect no maidenly concern, just a keen interest in his body, as he sat to strip off his boots then stood to undo the fall-front of his trousers.
“Oh!” Charity leaned back on the pillows. “I can’t paint you like that.” She contemplated his body. “But I will paint you. You are so beautiful, Robin.”
“You will not paint me naked.” Robin sat and removed her blue satin garters, peeling the stockings from her long, smooth thighs.
“You’re not going to be difficult about it, are you?” Charity’s smile told him he was going to give in sometime in the future.
He drew off her pantaloons then lay down beside her and silenced her with an urgent and exploratory kiss, his tongue plunging into her mouth. And when he kissed and nipped his way down her throat to tongue her pebbling nipples through her chemise, he was gratified to hear a soft moan and have her hands rake his hair in a distracted fashion. The ache in his groin deepened.
The chemise gone, she lay all pink and cream, with a vee of golden hair at the base of her gently curved stomach.
His gaze roamed her appreciatively. “I may commission an artist to paint you thus,” he said in a roughened voice, sliding his hands over her silky skin. He molded her breasts in his palms while he thumbed her rose-pink nipples.
“You wouldn’t,” Charity whispered, her breathing labored.
“What is fair for the goose…” He traced her bottom lip with his tongue and gave it a gentle nip.
His fingers sought the pearl within the silken folds of her sex and drew delicate circles. Charity moaned and wriggled. His mouth covered hers, devouring its softness. He could not hold off for much longer.
When Charity raised her hips to meet his hand, he eased a finger inside. She stilled. “It might be painful at first, sweetheart. But only at first.”
She nodded, her eyes dark violet, her breath quickening through her open lips.
Robin eased her thighs apart and settled himself at her entrance. He nudged forward, feeling her tense beneath him. Finding her moist and ready, he thrust inside her and groaned with pleasure. Finally, she was his.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Charity awoke, remembering Robin’s skilled lovemaking. she’d been carried away on a sensual cloud of pleasure. She stared into the fragile light of dawn, dimly aware of how different she felt. Pleasantly heavy with a sated warmth, and a slight tenderness between her legs, she was elated to have shared this extraordinary coupling with the man she loved.
She rested her chin on the palm of her hand and gazed lovingly at him asleep beside her, his dark hair tousled on the pillow. Reaching across, she lifted an edge of the blanket. He was sprawled over the sheet, completely relaxed, his long limbs stretched out, his wide chest with the smattering of dark hair rising and falling in a deep, gentle rhythm. Although she’d studied naked men in works of art, the reality was quite different. His warmth radiated along her side. One could never capture that with oils. There was dark hair on his legs and at the base of his stomach, where a man was shaped so differently from a woman. So perfectly made. She wanted to stroke over his skin again, skin that was surprisingly satiny to the touch, and feel the wonderful moving sculpture of his body, the play of muscle over strong bones, the weight of him. Would she wake him if she lightly caressed the hard, rigid muscle on his stomach?
“I hope you aren’t measuring me for a canvas.” He opened one grey eye, and his beautiful mouth gave the hint of a smile. “I shouldn’t like to disappoint you.”
“You are more beautiful than any painting I’ve ever seen.” Delighted that he was awake, she rested her chest against his, her cheek on his skin, drawing warmth from his body and breathing in his musky smell.
A hand stroked down her spine. “Are you well, my love?”
She lifted her head to gaze at him. “Perfectly. Actually more than perfect.”
He grinned and swept a lock of her hair away from her cheek. “That’s good to hear.” He yawned. “It’s dawn, but you should sleep a little more. You’ll be tired.”
“I can’t sleep. I keep thinking about what we’ll discover when we arrive.” She frowned. “I really want you to be the duke. It makes me sick in my stomach to think you may not be.”
“Darling!” He pulled her on top of him and settled her head against his shoulder. “It thrills me that you care so much. But we will be happy wherever we are.”
She knew he adopted bravado for her sake, so she merely nodded and closed her eyes. “You make a wonderful mattress.”
“I’m attempting to remain as soft and comfortable as I can.” He sounded doubtful.
She giggled. “You’re failing.”
“Oh, Charity. This is unwise. You might be sore.”
Her breath deserted her as she felt him stir beneath her. “I’m willing to try.”
He threw off the blankets. “Sit up, sweetheart. Straddle me.”
Robin helped her to mount him, and she moaned as she eased down, feeling him deep inside.
She rose and fell as her thoughts fragmented and his hands continued their hungry search of her body. His eyes grew heavy lidded, and he groaned when she quickened the pace. She loved having control. There was no pain. Instead, a coil tightened low in her stomach. When he touched her in that secret place, she threw back her head and cried out as exquisite pleasure radiated out and flowed through her belly.
“Charity!” Robin groaned and gripped her hips, driving into her until she collapsed down on top of him.
“This lovemaking is more interesting than I’d imagined,” she murmured against his chest while their rapid breathing quieted.
“I look forward to teaching you more, sweetheart. In fact, there’s a very interesting book in the library at the castle that we might read together.” Robin gently moved her to his side. “Now sleep; we still have a long way to travel.”
She smiled and settled drowsily against him, closing her eyes.
****
The carriage taking them home to Northumberland was now only a few miles from Harwood Castle. They hadn’t discussed what might await them there. Perhaps because they didn’t want to spoil the joy of being together. They’d stopped at two more coaching inns along the route, and those nights were even more blissful. Charity learned more of Robin’s body and what pleasured him most while a hot tide of passion raged through them both.
Now she must enter the castle as a duchess, and she was painfully aware that she had much to learn. Even if her stay there did not last long.
“If Madame’s claim proves to be true, what happens next?” She found the subject hard to raise, for it dampened the joy they both felt in each other’s company. But she needed to be prepared in order to help him.
“Madame Florence must petition the Lord Chancellor for a writ of summons to the House of Lords for the next session of parliament. She would then have to prove that she was legally married to my cousin and that the son was born after that marriage. And she has to prove that her son is a member of the Church of England.”
“But she would be Catholic.”
“But his father was not. In any case, the lad cannot take the title until he is twenty-one.”
She took his hand. “So what would happen in those intervening years? You’ll be appointed his guardian?”
“I shall have to consider all that in due course.” Robin’s fingers tightened around hers.
“Is that all?”
“Madame Florence would be asked to show why her son’s claim is better than mine.”
“But his would not be,” Charity said in a heated tone, her loyalty to Robin making her seek all avenues. “A duke must control hundreds of livings, appoint clergymen, not to mention maintain all his properties, and take his place in the House of Lords.”
He patted her cheek. “Have patience, sweetheart.”
When he tensed beside her, she sought to change the subject. “Did you notice that Chaloner attended our wedding without Lavinia?”
“Yes I did. Didn’t like to ask him why.”
Charity had no such compunction. She wanted to learn how Lavinia was. “She is having a difficult confinement.”
“This is her third child, is it not? One would expect it to go smoothly.”
“Not always. Especially in the early months.”
Robin’s gaze darkened. “I should not like you to suffer, sweetheart.”
She kissed him. “It is a woman’s lot. But such a joyous occasion. You have only to look at my niece and nephew. Are they not adorable?”
He smiled. “Yes, and with excellent lungs.” He frowned slightly. “Here we are.”
The carriage approached the castle gates. When she looked out of the window, her chest tightened, and she reached for Robin’s hand giving it a squeeze.
He smiled sorrowfully at her. “It will be all right, my love.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The carriage rattled along the gravel drive past the more modern dower house, built for Robin’s great-aunt after his uncle had married. There was no sign of Madame Florence and her son.
When the footman showed Charity to her suite, Robin sought out his secretary, his dog leaping joyfully at his side.
“I must congratulate you on your nuptials, Your Grace.”
“Thank you, Spencer. You shall meet my wife directly. Any news?”
“A letter arrived from France today, Your Grace.” He held it out.
Robin turned it over in his hands, would this be the end of his life as a duke. He sat down, patted Henry’s head, which rested on his knee, took a deep breath and tore the letter open. “Let’s see what it says.”
Mr. Sprog’s neat cursive covered the page. Robin read quickly. Then he sat back as the words sunk in and closed his eyes. “It seems, Spencer, that the marriage license required a signature from Madame Florence’s father to be valid, as she was underage. It appears my cousin forged it—the man was dead. This is what the solicitor has discovered, and it is easily provable.”
“That’s splendid news, Your Grace.” Spencer stood quickly. He came around the desk and offered his hand.
Feeling numb, Robin stood to shake it. “Thank you.”
“Madame Florence should be thrown out into the street for all the trouble she has caused,” Spencer said darkly.
“I don’t believe she understood any of this, Spencer,” Robin said thoughtfully. “Her eyes never lied to me.”
“Her Grace will be very pleased,” Spencer said.
“Yes, I
must tell her, but before I do, is there any other news?”
“There is correspondence for you to sign, Your Grace. But nothing urgent.” Spencer returned to his seat. “Lady Katherine Boothby has become engaged.”
“Kitty? To whom?”
“The Duke of Sheen.” Spencer’s mouth twitched.
Robin stared at him. “Sheen’s seventy!”
“Yes, and in poor health so they say.”
Robin shook his head. “Poor Kitty.”
He walked to the door. “Send a message to Madame Florence. I shall see her in the salon at three o’clock. And prepare a letter I shall give her. I’ll purchase a house should she wish it, either here or in France. The boy shall be educated at the best schools. I will also arrange for a stipend until he reaches his majority. It would be what my cousin wished. His dying wish I imagine, which is why he rushed into the marriage. He would have been quite aware that the marriage wouldn’t ensure that his son would inherit the dukedom—if he should have a son. He must have known his father would not live long, I imagine he hoped to send Florence to me for help.”
Robin took the stairs two at a time as the news sank in. They could spend their honeymoon in Italy. When he reached the landing, he had finally accepted the truth. He burst unceremoniously into his wife’s dressing room, where she was climbing out of her bath, with an open-mouthed maid holding the towel.
“I beg your pardon.” Robin retreated to the bedchamber, the vision of his wife’s flushed body in his mind’s eye.
Charity padded after him wrapped in a towel. She shut the door on the shocked maid. “What is it, Robin?”
He laughed and caught her up in his arms. “You’d best call me Harwood when in company, my love!”
“Oh, Robin!” She breathed his name and drew his head down for a kiss, the towel slipping to the floor. “You must tell me all!”
The Seduction of Lady Charity: The Baxendale Sisters Book Four Page 16
