by Sahara Kelly
He clinked the snifters together. “Here’s to you boring me, Charlie. It’ll never happen, but you’re welcome to try.”
He grinned and took a swallow, waiting for her to begin.
Charlie swirled the liquor and let the fumes tickle her nose, then took a small sip. It burned, but warmed her as it spread through her system.
“I was married when I was very young to an older gentleman.” There, the story had begun.
As if the brandy had loosened her memory and her tongue, more words began to flow.
“It was, of course, an arranged marriage. But the arrangements were such that I had no recourse but to wed. My father had been somewhat imprudent in his financial affairs, and I was the surety offered against his debts. It was either marry this man or lose everything we had.”
Charlie took another sip of the brandy. She felt, rather than saw, Jordan’s gaze fixed on her.
“My mother had died less than two years before, and this had hit both my father and I very hard. We were both lost without her, and my father especially. I don’t think he ever really recovered from the loss.”
There was so much she was not saying. Would he know?
Could Jordan possibly imagine the pain of losing one’s mother to illness, only to subsequently lose one’s father to a broken heart?
She sighed.
Jordan gently stroked her hair away from her face. “I’m sorry, Charlie.” His touch brought her back to the moment and gave her the courage to continue.
“Well, the outcome was already decided. I married, left home, and became the new wife of…of this man.”
Now she must be cautious. There must be no slip of the tongue, no whisper of a name. She felt that Jordan would want the entire story, so she would give him the entire story. The edited version of the entire story.
“As I mentioned, he was older. By some several decades, as it turned out. He had no heirs, and looked upon me as his last chance to breed some.”
Jordan made a disgusted sound.
“It’s not uncommon, Jordan. Let’s be quite honest here, many marriages are arranged for just that purpose.”
Jordan lowered his head in agreement. “That doesn’t mean I have to admire the practice,” he growled.
“True,” acknowledged Charlie.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, go on. You married him?”
“Yes.” She bit her lip as she wondered how to deal with the rest of the story. “It is difficult to talk about, Jordan. I have not shared this with anyone except Matty, and I don’t know why I feel I want to tell you now, but I do…”
Charlie turned in Jordan’s lap and looked at him, knowing her gray eyes were probably asking too much of him.
God, could he ever understand?
* * * * *
Jordan’s gut was cramped. He had horrible visions of Charlie being used sexually by a vicious old man. He knew she needed to share these things, but had no clue where he was going to find the strength to handle them.
He did know, unequivocally, that he’d kill anyone who hurt her. Without a second thought.
“Tell me, Charlie. It’s all right. Just tell me.” He hugged her again and urged her on.
Her voice was steady and low in the quiet room, accompanied by the regular ticking of the clock.
“My…my husband, it turned out, was impotent. No matter what he tried, whatever he made me do to him, or what devices he employed, he was unable to…to impregnate me.”
“Ah.” Jordan’s mind whirled with visions of Charlie forced to her knees or worse. His teeth locked.
“This was, of course, a great tragedy for him. He had a mistress, who could, apparently, satisfy him. But such a union had never resulted in a child. He even…” She swallowed, “He even brought her into the bed with us, in the hopes that seeing the two of us together might bring him to the point of release within me.”
She reached for her brandy and took a large gulp, as if washing a bad taste away from her mouth.
“It failed. Miserably. I bore the brunt of the blame from both of them for his failure. Then he had another idea.”
Jordan could feel her body as it tightened on his lap. “You don’t have to go on if you don’t want to, love,” he said, holding her close to him.
She wriggled a little and tucked her head under his chin. The movement caused a bolt of hot lightning to pierce a place deep in his body. Somewhere that nobody had ever touched before. He wanted to explore this new sensation, but she was speaking again, quietly, against his chest.
“His desire for an heir was desperate to the point of madness, I think. He kept talking about ‘a child of my body’ inheriting his legacy, and before long the expression triggered the idea that my producing a child was sufficient.”
She took a deep breath.
“He had his valet attempt to succeed where he had failed.”
“Dear God.” Jordan tried to be horrified, but in point of fact, it was not an astoundingly surprising tale. Such things had been hinted at many times in the past where large legacies were at stake.
“His valet was a big and uncouth man, and he seemed to take great pride in the fact that he’d, as he put it, ‘tupped the Master’s bitch’. The worst part was that I was not very willing to participate. My…my husband held me down as his valet did his work for him. He made me sort of lie on his lap while his valet…did…things…It hurt.”
Her voice tapered off and the clock ticked for a minute or so into the silence.
“Anyway,” Charlie’s voice regained its normal level of control. Her moment of weakness had clearly passed. “Within a few weeks, he died. I managed to come to London, learned that I had inherited the Crescent, and made a new life for myself. And there you have it. The rather uninteresting life story of Char…Charlie.”
Jordan held his breath, fighting to control his anger and the nausea that overcame him at the thought of Charlie being so abused. No wonder she had developed such an intimidating level of self-control. And no wonder she’d succumbed to shock after encountering Ponsonby’s violent attack. Several things now made sense to Jordan, and the knowledge of what she’d suffered pained him more than he could have imagined.
“Where does Mistress Matty fit in?” he asked, more to give himself time to recover than from any great desire to know.
“Dear Matty,” smiled Charlie. “She was going to be my maid when I made my come-out, my mother had been training her for just that purpose. But then, after mother died, we became closer than just maid and mistress, and I fought tooth and nail to have her accompany me as my companion after my marriage. “
Jordan felt calm enough to reach for his brandy. His teeth still chattered slightly against the crystal.
“So she was there, thank God, to help me through the worst of it, and it was she who got me to London after the…after he died. I just wanted to disappear. It turned out that everybody thought I was dead too, so we decided to leave it that way. It worked out very nicely.”
“And Mistress Matty’s burns?”
Charlie raised her head. “You noticed them? Yes, of course.” She turned away from him. “There was a fire. Matty managed to escape but was burned during her flight.”
“Rumor has it that you were burned too, Charlie.” Jordan made the statement quietly, with no emotion.
“I have a scar, yes, Jordan. I’m surprised you didn’t see it earlier.”
Jordan coughed. “If it wasn’t on your breasts or any of those places driving me crazy, I probably wouldn’t have noticed if you’d had the flag of the House of Hanover painted somewhere.” He grinned apologetically.
Charlie moved to get off his lap.
“Whoa, where are you going?” He held her tight.
“I want to show you.” She slid from his arms and turned her back on him, undoing the tie at her waist.
With one hand she pushed the fabric behind her, holding it away from the smooth sweep of her left buttock.
There, into the soft white flesh, was bur
ned a brand. The letter “C”, in the medieval illuminated style.
“My dear God.” Jordan was aghast.
“It doesn’t hurt now. I like to pretend it’s more like a tattoo. Rather like those sailors who come home from wonderful foreign lands with marks on their bodies. I saw some once at the Crescent.”
Jordan’s eyes had never left the mark on her sweet bottom. Obeying some inner impulse, he leaned forward and ran his tongue gently over the scar. Then he pressed a kiss on it, and lowered his head even more, taking a small nip from the fleshy part of her cheek.
Her shiver was reward enough.
“Why, Charlie? Why did that animal brand you?”
She covered herself and took her seat in his arms again. It was a natural act of trust that told Jordan more than all the life stories she could have rolled out for him.
Another little part inside his body flickered to life.
“I believe he felt it was important to make me understand that I belonged to him. I was his property as much as the cattle he branded for his dairy farm or the sheep he raised for their wool. He wanted me to know that he could do with me as he pleased. Or have done to me whatever he pleased. I was not, in the early days of our marriage, very compliant with his wishes.”
Charlie’s eyes were downcast modestly as she made this announcement, and Jordan’s lips kicked up.
“Bit of a handful, were you?”
A delightful grin spread over her features, bringing a quite unsuspected dimple to one cheek and a matching smile to Jordan’s face. He was entranced.
“Well, I wouldn’t like to agree too much, but I certainly didn’t understand the concept of having a ‘place’ and staying in it.”
Jordan laughed, holding her close. This was one extraordinary woman. He felt her laugh with him, and noticed the yawn that followed.
They’d had no dinner, only brandy, but it was now going on for nine o’clock, and he had no doubt in his mind that his Charlie was exhausted.
“Time to tuck you into bed, Charlie.”
She tensed in his arms.
“Alone, my sweet. Not by my choice, but because I think you still need to rest. And if I were with you, near that delectable body of yours, neither of us would rest. At all. Not only for this night, but for many nights to come…” In fact, for the rest of our lives…
The words dashed through Jordan’s mind and brought him up short. He frowned as Charlie quietly slid from his arms and allowed him to help her back to her bed.
The room had been tidied, the covers turned down, and a single candle burned.
“Thank you Jordan.” Her words were sleepy, and her eyes warm as she looked at him. “For everything.”
“It was my pleasure, Charlie. And we’re not done yet. Not by a long shot.”
He just touched her lips with his, and then blew out the candle.
She was asleep before the flame died.
Chapter Twelve
Over the next few days, life settled into a sort of routine for Charlie, as she remained at Calver House.
There had been a couple of odd incidents reported against guests of the Crescent, and one girl was convinced she had been followed while running some errands. There were enough unanswered questions to make Jordan uneasy and absolutely positive that keeping Charlie under wraps was a good idea. Matty was in complete agreement with his position.
Charlie had been given free rein within her suite, and had set up her desk to resemble a small office. She kept quiet and busy, and had few visitors, except Matty and Jeffreys, her newfound friend.
As for Jordan, since the night he’d shown her what passion between a man and a woman could be about, he’d stayed scrupulously correct in his behavior and they’d not been alone for a moment.
Charlie couldn’t decide whether to be pleased or sorry. Although she did privately admit to herself that she was rather relieved. The tranquil period allowed her to regain a measure of her self-possession, and to overcome her regrets that she’d shared so much of her intimate thoughts and feelings with him.
However, she was aware that a degree of calmness had settled over her mind and, to be honest, her heart. As if by releasing some of her memories, she had shed the burden of disgust that she had carried for so long.
Confident that she’d betrayed nothing of a personal nature, she was able to respond politely and appropriately to Jordan when he made his occasional visits, and to chat comfortably with Matty during the afternoons when the older woman made her daily reports and brought any new paperwork over.
Charlie and Jeffreys had immediately found an unexpected common ground—business. While Jeffreys had approached his master’s guest with a certain amount of caution and a great deal of curiosity, Charlie had immediately set him at his ease and begun to daintily pick his brains. By the end of their first hour together, both announced themselves wiser for the discussion.
Jeffreys’ admiration for Charlie’s uncanny financial acumen grew as he listened to her questions and watched her consider the answers. Charlie’s interest in the subject and her willingness to learn increased his burgeoning belief that this woman would have been a force to be reckoned with if she’d been allowed to take a seat on the Exchange. As it was, both parties benefited enormously from their times together, and both looked forward to the chance to discuss financial matters that were of mutual interest.
By Saturday, however, Charlie was getting itchy feet. It was time for her to get back to the Crescent, back to her real work, and out of Jordan Lyndhurst’s realm of influence.
“Just another few days, Charlie, that’s all we’re asking.” Matty sat next to the window, enjoying the sunshine.
Charlie paced the floor. “This is becoming frustrating.”
“In what way, love? This is a charming house, you’re in a perfect suite, you have everything you need?”
“Did you know that these were the Earl’s rooms, Matty? Jordan put me in his own suite?”
“Well, I rather guessed as much, but what does it matter? It’s not as if you’ll be here forever. Just a few more days.”
Charlie felt an unusual thump around her heart at Matty’s words. She paced again.
As her steps took her back and forth, her sense of discomfort grew. She was terribly afraid that she didn’t want to leave.
That she wanted to be near Jordan Lyndhurst as much as possible. With as few clothes between them as possible.
The words he’d used to seduce her into her climax haunted her on a nightly basis, and she was tired of waking up trembling, aching and alone.
She was ready to experience some more bliss.
Her eyes wandered to the paperwork that lay scattered across her desk. Matty was chatting about something or other, but Charlie’s mind refused to pay attention to anything but the growing notion that she was developing feelings for the Earl of Calverton. Feelings that she had no business with, feelings that were as inappropriate as they were risky.
Feelings that might make her act like the whore the world thought her to be.
She silently chided herself for that last thought. Jordan had never intimated that he thought her to be any less than a lady, even when he was goading her at their first meeting. His manners had been exemplary, and his behavior—well, certainly not that of a man and a prostitute.
In fact, she could be forgiven for thinking he might cherish a certain amount of tender emotion towards her. After all, he had spent much time caring for her, and then there was the cuddling before the fire, and the talking, and all the time his hand had run through her hair, soothing, gentling…
Her loins began to ache and she could feel herself growing damp between her legs. This would never ever do.
Jordan Lyndhurst, the Seventh Earl of Calverton, was off limits. For at least a hundred and fifty reasons, but most of all because of who she was now. Madam Charlie of the Crescent.
Any liaison between two such people would be extraordinarily scandalous and damaging to Jordan. For her part, notoriety
like that might well help her business, but at what price?
Was she willing to risk a broken heart and a permanently destroyed reputation for the chance at more “bliss”? Could she countenance becoming his mistress and sharing his bed, but nothing more?
At that moment, Jordan walked into the room to tell Matty that the carriage was ready.
Charlie looked at him, so strong, so handsome, so much a man.
Did she have the courage to submit to her desires? To pull him down to her and beg him to do with her whatever he wanted? Did she have the courage to admit to herself that she desperately wanted him, to know his arms and his body? Intimately? Was it just possible that he was the one man who could really make her “let go”?
* * * * *
Jordan marched into the room for what he was now coming to regard as his daily dose of torture.
Surely the Spanish Inquisition could have devised no worse punishment than to be in the same room with Madam Charlie and not touch her, strip her and take her. His cock was in a state of permanent arousal, riding had become exquisitely uncomfortable, and he was afraid that if he didn’t do something soon he was going to be pushed into lunacy by unsatisfied masculine need. He wondered if there was a ward at Bedlam specifically for men who suffered from unrequited lust. He wouldn’t have been surprised.
For lust was certainly all it was, he constantly reminded himself.
No matter that he’d never had the urge to hold a woman tight for hours before.
No matter that he’d never been so aware of a woman’s scent before.
No matter that he’d crept in and embarrassed himself by switching pillows, just so that he could sleep with the fragrance of her hair filling his nose all night.
No matter that every time he walked in to his suite and saw her again, his breath caught in his lungs and his heart gave an odd little stutter.
None of that mattered a whit. It was all lust. He wanted her naked, underneath him, and screaming. Clamping that hot, tight cunt around him until she milked his brains out along with his seed.
