Wildwood Flower (Desperate And Daring Book 8)

by Dayna Quince

  It was hers.

  She opened her mouth to speak then paused. This wasn’t a fight she was going to win, not with words. It would never matter what she said to these people, only what she did.

  She didn’t want to marry Edward. She wasn’t going to. Something shifted inside her. It no longer mattered what he did after their wedding, because there wasn’t going to be a wedding. She didn’t have to fear the date any longer. She had a month to plan a future that was far different.

  She met his gaze again. He was looking at Lord Shelding, who was talking about his beloved hops, but also checking on her welfare. Her whole body warmed with the pleasure of it.

  She held his gaze, imparting the confidence she now felt.

  His eyes sparked with something, and then he looked away.

  * * *

  Lady Shelding and Charlotte returned to the drawing room after dinner while the men had port.

  “We will need to find a suitable dress for you,” Lady Shelding said as she picked up her needlework. “You cannot wear black.”

  Charlotte considered that. Was she ready to enter half mourning? She looked down at her drab dress. Yes. She was. She felt lighter now. It was time for lighter clothing. “I may have some clothing remaining at Wildwood in the attic.”

  “Old dresses?”

  “I certainly don’t have funds to buy new ones,” Charlotte returned. She cautioned herself. She couldn’t let her mouth run away without her just because she was feeling a bit spry.

  “You can wear something of mine,” Lady Shelding suggested.

  Charlotte held her tongue. There was no way Charlotte was going to fit into Lady Shelding’s clothing. The woman was a full head taller than Charlotte and as thin as a rail. “I should still fetch my old clothing for everyday wear, now that I’m coming out of full mourning.”

  Lady Shelding nodded. “Yes. But you should purchase new things with your dowry once it becomes available to use. Edward will not mind.”

  Charlotte’s eyes widened. “I don’t have a dowry.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Lady Shelding set her needlework aside. She seemed genuinely astonished.

  “My only dowry is Wildwood and the land it sits on.”

  Lady Shelding squinted at her. “That doesn’t sound right. I remember your father mentioning an amount to Lord Shelding years ago.”

  Baffled, Charlotte shrugged. “And then he spent it.” This was the most honest conversation she’d ever had with Lady Shelding. “At this moment, the hops growing on Wildwood should belong to me, but no doubt I won’t see a ha’penny of the profits.”

  Lady Shelding shook her head. “I never knew you were penniless. I thought you had more to offer my son.”

  Charlotte clenched her teeth. She didn’t respond to the jab but instead looked away. It was pointless to try to explain to such a woman. How could she be so blind and accepting? She acted as though every word from her husband’s and son’s lips were gospel.

  “I do believe I am tired after a long day helping Pastor Franklin with his sewing charity. I will retire now.” Charlotte stood. “Good evening, my lady.”

  “Good night.” Lady Shelding didn’t look up from her needlework.

  Charlotte escaped to her room, changing into her boots and cloak. She had no intention of going to bed yet, not when Thorn was so close. After the travesty he witnessed in the drawing room, she wanted to assure him she was fine. Dinner had been uneventful, with Lord Shelding and Thorn filling most of the conversation. It was odd seeing Lord Shelding so talkative and friendly.

  Charlotte waited in her room for a bit, but then decided to head outside, where she could listen from the side garden. She wouldn’t be able to see, but she could hear when the front door would open and close. It was nearing eleven when she left her room, but as she waited, she lost track of time. It felt like she waited forever until she heard the sound of the carriage coming around from the stables.

  “I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience, but I think I shall walk.”

  She heard his voice and Dules’ baritone reply, giving directions to Thorn. Charlotte hurried away to the back garden where she could intercept him without being seen. There was a pergola in the back just before the wall that separated the formal garden from the open heath. It was covered with ivy. In the shadow of the pergola and the wall, she waited, barely able to see her hand in front of her face.

  Footsteps echoed along the gravel path. As he drew closer, she stepped out, just enough to be seen by him.

  “Thorn,” she whispered. A half second later, she feared it might not be him. He paused and turned, the moonlight falling on his face.

  She sighed.

  He closed the distance between them.

  “Are you mad?” he whispered, but his arms came around her and pulled her into the warm shelter of his body. They melted back into the darkness.

  “I had to see you.”

  “You can’t see me here. It’s pitch black.”

  “You know what I mean. I was worried for you.” She nuzzled into his chest.

  “About me? It was you who endured the abuse.”

  “I know, but tonight was so very different. For once, I didn’t feel it. I was so scared before, but tonight I realized something.”

  “What?” he asked as he brushed a kiss over her hair.

  Her heart fluttered, and she felt so light she could float into the air. “I realized that it doesn’t matter what they think. It doesn’t matter if they read the banns or plan a wedding for the eleventh. She can choose my gown—dress me in goose feathers if she wants—because I won’t be there. I’m free. I can plan a future of my choosing.”

  “I think you’d look very attractive in goose feathers.”

  She swatted his back softly. “You’re not listening.”

  “I am and I understand.”

  “You do?”

  “I half expected you to stand and declare it right there in the drawing room.”

  “That wouldn’t have been wise.”

  “No.”

  “What I realized, as Edward spoke of visiting a brothel on our wedding night—”

  He snorted.

  “Was that I didn’t have to argue. Arguing with them would get me nowhere. I can just leave. I will write to my uncle and leave.”

  “You think it will be that simple? Nothing ever is.”

  “No, it won’t be simple, but there is no other way. I will not marry him.”

  “I am happy to hear it.” His chin, roughened with his evening beard, brushed her jaw and then his lips found hers.

  Joy arced through her body. He was happy she wasn’t marrying Edward, the way he touched her, his hands holding her tightly, his lips brushing against hers. He made her feel precious, wanted. How could this not be love? How could this be anything less than what her heart was crying out? She clung to him, her knees weak, and her emotions in rampant hysteria. She was falling fast, all logic and reason evaporating as she gave into the pulsing waves of pleasure and joy. She was in love, and he felt the same or something like it. He had to. He was risking so much for her sake. She pulled back. She needed to see his face and know what deeper feelings lurked behind his magnetic eyes.

  But it was too dark. His face was in complete shadow. Around them, she could see very little detail: the ivy leaves, the velvet dark sky, and the moon above them, shining weakly. But then points of light started to appear. Lighting bugs, one by one turned on their glow. Charlotte watched in amazement. She felt apart from everything again, far from Shelding manor, their own special world.

  “Charlotte?” He nuzzled her neck.

  She sucked in a breath. She never wanted this moment to end, but as cool air touched her neck, her cheeks, she could feel the doubt brewing. She wanted him, she wanted to stay with him. She wanted to love him and have him feel the same. It was September. The harvesting had begun. She knew he never meant to stay here.

  “Thorn?”

  “Yes, my sweet.” His lips made a
dainty trail of licks and sweeps to the edge of her bodice. She closed her eyes for a moment, her body beseeching for more.

  “When are you leaving?”

  He stilled. The air changed. A cool breezed invaded their shared heat as he moved back.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “But you are leaving, aren’t you?”

  He was quiet for a moment. His hands brushed her arms up and down in light caresses.

  “My home is in America. In upstate New York, in the Mohawk valley.”

  She desperately tried to hide her disappointment, but it rushed her like a rogue animal. “What is it like?”

  She could sense his amusement.

  “Nature is a bit more aggressive there, but we endure. The winters can be harsh and the summers scorching. But it’s home. I’ve lived there since I was born, and I intend to die there.”

  “Oh.” She dropped her head. Hope deserted her. Whatever she may dream, her Thorn would never be truly hers.

  He tipped her chin up, but she was confident he could not see her face.

  “Will you miss me?”

  “You know I will.”

  But there was something left unsaid, because her heart was already whispering unspeakable things to her. Things like, stay for me, marry me, love me.

  “But I won’t be leaving until the brewery is finished or at least close to it. We still have some time left.”

  And she would need every second of it to cherish him, to cherish this love for him. And more importantly, prepare herself for the inevitable heartbreak. He was probably used to it, but Charlotte was not.

  “Just hold me and kiss me.” She sighed as she stepped into his arms again. She didn’t want to think about the end, not if it was going to ruin the present. She had a lot to consider, like how she was going to break her betrothal to Edward and contact her uncle. She hadn’t posted a letter in ages, not since she suspected that they were being read and not sent. They had tried to cut her off from the world, but here she was, ready to rebel in every way possible to free herself.

  He kissed her, but Charlotte wanted more, she wanted to forget about the future, forget about the past, and only live for right now.

  His kiss grew rougher, his hands moving to her hips and holding her hard against him. Yes, her body cried. More is what it wanted. She shoved her hands inside his coat, eager to feel as much as she could. She would need these memories to last forever.

  “Charlotte…” He groaned her name. It sent a thrill through her, hot and vibrant. Her skin burned, the only relief came from his hands. She didn’t want soft and gentle, she wanted to feel craved, to feel as though she and only she could satisfy him, because that was what he was to her. He was her ultimate prize, her Thor, the keeper of her heart. She wanted to give everything to him. She would have no regrets, not when her life was already filled with it, filled the sorrow of doing everything she was told, and none of it what she wanted.

  She wanted him, she wanted this, she wanted it all.

  “Thorn, please,” she begged. She didn’t know the words to demand what she needed. She couldn’t find the names for her feelings. For the fire spreading through her body, greedy and hungry. She only knew that he could give it to her, he and no one else.

  She tugged at his coat and shirt, needing skin under her hands, to feel the hard muscle she knew lay underneath. She wanted to touch it with her hands and mouth.

  “Christ, Charlotte,” He ripped away and tore off his jacket, spreading it on the ground.

  Charlotte’s hands went to her cloak; she laid it over his jacket, making a crude bed for them. She sat first, and then lay back and made a silent plea.

  He stood there for a moment then removed his waistcoat and slowly lowered beside her. He leaned over her and tucked her hair behind her ear.

  “This is dangerous.”

  “I don’t care. I’ve lived too long in fear, I won’t fear this. I’ve never wanted anything more.”

  “I won’t… I can’t take—”

  She reached up and brought his head to hers. She couldn’t let him think anymore. She forced her tongue inside his mouth, and he groaned, his rigid body softening and molding to hers. She curved into him, unbuttoning his shirt at the throat and reaching in to touch the corded muscles of his neck. Her nerves jumped, desire singing inside her as she tasted sweet success. His hands returned to her hips, moving around her to cup her bottom and pull her tightly against him. She could feel his ardor, astonishment quickly fading to pleasure as the pressure of his manhood against her made her feel like stars were bursting inside her. She couldn’t explain her body, its desires to get closer, to feel his in unusual ways, to toss her leg over his. But somehow, he knew. A testament to his experience and her innocence. He yanked her dress up, freeing her legs. She hitched her knee over his hip, bringing his hard length tightly against her.

  The feeling was so intensely delicious that she moaned and then squirmed closer, chasing it over and over. His hand came to her thigh, rubbing her leg from knee to hip under her bunched skirt, then swooped inward. She would have startled if she hadn’t been so focused on the magnificent feeling between her legs. It would not be ignored. It demanded more pressure, more of him.

  This must be how women found themselves seduced. It was a rabid addiction, this pleasure. There was nothing else she wanted more.

  His fingers touched her lightly. She jerked. They tangled in her curls, surprise and delight chasing away any fear she might have. His thumb brushed over her mons. The place that had been so deliciously tortured by the hard ridge of his manhood was now being expertly toyed with by his hand.

  Charlotte tossed her head back. She’d never felt such intense pleasure, never knew that this was what happened between a man and woman.

  She briefly wondered why most married couples seemed so unhappy. They were given free license to do this as much as they wanted! Why weren’t there more children in the world?

  His hand changed position, the heel rubbing along her mons as his fingers explored the leaves of her womanhood. Carefully, he tested the entrance of her body and then inserted one finger.

  Charlotte felt a moment of panic, but it was quickly overridden by the exquisite pressure of his hand reeking glorious havoc on her body. She bucked against him, chasing the crazed sensation that swelled and ebbed with the movement of his hand. He entered her again, this time with two fingers. It was too much, she felt stretched, and then she fractured. She closed her eyes, stars bursting behind her eyelids as the pleasure pierced like a sword, but there was no pain, only sweet heaven.

  She sighed and shuddered against him as his hand slowed and then disappeared. He lowered her skirts and her knee, but their feet tangled together. She was not ready to be bereft of his warmth and closeness. She wanted to melt into him, to fuse herself to him.

  But she would never say such a thing. It sounded ridiculous enough in her head.

  “Sweet Charlotte.” He kissed her lips. “Open your eyes.”

  “No.”

  He chuckled. “Why not.”

  “If I do then it’s over. You will leave, and I’ll have to go back inside.”

  “There is always the promise of tomorrow.”

  “Will I see you tomorrow? Captain Pruitt knows where we meet.”

  “Captain Pruitt has no power over what we do.”

  She wanted to repeat this experience tomorrow, but she wasn’t about to ask for it.

  “Then tomorrow.” She sighed and sat up as he did the same. He stood first and pulled her to her feet. He shook out their garments and wrapped her cloak around her.

  “Hurry to bed, now.” He hugged her close.

  She could feel his hardness still. She wanted to know him, to touch him as he had her. They had only so much time. She would make every second of it count.

  “Goodnight, Thorn.”

  He kissed her lips again. “Goodnight, Charlotte.”

  Chapter 14

  May 5th, 1823

  Dear Rose,<
br />
  I have been moved to Shelding Manor. They are our closest neighbor. Unbeknownst to me, Lord Shelding is now my acting guardian, which is bollocks because I am of age and don’t need a guardian. But nevertheless, here I am. I could not stay in my own home, I was told. I feel as though something isn’t right. I never knew he and my father were so close. I haven’t a place to argue because I have no means for which to support myself. I hate being helpless.

  Helpless and hopeless,

  Charlotte

  Charlotte woke the next morning eager to see Thorn. She briefly wondered if she should be embarrassed. Perhaps she would once she saw him, but for the moment, she was elated. Her body felt different. Whatever he’d done, either last night or over the past month, she felt remade, stronger. Like a butterfly that had cast off its cocoon.

  That sounded incredibly stupid, but she didn’t care. She felt happy. It was such a foreign feeling. She wasn’t going to allow herself to ruin it. She dressed quickly, the tender twinges between her thighs a sweet reminder of her new, wanton state. She was eager to be a fallen woman, and that was the simple truth. She didn’t know where life would lead her now. The future was a wide, open space full of infinite and daunting possibilities, but she was certain of one thing. She wasn’t given a choice with Edward. Until she was safely ensconced with her uncle, the fear of becoming his wife was still a specter on her shoulder.

  But she could choose now to give herself to Thorn.

  It wasn’t perfect. She knew their relationship was doomed to end in heartbreak. But she was going to squeeze a lifetime together in what little time they had left, complete with loving him, and giving that love to him with her body.

  Before the sun rose, she was out of the manor and running across the heath.

  * * *

  Thorn’s heart was racing as he reached the cabin. He hadn’t seen any smoke, it was still too dark, but as he drew closer, he could smell it. She was there, waiting for him. His gut clenched as he moved to the door.

  Christ, he was an idiot.