Wildwood Flower (Desperate And Daring Book 8)

by Dayna Quince

  “Right here, right now I need you. Tomorrow I will reevaluate those risks against my needs, but for now….” She groaned. She was frustrated and desperate to touch him.

  He chuckled. “I want nothing more than to indulge your every want and need, but I have to be strong. For both our sakes.”

  “Is there nothing I can do to give you the same pleasure you give me?”

  He was silent. She hoped he was considering her offer. She prayed for it. She was going to hell for that prayer.

  He exhaled, his mouth twisting. “Well…” his grip on her wrist eased and abruptly Charlotte found her hand holding a hard, hot…. She didn’t know what to call it.

  “What do you call your…” She bit her lip. He smiled as he looked down at her. He curved his hand around hers and squeezed, moving her hand down and up the length of him.

  “Do you want the medical term or my personal name for it?”

  “Either.” She shrugged. “Both?”

  “Do you really not know?”

  “Do you think a governess would teach such a thing?”

  “Any medical tome would tell you.”

  “Our family library is sorely lacking in medical tomes.”

  He chuckled again, but it turned into a groaned as Charlotte adjusted her hand. “Yes, like that.”

  She brought another hand down and began to unbutton his trousers. He didn’t stop her this time. Hot and wild, his member leapt into her hands. She sucked in a breath. “Oh.”

  It was larger than she imagined, almost as thick as her wrist. Crisp, crinkly hairs brushed her knuckles as she repeated the movement he showed her.

  “Christ, Charlotte.” He moaned.

  “Is this good?” But she already knew the answer. His eyes had drifted shut, and his bottom lip trembled as she stroked him. He nodded in answer.

  His skin was so soft, buttery smooth. She looked down at him, circling one finger over the broad cap. “You still didn’t tell me the name.”

  His breathing hitched. “My cock.”

  “As in rooster?”

  “The very one. As in cocky, early to rise, eager for…”

  “And the medical term?”

  “A penis.”

  “Anything else?” She squeezed him as she slid her hand upward and a bead of fluid came out. She let go. “Did I do something wrong?”

  His laughter was pained this time. “No. Don’t stop.”

  She resumed her exploring, watching his breathing turn ragged, and the cock in her hands get stiffer and larger.

  “Charlotte, when a man”—he blew out a breath—“I’m going to come.”

  He groaned, rugged and course, catching her mouth in a voracious kiss. He gripped her hand, holding it still as his hips pumped against her. Hot liquid spilled between them. Charlotte wanted to see, but he held her captive with his mouth.

  “Oh, god, Charlotte.” He rolled away but kept her at his side, his chest heaving as he closed his eyes.

  “Was that the same as what you do to me?”

  “I hope so.” His voice was thick. He licked his lips, looking as though he had endured a great trial. It didn’t look at all the way she felt.

  She rested her head on his chest and sighed. She was sleepy again. He moved, grabbing his discarded shirt from the floor and cleaning them up. Then he tucked her back against his side.

  He didn’t speak and it made Charlotte feel uncertain, but then he hugged her tighter, and she forgot all about her uncertainty as she relaxed against him.

  She would never forget this night.

  Chapter 21

  September 8th 1823

  Father,

  You once told me it was a man’s duty to bear difficulty and strife with courage, with the immovable stubbornness of a mountain, with the unshakable confidence of a charging bear. Well…I am shaken. Doing the right thing has never felt so wrong before. By the time this letter reaches you I will likely be headed home. There will be much to tell you, most of which will not please you. I cannot bear to see it in writing. I hope I do not dishonor you.

  Christopher

  The morning came.

  Weak light filled the room, gloomy and quiet. Charlotte would have sat up and closed the curtains, but a heavy arm held her in place. She didn’t want it to be morning. She refused to acknowledge the arrival of tomorrow.

  She burrowed under his arm, closing her eyes once more. She would have gladly drifted back to sleep, but a knock on the door reverberated throughout the room, crushing the peaceful quiet. Christopher shifted beside her. “What is it?” he called out.

  “Shelding is here.”

  Dressing quickly, they didn’t say a word. He left before her, pausing at the door to give her a reassuring look. “I’ll handle this.”

  Charlotte was not reassured. If Shelding was here, then he’d found a way to hurt them. She wasn’t going to let Christopher face him alone. She hurried as she dressed, cursing her many layers when all Christopher had to do was throw on trousers, pants, and boots. She stood before the mirror and pinned her hair into a bun then raced to the drawing room. As she approached, she heard Christopher’s voice, sharp as a knife.

  “No deal. We want nothing to do with you.”

  Peeking around the door, she peered into the room. Shelding was pacing the windows and wearing the same clothing from last night.

  A pang of fear and guilt infused her. Was Edward dead? She stepped out from her hiding place, steeling herself against Shelding’s hateful gaze. She would not let him use fear to control her.

  Christopher came to her side. “You don’t have to be here.”

  “I want to be here.” She turned her attention back to Lord Shelding. “Is Edward alive?”

  Shelding glared. “Edward lives.”

  Charlotte exhaled with relief. She noted the other man in the room along with Captain Pruitt and James.

  “If you have any sense in that pebble-sized brain of yours, you will come with me now and marry him. I have a special license. We will see this business done once and for all. Your American lover has refused my offer to wed you and gain ownership of the land for himself. From where I stand, you’ve nothing left but marriage to my son.”

  Charlotte straightened. “No.”

  “No?” Shelding seethed. He bared his teeth. “Explain yourself.”

  “Again, no.”

  His eyes burned with rage. His head snapped back to Christopher. “I’ll ruin you both. Your beer, your hops will be nothing but gutter swill this side of the Atlantic. You will be the laughing stock of the brewing world.” Shelding spat.

  “Perhaps.” Thorn shrugged. “Perhaps not.”

  Lord Shelding turned three shades redder. He turned on Charlotte.

  “I’ll make sure you are never accepted in polite society again.”

  “I’m not even sure he’s accepted in polite society,” Charlotte whispered to Thorn.

  Shelding slammed his hand on the table. Thorn stood. “You asked, we answered. There’s no deal to be struck. Leave now.”

  Shelding blustered, drawing his weight up and puffing out his chest. “You don’t dictate to me, you common Yankee. I am a Peer.”

  “No one here cares,” Thorn returned.

  Shelding glared at Charlotte. She raised her chin. “You may leave now, Lord Shelding, but know that you are no longer welcome in this house ever again.”

  “I’m your guardian.”

  “I’m of age. I don’t need a guardian. Though I suspect you were never named my guardian to begin with. My uncle was my guardian, and he outranks you.”

  Lord Shelding sneered. “And he has two daughters to set up. He won’t tolerate the likes of you. You’re nothing but a common whore. Spreading your legs for…” He stopped, leaping back behind a chair as Thorn lunged at him. Captain Pruitt held him back.

  Charlotte put a hand on Thorn’s chest. “They’re just words.”

  He looked down at her. His eyes softened.

  “They only hurt if I let th
em, and I won’t let them. All he has is scornful words. He can’t hurt us anymore.”

  Thorn stilled. He nodded.

  Charlotte turned back to Shelding. “You’re a horrible person, and so is your wife and son. But I won’t stoop to your level and wish you ill. I only wish to be rid of you. This land will never be yours. Say what you want, run to my uncle and tell him how you tried to steal from me and force my hand. It won’t change anything. I’ve sent for my own solicitor. My uncle and any necessary authorities will be made aware of your doings.

  “You can make things worse for yourself, or you can walk away. The choice is yours, Lord Shelding.” She took a deep breath. “Now get out of my house. All further communications will be handled through my solicitor.”

  Shelding’s face twisted with rage. He snatched his hat from the table and stomped out of the room.

  Charlotte fell back against Thorn in relief. There was a collective sigh all around as Shelding slammed the door, and that was the end of their confrontation.

  “Well, I think that went well,” Pruitt said.

  “I hope I never see any of them ever again,” Charlotte murmured. She was tired now, exhausted by the entire exchange that had only lasted… She looked at the mantle clock, forgetting it had been sold long ago.

  “I’m going to make sure he leaves the property.” James hurried off.

  “And I will see to packing the rest of my things. Miss Angelwood, your house will soon be yours again,” Pruitt said.

  “You needn’t feel rushed to leave. I don’t know what I’ll do with a house all to myself.”

  “All the same.” He dipped his chin and exited.

  Thorn chuckled.

  “What?” she asked as they resumed their seats on the sofa.

  “He’s leaving us alone again, after all the lectures he gave me about staying away from you.” He shook his head in amusement.

  “Lectures?” Charlotte reached out, and he took her hand.

  “Like a frosty governess.”

  “I’m familiar with the type.” Charlotte smiled.

  He moved closer, his arm coming around her. It was so easy to lean into his side and pretend this was never going to end.

  But it was.

  Charlotte could feel the end rapidly approaching.

  “What will you do now?” she asked. She kept her voice light, as banal as if she’d asked about the weather. But she could feel the change in him, the subtle uncomfortable tension that touched the air around them.

  “We’ll prepare to depart. Return home with our tails tucked between our legs.”

  “What happens at home? Will your brewery be able to survive the loss?”

  He grinned. His easy smile caught her off guard. “Of course.”

  “But… I thought you’d be ruined.”

  “No. I lost a small fortune but nothing to cripple me. It was the opportunity that brought me here. There will be another or maybe not. Maybe I’m destined to only brew in America.”

  Charlotte looked down at her hands. “I’m glad.”

  He tipped her chin up and forced her to meet his gaze. “You don’t sound glad.”

  “I am. I thought that I’d ruined everything for you.”

  “No. You alone made this trip worth it.”

  It was a small consolation. She had her freedom, a tattered and irreparable reputation, but she had, at last, found love. And now he would leave her.

  “What of you Charlotte?”

  “I…I’m not sure. I hate to admit that Lord Shelding may be right about my uncle not wanting to help me, but I suppose I should try. His response to my letter will be telling. Word will spread and I will be cut, with or without Shelding’s help.”

  “You don’t sound as devastated as one might be in your position.”

  “I know. I’ve been living on the edge of society already. I don’t think much will change, really. It is freeing, but I could be wrong. I’ll face it either way.” Charlotte was astonished by her own words because she believed them. They weren’t superficial; they were real in her heart and in her head. She’d survived the worst, confronted the fear of facing Shelding, and here she stood, no worse for wear. She felt strong now, capable of withstanding anything.

  “Might you stay here?”

  “I can’t. I have no income. I can’t buy food or hire help. I’ll have to chop my own wood,” she quipped.

  He squeezed her hand. “Or…”

  Or? Her heart began to gallop at an alarming rate. Hope surged inside, bright and incandescent as a flame.

  “You could stay here, and live life as you choose, as my business partner. I’ll pay for a staff and enough left over for you to live on. In a year, the hops will grow back, and there is already enough drying to brew a modest batch to lure more investors.”

  Charlotte didn’t know what to say. Be his business partner? Her hope deflated, the flame sputtered to its death.

  Perhaps she wasn’t capable of withstanding anything, not when anything included a life without Christopher. Without being touched or held by him ever again.

  “Would you return on occasion?” she asked, her voice sounding small to her own ears.

  “Yes. Perry will stay here and tend the brewery. That was the plan from the beginning.”

  “How often would you return?”

  “Once a year, maybe twice, depending on my schedule.”

  That would not do for Charlotte. Every time she looked out at the hops yard, she’d think of him, and she’d be reminded of the distance between them. She’d be alone until the day he would arrive, only to leave again. Like a mistress.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t think I can do that.”

  “What?” He looked crestfallen.

  She stiffened under his arm and scooted away. “I don’t want to be your business partner.”

  “But you could earn an income, travel… You spoke of friends, are you worried they would reject you?”

  “No.” Charlotte was sure she could count on her friends to still be there for her, but that wasn’t the point.

  They had their own lives to live, full of love and family, and all the things Charlotte was only just beginning to taste. She wanted those things for herself. She wasn’t going to settle for a half-life of spinsterhood with the occasional affair when he returned. It was everything or nothing.

  She was going to fight for everything.

  She could see he was confused.

  “Well, at the very least I’d like to escort you to your uncle. I can’t leave you here destitute. I need to know you’re safe.” His eyes softened.

  He did care, she was sure about that. But did he love her, and if not, could he in the future? Shelding had said it. He could marry her and have her land, but he had refused on the grounds of not wanting to give Shelding anything. There was no room for negotiating that point, and Charlotte agreed. But what if he married her just for her? The land and house would be there, but she would be the prize for once.

  “I don’t want to go to my uncle.”

  He let out a huff of irritation. “Please tell me what you would like to do. It’s your choice, Charlotte. All you have to do is tell me what you want.”

  I want you. I want to be your wife. For no other reason than because I can’t live without you, and you can’t live without me.

  She swallowed the words. She hated the bitter taste. She was right back where she started. She couldn’t voice her own desires, right when it mattered most.

  “Charlotte?” He pushed.

  “I can’t discuss this right now.” She stood.

  “What is wrong?” He stood as well.

  “Everything.” She rushed from the room, out through the terrace door, and into a marvellous sunny morning.

  Chapter 22

  The dreary gloom had waned, revealing a bright blue sky. Charlotte headed for the woods, needing the cover of shadow and dark, moist air to calm her. She hiked up the slope into the woods, not looking back or forward. Her feet carried her deeper,
until she had to slow. Her lungs felt raw, the air like knives as she inhaled.

  “Charlotte?” He called from a distance.

  “No.” She whimpered and kept going, breaking from the woods and finding herself in the meadow where she’d first met him. She fell to her knees. “No,” she wheezed. Her legs wouldn’t carry her anymore. Her heart was broken, her body fatigued to the point of mutiny.

  She’d been running for so long now, slinking around like a mouse, hiding, waiting, and dreaming. Her father had warned her not to, but she’d dreamed any way. It had been her first rebellion. She’d never stopped hoping for love, dreaming of a life where her mother still lived, crops turned a healthy profit, and a gentleman would come and sweep her off her feet. She’d dreamed of Thor, the strong hero who could rescue her. Over time, her dreams had become outrageous. But then he’d arrived, better than any mythical god. A real man, flesh and blood. He’d shown her the true meaning of dreaming.

  Dreams are meant to inspire, to push. They feed hope, but they only take you so far.

  She was done dreaming. She had to wake up. The nightmare was over, and it was time to make a choice.

  She could hear his heavy breathing as he entered the meadow. She waited as he marched through the sweet grass to her. He came around her and fell to his knees in front of her.

  * * *

  Thorn dropped to his knees, relieved to have caught her at last. For such a small woman, she was quick as a frightened doe. He’d set out to chase her the moment she’d darted out the door, losing her in the woods for a moment. He’d stopped to think of where she might go. The cabin? No, she’d gone away from the cabin. A burst of startled birds revealed her path. He started running again, carefully avoiding exposed roots. The woods thinned, and he could see her drop to her knees in the meadow. His chest ached. He stopped in the shadows, watching her.

  If she had felt the need to run, perhaps he shouldn’t chase her. If she didn’t want him, she didn’t want his brewery, then what was her aim? Frustration rippled off him in waves, agitated by his tormented heart. He wanted her to choose him, damn it.

  Pruitt had mentioned love. But Thorn had little experience with the emotion. He loved his family, but that was the extent of his knowledge. He’d never felt this gut-twisting, crazed need before. The highs and lows like the savage troughs of the ocean waves in a squall. Tossing him back and forth, up and down.