Midnight Temptations With a Forbidden Lord

by Tiffany Clare

  “Will you be so kind as to invite me in?”

  She moved aside and motioned with her hand that he was free to enter. “Marcia, please give us a few moments to ourselves,” Charlotte said.

  The maid curtsied and left the room.

  Tristan stepped in and closed the adjoining door behind him.

  “Did you walk the grounds this afternoon?”

  “No, I’ll walk them in the morning.”

  “Are you settled in, then?”

  “Tristan, why are you tiptoeing around me? I feel like a delicate flower you’re afraid will wilt away with the slightest touch.”

  “I’m not worried about you. I just want to make sure you’re happy.”

  She smiled. “You’re a very thoughtful man.”

  With his palm over his chest, he raised his chin and looked haughty. “Don’t let that get around to the masses; I wouldn’t want to jeopardize my reputation.”

  That had Charlotte’s smile cracking into a full grin. She rolled her eyes and whirled away from him to sit at the vanity. Picking up the silver brush, she parted a section of her hair and brushed it. He watched her, enjoying the practiced motion of her hands, and wished she were touching him instead. He walked over to the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress to better watch her.

  “What happens after dinner, Tristan?”

  Her hand stilled and her gaze caught his in the mirror.

  “We can walk in the garden or retire to the sitting room, have a glass of wine or tea, and enjoy each other’s company.”

  “I meant tonight, when it’s time to retire for the evening.”

  He’d known that was what she’d meant, but he had no answer to that. Any number of things could happen. It would be her choice whether to accept him or deny him access to her bed—because that was the only place he wanted to be right now.

  “It’s the lady’s choice.”

  “Where do you sleep?”

  “Here,” he said with a shrug. “The room adjacent. I’ll not force you to spend time with me, Char. Not if you aren’t ready to. I understand that we rushed into marriage without getting used to each other’s company first. Ours is an atypical marriage.”

  “No more atypical than half the ton marriages.” She continued brushing her hair.

  Tristan got up from his perch and went to stand behind her. He moved the hair away from her back, pushed it over one shoulder, and leaned in close with his hands resting on the chair back. “We are atypical because we were forced to marry as any other indiscreet couple would. The one difference is that we came into this marriage as friends.”

  “Are we friends or something else?”

  “Lovers?” he provided.

  She nodded.

  “You don’t have to be one or the other, Char. We can be friends and lovers. I’d say the best marriages are a combination of the two.” He caressed the side of her cheek with the back of his hand. His eyes did not waver from hers as they stared at each other in the mirror.

  She did not reject his touch, but instead relaxed back into the chair. From his vantage point, he could see the swell of her breasts. He wanted to slide his hand down along her soft skin, feel her nipples pucker up between his fingers, but he settled for going as far as her neck. She’d have to invite him into her bed for him to take this further, no matter how desperate he was to have her again. He understood perfectly well that she was still sorting out her feelings about everything that had transpired these past few days.

  “I should leave you to dress.”

  “Stay a while longer.” She captured his hand, pressing it between her fingers and neck.

  “Is this an invitation?”

  She turned away from the mirror to look at him directly, her mouth slightly parted. A blush settled over her freckled cheeks. “I’ve been fearful that our night was only a dream, and that I was making a fantasy out of what we shared.”

  Tristan slid his hand through the tresses of her hair, cupping the back of her head. He gave her plenty of opportunity to stop him, but instead she allowed their mouths to meet gently. It started with nibbles of each other’s lips, then a shy meeting of their tongues. He pulled her out of her chair, wanting to feel the soft curves of her body pressed against his harder body. His other hand tangled in her hair, while her hands squeezed high on his arms and her breasts heaved tightly against his chest.

  As much as he wanted to toss her back on the bed and make sweet love to her again, he restrained himself and settled for locking their lips together and tangling his tongue with hers. He nibbled at her bottom lip, traced the seam with the tip of his tongue, and then sucked it back into his mouth. He could do this all day and night, but forced himself to pull away. They were expected for dinner, and Tristan didn’t think Charlotte was asking for more than a kiss.

  “We need to dress for dinner.”

  She nodded. Her eyes were still closed as she sucked her bottom lip into her mouth. It took everything in him not to gather her back in his arms and take possession of her mouth once again.

  “What if I said no to tonight?” she asked quietly.

  He enjoyed the fact that his wife was playing hard to get and making him prove his worth. “I defer to your judgment in this. Besides, we have many years of nights to come.”

  He walked back toward the door, needing to put some distance between them before he changed his mind about giving his wife the ultimate say—why hadn’t he tried to convince her otherwise? He could be very persuasive.

  Before going through the door, he turned to her. She looked delectable the way she stood with one fist clenching the material of her dressing robe below her neck. Her color was high and her hair wispy and in disarray around her face; he’d been the cause of that.

  “Perhaps you should write me a letter.” She looked at him oddly. “To break the awkwardness,” he clarified. “We should write to each other again.”

  “I think I’ll take you up on that offer.” She released the tight hold on the material in her fist.

  “Good. I look forward to the exchange of notes. I’ll see you in half an hour,” he said as he shut the door behind him.

  Chapter 18

  All is too quiet in Town now. It’s as though a great storm is brewing before the little season is upon us.

  —The Mayfair Chronicles, August 1846

  Dear Lord Marquess,

  I wanted to send you a note before dinner to say simply … thank you for everything you’ve done.

  Char

  Dearest wife,

  I’m disappointed by how you still address me. Have we not moved past the need for secrecy? We are married after all. Dinner was a wonderful treat. You should know that Bea caught you not once but twice staring at me. She teased me about it not ten minutes ago.

  Yours,

  Tristan

  Charlotte smiled and pressed the letter to her chest, closed her eyes, and leaned back against the pillows in her bed. She had read his note at least thirty times. Folding it, she put it on the side table and turned down the lamp.

  Something had changed between them with his simple reassurance that they would take their time to get to know each other if that was what she wanted. He was courting her. She wondered if he realized he was doing what he hadn’t done before they had married—or had they courted? How else to explain the letters exchanged between them?

  He was a practiced charmer of ladies—no matter their age or standing. Her last thought before falling asleep was that he was all hers and hers alone.

  Whispers woke her in the morning. She knew it was early because the sun was only starting to peek through the yellow sheer curtains on the tall windows, and creeping into her line of vision. She blinked a few times and focused on the room around her. The walls were papered an emerald green with a gold-leaf pattern. The room had a large seating area: two chairs and a chaise. There were also two black-lacquered desks with gold decoration painted on them.

  She wondered briefly if Tristan’s parents used to take a
plate for breakfast and share their mornings together in here, writing their daily correspondences. The thought sent a thrill of excitement through her body. She would take breakfast in here with her husband. But first, she’d respond to the letter he had written last night.

  Charlotte stretched out and yawned. Something cold and smooth slithered over and around her feet. She threw the sheets back and jumped from the bed with a scream that could have shattered glass. Her breath froze in her lungs as her scream died away. She stared at the bed, her heart in her throat, then jumped up on a chair and out of harm’s way. Someone charged into the room, and she swore she heard children giggling but was too stunned to look for them. Her gaze was locked on the sheets.

  Tristan lifted her down from the chair and put his arms around her shoulders in an embrace. “Are you all right?”

  She couldn’t tear her gaze away from the bed where there were four small muddy-brown snakes slithering and twisting together. She knew there were four because they all had yellow bands around their necks. She put her hand up to her mouth, feeling slightly woozy and ready to throw up. She’d been in bed with those … those slithery, disgusting things. They had crawled on her as she slept. Touched her bare skin as she thought about her husband. Her vision wavered.

  “I feel ill,” she croaked out in a dry, frightened voice. Her head was spinning and she had to close her eyes for a moment.

  Tristan caught her around the waist just as her knees gave out. He scooped her into his arms and carried her over to the chaise. He kissed her lightly on the forehead then stood away from her.

  She grabbed his arm. “Don’t leave me here with those vile creatures over there.”

  “I’ll remove them for you, Char. If it’s too much to watch, turn away, but they’ll be gone in a trice.”

  Her gaze was riveted to the bed. If she let them out of her sight would she ever be truly convinced that they were gone? She couldn’t help but stare. She’d been in bed with snakes and hadn’t known it.

  Those little imps had done this. It was probably Ronnie since she had made her dislike known these past few days. But she’d definitely heard both children laughing when she’d woken this morning.

  Tristan opened the window on one side of the bed, and grabbed the snakes up by holding them at the base of the neck. She had to turn her gaze away when their bodies whipped around in protest at being handled. When the window was closed, she turned back to her husband. He had a sympathetic expression on his face.

  “Should I expect snakes in my bed in the future?” she asked, her question coming out weak and frightened.

  “Ronnie. Rowan.” A shuffling of feet running down the hall could be heard when Tristan shouted for them. They were making their escape because they knew they’d erred.

  “I’ll have a conversation with the children,” he said as he sat next to her on the chaise.

  “No. They’ll hate me more if you do.”

  “They don’t dislike you, Char.”

  “Just the idea of you having a wife.” Charlotte rested her head against Tristan’s shoulder, needing to be comforted. He rubbed soothingly at her back. “Rowan might not dislike me, but your daughter certainly does. Ronnie probably thinks I’m here to steal you away.”

  “She’s just growing used to the idea of having another person of importance in our house.”

  Why it surprised her that she was important to him she couldn’t say. But she was glad to hear him say so and it made her feel marginally bolder.

  “Now, if you’re feeling better, you should get dressed and come down to breakfast.”

  She looked around the room, nervous about what else she might find. “I don’t want to get dressed in here.”

  “Your maid can dress you in my room.”

  She lifted her head from his shoulder, suddenly feeling foolish. It was the first time she noticed that he was already dressed. Though he was wearing only shirtsleeves and his vest.

  “What time do you wake up in the morning?”

  He gave her a crooked smile. “I had no one to keep me up through the night. I was up a few hours ago.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Eight.”

  “You wake up at five?”

  He shrugged. “Sometimes. I like the quiet before the house is fully awake. It’s peaceful.”

  She gave him a smile. “You’re a surprising man. I cannot wait to know all your secrets, my lord marquess.”

  He returned her smile and stood up from the chaise. “Come, let’s get you off to my chambers, and dressed before we find ourselves indisposed on the chaise for the rest of the morning.”

  She blushed. “You’re a rascal for saying any such thing.”

  “Always, my lady.” He deposited her in his room. “Dixon,” he called.

  His valet came out of a dressing room, holding out a jacket for Tristan to slip his arms into. “Please have Marcia come to my room to assist Lady Charlotte. And have the maids check the master bedroom for any more childish surprises.”

  Dixon bowed and said, “Straightaway, my lord.”

  Before Tristan could leave, Charlotte stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Thank you for coming to my rescue.” And she didn’t mean just today, she meant in offering marriage, too.

  He stepped close to her and wrapped one arm around her, placing his hand over the small of her back. “I have no regrets, Char. I wasn’t rushed into any of this, I’ve been sold on the idea of marriage for some time and had only to meet you to cement that decision.”

  Her breath caught in her lungs. What could she say to that? Instead of a witty, intelligent response, she said, “I’ll see you at breakfast, my lord.”

  Planting a loud kiss on her mouth, Tristan turned and left the room just as her maid arrived.

  “Good morning, my lady. What would you like to wear today?”

  She picked a dress and Marcia helped coil her hair. And to her delight, they found a pot of powder to cover her dreadful freckles. The day was already looking brighter.

  When she went down to the breakfast parlor it was already bustling with chatter. She fixed herself a plate at the sideboard and took an empty seat next to Bea. On their trip north, Charlotte had had very little time to interact and bond with the woman, aside from readying themselves together in the morning.

  “Good morning, everybody. I do hope you all slept well in your own beds.” She looked pointedly at the children as she said that.

  Rowan giggled and Ronnie grinned as she stared down at her plate.

  “What have I missed?” Bea asked.

  “A morning prank,” Tristan said.

  Bea put her fork down and leaned back in her chair with a stern look on her face. “I knew you two were up to no good in your morning biology lesson. What precisely did you do? Put frogs in her bed? Mud in her shoes? You were gathering something and hushed about it when I inquired what you had found.”

  “It was Ronnie’s idea,” the youngest piped up.

  “Rowan!” the girl admonished. “I’ll never tell you another secret again.”

  “Now, now,” Tristan said. “You know that’s no way to treat a guest in this house.”

  “But that’s just it, isn’t it? She’s not a guest.” Ronnie was astute, and Charlotte could respect that. Though she probably thought Charlotte was there to usurp the children’s place in their father’s life. She wouldn’t dare, of course. Tristan adored them, as did Bea. All Charlotte needed was some time to get used to the fact that she was their stepmother.

  “If you’d let me finish,” Tristan added, “I would have said that if you wouldn’t treat a guest in such a manner, you would definitely not treat a member of the house the way you did this morning.”

  The butler knocked and entered the room. He carried a salver with a letter and an opener placed neatly over it.

  “This arrived urgently, my lord.”

  Tristan sliced the opener through the flap, reading quickly over the contents of the page. Once finished, he tucked t
he parchment back into the envelope and gazed at her with a concerned expression on his face. She wanted desperately to ask what news he had, but not in front of everyone else in the room.

  He placed his napkin on the table and stood. “If you’ll all excuse me, I have important business to attend to.” He offered no further explanation, only a nod and then he was gone.

  She stared after him, then looked at Bea, hoping maybe she could provide answers to the questions filling Charlotte’s mind. Who had sent the letter? Did Tristan normally leave the table without telling all present what the issue pertained to? Should she go after him? Offer assistance? Ask him if there was a problem? She didn’t know the answer to any of these questions because she didn’t know a lot about her husband, and she felt slightly ashamed and rather useless.

  Bea didn’t wait long to give her the answer she needed. “He’ll call on you if he needs you. Really, the letter could be about any number of things.”

  Her last comment was not reassuring to Charlotte in the least.

  “You’re sure I shouldn’t follow him?”

  Bea nodded. “Trust me in this. Tristan will come up with a solution to any problem he has before he presents it to someone else. He hates to burden anyone with a problem he hasn’t had a chance to think through first.”

  Charlotte filled her fork with eggs. “If he doesn’t call on me soon, I’ll have to search him out whether or not he’s come up with a solution.”

  * * *

  A bloody call for seconds.

  Had Ponsley grown insane without his daughter’s presence these past few days? No one dueled or called another person out in this modern day and age. It was dirty, and unsophisticated.

  Tristan entered his study and slammed down the letter he’d received that demanded satisfaction for the abduction of his daughter and the ruin of Charlotte’s good name.

  Seconds!

  Who in hell would second him? This was ludicrous. An antiquated notion that was completely and utterly absurd. Under most circumstances he’d first contact Leo, but his friend was indisposed and in a similar situation as Tristan at present. Instead, he’d have to call upon Hayden—who would strongly disagree with the whole notion of one’s honor being challenged in such a fashion. How could you have any honor left if you were dead?