The Mammoth Book Of Regency Romance Part 71

"Affairs? A good choice of words." He gave a hard laugh. "Have you forgotten what we had together?"

An ache carved a swathe through bone and muscle all the way to her soul. "We had nothing," she cried. "And you know it." She eyed the distance to the door. If she ran . . .

He cut off her retreat with one smooth step, held her upper arms. Fury blazed in his eyes along with the hotter fire of possession.

"We had this," he growled and claimed her mouth with a plundering kiss.

Even as she began to fight, he softened his mouth, wooed her with his sensual lips, planted small kisses to the corners of her mouth, the tip of her nose, her closed eyelids.

Every inch of her face garnered his attention and her heart opened like a parched rose in the desert to a gentle rain.

Yielding, she sighed and twined her arms about his neck as her body remembered the sensations of his touch. He nuzzled her throat, kissed the pulse beneath her ear, and murmured, "I missed you."

"Oh, Gerard."

More kisses rained on her face and lips, tastes and licks remembered and yearned for over long tearful nights.

One step at a time he eased her into the window embrasure. Under the spell of his delicious mouth, she startled when the window frame touched her back. He pressed into her, his thigh parting her legs, his hands cradling her face. "Remember?" he asked.

She laughed, a poor broken sound He closed the curtain around them. Their own private world. As if they were young and innocent again. And deeply in love.

His mouth found hers. Thought slipped away as their tongues tangled and danced to the music one heart played to the other, until dizzy and breathless she broke free. "How could I forget? It was a conservatory then, though, not a library. And your father almost caught us."

He kissed her jaw, her ear, nibbled the lobe, tasted her throat when she arched back against the wooden frame to give him access.

Her insides ran hot, like melted honey, warm and golden and sweet. His scalding breath s.h.i.+vered across sensitive skin, his lips teased the rise of her breast.

She ran her hands through the silk of his hair, across the breadth of shoulders more manly, stronger than she remembered.

He licked the hollow between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, his long clever fingers working free the tapes of her stays at the neckline of her gown. He tugged the confining fabric down and found her nipples beaded and aching.

He suckled.

She moaned at the surge of desire. She clenched her fists in his thick wavy hair and her body tightened, remembering the bliss. Yearning.

Gently his hand trailed down her hip, caressed her thigh, and inched her skirts upwards. He stroked the bare flesh above her stockings.

"Gerard," she warned half-heartedly.

"Hush, sweet," he whispered and flicked her nipple with his tongue.

She melted.

He pushed against her with his knee and the sweet pressure made her squirm. So delectable. But not nearly enough.

"Put your leg up on the seat," he said softly. "Remember how you liked it like this?"

"Gerard, we can't. We mustn't."

He chuckled, deep and low. "Say no then, love. Say it now."

Love. Her heart stilled. How many times had he called her his love? Remember? How could she ever forget? Free will seemed to flee. She could not deny him, for to do so would be to deny all the years she'd been so alone. And lonely.

Dear sweet heaven, she'd missed him.

One large warm hand raised her thigh and she rested her foot on the window seat. One hand drew her gown languorously to her waist and cupped her b.u.t.tock, steadying her, the other roved ever higher.

He took her mouth as he caressed and teased her body, until she could do no more than moan her pleasure.

"You are ready, sweet," he said. "Let me in."

She gasped her a.s.sent and raked her hands through his hair, kissing his mouth as he unb.u.t.toned his falls. He cupped both hands beneath her and easily lifted her up. She brought her legs around his waist and clung to him. A moment later, his hard flesh sought entrance to her body.

She lowered herself on to him, with a sigh.

He groaned against her neck. "My Charlotte," he said. "Mine."

Pleasure cast her on to tossing seas where tempests raged. He held her in arms of steel, driving her, deep and hard, her spine protected from the harsh wood at her back by his hand. She was transported to another realm, a place of naught but pleasure. A place where she gave as much as she took and the bright light of completion beckoned.

A place where love reigned supreme.

His ragged breaths rasped in her ear. "Now," he demanded. "Now, darling."

She ground against him, seeking to break the bonds of earth.

He thrust into her, his hips sensually twisting.

She shattered. He came with her.

Together they drifted on the warm current of hard-breathing bliss. His forehead dropped against her shoulder. "Dear G.o.d," he muttered.

Suddenly aware of her surroundings, of what they had done, thoughts rolled around in her head, while her body stretched like a luxuriating cat's. She s.h.i.+fted in his arms and he carefully lowered her to her feet. He fixed his clothing, then helped her with hers, tying her tapes, hiding her bosom, rosy with his kisses.

He drew open the curtain.

The library door swung back. She couldn't see the intruder as Gerard moved in front of her, protecting her from view.

"Your Grace?" Graves' voice.

Charlotte shrank into the shadows.

"My cousin said you wanted to see me? Am I interrupting some . . ."

Gerard moved, s.h.i.+fting as if to s.h.i.+eld her, but somehow failing.

"Charlotte?" Graves choked out.

Her face flamed as she met his distraught gaze. All her hopes crumbled.

"Pardon my intrusion," the young lord said, all stiff and hurt.

The library door slammed shut.

Fool. Such a fool. She'd let the memory of pleasure forgone destroy her life.

Gerard turned to face her, regret in his eyes.

"He was looking for you," she whispered. "How did he know to find you here?"

"I'm sorry." He didn't sound sorry. He sounded guilty.

She frowned. "How could he possibly know?"

He shrugged.

She had to find Graves. Find some way to explain. She ran to the mirror, saw what he had seen her hair in disarray, her face flushed. What had she done?

She turned to leave.

The door opened to admit a thin pale gentleman. "It worked," he crowed. He halted as he realized she was still there. Lord Graves' cousin, Brian Devlin, winced. "Madame Bouchere."

She looked over at Gerard, who was frowning at him. Everything tumbled horridly into place. A pain seared her heart. "You planned this. How could you, Hawkworth? You deliberately ruined my life once, you and your father. How could I not have guessed you would do it again?"

She rushed for the door.

"Charlotte," Gerard said. "Wait."

Hand on the door handle, she paused, staring at the ornate panelling. She could not bear to turn and see the triumph in his eyes. "If you ever come near me again, I'll have O'Mally run you through."

She escaped out of the door. Something hot and wet rolled down her face. Tears. She dashed them away. It was the pain in her heart she couldn't bear. The well-remembered pain of betrayal.

d.a.m.n. b.u.g.g.e.r. He'd made her cry. He'd hurt her. The expression on her face when she saw Graves in the doorway had been like a kick to his chest by a metal-shod carthorse.

b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l. He'd been so sure she didn't care tuppence for the fellow; sure he'd be able to woo her back into his life with the one thing they'd had that was perfect. Where had he gone wrong? Doubt niggled in the pit of his stomach. What had she meant about his father? He had the unusual feeling he'd made a terrible mistake.

Dev rubbed his hands together and Gerard wanted to hit him.

"That's it, then," Dev said. "I had the h.e.l.l of a time convincing him not to call you out, but he finally agreed that she wasn't protesting, and therefore she must have been willing."

Gerard shot him a glare. "What do you mean, bursting in here like that! Listen to me well. Say one word about this, you or your idiot cousin, and I'll cut out your tongues and feed them to the lions at the Tower."

"What do you take me for? The lad is hurt and a little bitter, but he'll do as he's told. Now perhaps he'll find a girl of suitable station."

Red blazed behind Gerard's eyes.

"Not that she isn't . . ." Dev began. He stared down at Gerard's fist bunching his coat. "Oh h.e.l.l. What is the matter with you?"

"Nothing."

His friend's eyes widened. He groaned. "Not you too. Is the wench some sort of witch?"

"Don't be stupid." Gerard strode for the door.

"Where are you going?"

Gerard thought for a moment. A wry smile pulled at his mouth. "I'm not sure," he finally said. "Heaven or h.e.l.l. But first I need to find my carriage."

"Will you not tell me what happened, dear heart?" Miles O'Mally followed Charlotte from the clothes press to the trunk she was filling. She turned and glared. "His Grace the Duke of Hawkworth happened." She dropped the armful of clothing into the trunk.

"What did he do?"

"She put her hands on her hips and sighed. "You will find out soon enough. It will be all over London tomorrow, if it isn't already."

"Young Graves didn't come up to scratch?"

"No. And he won't. He caught me in a compromising position with the Duke."

"I'll kill him," O'Mally said. "Hang him up by his thumbs. d.a.m.n! I'll make him marry you."

"I wouldn't marry him if he was the only man in London." Not that he'd ever make her an offer. He considered her nothing but a soiled dove. "Get out of my room. I'm packing." She marched back to the clothes press.

"Where are we going?"

She stopped and took a deep breath. "d.a.m.n it, Miles. I don't know." She dropped her head and covered her eyes with her hands. She choked on a lump in her throat that refused to be swallowed. She took a few deep breaths. "There's no help for it. I'll have to accept Count Vandome's offer."

"You will not." The shock in his voice made not the slightest impression on her flayed nerves. "The man is a pervert. Old enough to be your grandfather."

"I have no choice. He'll be generous. I'm ruined here and he promised to pay Papa's debts."

"Ah, d.a.m.nation." The Irishman's voice was thick with tears. Miles cried easily. Unlike her. Until last night, when the tears hadn't ceased for hours. That was yesterday. Today, she was wrung out. Dry as death.

All the starch seemed to go out of the old man, he sagged on to the edge of the bed. "Don't do it, girl. I love your father like a brother, but he's not worth a life of misery. You know he will succ.u.mb again. He can't help himself. One roll of the dice and he's lost to reason. I should never have encouraged him to go to France."

"I thought if we came back to England and lived in the country. Away from temptation . . ." But there was no hope of that now.

"Your pa doesn't deserve the sacrifice. Walk away while ye can."

"I can't." Father needed her help.

A knock sounded below.

Miles c.o.c.ked a brow.

"It's probably the carter for the trunks. Go away and let me pack."

A deep voice drifted up from the hallway.

"Doesn't sound like a carter. Sounds more like an argument."