“Thank God,” he muttered, his mouth pressing feverish kisses against her skin, belying the control he’d exhibited only a moment ago.
Hands on her hips, Hugh pinned her down. Releasing his desire, he began to fuck her with greedy abandon. Hard and deep, his driving rhythm unfaltering, he brought her to orgasm and then continued to take her, plunging through the grasping depths of her body. He came, she was certain of it. She heard his deep groan, felt his seed pulse and then spill out, but he didn’t cease, didn’t grow softer.
He slid her knee forward, opening her further, so that nothing impeded his cock from her depths. His sac, tight and hard, slapped against her clit, making her beg. Hugh swore and cursed, and came again. Charlotte could only grasp the edge of the desk and allow the pleasure to take her, to fill her, to sweep away her reservations, until all she felt was Hugh La Coeur and a tentative dream that would never come to fruition.
Chapter Four
Hugh stared at the map and wished he’d paid more attention to the Earl of Merrick’s discussions of trade routes in the West Indies.
He snorted. In the last twenty-four hours, he’d wished he paid better attention to a lot of things. He’d always been a bit self-absorbed and rarely bothered with matters not directly pertaining to him or Julienne. Now suddenly he found himself concerned for a stranger. It was disconcerting, to say the least, and confusing.
Behind him, in his bed, Charlotte slept on. He’d give her a few more minutes, and then he’d take her again. The need he felt astonished him. He’d been at her most of the morning, and still his cock was hard and throbbing to be inside her once more. Only when they were fucking did he feel even remotely like his normal dissolute self, albeit minus his usual control.
Hugh couldn’t grasp why his brain refused to concentrate on the finer points of the sexual act with Charlotte. It was simply base, no finesse, all need and sweat and fierce desire. He’d been unable to pull out before spilling his seed—not once, but every damn time. It was intolerable, but he was unable to resist, assuring himself that one more encounter would sate his lust, one more spine-melting orgasm would appease his craving.
“Hugh?”
The soft sigh behind him made his heart race. It had taken a bit of . . . persuasion to convince her to use his given name. Hugh was inclined to think she’d initially been stubborn just to enjoy more of his fucking, a thought that filled him with masculine satisfaction.
He turned and offered a smile. “Yes, sweet?”
Charlotte’s eyes dropped to his erection, widened, and then lifted again to his. She licked her lips. Flushed and disheveled, sprawled out across the mess that was his bed, she was breathtakingly beautiful. “What are you doing?”
“Studying your map.” He rested his hip against the escritoire and crossed his arms. “It’s unusual and cryptic.”
She nodded. “There are some books and a journal that I’ve been using to decipher it.”
“Where did you purchase these things?”
“The elder Glenmoore gave them to me.”
Hugh frowned. “Why?”
She slid upward on the bed, propping herself against the pillows, caring nothing for modesty. And he was glad of that, for the sight of her creamy skin, firm breasts, and rosy nipples filled him with delight. He could gaze at her for hours, had in fact done that very thing this morning, counting her freckles and admiring her sleeping innocence. Then he’d cursed himself and the madness that had been plaguing him since he arrived. He’d donned his trousers and retrieved the map, determined to think of something other than Charlotte.
“Glenmoore knew his son would give us nothing,” she said, with obvious bitterness. “His Grace grants us the use of this home only because it suits him to keep us under his thumb.”
“Why not simply institutionalize the duchess?”
Charlotte stiffened visibly. “She’s not mad.”
She paused, and he said, “It would be best if you divulge everything without prodding.”
“I was his mistress,” she blurted, lifting her chin.
Hugh gaped. “The old man’s? Good God.”
“No.” She rolled her eyes. “Not the elder Glenmoore. The newest Glenmoore.”
“Oh.” He scowled.
“You knew I wasn’t innocent,” she reminded softly.
Waving off her statement with a toss of his hand, Hugh bristled at the jealousy he felt for a man she was no longer with. “Yes. Yes,” he muttered. “And that doesn’t bother me in the least. I’m grateful actually. No other way I could molest you all morning.”
She laughed. “I was most willing to be molested.”
Hugh arched a brow.
Her wide mouth spread in a delighted smile. “It isn’t often that well-endowed, gorgeous men with hearty sexual appetites come to call.”
He snorted and ran a hand through his hair.
She sighed. “Your mood is odd for a man who should be sated.”
“I don’t like that you would have taken any man,” he admitted gruffly.
Sliding from the bed and dragging the sheet with her, she retorted, “And I don’t like that you think I would have.”
He watched her stalk toward the door, her spine straight and proud. She was magnificent, a red-haired goddess who brooked disrespect from no one.
Going after her, Hugh stepped between her and egress. “I’m sorry. Please don’t go.”
Charlotte tilted her head back and considered him carefully. “You’re surly this morning.”
“I apologize. You are not to blame.”
Evidently satisfied, she nodded and moved back to the bed. “It was beautiful here once,” she said over her shoulder. “The first time I visited, the manse and grounds took my breath away.” She crawled back into the bed.
“Glenmoore brought you here?” He followed her to the bed and sat on the edge.
“He was Marquess of Carding then and impatient for his father to die.” She looked at him with narrowed green eyes. “Do you know him?”
An image of the brawny, overbearing duke came immediately to mind. “I’ve met him on occasion.”
“He’s an ass,” she said curtly. “He didn’t care at all that his father might be offended to meet his mistress. Carding never cared about anyone but himself.” She brushed her hair back over her shoulder. “Glenmoore was ill, and Carding left him here, far from his ancestral seat, to die alone and uncared for. The servants were understaffed, no doctor was sent for. It was terrible. I was ashamed to know him.”
Hugh reached out and claimed her hand, knowing that, as nurturing as Charlotte was, she would have been deeply distressed by the elder Glenmoore’s suffering. She squeezed back, and he felt an odd tugging at his heart that she would take comfort from him. He was certain he’d never been a comfort to anyone.
“One evening I went to Glenmoore’s room to check on his welfare. His chamber was freezing, since no one could be bothered to light the grate. The chamber pot was full and smelled dreadful. I couldn’t be certain when the last time was that someone had fed him.” Charlotte shuddered at the memory.
“And you took care of him,” he finished, feeling a flicker of pride to which he had no claim.
“I had to,” she murmured, stroking his palm with her fingertips. “Animals are treated better.”
Sliding further atop the bed, Hugh rested against the headboard and pulled her back between his legs, wanting to hold her and offer whatever solace he could. He stroked his hands down her arms and kissed her shoulder.
“You are so sweet, Hugh.” She wrapped his arms around her waist.
He buried his face in her hair to hide his embarrassment. “Tell me more,” he said gruffly, deflecting the conversation away from him.
“Glenmoore was ill but still lucid and sane. He didn’t know who I was, of course, but once I explained, he took my presence in stride, and we spoke at length. I really liked His Grace. He had a sense of humor and a zest for life I admired. I couldn’t leave him to suffer simpl
y because Jared wished to be rid of him—”
“Why was his wife not caring for him?”
“Glenmoore wasn’t married at the time. He wed not long after I arrived.”
Hugh rubbed his lips against her shoulder, frowning. “What woman in her right mind would marry a man in that condition? He had an heir and was unable to produce further issue. She had nothing to gain.”
“There are reasons for everything, Hugh.” Charlotte rested her head back against his shoulder. “You must trust that hers were sound.”
He snorted in disbelief, then said, “Carding must have been furious when you handed him his congé.”
“Oh, he was,” she agreed, snuggling deeper into his embrace. “He ranted and railed, and threatened to destroy me so that no other man would ever have me.”
She took a deep breath. “But after the despicable way he treated his father, I wanted nothing further to do with him. I told him to do his worst.”
“Bloody hell,” he breathed, impressed. No one defied a duke, let alone a slip of a girl who relied on him to support her.
Charlotte laughed. “I’m no martyr, so don’t think that. I was already planning to sever my arrangement with Carding, and I’d saved up enough to live comfortably. Offering to care for Glenmoore afforded me the time to discover what I wanted to do next and to help the old duke at the same time. It seemed a perfect arrangement.”
“But something happened to your plans.”
“I underestimated Carding. If I’d known how he would react, I would have handled things differently. I would have returned with him to London, collected my things, and then made arrangements to come back. Instead I sent my abigail—a stupid, stupid mistake. Carding wasted no time. He went through my house the night he returned and disposed of all of my clothes and jewelry, most of which I had acquired before I met him. He ceased paying the servants here, so they left. The ones we have now deserve better recompense for their efforts. All we can offer is food and a roof over their heads, hence the reason I don’t overtax them with cleaning areas that aren’t used.”
“What of the money you’d saved?”
“It wasn’t money I saved but jewelry.”
“Which Carding stole,” Hugh finished.
She ran her fingertips over the backs of his hands, a soft, absentminded caress he enjoyed far too much. “In deference to Glenmoore’s feelings, I attempted to hide what his son was doing, but he knew. As his condition worsened, he gave me the map, books, and journal. He wanted to repay me for seeing him through his last days, and he hoped to ensure my future in some way.”
“But once he was gone, why didn’t you leave? As beautiful as you are, you must have known you could secure another protector.”
She turned in his arms, a position that pressed her breasts to his chest. Hugh’s breath hissed out at the contact, and he struggled to concentrate on her next words. “Everyone here relies on me. If I leave, what will happen to them? They are excellent servants, but very few employers can look beyond their handicaps. Besides it’s not too dreadful. We eat well. We’re clothed and warm.”
“Then the map is just a hobby?” He stroked his hands down her back. “You appeared quite engrossed in it earlier.”
“That is due to my pride.” Charlotte arched into his caress.
“I dislike living under the duke’s thumb. It allows him to feel that he’s won, that he’s bested me. If I could acquire financial independence, I could control my own fate. That’s worth studying the map with all the enthusiasm I can muster. Besides, there was nothing else to occupy me in this weather.” She pressed a kiss to his nipple. “Until you came along.”
Hugh tucked her hair behind her ear. “I’ve never considered keeping a mistress, but—”
“Why pay for what I give you for free?” she interrupted with a sly curve to her lips.
“You’re avoiding the subject again.” He slid lower and draped her body over his. “You are quite adept at evasiveness.”
“I am adept at a great many things.”
He laughed and kissed the tip of her nose, pleased that she’d confided so much in him. “Is Her Grace harmless?”
“Oh, yes,” she assured him. “She’s no danger to you.”
“Then why did she venture into my room this morning?”
Charlotte’s eyes lit with mischief. “Perhaps she wished to have her wicked way with you.”
“That’s not funny,” he grumbled.
She giggled. “I think it is.”
He began to tickle her.
“Stop it!” she gasped, laughing.
“Now this . . .” he said. “This is funny!”
Turning, Hugh pinned her beneath him and smiled.
“Oh, no, you don’t!” she protested, pushing upward against his chest. “I must eat; I’m starved. I want to bathe and . . . other things.”
Hugh rolled his eyes and then rolled to his back with an exaggerated sigh. “For a mistress, you’re not very accommodating,” he complained.
Charlotte tossed a leg over his hips and straddled him, still clutching the sheet like a toga. “I am your lover, not your mistress. And I’ve been accommodating you for hours, my lord. Now you must accommodate my hunger.”
“Hugh,” he corrected, needing the familiarity. He was beginning to believe his recent ennui was a result of his lack of close personal associates. Perhaps all he needed was a mistress, one woman he could concentrate his attentions on, rather than indulging in fleeting liaisons. But first he had to prove to Charlotte that she needed him in some way. “When we’ve finished breakfast and fucking, we’ll go over the map and journals together.”
She laughed and looked down her nose at him.
“You don’t believe I can help you?” he asked, with a frown. Perhaps this would be more difficult than he’d thought. “I have some investment in Lambert Shipping and—”
Gentle fingertips drifted across his lips, searing him with their touch. “I believe you can do anything you set your mind to, but I don’t believe you’ll ever finish fucking.”
Hugh growled, her belief in him causing his lust to surge. “Best you retire to your room now, before I prove you right.”
Charlotte leapt from the bed and ran from the room in a fit of giggles.
“You should never have visited his room,” Charlotte scolded. “Now he knows about the hidden passageways and the map.”
“I’m sorry,” came the contrite reply. “You said he was gorgeous. I just wanted to see for myself. Was he dreadfully angry?”
Charlotte took a seat at her vanity and relented with a sigh. “He might have been originally. But he’s not any longer.”
Soft hands settled on her shoulders. “I just wanted a good look at him.”
Glancing in the mirror, Charlotte caught the reflection of the woman at her back. “Perhaps it’s best if you don’t see him. There is something fundamentally unfair about having a man that gorgeous around. It makes it nearly impossible to think clearly.” Lowering her gaze, she was startled to discover that the woman who stared back was younger than she remembered, with flushed cheeks, bright eyes, and a kiss-swollen mouth.
Hugh La Coeur liked kissing. He took his time with it, tasting her, caressing the inside of her mouth with deep licks of his talented tongue. She’d had her share of selfish bed partners, men who couldn’t be bothered with foreplay. Hugh, however, was a tactile man. He loved to caress her hair, her skin, her lips, and she preened like a cat under his touch, wanting to stretch and purr and soak up his affection.
Fierce and primitive in bed, he took her body as if it belonged to him, as if it existed only for his pleasure. The tiny glimpses of vulnerability she’d seen in him certainly didn’t extend to the bedroom. His lovemaking was breathtaking, his stamina impressive. Twice she’d begged him to leave her alone, only to find that she craved him again within moments. He knew it, too, the arrogant man. It was rather like an addiction to chocolate, she supposed. She only hoped she would have her fill before th
e storm blew over and he went away.
Charlotte picked up her brush and ran it through her hair. “I told him about the map and Glenmoore.”
“That sounds promising. What did he say?”
“He offered to help, actually.” She thought of his reactions to everything he’d witnessed so far and had to admire his aplomb. Nothing seemed to catch him off guard. And the way he’d soothed Katie and offered to buy a dozen pitchers for her . . . Charlotte had been touched. She didn’t trust people easily, but Hugh’s flashes of kindness for her, for his footman, and for her servants made her believe he was someone who genuinely cared for her welfare.
“Do you think he can? Help, that is?”
She shrugged. “I’m not certain, but I don’t see how it can hurt anything for him to try, and it will keep us occupied during the storm.”
Laughter greeted that statement. “I didn’t think you needed any outside influences to keep you two occupied.”
Charlotte set the brush down with a firm click. “Now that, I’m certain, isn’t proper at all!”
Chapter Five
Hugh stared into Artemis’s single eye and refused to give ground. To cave in to a servant . . . Why, the thought was abominable!
“Listen, old chap,” he said curtly. “’Tis a simple enough question.”
Artemis set his hands on his hips. “And one ye need be askin’ ’er Grace!”
“You answer the door, for Christ’s sake! You know as well as anyone if Lord Glenmoore comes calling here.”
“O’ course I know! Doesn’t mean I’ll be tellin’ you!” The bulbous eye protruded further as the butler narrowed his gaze. “You can ask from ’ere to perdition, gov’na, and I—”
“Hang it all!! The proper address for a peer is ‘my lord.’ Is that so bloody difficult?”
Artemis gasped. “’Ere now! Are ye complainin’ ’bout the way I perform my duties?”