Page 51 of Pride & Petticoats

His tongue flicked her lips, and she opened for him. The lush feel of her tongue mating with his sent his senses reeling. He felt like a man who has been numb all his life and has suddenly learned how to use his senses. It was as if he’d been wearing thick gloves for an eternity and they were suddenly and unexpectedly ripped off, and he could feel.

He was suddenly alive. Alive in the moment but alive inside as well. The feel of her, the tentative touch of her tongue, sparked something in him— something he hadn’t felt in a long time and something he didn’t want to let go of again.

An urge to possess her ignited within him, and instinct, feral and primitive, took over.

In one swift motion, he lifted her onto his lap so that her legs straddled him. When she might have protested he deepened the kiss, stroking her hot, wet mouth with his tongue, bruising her lips with the force of his passion, and tangling his hands in that flaming hair. He explored the recesses of her mouth as he wanted to explore her skin, showing her how he would please her with his body, making her breathing quicken and her body shudder.

He felt her tremble, and it only made him want her more. Was he the first? If he entered her now, hard and fast, would he find her untouched? Desire ripped through him at the thought, and he took her mouth hard. She gasped, and deep within, Freddie knew he should draw back. But he was so far gone, so hard under her, his body seemingly composed of corded sinew and steel. Freddie had a reputation among the ladies of the ton as a skilled, aloof lover. But his need for Charlotte would not allow any pretense. He could not play a part with her. His longing was too intense and possessive. Too dangerous.

He tried to force himself to be gentler, fearing she’d push him away or cry out in protest. But as soon as he drew away, she made a moan of disapproval and pulled him hard against her again. “Don’t stop,” she groaned and pushed against him.

The effort Freddie had to exert to stop himself from toppling her onto the floor and taking her right then was immeasurable. He was as taut as a wire, and all control threatened to break. Oh, the safe, comfortable façade was definitely gone now, perhaps beyond any recovery, and Freddie was exposed—raw and fierce. He dared not allow this to go any further, and yet he ached to see passion light her face. He needed something, some memory to get him through the long, lonely nights when she was gone.

Keeping one arm about her waist, he pushed her skirts high on her legs until he could look down and see the creamy skin of her thighs. He ran his hand along the top of one leg, feeling the silky skin smolder under his fingertips. With a deft flick, he pushed the bulk of her skirts away until she was bare before him. “Open for me,” he murmured, fingers teasing the juncture of her thighs to entice her. She did not move and he glanced up at her.

God, she was a vision. Her flaming hair and flaming cheeks were the perfect picture of every male fantasy. She looked debauched. Wanton. Freddie’s need for her reached new heights.

“Open for me,” he whispered, and she did, revealing her wet, pink flesh. Hand shaking, he reached out to stroke her. At the first touch, she cried out and bucked against him. He stroked her again, his touches longer and more deliberate. Then he entered her with two fingers, felt her close tightly around him, heard her whimper in pleasure.

She was breathing hard now, her breasts heaving, her eyes wild. He lifted his hand to cup her, stroked her again until she clenched hard around him and cried out, arching her back and thrusting hard. Then she slumped against him, her heart beating so hard and fast he could feel it in his own chest.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she said a moment later. “It’s not proper.”

Freddie smiled and tilted her head back so he could see her. “I thought I was the one giving the etiquette lessons.”

She looked as though she would argue but what came out was a moan. Freddie narrowed his eyes. That did not sound like a moan of ecstasy. “Are you all right?” Freddie asked cautiously.

“No,” Charlotte croaked. “I think I am going to be sick.” Her hand flew to her mouth, and her wide eyes scanned the room frantically.

Freddie had her off his lap and across the room in mere seconds. He dragged her to the French doors and pushed her outside where she promptly began retching, quite loudly, into the bushes of the garden.

“Oh, good God,” Freddie groaned. He had better get her home and without anyone seeing. He glanced back out the French doors and saw that she had stopped retching and was now just moaning, and he crossed to the front doors of the library, opened them a crack, and peered out. It didn’t look as though anyone was about. He eased the door open farther, poked his head out, then realized his mistake.

“Freddie!” a gaggle of female voices called. “There you are! We’ve been looking for you.”

Freddie stepped back into the library and slammed the door shut again. How had they found him? Worse than just his scatty sister Lydia, all four of his sisters had been hunting him, and now they’d cornered their prey.

The library doorknob turned.

Chapter Fourteen

Freddie threw a quick glance at the French doors, wondered if he had enough time to close them and keep Charlotte out of sight, but the library door opened and several women poured in on an endless ruffle of silk.

Not just any women—his four sisters.

“Freddie!” Meg, his eldest sister, exclaimed. Unlike the rest of the family, she had dark hair and eyes, and they flashed at him now. “Where have you been? I want you to have a word with Lord Oxbow about his plans for the south fields at Downsleigh. He simply will not listen to reason and insists on planting corn.”

“I see,” Freddie began, wondering how he had become enough of an expert to advise his sister’s husband on crop rotation. “Perhaps I could—”

“Freddie,” Lydia interrupted. “First I need you to speak with Mama. I promised Lord Westman the first dance at Lord and Lady Winterbourne’s ball the day after tomorrow, and Mama says she has no intention of attending.”

Freddie frowned over his shoulder at the French doors. How could he get his sisters out of here before Charlotte began retching again or stumbled in through the doors? “Ah, why not tell Westman you’ll see him at the theater or Almack’s on Wednesday?”

“Freddie!” Mary said, bustling forward. She was two years younger than he, pale, and quite short. “Lydia cannot tell Lord Westman she will not be available to dance with him at the Winterbournes’ ball. Do you want her to end up a spinster?”

Freddie opened his mouth and closed it again. “I fail to see how the two—”

“Oh, you never see!” Lydia cried. “You don’t need to see, just speak with Mama.”

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