Page 60 of Pride & Petticoats

Chapter Sixteen

“You want to make me yours?” Charlotte said, turning to Freddie. “I don’t think—” She forgot what she had intended to say next because suddenly she was very aware of his hard member pressing against her belly. She knew enough of men and women to understand what his erection meant, and fear rose in her, overwhelming the earlier feelings of passion.

Freddie had said this act would hurt her. She remembered that much at least from her earlier haze. But as his hand slowly moved to part her thighs, the desire returned, flaring and boiling until she was warm and struggling to catch her breath again. She could not imagine him bringing her body anything but ecstasy. He was doing so again that very moment as his hand stroked her inner thigh.

“We must become one body.” His lips kissed her shoulder, then her neck, and his hand on her thigh brushed her auburn curls. “I want to be inside you. Feel it as you climax. Feel the tiny ripples of your orgasm surround me.”

His fingers were inside her then, and Charlotte gasped with pleasure. Almost beyond rational thinking, she held on to the thought that no matter what else happened, she wanted this man.

Sinking into the heat of his embrace, she returned the kiss, falling under his spell once again as his mouth and his hands inflamed her. He was not gentle, but she sensed him holding back, and knew that he wanted this to be right for her. In that moment she could have wept with the knowledge that he cared that much for her. Instead she kissed him more deeply, unable to get enough of his lips and mouth and skin.

Then his body was on top of hers, surrounding her like a fortress of flame. His flesh seared hers as he slid every inch of his exposed skin along her raw, sensitive flesh. His chest rubbed against her breasts, and as he kissed her neck, his knee parted her legs. She wrapped her arms around his muscled back and pulled him closer, arching for him when he took her hard nipple between his teeth.

And then he was inside her. He only just entered her, but the feel was different from that of his fingers. Fuller, stretching her slightly. Looking down at his golden head, bent as he laved her nipples, she felt vulnerable and exposed. His hands swept to the sides of her breasts as he cradled her rib cage, and for the first time in her life she knew what it was to be completely in another’s power. And she wondered why the realization that she was so completely in his thrall—his in every way now—no longer frightened her. Then she caught the heat of desire in his green eyes and couldn’t imagine her life without him.

He rocked inside her gently, not filling her but opening her to him, and she sighed. Holding her gaze, he moved inexorably deeper inside her, and when he rocked again, she felt the first pulses of pleasure thrum through her. He thrust inside her again, and she exclaimed wordlessly, then arched against him. With a determined look in his eye that brought a half smile to her lips, he nestled his head against her neck and locked her legs around his waist.

He moved against her again, and Charlotte gasped at the feeling this new position gave. He was filling her slowly, but she still felt no pain. He thrust again, this time harder, deeper, and Charlotte couldn’t staunch a moan of pleasure.

At the same time, Freddie groaned, “Forgive me,” and plunged hard and fast into her.

There was a prick of pain, but pleasure overwhelmed her as, finally, he plumbed her depths to the hilt—filling her body and her soul. Matching his driving rhythm, she held on, gripping him with all her strength when she found fulfillment. Only this time it was he, not she, who cried out.

FREDDIE WAITED UNTIL Charlotte had drifted off to sleep before he left her bed. Without the cushion of desire, the aches and soreness of his earlier battle were beginning to make themselves felt. But he knew if he stayed with Charlotte, he would not be able to resist having her again. She was too tempting, and although he had given her more pleasure than pain, she would feel the effects of her deflowering in the morning.

He’d tried to be gentle, but he’d felt her stiffen when he broke the barrier of her maidenhead. There had been no thrill in that act, only the fear that he had caused her pain and then a wash of pleasure so intense, he was no longer capable of thought. Perhaps that was why men prized virgins so highly. As careful as he tried to be, she was so small and tight that it drove him to the limits of his passion. He needed to have her again.

She had been a virgin. He had been her first, and the thought pleased him. The noble Cade Pettigru, who held an undeserved mysterious power over her affections, had not had her. She had spoken the truth about that, at least.

He opened the dressing room door connecting their rooms and tried to quell the pang of regret he felt at leaving her. She looked exactly as he’d pictured her when, for so many nights, he’d stood on his side of that door, head leaned against the wood, torturing himself with erotic visions. And there she was in the flesh—thick cherry hair splayed against the white pillow in glossy curls, one arm thrown over her head, hand tangled in her hair, the other resting lightly on her stomach, which rose and fell rhythmically. Her eyes were closed, and her tawny lashes made a pale shadow beneath the lids. Her lips were slightly parted, pink, and swollen. His eyes traveled down the length of her body—half covered by the white sheet, pale and colorless against the rich peach of her skin.

She was perfect—large breasts that overflowed in his hands, a curve at her stomach, then a lush swell at her hips. Her legs were not overly long but rounded and well-shaped. He groaned silently, thinking how much he wanted them wrapped around him again.

Forcing himself through the door, he left his wife.

His wife.

Not yet, but he would remedy that soon enough. He’d taken her maidenhead, and in his mind that meant he was already bound to her. But he would move quickly to make it law. He would not allow the captivating creature in the next room to be anyone’s but his.

He had been right in thinking her dangerous.

He could see now that having her once would never be enough. With each caress, each touch, she left him wanting more.

Freddie poured himself a brandy and paced his room, trying to ignore the soreness in his ribs and jaw from the night’s brawling. The irrational part of his mind told him to avoid her. He already felt too much for her. Why, just look at the way she had muddled his perfectly structured life. His mother and sisters were barely speaking to him, the betting book at White’s was full of wagers as to how long his marriage would last, and Alvanley was probably plotting revenge. At home, Freddie seemed unable to make it through one uneventful dinner with Charlotte, Wilkins was continually in a pet, and, horror of horrors, at breakfast he had seen his name on the gossip page of the Morning Post, not once but twice this month.

And he couldn’t care less. It didn’t even matter anymore that she was an unfashionable American. Absolutely appalling how little he thought of fashion lately. Despite his precautions, somehow she had managed to find her way through his defenses. Beneath his mask and into his heart—a place no woman had ever occupied before. A place he was not even certain he wanted occupied.

The rational part of his brain argued that when she was his wife, he wouldn’t be able to keep her at bay. It might have been overindulgence in drink or an earlier blow to his head, but the notion of sharing his life with her, sharing his future, sharing a family no longer made him shudder. In fact, he could no longer imagine life without Charlotte.

He could count on her to be loyal and faithful—two traits in scarce supply among ladies of the ton. But could he win her affection? Could he show her there was more to him than the money she thought she needed so desperately? Could she see past that, past all the starch and lace to the man he really was?

Perhaps in time he would earn her love, but at least until that point he’d have her commitment. In this one arena, marrying a colonist was not such a bad thing. He might not appreciate her primitive notions of fashion and deportment, but he was as old-fashioned as any colonist on the subject of morals. When he married, he married for life, for fidelity, and—dare he even think it?— for love. Yes, there it was. He was half in love with Charlotte, would be mad for her once she was safely his.

Freddie leaned back in his chair and stared at the dying fire in his hearth. She was almost his, and now nothing would stand in his way.

CHARLOTTE WOKE EARLIER than usual. Without even opening her eyes, she knew the sun was barely peeking over the horizon. She also knew she was alone.

Rolling over, she stared at the empty space beside her. She might have thought the night a dream if not for the telling soreness. A small pain gripped her heart before she pushed it away. Freddie probably did not want to infringe on her privacy. Yes, that was why he’d abandoned her. It had to be the reason, because nothing would ruin her good mood this morning.

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