Page 69 of Pride & Petticoats

“Yes, what will they say?” Freddie drawled, reaching out to slip her sleeve down again. “I can see the papers now. ‘Lord D———is besotted with his Yankee bride.’ ”

Charlotte grimaced and tugged the sleeve back in place. “Well, I certainly hope that’s not the headline. I keep telling you that I am a Southerner, not a Yankee. Neither you nor your press seems to understand the difference.”

“Well, my darling Yankee,” he said, caressing her cheek, “you may have to get used to the title.”

“But I just told you—”

“And I am a lord not a mister, and you have yet to get that right, except, I suspect, when you feel like it.”

Charlotte gave him a withering look, but Freddie only smiled and undid another button at the throat of his expensive shirt. Charlotte blinked. How had so much of his enticing flesh been revealed? The shirt was positively gaping, the contours of his firm muscles played on by the flicker of candlelight.

“We must return to the ball.” Her voice was pleading, but her eyes were riveted to that expanse of bronze skin.

“We will.” Freddie took a step toward her. Reaching out, he lightly touched her arm. “In a moment.”

Charlotte retreated and stumbled over the back of the plush azure chaise longue behind her. “Freddie, if we don’t leave now everyone will be talking about us.”

Freddie took another step forward and wrapped his hand around a thick curl that had come loose from her coiffure. “They already are.”

“But Lucia is probably looking for us.”

“Doubtful.” He tugged the hair lightly, and Charlotte had no choice but to follow where he led. He guided her into his arms.

“What if someone comes in?” She was breathing slightly faster now because she could feel the heat pulsing from his body. And—dare she admit it?—there was something exciting about being intimate with Freddie when they might be caught at any moment.

“I locked the door.”

He sank his hand into the depths of her hair and dragged her hard against him. Charlotte tried to resist, but she felt exhilarated and wicked. Even when his mouth locked with hers again and his tongue delved into her mouth, infusing her with a heat so searing it made her knees weak, she tried to defy her attraction. But her yearning was too much. He would never be hers. Soon she’d be back in Charleston—alone and struggling with no time for thoughts of passion. If Cade were here, tonight might be her last with Freddie.

And suddenly she ceased the struggle and melted against him. Melted into him. He groaned deep in his throat and combed his fingers through her hair, loosening the pins and ribbons woven into it as he did so. She felt the weight of it lessen and disperse as it fell in sections down her back. Freddie’s hands followed, and soon his palms spanned the curve of her waist.

Then it was Charlotte’s turn to touch and explore. She glided her hands across his chest, unfastening his waistcoat and spreading her hands over the thin materials of his shirt. He kissed her more ravenously with each stroke of her fingers, and somehow she found the strength to pull away. But only for a moment and only to press her mouth against the rapid pulse at his throat. He groaned as she slid her tongue down his hot, sweet skin, kissing a trail down his chest.

“God, I want you,” he said hoarsely, and his hands were as rough as his voice when he trailed them over her hips and grasped her buttocks. In one fluid motion, he lifted her and pressed his throbbing arousal against her. Somehow he moved, and before she knew what had happened, she was on the chaise, her legs open and Freddie moving against her.

Charlotte knew she should fight this. But she was breathless with need. She threw her head back and cried out when his fingers grazed her intimately. The rush of sensation restored her senses for a heartbeat, and she was able to push ineffectively against him. “Freddie. We can’t.”

He drew back, his eyes moss green with desire and his face shadowed. “Are you still sore from last night?” he murmured. “Have I hurt you?”

Charlotte averted her eyes. “No, it’s not that. We just shouldn’t. Not here.”

“ ‘Wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?’ ”

Charlotte took a shaky breath. “Not you as well. Your cousin already has claim to Romeo and Juliet.”

“You wound me, madam, but I might be persuaded to forgive you.” He leaned down to kiss her, but she wiggled away.

“Freddie!”

“I want you, Charlotte.” Freddie’s voice was husky, and when she met his eyes they smoldered. “Now. Here.”

He pushed provocatively against her again, and the sudden pleasure was so great that Charlotte nearly forgot her objections. She knew now that, given half a chance, Freddie could double, no treble, that sensation.

Perhaps if she just gave in for one small moment.

Charlotte felt the chaise’s silk upholstery on the backs of her stocking-clad thighs where her dress was hiked up. The disparity between the cool silk and her husband’s hot caresses made her shiver, and never more so than when he knelt in front of her and opened her legs. He never ceased kissing her, but his hands came alive—palms making lazy circles on her knees, fingers tripping up her thighs to her garters and back down again. The material of his coat was soft against her skin, but Charlotte wanted to feel him—feel his flesh on hers. She reached forward and pushed the coat half off his shoulders. The fit, of course, was tight, and Freddie merely gave her a half smile as he shrugged out of the garment.

He bent to kiss her again, but Charlotte stopped him with two fingers on his chest. “The waistcoat, too.”

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