Page 6 of Touched By a Traitor
Something darkened in his gaze as he turned to her fully. The air crackled between them like lightning about to strike. Charlotte balanced on the knife’s edge between terror and wild hope while Andrew watched her, desire warring with concern in his eyes.
With startling ease, he gathered her onto his lap. She gasped, instinctively gripping his shoulder as he tightened his arm around her waist, the other hand resting casually on her thigh. His words came rough with emotion: “Charlotte, I mean every word. The streets taught me to protect the vulnerable. I’m steadfast, and I’d guard you with my life. We’re cut from the same rare cloth, you and I. We could find happiness… perhaps even love.”
The sincerity in his voice nearly shattered her resolve. This was something real, something that could change everything. Yet even as hope bloomed in her chest, reality intruded.
“Andrew… your offer overwhelms me. A marriage proposal is beyond my wildest dreams.” She drew a steadying breath, steeling herself against the warmth in his eyes. “But I must pursue law, even as your wife. You can’t imagine what I might achieve, though I’d still be everything you desire in a bride. We need only endure four years apart while I earn my degree.”
His eyes widened in shock. “Four years?”
“Yes, but I am only one and twenty. I’ll be ready to bear children after graduation. Consider it an extended betrothal.”
“Impossible,” Andrew said, his voice gentle but unyielding as iron. “A wife in trade would destroy every social connection I’ve fought to build.”
Charlotte felt the hope in her chest wither like frost-touched flowers. The careful warmth they’d built between them cracked under the weight of reality. “I want more than hearth andnursery,” she said softly, unable to keep the disappointment from her voice.
He shifted, drawing her closer even as his words pushed her away. “Where would you even find such education?”
“A progressive academy in Boston, United States.” Charlotte’s voice cooled to winter as she realized the impossible gulf between them. “I suppose that settles matters. I shall proceed as planned. Shall we return to our original arrangement?”
The fragile web of understanding between them dissolved, leaving only the stark reality of their clashing dreams. Andrew’s face was a battlefield of opposing impulses—desire and propriety locked in combat. Charlotte waited, wrapped in dignity like a shield, while her heart broke quietly in her chest.
She’d been a fool to hope, even for a moment, that someone might want her dreams as much as they wanted her body. The lesson stung, but she’d learned worse.
Yet as Andrew’s hands moved to his neckcloth, something shifted in the air between them. Charlotte watched him with growing wonder as he loosened the white linen with ease, his coat following to a nearby chair.
Her eyes widened, lips parting softly as he began unfastening his shirt buttons. She held her breath with genuine amazement. She’d known this could happen with her proposition, but she had never thought she’d be on a man’s lap while he undressed and looked at her with such reverence, as if she were precious rather than merely convenient.
“Andrew,” she whispered, her voice trembling with uncertainty, “I don’t know if I can… I’ve never…” The admission cost her, color flooding her cheeks as vulnerability cracked through her carefully maintained composure.
Tenderly, he cradled her chin, his thumb tracing the velvet curve of her bottom lip. His touch was so gentle, so differentfrom what she’d steeled herself to expect, that tears pricked at her eyes. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want,” he murmured, his voice rough with restraint. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”
The kindness in his words nearly undid her. When had anyone given her such a choice? When had anyone cared more for her comfort than their own desires?
“Perhaps,” he continued, his gaze searching her face with concern, “I could persuade you otherwise. But only if you truly want this, Charlotte. Not because you feel you must.”
Before she could second-guess herself, Charlotte reached up to cup his face, marveling at the rough texture of his evening stubble beneath her palm. “I want to understand what this could be,” she whispered, surprised by her own confession. “Not the transaction I planned, but this. Whatever this is between us.”
Her admission seemed to unlock something in Andrew. He dipped his head, his breath warm against her skin for a heartbeat before his lips met hers. The first touch was gentle—a question asked in the softest whisper—but as she yielded, the kiss transformed into something that consumed her entirely.
His mouth moved against hers with reverent hunger, his lips firm yet tender as they coaxed a response she didn’t know she possessed. When his tongue traced the seam of her lips, requesting entry, Charlotte gasped, and he took advantage, deepening the kiss.
Heat bloomed low in her belly, spreading through her limbs like honey warmed by fire. Her fingers found the lapels of his coat, clutching the fabric as if it were the only thing keeping her tethered to earth. The taste of him—brandy and something indefinably masculine—made her head spin with a dizzying rush that had nothing to do with the wine she’d consumed.
His hand cradled the back of her neck, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin there in a rhythm that sent shivers cascadingdown her spine. She could feel the thundering of his heart where her palms pressed against his chest, matching the frantic pulse that hammered in her throat.
When he finally gentled the kiss, drawing back just enough to rest his forehead against hers, Charlotte’s lips felt swollen and tingling, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps. In his arms, she felt like a woman awakening to desires she’d never dared imagine.
“I shall fund your education,” Andrew’s voice resonated with quiet certainty, his words making her heart stutter to a stop. “No conditions attached. If your heart isn’t fully present, Charlotte, you’re free to go. I couldn’t bear knowing our connection stemmed from obligation rather than mutual desire.”
Charlotte stared at him, emotions warring in her chest. “You would do that? Even knowing I might leave?” Her voice cracked with disbelief. “Even knowing I’ve offered myself to you like… like common chattel?”
“You’re not chattel,” he said fiercely, his hands framing her face. “You’re brilliant and brave and deserving of every dream you’ve ever harbored. If helping you achieve them is all I can offer, then that’s enough.”
The generosity of his offer, the respect in his voice when he spoke of her dreams, shattered something inside her. For so long, she’d been told her ambitions were unnatural, unwomanly. To hear them spoken of as worthy, as valuable…
“Why?” she whispered, tears spilling freely now. “Why would you help me when you gain nothing in return?”
“Because you matter,” he said simply. “Your mind, your dreams, your happiness—they matter. Not because of what you can give me, but because of who you are.”
