Page 61 of Touched By a Traitor
Something cold and metallic nudged her lips apart. Hesitantly, she opened her mouth, and it was instantly filled with a sweet and velvety apple pudding. A gasp of delightescaped her, and she licked her lips, savoring the unexpected treat.
“Open again,” Andrew said, his rich timbre slightly breathless.
Charlotte parted her lips once more, and a moan escaped her as a warm and buttery rhubarb tart shocked her taste buds, sending a wave of pleasure coursing through her body. Each subsequent bite brought with it a new and tantalizing sensation, from the creamy richness of the trifle to the sweet and sticky indulgence of the roly-poly jam pudding.
The crisp sweetness of the biscuits gave way to the ethereal lightness of the meringue, and finally, the cool, refreshing burst of iced oranges danced on her tongue. With every morsel, Charlotte found herself moaning, gasping, and exhaling, her senses overwhelmed by the sheer delight of the experience.
“I could listen to you all night,” Andrew said darkly, his voice thick with a hunger that likely had little to do with the desserts.
“I can’t eat another bite,” Charlotte managed to say, her breath coming in short, satisfied gasps. “That was a wonderful surprise. I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed something so much.”
“Don’t you recall our encounter in the library?” he said, his tone seductive.
Feeling the heat rise to her face once more, Charlotte reached up to remove the blindfold.
“Allow me,” Andrew said, his fingers brushing against her skin as he easily loosened the knot with a single tug. As the fabric fell away, Charlotte blinked, her eyes adjusting to the sight of her husband, his shirtsleeves still rolled up and the collar open at the neck, a vision of masculine beauty.
“Where did you get all these delicious desserts?” she asked.
“The wife of a nearby innkeeper is known for her desserts. I ordered some before our arrival.”
“You remembered that I enjoyed sweets?” Charlotte asked, her heart swelling with surprise and affection.
“Aye,” Andrew said, settling himself on the bed beside her, his presence both comforting and electrifying. “You’re likely undernourished. I plan to reverse the damage.”
A smile bloomed on Charlotte’s face, her features softening in his warmth. “I won’t complain,” she said.
His eyes sparkled with amusement. “It’s about time, wife,” he said, his voice low and enveloping her like a comforting embrace.
Rising to his feet, Andrew gathered the tray and carried it out of the room. “I boiled water for you if you need it!” he called from the other room, his thoughtfulness causing Charlotte’s heart to swell.
Impressed by his attentiveness, Charlotte changed into a simple cotton night rail, a far cry from the silk unmentionables she had once worn. As she cleaned her teeth, her gaze was drawn once more to the hairbrush, the engraved words etching themselves into her essence.
Slipping beneath the counterpane, Charlotte waited anxiously, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the fabric, her mind racing with questions. Would he choose to sleep beside her, or would he remain in the parlor? Surprise dawned on her to realize she wasn’t sure which she preferred.
It wasn’t long before Andrew strode into the room, his body relaxed and casual, a man at ease in his own skin. With a gentle breath, he extinguished the candle, plunging the room into darkness. Charlotte watched, transfixed, as the shadowy outline of his form moved about the space, his movements fluid and graceful. Her heart raced as he removed his shirt and trousers, the rustling of fabric the only sound in the stillness of the night.
Panic gripped Charlotte as Andrew turned to fold back the counterpane. She quickly rolled over, so her back was to him, herbody tense with anticipation and apprehension. The mattress dipped significantly under his weight as he settled beside her, his presence both comforting and strange.
“Good night, Charlotte,” he said, his voice a gentle whisper in the darkness.
She replied above the pounding of her heart. “Good night, Andrew.”
As the night wore on, Charlotte lay awake, listening to the steady rhythm of Andrew’s breathing, her mind a whirlwind of emotions. She found herself sorting through the tumultuous feelings that had taken root in her heart, trying to make sense of the love, distrust, resentment, and longing that now plagued her. When at last Andrew’s breaths turned deep and even, Charlotte allowed her own eyes to drift shut.
Dawn and Duty
25 December 1836
As the firstlight of dawn crept into the room, Andrew’s eyes fluttered open, a silent groan escaping his lips. The night had been a restless one, his sleep interrupted by the constant pull of desire that seemed to emanate from Charlotte’s presence.
More than once, he had awoken to find himself pressed against her, his body molding to the curves of her bottom, his throbbing member paying a tribute to the hunger that consumed him. In the darkest hours of the night, he had sought release in his own hand, a temporary relief to the ache that burned within him.
Now, as the sun rose and his wife lay beside him, the devil returned, taunting him with memories of every sensual moan and gasp that had fallen from her lips the previous evening. The way she had licked her lips, leaving them glistening with moisture, was a vision that tortured and enticed him in equal measure.
Turning his head, Andrew’s gaze fell on Charlotte, her sleeping form a picture of tranquil beauty. She lay on her stomach, her dark hair fanned out across the pillow, obscuring much of her face but contrasting starkly against the creamy expanse of her bare arm. Beneath the covers, the faint outline of her curves beckoned to him, his imagination running wild with thoughts of how he would take her from behind.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath.
