Page 65 of Touched By a Traitor
Upon entering the room, Charlotte was greeted by the soft, inviting glow of a dozen candles, their flickering light casting a warm ambiance that instantly soothed her frayed nerves. She let her housecoat fall to the floor, and with a sigh of contentment, lowered herself into the steaming water, allowing her eyes to drift shut as she savored the sensation of the liquid heat enveloping her body. The gentle lapping of the water against the sides of the tub, combined with the delicate scent of lemon that perfumed the air, worked to ease the tension from her muscles and quiet the chaos of her thoughts.
Lost in the tranquility of the moment, Charlotte failed to hear the soft click of the door as Andrew entered the bathing chamber. It was only when the floorboards creaked beneath his weight that her eyes flew open, her heart leaping into her throat at the sight of him standing before her, his gaze dark with unspoken desire.
*
Andrew opened thedoor to the bathing chamber with a glass of champagne. As he stepped into the room, a wave of hot, damp air enveloped him, the steam clinging to his skin and clothing. Cautiously, he peered around the corner, only to be met with a sight that drew a low groan from his lips.
Charlotte’s eyes flew open and stopped her ministrations before she moved to sit up hastily.
“Forgive me,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “I thought you might enjoy chilled champagne in a hot bath.”
Charlotte felt her cheeks flush with heat, a potent blend of embarrassment and gratitude. She made to cover herself, to shield her nakedness from his piercing gaze, but Andrew stayed her hand with a gentle touch.
“Please,” he whispered, his fingers brushing against the delicate skin of her wrist. “Do not hide yourself from me. You are a vision of loveliness.”
Slowly, hesitantly, she allowed her arms to fall away, exposing herself to his appreciative gaze. Andrew’s eyes roamed over her form, drinking in the sight of her like a man parched, his breath coming in shallow pants as he fought to maintain his composure.
“Charlotte,” he breathed. “I am undone by you, my love. You have bewitched me, and I fear I shall never be the same.”
He watched Charlotte’s gaze drift downward, eyes widening at the evidence of his arousal, his trousers stretching taut over his erection. Her teeth sank into her plump lower lip as she toyed with a strand of her hair. Slowly, almost hesitantly, her hand disappeared beneath the water’s surface once more, and Andrew knew she had resumed her previous ministrations.
She leaned back, immersing herself fully in the scented water, her dark hair fanning out around her like the wings of a crow, shimmering in the candlelight. Her eyes sparkled with desire as she watched him, transfixed by the sight of his own hand sliding lower to cup the aching hardness that strained against his falls.
With a groan of surrender, he sank to his knees beside the tub, his hand coming to rest upon her shoulder while his other hand rubbed his aching cock. Charlotte let out a soft gasp as his fingers began to move, tracing the delicate lines of her collarbones before dipping lower, skimming the tops of her breasts where they peeked above the waterline.
She arched into his caress, silently begging for more, and Andrew was all too happy to oblige. His hand slid lower, beneath the water’s surface, his fingers grazing the silken skin of her thigh before delving into the slick heat of her most intimate place.
Charlotte’s head fell back against the edge of the tub, a low moan escaping her parted lips as his fingers found her swollen bud, stroking and teasing until she was writhing beneath his touch, desperate for release. With a final, expert caress of his thumb, he sent her flying over the edge, her inner muscles convulsing around his fingers with the force of her climax as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over her.
The sight of her, lost in the throes of passion, combined with the exquisite sensation of her body’s response to his touch, proved too much for Andrew to bear. With a low groan, he found his own release, the pleasure surging through him with an intensity that left him weak and trembling.
As the haze of passion cleared, their breathing gradually slowed and the world came back into focus. Andrew pulled her closer, pressing his lips to her temple as something profound and unnamed settled between them—a connection that transcended mere physical desire.
The Game
26 December 1836
On a crispwinter evening near the cottage, the village of Whistable was alive with the glow of lanterns and the joyful strains of a fiddle. The community had gathered in the newly built assembly room to celebrate the nuptials of Lord and Lady Carlisle.
The assembly room, a testament to Andrew’s generosity, was resplendent with garlands of hollies and fragrant herbs, their delicate scent mingling with the aroma of freshly baked bread and roasted meats that wafted from the heavily laden tables. At the far end of the room, a group of musicians played a lively tune, their feet tapping in time to the beat as couples whirled and spun across the dance floor, their faces alight with merriment.
As Charlotte and Andrew made their grand entrance, a resounding cheer erupted from the assembled crowd, their faces beaming with gratitude and admiration. The villagers, young and old alike, surged forward to offer their heartfelt thanks and felicitations, their hands clasped in sincere appreciation for all that Andrew had done for their community.
“Lord Carlisle, words cannot express the depth of our gratitude for your boundless kindness,” the vicar said, his voice trembling with emotion. “Your generous supply of medicine and extra hands may very well save countless lives. And now, with the new classrooms and teachers you’ve so graciously provided,our children will have opportunities that other villages can scarcely dream of.”
Andrew, his hand resting lightly on the small of Charlotte’s back, inclined his head graciously. “It is my honor and privilege to serve this wonderful community,” he replied.
As the evening wore on, Charlotte found herself observing her husband with a sense of wonder and admiration. She realized how gravely she had misjudged his character while she watched him graciously accept the villagers’ thanks and laugh with carefree abandon alongside the village children.
Nevertheless, a niggling doubt lingered in the back of her mind even as her heart swelled with a newfound affection for her husband, wondering if his words could truly be trusted when it came to her career.
As his strong, capable hands guided her through the crowd with a gentle touch, she felt a rush of warmth suffuse her being, and memories of their time apart came flooding back—the long, lonely nights at Cambridge, the ache of missing him that had never quite faded, even as she threw herself into her studies with a singular focus.
She recalled the moment at Cambridge when she had given herself to another man, a desperate attempt to hold on to her dream, her life’s purpose. The memory brought with it a pang of shame and regret, disgust churning her stomach at the thought of the man she had lain with.
“Oh, please, Lord Carlisle! Won’t you dance with us?” The eager voices of the young women pleading with Andrew roused Charlotte from her painful reverie. The ladies inched closer to him, their advances inadvertently forcing him away from his bride.
“I’m afraid I must decline,” he stammered, his face flushing a delicate shade of pink.
