Page 67 of Touched By a Traitor
He looked up then, his gaze locking with hers, intense and unwavering. “Yes, for when I love, I do so deeply. I have no interest in dallying with women for whom I hold no deep affection. Emily and I were together for four years. When I was finally earning a comfortable income, I asked for her hand, only to discover that her heart had been claimed by another—a young aristocrat of twenty.”
Charlotte felt a sting of resentment as his gaze turned pensive once more, his foot resuming its invisible tracings on the floor. She wondered if his foot might be tracing her name—Emily.
“And the third?” Her voice took on a sharp edge.
He raised his eyes to hers, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smile that made her heart flutter. Stepping closer, he rested his hand gently on her waist, the heat of his touch seeping through the layers of her gown. Charlotte tilted her head back, her eyes searching his.
“The third, my sweet, is you,” he whispered, his breath warm against her cheek.
“Me?” She sucked in a breath.
He chuckled, the sound low and rich. “Surely you haven’t forgotten the intimacy we shared?”
“No, of course not, but… are you saying you’ve been with no other woman since our encounter?”
“Aye, that’s precisely what I’m saying.”
“Not even for a single night?”
Leaning toward her, he whispered in her ear, “Not even for a moment if you don’t count the woman with my prick in her mouth.”
“Oh, my…” Charlotte’s voice quavered as his words blazed hotly inside her.
“Lord Carlisle, won’t you join us for a dance now?” the same young women called out, their voices rising above the lively music.
“I’m afraid I must decline, ladies. Dancing is not among my talents.”
“You don’t dance?” Charlotte echoed, her eyebrows arching in surprise.
“No, I never learned how. I never found the time.”
“Well, that can be easily remedied,” she declared, taking his hand and leading him toward an empty space on the dance floor.
At first, Andrew appeared hesitant, his movements stiff and uncertain as he tried to follow the intricate steps of the country dance. His brow furrowed in concentration as he struggled to keep pace with the music.
But Charlotte simply laughed, her eyes sparkling with warmth and encouragement as she squeezed his hand reassuringly.
“Don’t fret,” she whispered, leaning in close so that her words were meant for his ears alone. Andrew’s arm came around her waist possessively, holding her close for a moment longer before releasing her.
With infinite patience, Charlotte began to steer Andrew through the steps, her body moving with grace and fluidity. She twirled and spun, her skirts billowing about her ankles as she moved in perfect time to the music, her hand never leaving Andrew’s as she guided him gently.
Soon, the two of them were laughing and spinning together as they twirled and dipped and swayed. The rest of the world fell away until there was nothing but the magic of the moment.
*
As the carriagecarried them homeward, Andrew sat with his eyes closed, his body coiled with a palpable tension that seemed to fill the confined space. Charlotte half-expected to see lightning crackling above his head at any moment.
For the next twenty minutes, until they arrived at their destination, Charlotte found herself wringing her hands, silently willing the butterflies in her stomach to settle. How could her husband transform from sweet to terrifying in the span of a single breath, evoking laughter from her one minute and trembling with fear the next?
Glancing out the window, Charlotte felt the weight of the night pressing down on her. Uncertainty gripped her heart as she pondered whether Andrew intended to consummate their marriage this evening or if she might be granted a reprieve for one more night. The mere thought of joining with a man sent tremors through her body and beads of perspiration dotting her brow.
And yet, the memory of Andrew’s tender ministrations in the bath chamber, the exquisite sensation of his hand upon her heated flesh, had her rubbing her thighs together. Perhaps she would fare better if they could avoid the bed… if she could see his face during the act.
As the carriage rolled to a stop, Andrew seemed to come to life once more, swiftly moving to assist Charlotte as she alighted. Without so much as a glance in her direction, he busied himself with the task of lighting candles and stoking the fires in the hearths. Once he had prepared her bathwater, he hastilytook his leave, leaving Charlotte alone with her thoughts in the bedchamber.
Unable to find solace in the bath, her anxiety mounting as the darkness closed in around her, Charlotte washed with hurried efficiency, donning a shift and housecoat. Then an idea occurred to her to possibly make the coupling more comfortable for her. The last thing she wanted was for her to respond with revulsion when he entered her. That would surely expose her and ruin their intimacy. With that thought, Charlotte donned the garter and stockings beneath her shift and ventured out to face whatever the night might bring.
“Shall I pour you a cup of tea, Charlotte?” Andrew’s voice cut through the heavy silence.
