Page 68 of Touched By a Traitor
“Yes, please. Thank you.” Her words were soft, almost lost in the crackling of the fire.
Toweling her damp hair, Charlotte made her way into the parlor, where she found Andrew standing before the hearth, a steaming cup clasped in his hand as he stared into the dancing flames. He, too, had already bathed and changed, wearing a simple shirt and trousers beneath his own housecoat.
Charlotte lingered by the fire, trying to gauge her husband’s mood as she searched his face for any hint of his thoughts. Andrew met her gaze, his eyes seeming to pierce straight through her. His attention drifted deliberately downward to her stockings, one brow lifting while his expression remained dark and unfathomable.
Then with excruciating slowness, his gaze traced a burning path from the swell of her breasts to the curve of her hips.
He came to her slowly and pulled her body flush against him, one hand pulling up her shift to press his knee between her thighs. Despite the hunger evident in his shallow breaths and ardent caresses, Andrew’s kiss was impossibly tender. Hebrushed his lips softly against hers, nipping and exploring with a gentleness that left her motionless.
Charlotte allowed him to explore her mouth, relishing the softness of his lips, the warmth of his breath, and the way his hands roamed her body. When his large hands cupped her bottom and pulled against his shaft, she gasped in surprise. She wrapped her arms around his neck and stroked his short hair. She marveled at its softness.
“Give me your tongue. Let me taste you,” he whispered against her mouth, his husky voice sending shivers down her spine.
As she offered her tongue hesitantly, Andrew’s mouth claimed hers in a deep, possessive kiss, his tongue delving inside to explore every crevice that left her weak and trembling. He spread his palm over her back, caressing the curve of her buttocks before squeezing, a low moan escaping his throat. His fingers trailed up her spine, then gripped her head to press her lips more firmly against his own.
*
Andrew lost allsense of who he was and what he wanted, consumed by a burning thirst that only she could quench. Cupping her round bottom, he ground his aching member against her.
Gently, Charlotte’s hands pressed against his chest, breaking the kiss. They stared at each other, panting, her lips swollen and bright red from his fervent assault.
“Could we not delay intimacy?” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.
He stilled, studying her thoughtfully. “Why?”
“We are scarcely acquainted… physically. You have kept yourself chaste… whereas I…” Her words trailed off, and even in the dim light, Andrew could see the shame in her eyes.
Andrew loosened his arms, eventually releasing her and stepping back. Her countenance changed from shame to wounded, her eyes readily accepting his disappointment. As much as he longed for the oblivion of claiming her, even sleep would be preferable over a discussion, he sensed this conversation was of great importance to the woman he had drawn into his orbit.
“I am no aristocrat, save for my title, and I do not subscribe to their notions of feminine purity,” he said. “A true woman is not some untouched paragon, but rather one who has lived, endured, and triumphed over adversity. You, my sweet, embody that indomitable spirit—a woman who has overcome, yet refused to let it break her.”
As he spoke, Andrew slowly divested himself of his housecoat, Charlotte’s eyes following his every movement. The garment slipped from his broad shoulders, revealing the open shirt and trousers beneath. Her gaze was drawn to the expanse of his chest, tapering to a trim waist, before skipping involuntarily to the unmistakable protrusion along his thigh. This time, there was no laughter in her eyes.
“You are my wife, Charlotte, whether it pleases you or not,” Andrew said, his voice tinged with weariness. “Delaying the inevitable will only breed discomfort between us. Besides, I find myself aching for your touch. It has been so long since I last lay with a woman… I can only hope I remember how it is done.”
He studied Charlotte’s countenance, noting the way her expression seemed to waver between a chuckle and a cry. A sense of unease settled over him, an instinct that whispered all was not as it seemed with her.
“I… I would like to propose a means of easing this process of… bedding, if I may,” Charlotte said.
Andrew stepped closer, lifting her chin with the tip of his finger until her gaze met his. “Are you afraid of me?” he asked softly, his eyes searching hers.
She shook her head rapidly, words seeming to fail her.
“Do I repulse you?”
“No, of course not,” she whispered. “I am merely nervous.”
Nodding, Andrew released her, accepting her explanation. “What did you have in mind to make you more comfortable?”
“A game,” she said.
Andrew lifted his brows. Rolling up his sleeves, the fabric sliding over his muscular forearms, he fixed her with an appraising look. “And what sort of game did you have in mind, my clever wife?”
Her smile widened; her countenance became more relaxed. “I shall pose to you a series of legal questions, and for each incorrect answer, you must remove one article of your clothing. But should you answer correctly, it is I who shall shed a garment.”
A deep, rumbling laugh escaped Andrew’s lips as he crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Hardly an equitable arrangement, Lady Carlisle. You are, after all, a professional in such matters.”
“Ah, but a professional of limited experience. And you, my lord, are a seasoned man of business. We could, if you prefer, restrict the questions to matters of contract and corporate law.”
