Page 71 of Touched By a Traitor
Andrew and Charlotteembarked on a blissful life together in their London townhouse. With Charlotte’s law office now relocated to Andrew’s London Bank building, they fell into a delightful routine of breakfasting together each morning before arriving at the office arm in arm. As they parted ways to attend to their respective duties, Andrew would give her a sidelong glance filled with longing, a promise of the passion that awaited them.
Throughout the day, as they immersed themselves in their work, Andrew would find himself drawn to her office, unable to resist the pull of her presence. He would coax her to leave, to return home with him, his eyes smoldering with desire.
In the evenings, when they attended gatherings or soirées, Andrew’s jealousy would often get the better of him. The sight of other men’s gazes raking over his beautiful wife would stoke a fire within him, a primal need to claim her as his own. In those moments, he would pull her into a secluded linen closet or an empty room, his hands roaming her body with a desperate urgency.
“I thought I’d die without being inside you this very moment,” he’d growl against her ear, his voice needy. “The way all those men were looking at you, I must remind you to whom your pleasure belongs.” And remind her he did, his thick, rigid member plunging into her depths with a fervor that left her trembling.
*
Charlotte found herselffalling head over heels for this man, so desperate and transparent in his need for her. She performed her legal duties with diligence, then floated around their townhouse, attending to her countess duties and meeting with lawyers to oversee Andrew’s charitable endeavors. She pored over finances and sought ways to improve operations, her heart swelling with pride at the good they were doing together.
At night, Andrew would storm into the parlor, the study, wherever she happened to be, and sweep her into his arms, devouring her with a hunger that never seemed to be sated.
“I missed you all day,” he’d confess, his eyes dark with longing.
Charlotte would laugh, her head tilted back in joy, and he would trail kisses along the taut lines of her neck, then lower to her breasts.
Sometimes, his lovemaking was tender, filled with gentle warnings and nudging caresses. Other times, he would surpriseher as she lay on her stomach, lost in a book. He’d sneak up on her silently, slip his hands beneath her night rail, spread her legs, and take her with such fervor that it left her gasping and clinging to him.
When she yelped in surprise, he’d whisper hotly against her skin, “Next time, I better find you touching yourself, thinking of me, or I shall take you until you can’t remember your name.”
They would discuss law, politics, and philosophy, engaging in passionate debates that often ended with Andrew throwing in the towel in the name of peace and pleasure.
“Ride my tongue, and I shall declare you the winner,” he’d say darkly.
Every time they came together, the sexual tension between them was electric. They could do nothing but cling to each other, screaming one another’s names in ecstasy until they collapsed into the blissful oblivion of sleep.
“Will you tell me why you won’t let me mount you on your back?” he asked gently one day.
She shook her head, her eyes growing distant.
“Tell me why, then,” he pressed softly, concern threading through his voice.
She remained silent, unable to voice the memories that haunted her.
Andrew studied her face, recognizing the shadows that crossed her features. Understanding that some wounds needed time to heal, he simply pulled her closer, content to love her in the ways that brought her only pleasure.
Theirs was a love that consumed them, body and soul, a love that burned brighter with each passing day. Within the sanctuary of their embrace, they found a peace and contentment that knew no bounds.
Poison
12 January 1837
The bustling atmosphereof the gentleman’s club provided a welcome respite from the chaos of London’s streets. The soft murmur of conversations and the clink of glasses created a soothing ambiance, allowing members to relax and unwind after a long day.
Tucked away in a quiet corner of the club, Andrew sat engrossed in a contract, his brow furrowed in concentration. He relished these rare moments of solitude, away from the demands of his business empire.
However, his peace was short-lived. The sound of approaching footsteps drew his attention, and he looked up just in time to see the smug face of Wilson appear before him. Andrew’s jaw clenched, a flicker of annoyance passing over his features at the unwelcome intrusion.
“Ah, Carlisle, I believe congratulations are in order,” Wilson declared, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the club.
“Thank you,” Andrew replied tersely, his eyes never leaving the document in his hands. He had no desire to engage in small talk with the man, whose presence always seemed to grate on his nerves.
Wilson, undeterred by the cool reception, glanced about for a servant and barked, “Brandy!” before settling himself in thechair opposite Andrew. He leaned back, crossing his legs and regarding Andrew with a self-satisfied smile.
“Do you know why I recommended you for the position of an honorary bencher, Carlisle?” he asked, his expression one of self-satisfaction.
“To have me at your beck and call, I presume.” Andrew’s gaze moved across the document.
