The Christmas Heiress (27 page)

A blush stole through her chest and face, but she was filled with an agonized need that overcame any
residual embarrassment. She trusted him completely, knew he would do whatever was necessary
to bring her pleasure, to bring her joy.

He fondled her with delicate expertise, his long
fingers gliding through her silky curls to brush repeatedly over the small engorged bud kindling an
almost unbearable excitement within her. And as
he stroked her, he kissed her, then whispered into
her ear sweet bits of nonsense that made her shiver
and pant, words of endearment and lust that made
her heart sing.

Charlotte thought she must have been possessed
by madness last night in the library to allow her passion such unchecked rein, but now she understood
there was more than physical desire between them.
There was an emotional connection that drove
their desire to unimaginable heights, regardless of
the past, regardless of the consequences.

Charlotte breathed in sharp pants and put her
hands on Edward's broad shoulders to steady her
weak knees. Her hands tightened in convulsive
squeezes as she felt the tension begin to crest. Then
suddenly it peaked and Charlotte arched her back,
every muscle in her body straining as she found
herself shaking and shattering and coming apart.

All the strength drained out of her and she fell
forward, but Edward held her tightly in his embrace. He waited until her breathing was less labored, then guided her backward toward the bed,
tumbling them both onto the soft mattress.

Her head still spinning, Charlotte rested against
the pillow, gazing inquiringly at Edward, wondering
what would happen next. After tossing off his shoes, he climbed on the bed, lay down beside her
and waited.

Delighted at the opportunity to take the lead, Charlotte turned to face him. She took a moment to study
his face, then impulsively reached out and traced his
mouth with the tip of her finger. He smiled.

She put her hand against his cheek and felt the
rough dark beard that had already grown since
morning. The need to kiss him was so strong her
lips began to tremble. Giving in to the temptation,
she moved toward him. His lips were welcoming
and soft and she gladly opened her mouth as his
tongue searched for hers.

They kissed for several long minutes and Charlotte
felt the stirring of desire starting to build again. But
now it was Edward's turn to experience the bliss.
Boldly, she placed her hand over the front of his
trousers, feeling his erection through the fine fabric.

"Unbutton it," he coaxed.

Charlotte felt a wicked blush creep into her face.
But she followed his command and he groaned appreciatively when she reached inside his open pants
and took him in her hand.

She touched him lightly at first. Then with more
assurance she began to stroke him, her hand exploring the shape that was starting to become familiar. His hips responded in a slow rhythm as her
questing fingers trailed a path from base to tip,
then softly circled the head.

Touching his body so intimately gave her an amazing sense of power, of freedom. She felt like a wanton,
uninhibited creature who knew no boundaries, no
restraints, who existed only to give and receive pleasure.

Caught in the excitement of the moment, Charlotte tightened her grip, pulling harder and
faster on his penis. Edward made a rough sound
in his throat and jerked involuntarily. She repeated the motion, this time reaching all the way
down to the base where a nest of soft hair surrounded his testicles.

"It's so hard and hot," she murmured.

"For you," he said breathlessly. "Only for you."

He taught her how to make it last, how to use the
edge of her finger to spread the moisture that
weeped from the tip all around the smooth head,
how to vary her grip from soft to hard, slow, then
fast, then slow.

She could feel his entire body shaking against
hers and her skin longed for the feel of him. She
wanted him naked, wanted to feel his hot, smooth
skin against her own, wanted her body entwined
with his. "Let's finish undressing," she whispered.

Edward needed no encouragement. His eyes
never left hers as he wrenched off his open trousers
and underclothes, then threw off his shirt. With a
wicked gleam, he reached for the bows of her chemise, untied them, then pulled the garment over
her head.

His hands roamed her body with soothing strokes
from her shoulders to her lower back, her hips to
her buttocks and upper thighs. Charlotte shivered
and copied his movements, running her fingers
over the muscles of his shoulders and back, then
pressed herself close until her breasts rubbed
against his chest.

His penis grew as if to attract her attention, poking
her insistently in her stomach. She rolled her hips
teasingly against it, and laughed with delight.

"Wicked wench," he growled.

She teased him further, running her hands all
over his naked frame, yet deliberately avoiding the
one spot that throbbed so obviously for her caress.
Finally, her hand returned to his penis, long and
thick and hard. She wrapped her fingers around its
turgid length, but he pulled her hand away.

"I need to be inside you," he said with sudden
urgency.

"Yes," she whispered eagerly, rolling onto her
back.

"Not that way," he said in a raspy tone. "I want
you to mount me."

Charlotte narrowed her eyes at him in shock, certain she must have misheard. But he shifted his position, set his hand around her slender waist and
lifted her, placing her on the top of his muscular
thighs while he lay flat on his back beneath her. She
straddled him awkwardly, still uncertain. This could
not possibly be right.

"Put me inside you," he said, giving clear voice to
his desire.

His words made her light-headed. Tentatively,
she shifted her knees, moving forward to slide herself along the rigid length of his penis, gamely following his commands. Edward's hands remained
on her hips, his voice a low seductive murmur as he
guided her movements.

Their eyes met as her body slowly lowered itself
inside his and they were joined. The excitement
she felt deepened, yet Charlotte winced when
Edward flexed his hips and thrust himself fully
inside her. She was wet and aroused, but still a bit
sore from yesterday.

"Am I hurting you?"

"A little, but no, Edward, don't stop." She cried
out faintly and drew in a ragged breath. She leaned
over him, supporting herself on her hands and
gazed into his eyes. "Do not stop," she repeated
breathlessly.

In response, he thrust upward a second time, filling her with a deep penetration, and she strained
with the effort to accommodate him. Her hips
began to undulate, but he kept changing the
rhythm, the intensity, the depth of each thrust. She
hovered on the edge of a second release, but could
not find it.

"Stay with me," he urged, moving his hand down
to the spot where their bodies were joined.

His searching fingers found the aching center of
her desire and she cried out as he circled the sensitive bud. With only a few additional strokes Charlotte reached fulfillment, her inner muscles
clamping tightly around him. She could feel his
shoulders and arms shaking with the strain of holding back his climax as he waited for hers to end.

Then with a deep groan, Edward put his hands
on either side of her hips and lifted her high in the
air, abruptly separating their bodies. He quickly
brought her down again, pressing himself tightly
against the softness of her belly. Charlotte felt his
penis spasm and jerk, again and again, until the
warm wetness of his seed spilt across her stomach.

The moment was nearly too much for her overstimulated senses. Dazed, she stayed pressed against
him for several minutes until her nose began to twitch.
The air was heavy with the tangy scent of their lovemaking. She slipped from the bed and retrieved a towel and wet cloth. Returning, she carefully scrubbed
the sticky mess from his flat stomach and muscled
chest, then cleaned herself.

Edward observed her actions with quiet calm, his
expression solemn, yet sated. When she finished,
Charlotte climbed back into bed and collapsed
against him, her hair a cloud of waves around them
both. He slipped an arm around her waist, drawing
her back against him, cradling her in the curve of his
body. She felt warm and safe, protected by his embrace, his physical strength.

"Sleep, sweetheart," he whispered, pressing his
lips against her hair.

With a sigh, Charlotte relaxed against him. His
tenderness made her feel protected and cherished
and that realization made her throat tighten with
emotion. Yet, as she drifted off to sleep, she was no
closer to making a decision about marrying him,
and that confused her even more.

Jonathan lay in the middle of his bed, his eyes
closed, his mind racing. From time to time he
opened his eyelids and glanced at the mantle clock,
pretending the lateness of the hour held no consequence, when it was in fact positive proof that he
could not sleep.

The euphoria that had engulfed him when Charlotte had slipped him Evelyn's note earlier in the
evening had long faded, leaving him in a melancholy,
reflective mood. Evelyn's message had hardly been
encouraging.

In a most guarded and cautionary tone she had
acknowledged his feelings, reiterated how flattered she was by the attention and closed by stating flatly
that they were in no way equals. She could not slip
easily into his echelon of society and he should not
entertain the ridiculous notion of lowering himself
to hers.

His family connections, position in society and
wealth were all far above her own, therefore precluding the possibility of a future life together. She
urged him to consider forming an alliance with a
more suitable young woman, one who would fit
with ease in his world and bring him the happiness
he so richly deserved.

Ironically, it was just this sort of selfless regard for
the needs of others, this natural inclination to place
his happiness above her own that captured and held
Jonathan's heart even stronger. And yet even he must
acknowledge that Evelyn had made several valid
points.

He should leave her alone. Why couldn't he?

Frustrated, Jonathan left the bed. Slipping into
his brocade robe to ward off the chill, he left his
chamber in search of a drink. Brandy would be
nice, but whiskey would serve too.

He would write Evelyn again, after he had found
some rest and his mind was clear. He would tell her
that he had indeed made a concerted effort to consider the single women that society deemed suitable,
weighing them against her as a potential wife. But
even with their advantageous social standing and
wealth, all others fell far short, including the lovely
Miss Dunaway, who despite her wit and beauty, created no spark of male interest within him.

Though Jonathan thought it obvious to point out
that Miss Dunaway preferred his brother, and more importantly Edward's title. Not that he blamed her.
It was a mark of her intelligence and good sense that
she had set her sights on the man with the greater
prospects.

Perhaps he would head to the library for his drink.
There was always a decanter of spirits in there, and
once he had partaken, he could search the many
shelves of books for inspiration that would help him
express more clearly the emotions of his heart.

Evelyn enjoyed poetry. His case might be helped
by quoting lines from some lesser-known works,
lines that would give her pause, would make her
think, but more importantly believe, that anything
was possible.

Given the very late hour it was no surprise to find
the hallway deserted. It was dark, cold and silent,
but as he reached the end of the long corridor,
Jonathan heard a sound. He stopped, waited, listened and heard it again. Who else could possibly
be sneaking around at such an ungodly hour?

He took a few more steps, froze, then peered tentatively around the corner. To his great astonishment, Jonathan saw his brother creeping down the
hallway, rumpled and scarcely dressed, holding
most of his clothes over one arm and his shoes in
the opposite hand.

"Edward?" he rasped in a loud whisper.

The earl whirled around in alarm, dropping a
shoe in the process that must have landed on his
bare foot because he cursed loudly and began
hopping on one leg.

"Bloody, hell, Jonathan, you scared ten years off
my life!" the earl scolded in a quiet voice. "What are
you doing up at this hour?"

"I could ask you the same question," Jonathan
replied, crossing his arms over his chest. "And, while
I am at it, inquire also as to why you are skulking
around the hallways, carrying, instead of wearing,
the majority of your clothing?"

The earl squared his shoulders and straightened
his posture. "I am not skulking."

"You most assuredly are, "Jonathan retorted. Across
the expanse, they studied each other. "Though upon
further inspection I can understand why you do not
wish to remain visible. You look as if you donned just
enough clothes so that you would not completely
shock the servants if you were seen."

The hallway was dimly lit, but Jonathan could see
his brother's face deepen in color. "This is a private
matter."

Jonathan did not bother to hide his astonishment. "A clandestine affair with one of our houseguests? Very out of character, dear brother."

"A private matter that shall remain private," the
earl insisted, refusing to address his brother's accusations. "Do I make myself understood?"

His voice was so well modulated, one would have
thought he was discussing the weather, but even in
the gloomy shadows of the hall, Jonathan could see
his brother was far from calm. It must be a very special woman indeed, to affect him so deeply.