To Wed a Wicked Earl (28 page)

Unless of course Charlotte could convince the courts that he was unable to perform his husbandly duties. But who the hell would believe that?

And then of course, there was fraud.

Fifteen minutes later, Charlotte found herself ensconced inside Rothbury’s elegant carriage.

Despite having had a wonderful evening—she had never danced so much in her life—a sudden anxiousness took over her senses. Her heart was racing, her limbs felt shaky, and her breaths were coming all too quickly.

She supposed it had nothing to do with the state of her health and everything to do with the clearly tense, devastatingly handsome man seated across from her, who, for whatever reason, found it perfectly acceptable to look at her as if he wanted to gobble her up.

Faint, gold bristles on his chin and jaw glistened every so often in the moonlight. He looked…a little tired, his eyes hooded as he watched her study him. A silky lock of hair hung down, partially covering one eye, just barely dusting the crest of his angular cheekbone. His golden locks appeared almost brown in the shadows, the wavy ends resting on his shoulders. His cravat was loosened, but the rest of his evening attire was impeccable.

She didn’t think she’d ever get used to being in a closed carriage with the man. He was so long, his legs seemed to take up all the room on the floor. And if he brought in his legs to afford her more room, there was no way he could be comfortable. So, she scrunched her own legs and skirts off to the side, practically pressing against the door in order to accommodate his size.

She folded her hands upon her lap, forcing herself to appear calm. “So…my mother asked you to take me home, did she?”

He gave her one nod of his head.

“And your…your driver…I couldn’t help but hear…You asked him to circle thrice before taking me home.”

“Indeed.”

“What for?”

“To make sure no one sees you exit my carriage without the benefit of a chaperone.”

“Ah, well, that makes sense.” Her voice sounded a bit shrill to her own ears, so she took a deep breath, hoping it would help calm her.

Shame flooded through her, making her cheeks feel as if they were aflame. Trouble was, despite having a grand time at the Langley soiree, she was most excited this evening by having Rothbury take her home.

She had practically begged her mother to ask him to. Hyacinth had hesitated. Though her mother still believed Rothbury was like Uncle Herbert, society did not. And she certainly couldn’t be seen climbing into his carriage and not have her reputation utterly ruined in one fell swoop.

But Hyacinth had relented and Charlotte had inwardly rejoiced. For she had a plan of her own this evening, and that plan included kissing Rothbury again—and letting him stop.

Just how she was going to go about it, she didn’t know, but she was confident that the situation would present itself on its own.

Delicately, she cleared her throat before saying, “You had said earlier that we needed to talk?”

Another nod.

“Well, what did we need to talk about?”

“This,” he said, handing her a slightly wrinkled letter.

Unfolding it, she held it toward the window to make use of the moonlight. “What is it?”

“Read it.”

Straightening the spectacles on her nose, her eyes skimmed the page, quickly at first, then stopping abruptly at the words “genuine and binding.”

She looked up at him in alarm. “Rothbury, what 
is
 this?”

“Please,” he said calmly. “Read on.”

Over and over she read the letter, each time thinking she had missed something. It was a joke. It had to be a joke.

“Rothbury…this isn’t true, is it?”

He closed his eyes on a slow blink. “I’m afraid it is legitimate.”

Afraid,
 he said. So he was not happy about this outcome at all. “But…I don’t understand. When did you receive this?”

“This evening.”

“So I am…we are…we could…”

“Yes. Yes. And, I’m not certain exactly what you mean by ‘we could,’ but I’m willing to accommodate you.”

“This is…” Her mind scrambled to grasp what had happened. “This is…a lot to take in. Does anyone else know?”

“Not yet, I imagine, but they will.”

“But what are we to do?”

She watched as his throat convulsed when he swallowed heavily. “I’ve contacted my solicitor and he believes it is indeed a binding marriage. We could always petition the Church of Scotland for an annulment.”

She looked down at the letter. That was not what she had been expecting him to say. Here she had thought, had hoped really, that what he had to tell her was an admission of love, or at least some sort of budding affection stemming from their deep-rooted friendship. But not only did he give her the shock of her life by telling her that they were truly married, he also had been, obviously, thinking of ways to get out of it. He contacted his solicitor, for goodness sake!

Which meant she had been wrong. Completely wrong. He wasn’t hiding any secret feelings from her. All those looks he gave her…They meant nothing. How could she have let herself fall for the practiced charm of another scoundrel? She had fooled herself into believing there was more to their relationship than there truly was.

As she brought up her hands to rub her temples, the letter drifted to the floor.

Lifting her head, she looked at him, surprised to see an odd mix of emotions glimmering in his amber-flecked gaze. But she dared not name them, not even to herself, for she could never trust that she was right.

She had thought by the end of the night she would have figured him out. And here she found herself more confused than ever.

“What would you like to do, Charlotte?” he asked, his voice a sultry whisper.

“Honestly, right now I would like for you to answer two questions.”

He settled deeper into the squabs, sliding his booted feet forward. His knees now brushed hers.

“You’ve been so grumpy lately. Is…is it because you wanted another? I do realize I have been remiss in helping you win Rosalind, but now—”

“Charlotte,” Rothbury drawled, shaking his head slowly. “I don’t want her.”

Her brow furrowed. “You don’t?”

He shook his head again, his tongue darting out to moisten his sculpted bottom lip.

She swallowed hard, aware of a low heat building in her belly.

“Since when?” she asked, not sure if she should believe him or not.

“Since the beginning. Since before the beginning.”

“But what of Madelyn? You had asked my friend to marry you once before.”

“Charlotte, I have only ever wanted you.”

Her breath whooshed out of her at his admission, but she tread carefully, not allowing it to go to her head. “Well, I suppose that brings me quite neatly to my second question.”

“Yes,” he coaxed, grinning like a devil in the dark.

Could he read her thoughts?

“Would you please kiss me again?”

Chapter 18

A Gentleman respects a Lady’s reputation and would never, under any circumstance, encourage her to succumb to passion.

C
harlotte waited patiently. And then waited some more.

“Would you kiss me again?”

The first time she asked, he merely blinked at her in such fashion that she began to think he hadn’t heard her. Or…hadn’t he said that he was having his solicitor look into the validity of their marriage a minute ago?

Embarrassment prickled her cheeks. Perhaps he 
had
 heard her the first time. He just didn’t 
want
 to kiss her.

But all such misgiving flew out of her head, when he reached across the carriage, grabbed her by the hips and hauled her atop his lap.

“I believe I can accommodate your request,” he whispered, his lips slowly descending to hers.

“Oh thank you,” she whispered back, now into his partially opened mouth. “You are most obliging.”

“You’re very welcome.”

And then his mouth brushed against hers, gently at first, their breath mingling. His lips were firm but soft and they moved upon hers with deliberate slowness.

The carriage rocked suddenly.

“First turn,” he muttered between kisses.

“Hmm?”

He broke the kiss. With his finger he traced her bottom lip. “Two more and my driver will arrive at your town house,” he drawled, his gaze steady on her mouth.

That’s right. He had told the driver to circle three times. Which meant that they still had a little time. Perhaps enough for another kiss.

She opened her mouth a bit, her tongue darting out to shyly touch his finger.

“Take the tip into your mouth.”

She did, suckling softly.

His sharp intake of breath told her that he liked what she did.

He trailed the moist tip of his finger down her chin, applying gentle pressure. And then his mouth swooped over hers, grazing gently at first and then increasing in intensity.

She moaned, running her hands over his jacket, then under his jacket. His lips moved hungrily over hers, stirring a hidden desire to the surface.

Though it was she who sat atop his hard thighs, she felt surrounded by his heat. One of his hands slid up her back to cradle her head as he continued to devour her mouth, while the other smoothed over the curve of her back, down to her bottom.

His tongue swept inside her mouth and she welcomed him, bravely mimicking his actions, though he was clearly more dominant, more demanding.

With a little coaxing and the pulling of much material, he soon had her straddling him, her skirts “rucked up to her waist. Her stocking-clad thighs slipped softly against the material of his breeches. She moved restlessly against him, a need to touch skin to skin nearly overwhelming her.

She pulled impatiently at his jacket.

Without breaking their kiss, he nearly tore it off to oblige her. She ran her fingers over the hard plane of his chest, wishing he were free of his shirt.

She moaned into his mouth, asking for more, asking for something…

The hand at the back of her head curved around the column of her throat, shoulder, then started tugging at her bodice. His hot mouth pressed a trail of kisses down, down, then stopped to playfully nip at the side of her neck.

She shivered, her head dropping back.

And then he tugged her bodice down, her breasts spilling free, bobbing from the motion of the carriage.

He stared down at her momentarily. “You’re beautiful, Charlotte,” he said, his breath caressing one hardened tip.

Threading her fingers through the back of his hair, she pulled him forward.

Rothbury seemed all too happy to answer her silent plea.

He worshipped her breasts, licking, and sucking, brushing her aching nipples over his firm lips, flicking them with his tongue.

Glorious sensations spiked downward, connecting what he was doing to the exact spot where moisture gathered between her thighs.

He suckled at one breast while twirling the nipple of the other between his thumb and index finger. She cried out, and started to rock against him.

He grabbed her ankle with his other hand and then slid his palm slowly up and around her calf, knee, and over her garters to squeeze her thigh, his deft fingers massaging ever closer to her damp center.

The carriage lurched to the side once again. Second turn.

Charlotte gave a small whimper of disappointment as his other hand left her breast. A second later her entire body rejoiced as he cupped her hip and bottom, rolling her into his arousal, the rocking of the carriage helping them along.

A throbbing ache started to grow in her womb. She wanted more, wanted something…

“Rothbury, please,” she begged. “Please.”

And then his fingers were there, delving inside, spreading her moisture up and down and around her opening. Her hips circled and dipped along with his movements. She moaned, saying his name. He groaned, panting along with her. Expertly, he handled her. Rhythmically, sweetly, he tortured her.

“Open my trousers,” he breathed.

She complied.

Soon he was freed, his hardness jutting upward, seeking her heat.

“Look at me,” he bit out through his teeth.

As if through a haze, she met his heated, intense gaze.

“This is the only time in my life I will ever hurt you.”

Her brow scrunched and it was on the tip of her tongue to ask him just what exactly he meant, when the tip of his manhood pulsed at the opening of her center.

“Hold on,” he said, his voice strained.

Charlotte gripped his shoulders. Rothbury gripped her hips. Lifting her, he hesitated for a moment.

“Do you want it?”

She nodded and made some sort of noise, half whimper and half the word “yes.”