What Not to Bare: A Loveswept Historical Romance (19 page)

He took that moment to glower at her. Actually glower. “I have asked you not to denigrate yourself so. You are beautiful, Charlotte. When will you believe that?”

All sorts of answers—entirely inappropriate answers—came to mind at his question, but she couldn’t even voice them all inside her head, much less speak them out loud. If she did, she would just burst into flame and fly up in ashes to the sky.

Instead, she drew a deep breath, banishing those images to somewhere else. “I believe at one point you said I was ‘not ugly,’ which is a far cry from being beautiful.”

At this, he stopped dead in the middle of the dance floor, causing a collision of all
the couples around them. “Come,” he said, holding his hand out for her. “I will fetch you a glass of water, if you are feeling faint.”

She opened her mouth to deny feeling faint—she’d never felt better, actually—but snapped it shut again when she saw the look in his eye. “Oh, yes,” she murmured, lowering her head as she followed him off the dance floor to the ever-present terrace.

What would she do without terraces? Did all young, unmarried people—bachelors and whatever you would call her, as she wasn’t yet a spinster, but definitely wasn’t married—know about this terrace thing?

It was awfully handy when one wanted to have a private conversation.

“Is there something wrong?” She gazed up at him. The moonlight was kind to his face, not that any lighting wouldn’t be. But the moonlight cast shadows over the bones and planes of his face, making his beauty seem almost fantastical, like something someone could only dream of.

He drew a hand through his hair, making it look mussed, but no less devastating. “I … God, Charlotte, you are beautiful. But you’re beyond beautiful. You’re so you, so essentially Charlotte that it’s hard to find words to describe you properly. Lord knows I’ve tried,” he added in a mutter. He shook his head.

“It’s just … it’s just this,” he said as he pulled her to the side of the terrace, just behind the double doors, so that they couldn’t be seen. And before she could even wonder why, he kissed her.

David took her into his arms and kissed her thoroughly. It felt, in fact, as though he was consuming her; his tongue plundered her mouth as his arms wrapped tight around her, bringing her in close to his body.

Which, she could tell, was pleased about the contact. That was certainly a sudden reaction … unless it had been building while they danced?

She would have to ask.

All thought of asking anything flew out of her head as her entire body reacted to what he was doing, how he was doing it, and just where he was doing it.

His hands slid down her back until he reached the point where her back curved into her behind, then he flattened his palms and ran them over her, down to where her legs began, then up again.

It felt incredible.

She heard the rustle as her gown shifted over her body, drawn up by his palms, then dropping down again as he smoothed his hands all over her.

It had been such a sudden assault—not in a bad way, but an assault nonetheless—that she had just stood there as he’d lowered his mouth. But now that she had time to assess the situation, she realized she could participate as well—which would definitely be enjoyable.

So she parted his jacket and skimmed her hands up his waistcoat, onto his shoulders. His broad, strong shoulders. Her hands grasped them, and she used him as leverage to raise herself up higher so she was more level with him.

He still towered over her, of course, but now that part of her that desperately needed contact—not her breasts, the other part—was up against his thigh, which was much more satisfactory than near his leg. Near his leg didn’t help her at all, whereas pressed up against his thigh helped somewhat.

Not entirely, but if it entirely helped, she knew her reputation would be permanently and entirely ruined, and his would suffer as well.

And even if she could do that to herself, she couldn’t do that to him. Not given what he’d mentioned about India and his need to be useful.

But meanwhile, he’d forsaken her behind and was finding his usefulness in running his hands up her side, placing his palms on her breasts, his thumbs on her skin just above the fabric.

As though he could simply hook his fingers and pull her gown down to expose her to his gaze.

Which should have been a disconcerting thought for a young lady currently being kissed on a terrace at a society party, but was not at all.

Perhaps she was different from other young ladies. But how could she find out?

She couldn’t ask him—could she?

This was far more thinking than she should be engaged in at this particular moment, given that her mind was almost entirely consumed in just how he was making her feel. Which was, in a word, wonderful.

Not to mention fantastic, glorious, sensual, attractive, and even beautiful.

He curled his hand around her breast, again caressing it as he had her behind. And that felt glorious as well, even though the wonderful feeling was tinged with a wanting, a need that was building inside her, making her want something else to happen.

She was not so naïve she didn’t know what that something was. But this was not the place, the time, nor the situation. Even if he was an excellent choice for … something.

She leaned into his hand, wanting his touch all over her body, feeling as though her breasts were aching for his touch. And he wanted it too; he gave a low moan, deep in his throat as he kissed her, his big body almost subsuming her with its strength and her need.

Then there was a noise, or rather, the music stopped, so it was a lack of noise, but whatever it was caused them to jump apart, the skirt of Charlotte’s gown making a last rustle to the ground. Her fingers went to her mouth, still moist and warm from his.

“We should return.” His voice was shaky. She’d done that to him.

She nodded, but paused and bit her lip. “Perhaps you should wait out here for a bit? Until you, uh, settle?” she said, trying hard not to look down at just where he
definitely had to settle.

He looked away from her, his expression a mix of ruefulness and embarrassment. “I suppose I should. You should go back now, though.”

“Yes.” She said the word, but still she stood there, looking at him, the tremulous, delicious feeling still resonating through her body, even though they were no longer touching.

“Go, Charlotte,” he urged softly, and she spun on her heel and reentered the ballroom, hoping nobody could see just what she was thinking. What she was thinking and wishing she were doing.

Of course, if anyone could figure out the muddle currently in her brain, they were welcome to her thoughts.

“There you are,” Anne said, catching her by the arm as she turned to enter the card room. Thank goodness her mother found the allure of gambling far more interesting than watching what her daughter was getting up to.

“Were you looking for me? Was anybody?”

Anne smirked. There was no other word for it. She smirked. “Nobody else noticed when you and Lord David slipped away, if you’re worried. Not even Lady Radnor. She and Charles are dancing,” she said. “Were you doing more column research? On our terrace?” One of her eyebrows rose as she asked the questions.

“No, I was … We were …”
He was kissing me senseless, and I was kissing him back, and there may have been hands involved
.

Anne held her hand up. “Never mind. I am guessing this is one of those things about which I do not wish to know.”

Charlotte gave a brief nod.

“So what is your next column—oh, Lady Radnor. Have you and Charles finished your dance, then?”

“Yes, your brother is such an engaging companion.” How did everything she say manage to sound dismissive? “He has invited me to go to the museum with you and your mother—and him, of course—the next time you go. Lady Charlotte was telling me of its attractions.”

Anne looked as though she wanted to retract the invitation, but of course she was
far too polite—and Charles too much of an ass—for her to say anything.

“That will be lovely.”

Charlotte was hoping Lady Radnor would find some other male to torment rather than continuing to bother David, but that assumed he did not want to be bothered.

What if he did want to be bothered? What if he liked having women dogging his heels? Not to mention kissing his mouth.

“Lady Anne, I apologize,” David said, having joined their group. “I got engrossed in a particularly arousing conversation,” he continued, shooting a look at Charlotte that made her face grow warm, “and did not find you in time for our dance. Are you free now?”

Anne smirked again and held her hand out to him. “Yes, thank you, Lord David. I would love to.”

David bowed to both of them and drew Anne to the dance floor.

Charlotte and Louise watched them retreat, Charlotte dreading having to make polite conversation with the woman, whom she already knew she didn’t like, and was guessing she couldn’t trust.

After all, if her biggest complaint about India was that it was not England, how could Charlotte possibly find anything she said credible? Not that Charlotte didn’t love England as well, just that she was interested in going to other places and exploring other things. Something it seemed she and Lady Radnor did not have in common. Unless “exploring other things” referred to David.

“Lord David is a particular acquaintance of yours, I believe?”

Lady Radnor was clever to find the one thing they did have in common.

And how did one answer that, anyway? To say no would be to deny the friendship; to say yes made it sound as though she was bragging.

Thankfully Lady Radnor did not seem to require an answer. “He is such a gentleman, always rescuing stray dogs.” At this, she shot a look at Charlotte. “There was one occasion where the mutt was barely recognizable under all the dirt, and he cleaned it up and fed it. Only to find, of course,” she said with a trill of a laugh, “that it was still an ugly dog.”

Speaking of dogs, Charlotte wished she could tell Louise she was acting like a
lady dog, a bi—only ladies weren’t supposed to know that term, nor was it at all a nice thing to say, and despite how plainspoken she was in general, Charlotte could only be that entirely mean in her head. Plus, she didn’t want to hurt the lady’s feelings, even if she had just effectively compared Charlotte to an ugly dog.

On second thought, she opened her mouth to reply, but Lord Charles chose that moment to walk up to them.

Would she ever get to actually finish a conversation this evening? It appeared not.

“Lady Radnor, may I steal you away to make arrangements for the museum visit? Excuse us, Lady Charlotte,” he said, taking Louise’s arm without waiting for a reply.

With her mother in the card room, Anne and David on the dance floor, and even Louise and Charles deserting her, she was now alone. At a party.

At least she could finally finish a conversation with herself.

***

He was going to miss this, he thought on the carriage ride home. Although how much that was due to a certain inquisitive young lady, he couldn’t answer. Wouldn’t answer, actually.

Even without including the time he’d spent on the terrace with her, he’d had fun. Her friend Lady Anne had a quiet, subtle wit he quite enjoyed, and he’d found himself at the center of a group of young gentlemen eager for advice on all sorts of things. Apparently he now had a reputation for being a knowledgeable gentleman, by virtue of having been away for so long.

If that was all it took, perhaps these young men might want to go unearth some of the aristocrats who hated London and hadn’t been there in years.

It wasn’t sufficient, all of that, but it did make him feel useful.

And then there was her, and their frequent forays onto terraces, and all that entailed. He’d come so close to throwing caution aside and stripping her of her loathsome gown tonight, revealing the beauty and loveliness he’d already seen, but hadn’t seen nearly enough of.

And the way she responded to his touch, how she had touched him as well, her
hands on his shoulders, his chest, the way she’d pressed herself up against him, not timid or frightened by anything.

He admired her. He did. But more than that, he was intrigued by her. He wanted to explore her further, both her body and her mind, and that was perhaps the largest reason he wished he could remain in London longer.

Only a few weeks remained.

He felt his chest tighten at the thought of having to say good-bye. Not yet, at least. Not yet.

He wasn’t in the mood for conversation when he arrived home; thankfully Gotam had gone to bed already, knowing David could take care of himself. He poured a brandy in the salon and headed upstairs with his drink.

He set the glass down on the bureau inside his room and tossed his jacket onto a nearby chair, knowing that in the morning, Gotam would delight in complaining about David’s carelessness. Again. It seemed to be the one thing that was consistent about their friendship.

Then he sat down on one of the chairs to remove his shoes, resting his elbow on his knee. He stared at the carpet beneath his feet, not seeing it, but seeing her in his mind instead.

Still feeling the warmth and softness of her body against his.

His cock began to stiffen, and he rose, shucking his trousers and smallclothes in one smooth motion. Then he drew his shirt over his head and threw it on top of the jacket, and strode over to his bed.

Completely nude, he got under the covers and grasped himself, thinking it was her hand that touched him. That stroked his length and hardness just so, as he began to swell under the touch.

He hadn’t licked and sucked her nipples yet, had he? He would have to change that next time they were safely alone. The thought of her completely exposed to his gaze had him breathing harder as his grip grew tighter, and his strokes grew more frantic.

What would her face look like when she came? The thought itself was almost enough to send him over the edge, so he slowed his strokes and forced himself to think of something, anything, else.

Like what she might taste like lower down. How surprised she’d be when he kissed her there, found her little nub of pleasure and kissed it as thoroughly as he did her mouth. But not before he kissed his way down her body, caressing and touching every inch of skin he could while she watched him, that usually curious look replaced with something sensually curious.

His hand went faster, and his other hand went to his chest, rubbing it as he knew she wanted to. His palm skated over his nipples, and the contact sent another element of delight shuddering through his body.

He was so hard, his cock so rigid and erect, he knew it wouldn’t be long before he exploded. His balls were tight, every muscle straining as he stroked to his release.

He uttered a groan as he came, thinking of her astride him, her brown eyes gazing at him as he found his pleasure.

As his shaking subsided, he knew that no matter how great that orgasm had been, it was nothing compared to what would await him with Charlotte.