Chapter 20
“My God, Charlotte.” He seized her again and crushed her against his chest. “I have wanted you since the moment I saw you across the dance floor at Almack’s.”
“You did?” Her words were muffled, and she turned her head. “I tried to find you after Mr. Garrett—or rather Lord Kersey—brought me back to Jane, but she said you had gone.”
“I left early.” He didn’t want to think of her with that rakehell. Not now of all times.
“Why? I wanted to dance with you. You had to have known that.”
He released her and stepped back. Best get this out in the open if they were to marry. “Because I saw you emerge from the stairwell, your hair mussed, your lips swollen.”
She gasped, turning her back on him. “Oh, no.”
“Yes. The sight convinced me you were involved with Kersey. Next morning, when I heard you being called the ‘Wicked Widow,’ I dismissed you out of hand. I will not marry a woman tainted by scandal.” God, but he hated to ask this, but he had to know from her own lips. “Did you have an affair with Lord Kersey?”
She rounded on him, her eyes glowing with anger. “No. I never sought his attentions. It may have seemed that way to you, but I will swear to you that he has done nothing compared to what you just did.”
At that his stern demeanor melted. He grabbed her and pressed his lips to hers again.
“Good,” he said when he could speak at last. He pushed several strands of hair away from her face. So beautiful and strong. And vulnerable. How could he not want the responsibility of keeping her safe from everyone, including herself?
“Then will you marry me, Charlotte?” He feathered kisses along her hairline, down over her forehead. “I want us to have passion for each other that lasts until neither one of us knows the meaning of the word.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “And I want it to begin now. I must marry and produce an heir for the earldom. And I cannot do that, and have a passionate life with you, unless you marry me.”
He continued to trail kisses down to her mouth, brushed it with a kiss. He would have continued to her cheeks, but she suddenly pressed his lips again, holding him there.
Nash slid his arm around her, pulling her closer to him. She molded her body to his, aligning her hips to his and inflaming his desire once more. He caressed her back, sensitive even through her clothes, for she sighed at his touch, then moaned louder when he squeezed her bottom. God, she responded to his every touch so sweetly.
Nash ground his hips against hers, letting her feel his member, once again hot and hard and ready for her. She groaned, wrapped her arm around his buttocks, and tried to pull him toward the bed. After a moment’s resistance, Nash allowed it, walking her backward until she fell onto the mattress with him on top of her. Good. Right where he wanted her.
He found her ear and rimmed the outside shell with his tongue, wetting it. Then blew gently, delighted when she shuddered beneath him. He traveled the short distance to her tantalizing lobe where a jet teardrop hung. Pushing the ornament aside, he nipped and sucked until she panted in his ear. She kneaded his back, tearing at his coat as she writhed beneath him. When he dragged his tongue down her neck, frantic, incoherent cries burst from her.
Slowly, Nash began a series of shallow thrusts, rubbing himself against her in an attempt to stimulate the spot he knew sent many women into climax. At the same time, he continued licking and sucking her neck, searching out the sweet spot that drove women mad with desire.
“Nash. Oh, Nash.” Charlotte’s moans deepened. “Nash, please.” She began to pull at his clothing and thrust her hips against his already throbbing cock.
Oh, but this would be sweet. He sat up, shedding his coat, then unbuttoning his fall. On their wedding night he’d make sure to go slower, but now—
Christ. She hadn’t accepted him. Repressing his own groans of need, Nash stopped and rolled off her. He lay on his back, trying to will his erection to calm before it was too late.
Charlotte sat up, eyes wild and dark with desire. “Nash! What are you doing? Why did you stop?” Her words were breathy, strained. She grabbed his hand and tried to pull him back toward her.
He rolled onto his side and stared into the face he longed to see beneath him once more. “I cannot until you give me your answer, Charlotte. I will not make love to you unless we are wed. Or at least betrothed.”
“Ah, you wretch!” She flung herself back on the bed. “Yes, yes. There, I have said it.” She lay still, panting. “Why did you do that to me? I want you!”
“Oh, God, thank you.” Nash grabbed her hand. “Do you think I do not want you as well?” He pushed it down to his groin, held it against his rock-hard staff. “Ever since you arrived, I have wanted to do nothing so much as sink this into you and revel in the passion we could share.” He released her hand and pounced on her.
She laughed and twined her arms around his neck.
“But I would not dishonor you if there was no contract of marriage between us. I gave your father my word to protect you, not debauch you.”
“My father? What are you talking about?” She stilled, as if turned to stone.
Damn his tongue.
She pushed at his chest. “Let me up.”
He rolled off her and she bolted up, her brow furrowed, her jaw working as she ground her teeth.
Christ. He was in the suds now. Nothing for it but to tell her the truth and hope for the best. She had agreed to marry him at least. “Your father heard about your antics with Lord Kersey at Almack’s. He asked me to make sure you did nothing to bring shame to your family.”
“And just how were you supposed to do that, my lord?” The deadly stare of her vivid green eyes pierced him like a lance.
Nash swallowed hard. “By marrying you.” Why did it sound worse when spoken aloud?
Her face drained of color and her hands clenched at her sides. “So that is what your ‘attraction’ to me has been about?” She gestured toward his groin.
“No, that part has been painfully real.”
She ignored him, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. “My father wants to run my life again and you agreed to be his minion?” She sprang off the bed and stomped toward the door.
Nash clambered after her and seized her wrist before she could open the door.
“No.” He jerked her around to face him. “I told you the truth. My attraction to you began before your father spoke a word to me. At Almack’s.” He gripped her hands. “When you fell into my arms I never wanted to let go.”
She stared at him and her eyes narrowed. “That’s not all there is to it, I’ll wager. My father must have dangled something before your eyes to gain your cooperation. That has always been his way.”
Nash glanced away, hesitating. Damn the earl.
Her frown deepened and she jerked her hands away. “Was it money? Did he sell me to you as he did to Sir Archibald?”
He shook his head. “No. I’d not do that, Charlotte.” He sighed. “He offered his political support for a bill I’ve drafted to go before Parliament.”
Her jaw dropped. “Political support for a bill!” She shook her head and laughed, a raw sound that hurt his heart. “My value has decreased most grievously in six years. He gave Sir Archibald ten thousand pounds to marry me.” Tears started from her eyes.
“Charlotte.” Nash tried to put an arm around her shoulders, but she elbowed him in the ribs.
“He has only ever sought to control me. To make me bend to his will and my own happiness be damned. Never again.” She shook her head, tears flying. “You can tell my father for me that he dictates nothing in my life. I will marry or not as I choose.” She drew herself up and stared at his face.
He’d seen kinder eyes behind a pistol aimed at him.
“As far as your suit is concerned, Lord Wrotham, it will be a chilly summer in hell before I marry you.” She turned on her heel and ran from the room.
* * *
Charlotte urged Ajax to even greater speed, pushing the gray horse into a gallop. Perhaps her face would have cooled sufficiently by the time she reached Lyttlefield Park. Even if it did, no speed would erase the memory of this afternoon. She wanted to weep each time she thought about it. Every moment, in fact, since she’d stormed out of Lord Wrotham’s house, cursing the moment she had first set eyes on him.
To think she had been duped by the earl’s treachery. And she had thought herself in love with the man. Her whole body flinched at the thought. Of course, now she understood why Wrotham had insisted on marriage all along. Her father thought to get his way no matter who he had to use to do it. Well, not this time.
Charlotte pulled Ajax back to a canter. She could not run him into the stable as if all the demons of hell chased her. In truth, only one did. She glanced back over her shoulder at the two burly grooms who were just catching up to her after her headlong flight. They had been ordered by Lord Wrotham to see her to within sight of the Lyttlefield stable. For discretion’s sake, it was the one concession Nash would make regarding his decision to have her seen home.
High-handed wretch. She might have known he’d been working in tandem with her father, for her own good. She’d show them what was best for her. She had the freedom to live her life the way she wanted it. Make her own decisions and her own mistakes. Neither one of them could take that from her now.
The scene that had followed her declaration had been anything but pleasant. Nash’s stony silence as she attempted to repair her appearance—one pin she hastily shoved into her hair certainly stuck straight into her head—continued as he followed her from the bedroom to the receiving room.
Had she thought it would not have given rise to too many questions at home, she would have abandoned her hat. However, she did not think herself up to much of an inquisition, so she diligently scoured the small room, finally spotting her ostrich plume curling out from under a corner table. She had pulled it onto her head, secured it with a lone pin and, with one defiant look at Nash, had stalked from the room and demanded her horse. His curt order for the two grooms to accompany her had done nothing to temper her anger, although given the recent savage events in the county, she saw the value in their presence.
Charlotte finally rounded the stand of oaks that shielded her manor house. Hers and no one else’s. She stopped and waited for the grooms to catch her up.
“As you can see, you have discharged your duty.” She pointed to the house and then dragged her manners forth. “Please thank Lord Wrotham for my escort.”
Without waiting for an acknowledgment, she touched Ajax and he shot away toward the stable. She hoped the men had the good sense to leave before they were spotted by her servants. The last thing she wanted to explain was how a ride in her park had produced an escort of Wrotham’s making. Bitterness had exhausted her powers of invention for the foreseeable future.