I rather adore that about you.
Her heart gave a bittersweet twinge.
Don’t be greedy, she told herself. With a bit of strategic memory, the redaction of a word or two, she could remember that as I adore you—or close enough to it.
He took her in slow, gentle strokes at first. Then his thrusts became rougher, more urgent. It hurt, but this was what she’d been waiting for. She wanted to watch him, see his face contorted with raw pleasure and unfettered need. But at the last moment, he withdrew and turned aside, spending himself into the folds of his discarded shirt.
Preventing conception was a considerate gesture, she told herself—even if she was left feeling hollow and a bit disappointed. Even in that last moment of abandon, he’d managed to keep his restraint.
Afterward, he stroked her naked body in the sunlight, touching and exploring and looking where he pleased.
“You are like a boy with a new plaything,” she said.
“I’m not a boy, Charlotte. I’m a man. A man who’s been trusted with royal secrets, battle plans, and international treaties. And now . . . I’m seized by the notion that you’re the most precious thing I’ve ever held.” His eyes burned into hers. “You’re mine now.”
Part of her wanted to rebel at his possessive tone, but part of her found it thrilling, too. There seemed no point in denying it, anyhow. He had her heart. He had her body.
She was his.
The sooner she accepted that, the sooner the true challenge would begin.
Making him hers.
Chapter Fifteen
Charlotte dreamed of being on a boat, rocking to and fro. Then the sea grew violent, tossing her this way and that. Where was Piers? He would make this stop. The waves themselves would not dare disobey him.
“Charlotte. Charlotte.”
Her eyes fluttered open. “Piers?”
She looked at his hand curled tight on her arm. He wasn’t her safe port in the storm. He was the one shaking her.
“What is it?” she asked. The words came out in a sleepy slur: Whaeesit.
Cool grass tangled with her toes. The hunt. The stream. The meadow. Their joining.
She struggled up on her elbow, pushing away a lock of hair crusted to her cheek.
Oh, Lord—had she been drooling? Had he seen?
As her vision came into to focus, she could see that his expression was grave.
Now she snapped awake.
She clutched his shoulder. “Is something wrong?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Then what’s the matter?”
“Nothing.” He turned to pull on his breeches.
“Are you certain?” She hugged his waist and propped her chin on his shoulder. Beads of cold sweat had risen on his hairline, and his heart was pounding in his chest. She could feel it through his ribs and hers. “Piers. What is it?”
“It was difficult to wake you, that’s all.”
She pressed her forehead to his back. “So sorry. I sleep like the dead. Everyone in my family knows it—and the servants, besides. But I hadn’t thought to warn you.”
The sun was sinking lower, and shadow cloaked the meadow.
“Goodness.” Charlotte sat up and began reaching for her chemise, jerking it over her head and pushing her arms through the sleeves. “They’ll be wondering about us by now. I don’t suppose it will have escaped notice that the two of us disappeared together.” She reached for one of her stockings and jammed her toe into it, then paused, remembering something worse. “Oh, no. That demon horse. She’s probably halfway to Scotland by now.”
“She knows where she’s fed and watered. She’ll have returned to the stables.”
“I hope you’re right. Otherwise, I don’t know how I’ll explain it to—”
“Charlotte,” he interrupted. “If there are any explanations required, I’ll make them.” He tilted her face to his, then gave her cheek a light caress. “I will take care of everything. From this moment forward. Do you understand that?”
“I . . . Yes, I suppose I do.”
I’ll take care of everything.
It was a promise she’d been waiting to hear since she was a girl, but she wasn’t a girl anymore. Especially not now, after what had just happened in this meadow.
All the questions she’d submerged an hour or two ago . . . they bubbled to the surface of her conscience now.
How was this going to work? Not only now, but for the rest of their lives? He’d sworn to look after her. Would he ever allow her to look after him? Trust her with his fears and secrets? Would he ever let her come anywhere near that fiercely guarded heart?
Desire and pleasure were all well and good, but they wouldn’t be enough to sustain a lifetime.
Only one thing was clear to Charlotte as they left the meadow. From this point forward, there was no going back. Never mind the lovers in the library. Now she had an even greater mystery to solve—and it was Piers.
“I can’t wait any longer. We must do it now.” Delia inched closer to Charlotte on the drawing room divan.
Charlotte looked up from her book. “Do what?”
“Ask them,” Delia whispered. “The Continent? The Grand Tour? Our escape from stifling parents and English society . . . ? Is any of this sounding familiar?”
“Oh, of course.”
Charlotte felt a stab of guilt. She hadn’t been thinking of Delia and their plans when she made love to Piers.
She hadn’t been thinking of anything. Just feeling.
Feeling glorious and adored and impetuous and in love.
But apparently, she ought to add selfish and heedless to the list. All the while, Delia had been counting on her as a friend.
“Of course it does, all of it. But we can’t ask them now.”
“There won’t be a better time. Papa is pleased with the stag he shot this afternoon, and he’s had at least two glasses of port. Mama was proud of that dinner, and she has Lord Granville’s farewell ball to plan. They’re in a charitable mood. We won’t have a more advantageous moment than this.”
“But . . .”
“But what?”
But your father still believes me to be a shameless, fortune-hunting hussy, your brother believes I’m a murder target, and your sister has threatened to ruin my life.
“Is it your mother?”
“Yes,” Charlotte said hastily. “Yes, the problem is my mother.”