Charlotte's Control, page 13
Ignoring him, Folly said in a gentle voice, “Perhaps that would be best. You have enough to juggle. If ’tis real, then you can renew your acquaintance next summer.”
“What about all the men who have more to offer her? More life experience? Less…” he lowered his voice, his eyes sliding sideways to check the doorway for family members, “…baggage? They’ll be here all those months and I will not.” He wanted to wring his hands and weep just thinking about it. Some more polished suitor would sweep in and woo her and he could not even use the tools he had to fight from Oxford. Or could he…? He was suddenly grateful he’d gotten her a second copy of Catullus’s work. There might be a way to press his suit from afar.
“If ’tis real, that won’t matter.” Out of the three of them, Folly was the philosopher. That fact always amazed William, but it also helped ground him in how important his worries were in the grand scheme of things. After all, Folly had already conquered challenges that William was still learning, like feeding, clothing and housing himself.
Changing the subject, he asked, “What were you and Emily discussing over there?”
Folly gave him a lopsided smile. “I was convincing her that she, too, could wait another year to celebrate my aging.”
“Without a tantrum? Well done.” He turned to South, but found his friend’s back retreating toward the whisky decanter again. William frowned, opening his mouth to say something when his mother swept into the room to greet his friends and announce dinner. It promised to be a long night of corralling South again, after long days of cleaning up his father’s messes.
Chapter Sixteen
Charlotte dawdled in bed, something she almost never did, enjoying William’s spiced rum scent on her sheets underlying the woody, slightly bitter aroma of her tea. Intimacy with William the past weeks had been sensational, beyond her expectations. A small part of her wondered if some part of the splendor might be due to the novelty, learning each other, or her abstinence in the prior months. But her heart told her it was William himself and the way they fit together in all aspects of life.
Not all. This had to end in a matter of days, she reminded herself. She could pine all she wanted, but she needed to release him to wed someone appropriate, who could bear children.
If the issue had only been the difference in their ages, she might be convinced to deal with the gossip. But the larger issue was her inability to provide heirs for the earldom.
Of course, there was always the risk some debutante that William picked—her heart twisted in pain—was also barren, but the odds against Charlotte were higher after a decade of trying. And any shrewd investor would not recommend against those odds, particularly when the future of an earldom was at stake.
Hearing Belle’s voice downstairs, she scrambled into a day gown and pulled her hair back from her face with combs at her temples.
“Ah, there you are. Did I disturb anything?” Belle stood in the dining room doorway, her gaze sliding past Charlotte to the stairs.
“No.”
“Late night with the young stud then? How much longer do you get him for?”
“Only a few days,” Charlotte muttered. She already missed him and they’d only parted six hours ago.
“We shall find something—or someone—to distract you when he leaves.” Belle wiggled her brows.
Much to her embarrassment, her eyes welled with tears.
“Oh no,” Belle exclaimed. She hugged Charlotte and led her to a chair, pouring tea before sitting next to her. “We can’t have this. Your heart got ‘short-term’ confused with ‘happily-ever-after,’ didn’t it?”
Charlotte nodded, sniffling.
The courtesan considered. Tilting her head, she said, “I still think that is doable—”
“No. I am too high a risk. He needs heirs.”
“We don’t know—”
“No, we don’t. However, we know it’s less likely than the average young miss who has just come out and is a decade younger, besides.” When Belle took a breath to retort, Charlotte added. “Please, Belle. Not now, I can’t bear it. Perhaps I’ll have a better perspective after he’s gone. In the meantime, I wanted to talk to you about something more tangible.”
“What is it?”
“You mentioned that William’s family is struggling financially. I wonder if I could—or should—help them in some way.”
“You mean a loan?”
Charlotte shrugged.
“A gift?” Belle’s voice rose on the word. “How do you think that would make him feel? I am quite sure he’s not ready to call off the earldom and enter my line of work.”
Charlotte gasped. “It wouldn’t be like that.”
“It would likely feel as though it were, don’t you see?”
“Ugh. I hadn’t thought of that. Regardless, gift, loan, is there a way to help them without hurting his pride?”
“Have you spoken to him about this?” Belle asked, frowning.
“No, I wanted to think it through with you first—and given your reaction, that was the right thing to do.”
“Right, then. Let’s consider. I suppose it would depend on how much they needed, who would control it, and how long they needed it for, assuming it would be a loan.”
“Why?”
“Because if his father is going to drink it all away or whatever he’s doing, then you’re throwing good money after bad, aren’t you? And I don’t know that you want to mix business and pleasure. I mean—” she grinned. “—I’m fine doing so, but when the lines are blurred, ’tis not such a good idea.”
Charlotte giggled. “More good points.”
“I think you’d need to know more about the specific needs to figure out how to circumvent his father. But first and foremost, you need to discuss it with him. If this is really ending within days, it is best to wait and think more about it when your mind is not clouded with lust or misery.”
“You are right. If you hear anything about the situation becoming more dire, though, please let me know.”
* * * *
With the family’s removal to Harrington rapidly approaching, William had managed to sneak out a few times during the day.
The afternoon was warm, and Charlotte had brought him to the garden to study.
However, her rakelet was agitated, pacing the path in front of the bench on which she’d settled.
He turned on a heel and in a fast flurry asked, “May I invite you to visit Oxford in a fortnight, Mistress?”
Her heart broke a little more. Apparently, she’d hurt both of them by allowing this to go too far, and emotions were involved on both sides. “William, we discussed this. This ends when you leave London. You need to focus on your studies, then find a suitable girl to marry.”
“But, Mistress, what of your studies?”
“I shall muddle along just fine. Or I’ll pay a tutor, if need be.” She waved a deceptively casual hand, ensuring it did not shake.
He growled.
She raised her brows. “I beg your pardon?”
“I want to help you.”
“Now you sound like a petulant child,” she admonished him, despite wishing the same.
He hung his head. After a moment of silence, he raised it, his eyes bright. “May I have a token to remember you by? Please, Mistress?”
“Like what?”
“Like a lady would give a handkerchief or something for a knight to remember her when he rode into battle.”
“I dearly hope Oxford is nothing like battle.” Her tone was dry.
He grinned. “No, but I shall be fighting the constant desire to return to you.”
“William, you know how important I find education. Don’t you dare waste your opportunity.” She was frowning.
“A token would help.” The puppy eyes were back.
She shook her head and sighed. What would it hurt to give him something to remember her by? Perhaps something that would fade with time, as his memories of her should. Resolved, she said, “Come and kneel down and unbutton your trousers.”
“Holy hell,” he whispered, dropping to his knees.
Her teeth set at the imagined feel of his poor knees hitting the stone walkway, but he did not seem to notice.
Wrenching at the fall of his trousers, he had them undone in a moment, his cock bouncing out.
She took a moment to admire the delicious sight, enjoying once again the joys of being with a man barely twenty. His young cock hardened with a few words. “Pull your shirt out of the way.”
One eager hand held his shirt, the other the flap of his trousers.
Not wanting to abuse his trust, she doublechecked that he was out of view of the house, blocked by her and a bush offset behind the bench. He hadn’t bothered, remaining riveted on her. An arrow of pleasure shot through her. If she never found that singular focus again, she vowed to be content with this second chance at such a unique version of happiness.
His cock bobbed, and her breath caught, heat gathering at the juncture of her legs.
She took her time raising her arms, enjoying the movement of her breasts within her garments.
His gaze dropped for a moment.
She smiled as her fingers caught her hair ribbon and tugged. Her hair fell around her face, and he looked at the ribbon as she carried it forward.
He smiled. “A tie. How perfect, Mistress.”
She reached for his cock and he made a strangled noise.
“Yes, William?”
“Nothing, Mistress. Please proceed.”
His heat seared her even before her fingers touched the silk-over-steel shaft. She wrapped them around him, sliding down the length.
He moaned under his breath but otherwise knew to remain silent after their weeks together.
She squeezed once—just to torture him a little more—then slid the ribbon around the base of him, pushing the wiry golden curls out of the way. He surged in her grasp and she tightened her grip.
“Mistress,” came a whisper of sound.
“You didn’t really expect a handkerchief, did you?”
He gave a strangled chuckle and shook his head.
“Then hold still.” She wrapped the length around him a second time, then tugged the ends a teeny bit. Ignoring his breathed curse, she then tied a knot, tight enough that it would keep him hard longer, but still stay on when he softened. Sitting back, she admired the contrast of the ecru satin against the dusky red of his shaft, the creamy satin giving way to silky skin. The sight made her salivate.
She made him wear it all afternoon before finally leading him to the bedroom and fulfilling her wish to suck the length of him down until her lips met that ribbon. He only lasted a few minutes before begging to be allowed to pleasure her.
* * * *
As the following afternoon was just as nice, Charlotte had William shown to the garden again. He immediately tried to convince her to take a stroll with him.
“No, William, just no.”
“Mistress, ’tis but one outing. Please. We’ve met out at two salons, and I’ve been visiting in the dark of night for weeks. I am asking for one joint outing for an ice, as the weather has been beautiful.”
She folded her arms and shook her head at him. She hated the dual standards of society at the best of times, but had always managed to avoid being the topic of gossip. Rumors, she could handle, however. Acquaintances seeing them together and then asking her about him in a month might destroy her, as the anticipated pain of losing him was already crippling.
“I shall pay whatever penalty you deem fit. Whatever punishment you can concoct.” His young, clean-shaven face was earnest, his eyes pleading as much as his words.
Her blood fired, a spark of heat shooting low through her belly. Damned rakelet. How did someone that young know her so well, so quickly? Scenarios with him on his knees, or supine and tied, begging for her touch, raced through her mind before she could stop them. Closing her eyes in a slow blink, she tried to regain control, but she knew her flush was visible.
He pressed further. “One. I have less than a sennight and am running out of late-night hours to spend with you.”
She did not care to dwell on that fact, she preferred to focus on enjoying the precious hours they had. Even before Belle asked, she’d worried she’d allowed him into her heart as well as her body. His departure would leave her bereft, no matter how temporary and ill-advised this dalliance was.
William tried a new tactic, sliding to his knees at her feet. “Please, Mistress. See, I beg you on my knees. How can I make it up to you?”
She gasped, staring at him open-mouthed. Such entreaty was a level of power play she had not experienced or even desired, at least until her vision of a few minutes ago. But the thrill that shot through her now, pointing her nipples and wetting her core, made her wonder why she hadn’t put him there sooner.
The puppy dared to slide his hand under her skirt, to skim it up her leg.
She stepped back, frowning. “I beg your pardon. What is the golden rule?”
His hand dropped to his lap and his smile fell. He bent his head to stare at it and muttered, “My apologies, Mistress. No touching without permission.”
“I should deny you all requests after that. I’m very disappointed in you, puppy.” But then she heard herself continue, “But as it happens, I find the day quite hot, and am in need of an ice.”
His head snapped up, his brows high in hope. “Truly, Mistress?”
She sighed. This was a bad idea, but she could not regret it when seeing his reaction. Ah well, there would be time for kneeling later.
“Truly. But do not think to avoid punishment for that transgression.”
He leaped to his feet in one smooth bounce. “I know just the place. ’Tis out of the way, you shan’t be too uncomfortable. Come, let us go now, please, Mistress!”
And so they went. He held the door for her, then they perused the list of choices side by side.
The shop assistant strolled over to hover in front of the attractive lordling puppy. Simpering, she leaned forward and asked, “My lord, what can I get you?”
“Please serve the lady first.”
“Oh!” Her glance flicked between them several times. Her voice conveyed confusion when she continued. “I did not realize you came together.”
Stricken, Charlotte considered their appearance. She’d replenished only part of her wardrobe after deciding to socialize again as a widow, and her clothing and bonnet were conservative. She also hadn’t anticipated an outing; her day dress was on the plain side. His clean-shaven face made him appear even younger than his years, and his enthusiasm added to his youthful mien.
Unable to answer, she took a hasty step back when William reached for her. Turning blindly, she somehow found the door, the step, and even a hackney cab.
William followed, talking in a low voice, apologizing.
Her jaw was locked to keep from screaming, crying, shouting. Anger roiled in her, wanting to erupt. Not at him, but at herself. Just as she’d thought she’d been ready for balls after mourning Charles, she’d believed she was prepared for the gossip. But the stab of pain she’d felt at the stranger’s reaction told her just how far she’d fallen in love with her rakelet. She’d just wanted to please him in return for his well-thought-out gifts throughout the summer.
Still silent, she climbed in the hack, barring his way when he moved to follow her. Her pulse pounded in her temples. The chit likely thought she was a spinster aunt he was being kind to. At least the girl would not spread gossip; she’d avoid painful questions. Gracious, she’d judged him when he’d first approached her, knowing it was inappropriate even as she fought her attraction to him. Above all, she might have been able to get past all that, if not for his need of heirs. The whole escapade made her feel woefully inadequate and despondent.
Biting her lip to avoid crying in public, she told herself that it would have been over in a matter of days anyway. With this, at least he understood why she’d resisted and would not contact her. He’d get on with university, find someone his age, and enjoy his life. If she’d taught him a technique or two that he enjoyed in the future, perhaps he’d remember her fondly, as she would him.
Stumbling out of the conveyance, she made it inside and told her staff to lock all doors and windows. Their concerned looks changed to sympathy when she added that she was not at home to visitors, even Belle and most certainly Lord Stanton.
Unable to deal with their pity, she took to her bed for the day, pulling the covers over her and clutching the heart pendant around her neck. Like losing Charles, the abrupt, unexpected loss left her reeling. The worst part was that this one could have been avoided. She’d known better.
Despite her wishes, the girl’s questioning look played on repeat in her head, bringing tears anew every time. She knew the next day and the day after that, and all the days following would be forever marred by his absence.
Chapter Seventeen
Every day until his family retired to the country, William attempted to see Charlotte, trying every avenue he could think of.
He did not care about what a silly shop assistant had to say. He…cared about her. He hadn’t dared tell her, then that foolish girl had to be, well, foolish.
Frantic and furious—at the shop worker, at himself, at the unfairness of society’s rules—he checked the front door, the back gate, her window, everything. He sent gifts daily—books, flowers, even chocolates, which he’d never seen her eat. In one wild moment, he contemplated asking Folly if she was a client to see if Folly could fake a delivery. But he would never betray his Mistress’s confidence, nor would he want to place Folly in a position that could jeopardize his income.
He returned home and stewed, his anger overriding his frustration. Stupid, immature puppy, I had to try for a public outing. He’d wanted to show her off out of pride that she chose to be with him. And with the clarity of hindsight, he saw his goal had been to prove to her that they might continue their relationship after the summer. Instead, he’d reinforced her beliefs.
