Charlotte's Control, page 20
“Ah, since I am here, do you have time to discuss these new developments in rubber manufacturing? Can I share my thoughts? Have you read anything on it?”
There was no time like the present to test their ability to balance this friendship. Charlotte smiled and settled in for a lively debate and education.
Chapter Twenty-Four
William was furious and distraught. More, he was overwhelmed and exhausted.
A letter from his solicitor had been waiting for him that morning. His father’s investment from last summer was worthless. The shipment had not been stored correctly for the voyage. His father’s friends liked to cut corners, which often resulted in total losses for investors.
The loss was sizeable enough to undo all the progress he had made and then some, bringing their estate finances to a dangerous low. He’d already cut their expenses to the bone to avoid having to send servants packing.
Now, he did not see a way around it. He was too angry to write a coherent letter, however. His father had made this mess, he should be the one cleaning it up. And where was his mother? She’d inexplicably gone out this morning, of all days.
William paced the library, tugging at his hair, vibrating with tension. Unable to get past his frustration, he whirled. Heading for the stairs, he called out one last directive to the footman hovering in the hall.
Upstairs, he pounded on his father’s door.
When no one answered, he opened it, thoughts of South forcing him to wonder if the earl had even made it home the night before. Snores emanated from the bed. He guessed his father’s valet did not bother to linger nearby this early. No matter.
He entered the room, tugging the bell pull for the valet before shaking his father roughly. “Wake up. I need your attention.”
“Wha-? Oh, William.” The earl moaned. “’Tis too early. Lemme sleep.”
William had already moved to the heavy curtains and slung them open.
“Argh. What the hell?” The older man sat up. “What is the matter? Is Ruth all right? Emily?”
“Define all right, old man,” William spoke through gritted teeth. “Get dressed and come to the library.”
Ten minutes later, the earl had slung clothes on and slunk into the library. He aimed for the decanters on the sideboard as he asked, “Tell me, William, are the girls well?”
“Do you really care? And don’t bother. The spirits have been removed for this conversation.”
His father blinked at him, the anger in his words finally sinking in. His words came slower now, careful. “Of course, I care.”
“You have an interesting way of showing it. You reached for a drink before you even finished your question.”
“Now see here—”
“No,” William cut him off. “You see here. You have ignored your responsibilities. Worse, you’ve squandered much of the funds needed to run the estates and put food on our tenants’ tables. We never see you. In fact, the only time I see you is at your club, when you’re drunk, so I could not even have this conversation with you.”
“What has happened?” His father raised his voice, “Ruth?”
“She’s out.”
“What then?”
“The solicitor sent word about your investment with your drinking mate. The one I tried to pin down last summer? It was improperly stored and is worthless.”
“Oh no.” The earl dropped into an armchair and lowered his face to his hands.
“Yes. Now, would you like to choose who loses their job at the country house? And write those letters of referral?”
“Uh…”
“I thought not. Why would you start upholding your duties now?” William’s tone was bitter. “What will it take for you to realize how much you are hurting the dozens of people who rely on you? To say nothing of Mama.”
“Son, you don’t understand…” the earl trailed off.
“I’m listening, but you do not appear able to explain yourself. I’ll handle it, along with Mama, as we’ve handled everything else in your absence.” His lip curled in disdain. “Can you at least manage to stop throwing good money after bad, to allow me to get us out of this hole?”
Not waiting for an answer, he strode from the room to pace the garden. He hoped it would cool his temper, as he still wanted to hit something—or someone.
* * * *
Dusk settled and supper time approached. Although it was not their normal visiting hours, William could not wait any longer to see if his Mistress’s megrim was gone. Or, more likely, if she was still upset from those stupid gits’ comments at the ball. Beyond that, he needed her more that day than any before.
His mother had returned from her outing and he’d summarized the situation and his conversation with his father.
Ruth had attempted to soothe him, but as his father had disappeared by the time William had returned to the house, and was undoubtedly drowning his sorrows at the club, William was beyond appeasement. They spent much of the day rehashing ways around releasing staff, but had not been able to find any. William’s tension had worsened throughout the day enough that his stomach hurt from holding it in.
He ached for the soothing peace Charlotte wrought by lifting that mantle of control and placing it on her own shoulders. She quieted his thoughts and worries, and more importantly warmed his heart. Well, and other parts. His lips lifted in a half smile for the first time that day.
After being shown into the parlor, he stood, too tense to sit, too much in turmoil to even pace. His fists clenched and unclenched as he listened with his whole body for his Mistress, his salvation.
The swish of skirts in the hall had him turning. Taking a deep breath, he let a head-to-toe shiver run through him and dropped his shoulders. He already felt better.
Charlotte rounded the doorway, green skirts settling around her as she stopped just inside. Her hair was up—hmm, perhaps she’d let him brush it out and massage her scalp—and she was lovely from head to toe.
And unhappy, as her lips were pressed flat.
“Mistress, thank you for seeing me.” He bowed over her hand, bussing it with a light kiss, wondering if a touch without permission would spark her to the actions he needed.
“William. ’Tis a rather odd time to visit, is it not?”
He straightened. “I wanted to ascertain that you are feeling better. You appear well. No, you appear lovely, as always.”
She nodded once, the skin around her eyes loosening a touch.
He led her over to her preferred blue armchair. Once she was seated, he declined the settee at a right angle to her, or the matching armchair across the rug and low table. Instead, he perched on the padded footstool directly in front of her chair, requiring him to look up at her.
“What excuse did you tell your friends about dallying with the spinster? Or was I more of a light-skirt in their minds?” Her tone was bitter.
Blazes. She was still upset. He wanted to beat both of the men, in addition to his father.
“I do not need an excuse. Nor will I tolerate you being spoken of like that, which is what I told them in no uncertain terms.” He took her hand from her lap, kissing it. “Mistress, you cannot hold me responsible for others’ words. Please.”
“I do not. But you have heard it before, and we both know talk like that will continue as long as we are seen together. And they aren’t wrong. You could do better.” She combed her hand through his hair.
“Stop.” He firmed his voice, straightening on his seat, as low as it may be. “I shan’t hear that from anyone, including you. I disagree.”
“Oh, William. How noble and caring you are. I worry how much both of us will be hurt between now and next Season if we continue.” She stopped caressing his hair, dropping her hand to her lap.
Alarmed, he swallowed hard, pained at her words. She remained focused on their end date, refusing to see that he wanted to be hers for the rest of his days. He needed her, for heaven’s sake.
Tremors of anxiety ran through him. The urgency of his need for that evening, that hour, pressed against his skin as much as forever did. He could not bear it if she turned him away. He might explode, or go find South and let his friend lead him into all sorts of trouble, going the way of his father. It was all too much.
He ran his hands through his hair before flinging them wide. “I’m not leaving!”
“You must, eventually.”
“No.”
“Yes.” Her voice firmed now, becoming more Mistress than Charlotte. “You must marry. You must have heirs. ’Tis your responsibility. You’re the only son, there is no other option.”
“I am tired of my responsibilities, especially today. I do not want to—I cannot—think about them. Please, Mistress, I love you. I need you.” He stretched his hand toward hers again. It trembled.
“William? Are you quite all right? What happened today?” She was staring at his hand, reaching to meet it with both of hers.
“I don’t want to talk about today. Suffice it to say it was terrible. To answer your other question, no, Mistress, I am not in a good frame of mind. You denied me the opportunity to comfort you last night, you continue to debate the wisdom of this. Yet all I can think of is you. I can’t imagine courting someone else, much less marrying them. Please, I beg of you. I wish to be yours.”
He slid to the floor and knelt, placing his head in her lap over their clasped hands. His shoulders shook with the vibrations of his fear, and he fought tears. He could not leave her.
She mustn’t make him.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Strangely, his trembling calmed Charlotte. Seeing how the stress of managing his world was eating at him made her forget her arguments.
He bore so much responsibility at such a young age. Other young men his age were on their Grand Tours of Europe, enjoying all the freedoms of being newly independent adults. He was shadow-managing an earldom for a drunkard of a father, trying to manage his sister and a wayward friend, and learning it all along the way. No wonder he did not want to think of marriage or children. He perceived them as more responsibilities to drag at him.
Well, she refused to be another one. This, she could solve for him, and would continue to do so until the start of the next Season, no matter how much it hurt her. She’d survived losing one love, she’d find a way through the next loss. In the meantime, she could be his port in the storm.
She pulled one hand out from the tangled clasp beneath his head, and stroked his hair with it, raking her nails gently along his scalp.
He shuddered.
“Shh, William. No more talk now. Your Mistress is in charge. Let go of the rest of it.”
She pushed at his shoulder, standing. “Stay right there.” Going to the door, she opened it and stepped outside, asking Austin in a low voice that a note be sent to Ruth regarding William’s absence for supper. Then she closed and locked the door before returning to her seat.
“Now…remove your coat, your waistcoat, and cravat.”
“Mistress?” He glanced around.
His confusion was understandable. The first floor had always been their serious place, not their play space. She liked keeping him off-balance though, so that was about to change.
“Ah, I said no talking. Come now.” She watched his reaction to her tone as it brought him into the mindset of their private relationship, pushing aside all the pent-up frustrations he had arrived with.
His pupils dilated, his shoulders relaxed a degree, and his mouth softened.
She sat back, shaking her head when he looked at her for permission to rise for ease of movement. She rather liked him at her feet.
He struggled out of his clothes, shifting back and forth on his knees. His delicious spiced rum scent floated to her. Dissatisfied at not being able to see his young supple skin, she added, “The shirt too, unless you are cold.”
The shirt was whipped off over his head as he grinned at her.
Ah, there is my rakelet’s smile. Glad her skills could unburden him and bring him joy, she returned the smile.
He gripped himself through his trousers, shifting to find some relief for his hard length.
“You may unbutton your trousers if you need a bit more room.”
He rushed to comply, one quiet moan escaping as his swollen cock sprang free.
As always, she salivated at the sight. Her breasts pushed against her gown, anticipating his touch, and heat gathered between her legs. With a smile, she gave him more opportunity for creativity since his hands would be free.
“Right, then. You have one minute to get me in the position you want me, without getting off your knees. Then you must clasp your hands behind your back and focus entirely on me. You may speak from now on, and ask me to do things, but you’ll have no guarantee that I’ll do them. Your minute is ticking, puppy.”
His eyes flared. He knelt up and twisted one hand in her fichu, ripping it out of its pins in her décolletage. Tossing it over his shoulder, he scooped both hands in and drew her breasts out over the neckline of her bodice.
Gracious. Shock at his aggressive actions was tempered with an added bolt of arousal singing through her veins.
Abandoning her upper half, he went to the bottom of her skirt, grasping a chunk of the hemline in each hand. His arm muscles bulged and his jaw locked.
Realizing what he was about to do, she opened her mouth, although she wasn’t sure she would protest. Her dress was replaceable. His freedom to escape through this was not.
Regardless, she was out of time.
Rrrrriiiiippp.
His arms were spread wide, the hem of her skirt in each of them. He’d rent a split half way up the skirt. Repositioning his hands closer to the top of the tear, he did it a second time, until the reinforced seam at the waistline of the bodice stopped it. Flipping the pieces to either side of her, he untied the tapes of her petticoat, and yanked it down and off her, not even needing her to raise her hips.
She gaped at him, blinking. He might have been harboring more frustration than she’d understood.
In an effort to save the rest of her clothing, she took back control. Always before deferring to her had helped him release tension, and she hoped it would this time. She was hot and bothered and ready for the next step. “Time is up. Hands behind your back.”
He groaned, and put his hands behind his back, but did not sit back on his heels. Instead, he leaned in, braced a hip against her knee to avoid toppling, and claimed her lips with his.
“Mistress,” he panted. “Touch me, please.”
Ohh, she liked this. He could give her commands thinly veiled as requests, but she was still in charge. This was a new sort of play for her, and she found she was looking forward to where his brain would go now that she had refocused it.
She skimmed her hands over his shoulders, running them down his arms until she could not reach. Running her hands forward, she pinched the small flat discs on his chest, causing him to twist against her lips. He had reclaimed her lips, but at that touch, he pulled back, and still braced, bent further to lick and suck the hardened tip of her breast.
“Touch your other breast. Let me see you give yourself pleasure.”
Happy to oblige him, she tweaked the nipple he didn’t have in his mouth, before cupping her breast as though to offer it to him.
He straightened. “Unh. Mistress, give me a minute.” Panting, he squeezed his eyes shut, tilted his head and muttered.
Is he—is he conjugating a Latin verb again? It had been ages since he’d needed to do that during their play.
Then the verb registered.
Subsistere—to stop or withstand or resist.
She almost giggled, then upped the ante. Reaching out, she gripped his length in a firm hand.
His eyes flew open and he gasped. He twisted his hips, pulling away as though she was hurting him. His arms twitched, but he did not bring them forward.
She slid her hand slowly toward his tip.
“Mistress. Please. I cannot—you cannot—” He recognized the error of his phrasing. “Please let go of me, I want to ensure I please you. You come first.”
At that, she did giggle.
He paused, and then after a minute, realized what he had said, and choked out a quick laugh.
She sat back, and he skipped all other preliminaries, sinking to sit on his heels and scoot closer, burying his head in her lap.
“Sit your hips forward in the chair and lean back, and hold yourself open for me, Mistress?” He half-commanded, half-asked. His puppy dog eyes peered up at her from between her thighs, his panting breaths gusting over her sensitive flesh.
That sounded like an excellent next step.
She scooted. She placed her fingers where he asked, his breath on her before she’d finished. Then his mouth was there, eating at her. His teeth grazed her as he nearly chewed in his eagerness before he remembered himself. Gentling, he nuzzled and tongued her through a smile.
“William…” His name came out on a breath, barely audible.
Bracing herself with her elbows against the chair arms, she shoved her flesh against him, moaning.
Lapping at her, he firmed his tongue and sped up.
She was lost. They could take their time later. She had a hazy thought of dining together but could not focus. She needed his cock in her as much as he needed to pound.
“I release you, William. Come to me.”
He rose before she finished the sentence. Dragging her out of the chair, he pushed her in front of him onto the settee to kneel facing the back.
She grabbed the carved wood lip when he pushed her forward. Air wafted over the back of her legs as he tugged the remains of her skirt up to pile at the base of her spine.
He dragged her hips back a few inches to where he stood, shins pressed against the seat cushion.
Then he shoved into her, fast and hard, sliding the settee an inch and rattling a candlestick on the narrow table behind it. She gasped then groaned, shocked at how much she loved his forcefulness. She shuddered and wiggled her hips once as her body adjusted to the sudden penetration, her blood throbbing in her veins.
