Charlotte's Control, page 3
“Well, she bade me to find your husband, in truth. I understand our political views—”
He cut off when Charlotte choked and put a gloved hand to her mouth. Shocked, she could only stare at him in horror for a moment. She’d thought she’d done her mourning and was ready for any and all questions from the Ton. However, this felt like a horrible prank someone was playing, pretending Charles was alive, and it threw her.
“Lady Peterborough?”
“Is this a joke?” she hissed.
“Not at all. Why do you ask such a thing?” He tilted his head with a small frown.
The young pup must not know the Ton gossip or the Parliamentary players. Or perhaps his mother was not up on such things. Regardless, she found herself on the edge of tears again and stepped back. “I’m afraid you’ll have trouble getting answers from my husband. Charles died over a year ago. Now, if you’ll pardon me.”
His mouth opened and closed but no sound emerged.
Charlotte did not wait for him to decide how to proceed. She twirled and strode toward the terrace, scaling the steps to the garden to find a dark corner and compose herself. After a breath of cool evening air, the stab of sorrow turned to anger. How dare the young pup. Did he not understand the rules and protocols of social interactions? And what on earth had she been thinking, allowing herself to feel an attraction.
Playing it back in her head, she realized he must have thought she was the current countess. Damn Cheltie and his casual approach to all things. If he’d introduced her with her full title, the Dowager Countess of Peterborough, this would not have happened.
On the other hand, the term “dowager” made her feel twenty years older than she was. Until the last hour, she had hated when people used her formal title.
She laughed. There was just no winning with her.
Had William obtained clarification? She supposed she owed him an apology for her brusque retort. Hmph. His visage had created the first stirrings of sexual desire she’d felt in over a year, but up close his youth was even more apparent. She’d be surprised if he had completed his university studies. Given her inappropriate attraction, she should just stay away.
* * * *
A shoe scraped on stone. Then a thud and rustling of leaves.
She dared a quick glance along the path. His persistence alone should cure her of her infatuation. After all, she liked to be in control. Yet, her lips curved in a small smile when she saw him.
William—why was she thinking of him by his first name?—had spied her around a bend in the walk and now hurdled a low group of bushes. Barreling to a halt with his shoes almost touching her dancing slippers, he gave a shallow bow. “Please, Lady Peterborough, allow me to apologize for my faux pas.”
He must have asked their host or someone for clarification. She shook her head, admitting, “’Twas not your misstep. Frankly, it was Cheltie’s, and I plan to tell him that next time I see him. He tends to be lax on protocol, if you aren’t aware.”
“I wasn’t. But I am duly warned now, thank you, my lady. However, my approach was rather more abrupt than it should have been. I am still learning—” He choked on his words.
She suspected his cheeks would have heightened color if she could see them.
“May I sit with you for a minute? Please?” he begged.
Not wanting to be found here with him in case it was construed as a liaison, she vacillated. As she owed him an apology and perhaps assistance in finding Edward, the current Earl of Peterborough, she gestured beside her.
“Thank you.” He sat closer than polite manners allowed, his left thigh trapping the edge of her skirt.
She caught her breath at his proximity, inhaling spiced rum and the garden. Was that him or a flower? She again had the intense desire to lick his throat and find out.
Inappropriate, Char! “Lord Stanton—”
“William, please, my lady.”
She nodded. Permission for his name was helpful as she had almost called him that a second ago.
“William, as you seem to know now, I am the Dowager Countess. My brother-in-law Edward is the new earl. However, he and his lovely bride Sophia prefer to avoid London when they can. As you referenced politics, it may help you to know that he sends his votes through his friend the Earl of Suffolk. Nicholas is also Sophia’s cousin.”
“It is a pleasure to properly meet you, Lady Peterborough.” He paused.
He was hoping for reciprocal permission to address her by her first name. Knowing she needed to keep all proprieties between them to remind her how inappropriate her body was acting, she waited him out.
He continued, “Thank you for the context. I shall have to see if Lord Suffolk is here tonight and arrange an introduction.”
She expelled a tiny sigh and dropped her shoulders. When he made no move to rise or return to the party, she capitulated and offered her own amends. “William, we’ve discussed Cheltie’s and your error in etiquette but not mine.”
He went to speak, but she raised a hand.
“My response to your innocent inquiry was unnecessarily harsh, and I apologize. Whilst this is one of my first social events since Charles’s passing, I should not have attended if I was not ready to be polite.”
“Lady Peterborough…” He held his hand out as though asking to hold hers.
Did he not recall formal etiquette? There could be no handholding between them. Ack, he might not have learned it yet given his youth. Well, this she could handle. She glanced down at it, then pointedly back up at his face.
Dropping his hand between them, further pinning her skirts, he did not seem to realize that it brushed her thigh.
The audacity of the puppy! Straightening her spine an inch, she raised her brows at him.
“No apology is needed, to my mind. However, if you feel it necessary, my response is that allowing me to sit and bask in your beauty erases all memories of faux pas from my thoughts.” He smiled, leaning in.
She snorted, ignoring the spurt of pleasure in her chest to shake her head side to side. “Oh, please. Try that on someone your own age.” Had she thought him audacious? Impertinent was more like it.
“I beg your pardon, my lady. I was being truthful. I could stare at you all night.” His hair flopped onto his forehead again, as he leaned toward her.
Charlotte remained silent, staring at him and trying to ignore the thump of her heart and spurt of heat between her legs. Nor did she want to catalogue the pull of his jacket over his muscled shoulder and biceps as he twisted, or the strain of his breeches around powerful thighs. His eyes were deep pools of liquid darkness, his lips plush and parted.
He moved his hand on the bench an inch, the pinky pressing against her then retracting. “May I…may I hold your hand please, Lady Peterborough?”
The impact radiated down to her toes, curling them in her slippers, and up, tightening her nipples and bringing heat to her cheeks.
Oh my, he is potent.
Belle’s wager came to mind. Of course, her first challenge had been to re-enter society and renew the friendships she’d ignored the prior year. In one of her darker moments, Charlotte had bemoaned her belief that she’d never find another man who fit the needs that Charles had introduced to her, and Belle had promptly bet she’d find someone to pass a miniature bondage test within a year.
She did not answer William, instead turning her head away with another snort.
Her skirts loosened and she caught his hand lifting out of the corner of her eye.
Snap. She smacked his knuckles with her folded fan. Impertinent and audacious, she amended her earlier thoughts. At least she wasn’t the only one being inappropriate this evening.
“Lord Stanton. You do not have permission to touch me.”
“Lady Peterborough. ’Tis William please.” He rushed on, “You have my apology. Will you forgive me? Please?”
She gave a small sniff, still fighting with her conscience over Belle’s suggestion. Did she dare?
His next question answered that. “How may I make it up to you?”
At his words, the devil in her reared its head, overriding her conscience. She’d been lonely this past year and a half. While Belle insisted that she could meet someone who fit her sexually, she was not so sure.
Belle had pointed out that she had not had, or at least known of, her own inclinations when she’d married. Belle ought to know, as she had been the one to train Charlotte at Charles’s request.
She’d met him at a musical soirée at some earl’s home. The performance, given by the earl’s daughters, was terrible, and they had both chosen to linger at the back of the room near the punch bowl. From that evening on, he had wooed her with art and music dates, with offers of books and scientific presentations. They shared a quest for knowledge and culture, and she had quickly fallen in love.
Their first months of marriage were as expected. She ran the household and helped with correspondence, he managed the earldom and all its holdings and participated in the House of Lords. She found their bedroom activities nice, albeit not quite as exciting as the romantic novels she occasionally read had intimated. Her experience also did not quite match with her friends’ newlywed tidbits, either. But she was happy, and Charles was the kindest, most loving and encouraging partner she could ask for.
Until he came to her with a request. Would she be so kind as to visit with someone from his past? Someone who might help them find more excitement in the bedroom. He confessed that he wanted her to take the lead in their intimate relations, he loved feeling as though he was doing exactly what a woman wanted. But as a new wife, she might not have the repertoire to draw from that would benefit them both. And while he could tell her what he liked, he preferred to attend to what she liked. A woman’s perspective might help.
He assured her that his relationship with Isabella had ended before he met Charlotte, and that she was a good person, courtesan or not. Charlotte was intrigued and curious. Thus, Charlotte’s sex education began, and now here she was, contemplating something wild and foolish. Of course, her little test would not work on such a bold and brash young man, but it could be a good rehearsal for when she met someone who might suit.
The breeze shifted, and his scent floated to her. Tempered sweetness of spiced rum with something else she couldn’t name after being alone so long. No matter, it was delicious.
She tilted her head and ran her gaze up and down his form, her pulse racing. Lingering for a moment on his lap, she licked her lips before forcing herself to continue searching. Her gaze settled on his neck, before raising to his.
“Remove your cravat.”
“Charlo—Lady Peterborough?”
“You heard me. And you do not have permission to use my given name. It is Lady Peterborough. Or—” she sucked in a breath, trying not to pant as she attempted to rein in her inner devil. But it had slipped its lead and was running wild. “—Mistress P.”
His eyes bulged and his throat moved on a swallow. He lifted his hands hesitantly to his cravat.
Gracious, he was actually following her command. She’d been sure his reaction would be insulted dismissal, or worse, laughter. Another hot wave of arousal washed over her.
Undoing the pin and knot, he slid the cravat from around his neck to hold it across his lap. “What now, Mistress P?”
“You may make amends by keeping your hands to yourself, and I shall help you do that.” Charlotte reached over and slid one end of the cravat through his loose hold. She pulled it from under his hands to his wrists, crossed the two ends, and raised his hands using the linen.
He shifted and opened his mouth as though to protest.
She glared at him through her lashes. “Hold still.”
With his hands between them, she leaned forward an inch and wrapped the ends under his wrists, around to the top, and under again. As he watched, mouth open, she tied the ends into a loose double knot over the wrapping, well out of reach of his thumbs. It would take him a minute or two to figure out that she had left it loose enough for him to bend one hand and get his fingers to the knot to pick at it.
Still amazed at his willingness to sit still for her ministrations, she schooled her features. All of this open-mindedness could simply be lack of maturity. However, she could still take her fun. Before she straightened, her inner devil—she liked to think it had Belle’s voice—made her lean in further, closing that gap, to brush her breasts against his knuckles, inhaling his scent again.
He jerked. “Lady-Mistress P?” he asked, his voice a croak.
Ah, youth.
“Just testing that you have learned not to grab people without permission.” She smirked.
“Absolutely, Mistress P.” He was gasping.
Her inner devil preened. She’d not been allowed out in so long, she was enjoying this tiny show of power.
“Er, now that you have me at your mercy, what will you do with me?” The upward lilt of the question sounded hopeful.
“Remind you to play with children your own age.” Charlotte winced internally. Harsh, but she deemed it necessary. The young pup apparently had trouble reading more subtle signs. She ignored her conscience telling her she needed the reminder of their age gap as much as he did. Standing, she shook out her gown and leaned over him.
He held her stare, unblinking.
She gave him credit for keeping his eyes on her face, as she knew the pose offered a tantalizing glimpse of her cleavage.
“Good night, Lord Stanton. Sweet dreams.”
His eyes widened as she turned. Her skirts swished as she sauntered out of sight along the path to find her carriage. She might be ready to handle these balls after all.
Chapter Four
William stared at his bound hands, replaying his conversation with the woman who had given him leave to address her as Mistress P.
She was magnificent. From her parting comments, she seemed to think she was too old for him, but he doubted more than a handful of years separated them. He probably wasn’t the best judge, particularly as her beauty had eclipsed all thought of age. Her flawless skin was unbroken by wrinkles, her hair held no gray. Beyond that, her bold fathomless eyes held him captive. Her gown was a deep bronze with a square cut neckline and puff sleeves, both trimmed in ivory. A shade darker than her hair and eyes, in low light it might appear brown until she moved and the light caught the amber sheen. Even if she was older than he guessed, he cared not a whit for what society thought.
Now, though, he had a name and a correct title, and he could pursue her, convince her that society’s stupid rules did not matter. He’d never chased a girl before, never saw the point. Now, he did; he was beginning to understand why his comrades at Oxford were always looking for a new conquest, and why Nate spent so much time conjuring accoutrements to extend pleasure. All from one conversation.
Well, and this. He smiled down at his crumpled cravat. The memory of her breasts brushing his knuckles made him squirm. He’d gone hard as soon as his hand had hit her skirt on the bench, as soon as her décolletage raised and lowered with her breath, as soon as he’d stared into her dark eyes that matched her dress. He’d stayed that way throughout their conversation. The whisper of her gloved hands on his thigh when she grabbed the cravat had made him throb in his breeches and catch his breath. Then with the brush of her breasts, she’d given him a tiny taste of their lush softness.
He groaned aloud, then flicked a quick glance around to check no one was near. He’d have the devil of a time explaining being trussed with his own cravat.
Testing the binding, he twisted a hand. Deciding to expedite matters, he raised his wrists and worried the knot with his teeth. It came apart easily, which he was certain she had planned. He sighed, refusing to analyze whether he was disappointed or relieved.
“Stanton? Will?”
“Over here.” He threw his cravat around his neck as his cousin strolled the path.
“What—? Who were you out here with?” Percy asked, examining his untied neckcloth.
“A gentleman never tells.” He grinned.
“You do realize ’twould not be a simple matter to wed before your majority, right? You also have another year of university.” Percy eyed him.
“Yes, yes. I’m not barmy.” He added under his breath, “Just too young for everything, apparently.”
“Right, then. Best be careful who you waylay in gardens then. If you compromise some deb, there will be a whole host of problems to deal with that neither you nor your mama want right now.”
William nodded. His cousin was trying to help. “I understand. You know I’m not looking for marriage for the foreseeable future. I’ll take care.”
“Come, then. I want you to meet another MP.”
He trailed after his cousin, pausing when they hit the circle of light from the house to have Percy check how terribly he’d retied his cravat.
An hour and several important negotiations on bills currently in the House of Commons later, the Earl of Cheltenham found him.
Leaning in, the host murmured, “I’ve just sent Percy to collect your father. The earl passed out in the smoking room and Percy and a footman are helping him to your carriage. He asked that you meet them out front.”
Oh no. He hadn’t anticipated the added burden of being responsible for his father as he attempted to navigate the business his father should have been handling. William’s face flamed for the second time that night. “My lord, you have my apologies.”
The earl swept his apology away with a hand. “Come now, young Stanton. You are not even through university yet. Your father is a grown man. If he can’t handle himself, ’tis no one’s fault but his own.”
William nodded, gulping a breath.
“Perhaps next time you two younger Stantons will forget to show him the invitation, eh?” Cheltie said with a chuckle and a wink.
He managed a weak laugh before excusing himself to help get his father into their carriage.
Lying in bed later that night, the embarrassment faded, and the new names he had learned were overridden with thoughts of Charlotte…Mistress P.
He had so many questions. Why truss him and then leave? Having Nate as a friend meant he understood in theory that some people enjoyed being bound or binding their partners. Was that her preference, or was this just to reprimand him for wanting to touch her? Given that his cock had been hard until the cravat was undone, long minutes after she’d left, was it his preference? He did not have enough experience to know for sure, but he was willing to try it.
