Charlotte's Control, page 8
But this creature, this goddess, was a real, full-formed woman whom he could talk to and touch, and he was no longer a lad. He and Charlotte shared a number of interests, from reading everything they could to investing to running complex households and holdings. Their conversations were far more engaging than those with the half-formed simpering misses at balls. He had no idea how he’d find time around his responsibilities and his return to university after Michaelmas, but he yearned to get to know her better. Beyond that, he was wildly attracted to her like no one before, and wanted to learn everything she could teach him in the bedroom.
Now he watched her reaction to his signature question, noting her accelerated breathing, her wide eyes. Dropping his hand to his side, he inched his back knee closer and placed the other on the ground beside it to sit back on his haunches. His fingers rested close to her slipper, and he slid them over to play along the top of her foot.
Gasping, she straightened, her back arching a bit, drawing his gaze to the smooth mounds pushing at the scooped neckline of her periwinkle floral-patterned dress.
Her nipples poked through. They had not been like that when he first entered the garden. “Are you chilled, Mistress?”
“No.”
Hmm. He brought up his favorite memory: her spread on the bed. Her nipples had been hard little points then too, making him suspect ’twas excitement rather than cold. He could work with that, especially as she had not yet dismissed him as he’d feared.
He grew bolder, snaking his fingers around her ankle below her skirt. She arched further, which had the added benefit of pushing her breasts at him, whether she was aware of the action or not.
“Mistress…” His voice rumbled out of him, full of gravel. He checked the windows of her home, glad she faced away from them. He would not want to embarrass her in front of her staff. If he had thought about it, he would guess she chose it for the angle of the sun, but he was beyond rational thought. He could only wait on her next move.
“William. You are barely more than half my age.”
He scoffed at her blatant exaggeration. She’d have to be nearly forty to be twice as old as him, and he’d bet she wasn’t yet close to thirty.
She narrowed her eyes at the sound he made and persisted. “This cannot continue. I very much appreciate your gifts. However, you must return to university. Enjoy your opportunity to learn all the fascinating facts you have access to that not everyone does. Take your time and savor your youth. Then meet a girl your own age, who can give you babies and be your partner.”
“Mistress, if I may be so bold, I am not asking you to wed me. I simply want to spend time with you. Clothed or not, preferably both.” His response was solemn; he meant every word. She was correct in her statement about Oxford, but he needed more time with her to explore her mind and provide a welcome focus other than his endless responsibilities at home.
Silent, she bit her lip, appearing torn.
“Please. We’ve only just met, however unconventional the circumstances. I should love to learn about your investments. In return, I could share more of my reading with you, beyond these?” He nodded to the books she pressed under one hand.
“If you only wished to discuss investments, you would not have climbed the trellis to my bedroom.”
“I did not say I only wanted that, now, did I?” He smiled. “Let us just say I should love to learn from you, whatever you’re willing to teach me.”
Her inhale was audible, her nostrils flaring.
He shifted his hand on her ankle and knelt up to give his cock room in his breeches before it strangled itself.
His movement drew her gaze downward, and his cock leaped to be the focus of her attention. Stifling a moan, he reached for words. “Mistress, I am not above begging. Or whatever other appeasement you direct. And I could still use practice at implementing your teachings of the other night.”
“Hmph.” The sound she made was a cross between a sniff and a grunt.
He smiled.
“’Tis your choice. I am at your service.”
She bit her lip.
“Read a bit of Chaucer. I’ll return within a few days and we can discuss it. In return, I should like to hear your thoughts and plans on investing in the steam-powered ships, if I may?”
She nodded, as though unwilling to acquiesce vocally.
He’d take it as a win. Bowing over her hand, ungloved at home, he smoothed his thumb over the back of her hand, relishing the softness of her skin.
Brushing it with parted lips, he forced himself not to lick, to taste. Raising his head, he peered up at her, focusing on her lips. “’Twas our first kiss. May it not be our last.”
She sucked in another breath as he stood to depart, a promising sign if ever there was one.
* * * *
William arrived at Charlotte’s house at the same time two afternoons later, after observing etiquette and sending a note first asking to call.
In a slate-colored dress so dark the folds of her skirt shone navy, she poured tea in the parlor.
He noted the tiniest of tremors as she did and hoped it was a sign of excitement rather than nerves.
He sat back, slinging an ankle across his other knee. His confidence rose when he caught her glance down to his lap exposed by the wide-legged pose.
“Shall we discuss Chaucer?” Not one to waste an opportunity, he shifted to draw her attention to his body again, then picked an imaginary piece of lint off his breeches, perilously close to his groin. Flicking a glance up at her through his lashes, he verified that she’d followed the motion. Stifling a grin, he kept his face neutral as he raised his head to wait for her answer.
Charlotte sighed. “William, please behave, or this arrangement will end.”
“Mistress, if you’d be kind enough as to point out my transgression, I shall remedy it immediately.” He could not help provoking her and barely refrained from laughing outright.
She sent him a withering look, pressing her lips together.
He tried another tack. “Perhaps we can focus our discussion of behavior about this summer?” For now, his inner voice added, and he jolted, surprised at that thought. “You yourself pointed out that I could learn from you. I would value that very much.”
Charlotte froze, not blinking, the ghost of her words to him when she thought him a dream echoing in the silent room.
He chose then to search for another imaginary loose thread. As he was remembering the same thing she was, his breeches were a little tighter as he picked at the fabric, ostensibly flicking off lint.
“William, we cannot. ’Tis not appropriate.”
“Mistress, no one need know. Just think about it, please? There are other things we can learn from one another in the meantime. Chaucer and steam engines and the like.”
At that she sat back. “I cannot attend lectures with you. I will not be seen being squired about by a youthful future earl. ’Twould not be fair to you.”
Hmm. Not fair to me, or she does not want to be seen with me?
The extent of what men could get away with, without harm to their reputation, always amazed him. His father was a prime example.
Negotiating, he countered, “I am amenable to meeting there, just as we did at the last one. I am starved for intelligent conversation about something other than my family’s estate management.”
He wasn’t. His mother could discuss almost any subject, and he’d had to debate Chaucer ad nauseum at Oxford. However, his end goal of getting time with Charlotte justified the exaggeration.
She chewed on her lip, which he was learning was the sign of nerves or, dare he hoped, temptation.
“I confess I am dying to know what you think of the Wife of Bath…” He gave her another nudge.
Her eyes flared.
His hand drifted to her cheek, his thumb tugging on her lower lip again. “As well as who and what you chew on, should the need arise.”
Her breath caught, and he swore her tongue flicked the tiniest riff against his thumb.
Chapter Ten
Charlotte craved intellectual conversation more than anything. Well, almost anything.
She had attended several salons even before the Season began, as London remained a haven for intellectual pursuits even in the height of summer and cold of winter. When she’d attended with Charles, they would evaluate the presentations, weighing the pros and cons or facts and theories over sherry before retiring that night. Sometimes that discussion would continue the next day, or prompt them to read more about the topic. She missed her husband in a myriad of ways. His citrus-woodsy scent, his fingers feathering over her arm or through her hair, the rumble of his voice under her cheek as she lay in the curve of his arm. But the partnership of conversation, particularly the encouragement to learn more and ask questions, that was what she missed most.
This student with eager eyes was dangling it before her, as though she was the dog and it was a favored treat, if only she’d roll over. Or roll him over, Belle’s voice snorted in her head again.
Charlotte closed her eyes. That was a mistake. An image arose of William across from her in the armchairs in her bedroom, books in both their laps, arguing, his tone earnest as he tried to make his point and please her.
Belle’s words about enjoying the vigor of youth volleyed with her desire to learn Latin and somehow coalesced. She knew before she opened her eyes that she was going to give in.
Dratted, beautiful, earnest rakelet. “What do you propose then?”
He sat up straighter, his wide grin splitting his face. “Mistress, I thought we might alternate conversations about books with reviews of lecture topics as they arise? I can call upon you most afternoons about this time if your days allow, but only for a short while. I spend my mornings managing estate business, and most evenings at the club for Lords meetings. Or I can come by late at night after the club, and we’d have more time. And ’twould be more private, which you seem to prefer…?”
She flashed him a sideways glance, suspicious of his motives.
His face was again the picture of innocence, puppy eyes unblinking.
Perhaps too innocent, but she was too practical not to see the merit in his second alternative. “Fine, yes. Late night might be best. I may need a bit to adapt as I am rather more a morning person than your average lady of the Ton.”
“Certainly, Mistress. You just say the word when you are tired, and I shall be happy to tuck you into bed.” The dimple appeared with his sly grin.
“William…” Her voice was a warning. “There will be no such talk, or this arrangement will end, do you understand?”
“My apologies, Mistress. I shall try very hard to behave. Your beauty will make that challenging. Might you punish me instead of ending the arrangement, at least the first time or two…?”
“Stop that.” She framed it as an order, leaving off the “please.”
“Yes, Mistress. I shall be by tonight, then.”
“Right. The household will be ready for you, so please use the front door this time.” She sighed, hoping she had the self-control to manage this relationship the way she ought.
She lasted an hour reviewing requests for capital from women trying to establish their own businesses before she gave up and settled into her favorite chair with Chaucer. She grew more and more excited as she made notes about each tale she read. But while her mind might race at the concept of intellectual stimulation, her body warmed with the knowledge that this was the most dangerous kind of foreplay with a young man she was already physically attracted to.
* * * *
Several nights later, they had covered several of Chaucer’s characters, the Squire’s Tale, the Prioress’s Tale, the Knight’s Tale, and had moved on to the more sordid characters, the Reeve and the Wife of Bath.
Inevitably, Charlotte had strong opinions about the Wife of Bath and was amused to see William had prepared for them. He posed arguments. Was she amoral, or a product of her time and circumstance? Was her deepest desire to submit, despite dominating her first husbands?
He seemed to enjoy taking whichever side she did not in these discussions, and she used that opportunity to learn how he processed information. Her suspicion was that he intended such, as it mimicked the Socratic method of teaching used at Oxford.
She had to clench her thighs to stop from squirming in her seat during the discussion of submission and domination.
William’s reaction did not help matters. He surreptitiously adjusted his trousers when she was rereading a passage, then shifted his feet wider from his seat on his chair to allow more room for his swollen cock and bollocks. His breathing accelerated.
Their setting exacerbated her agitation. Because it was late, and he’d already breached etiquette to go to her room, she’d chosen to have their discussions in the sitting area there. That way, no servants would have to stay up to douse the fire in a downstairs parlor. It was the height of impropriety, but she leaned toward expeditious rather than righteous now she was a widow and therefore less interesting for gossip than a countess.
Her chest rose and fell in time to his, and the muslin of her plain chemise rubbed against her taut nipples. She flicked glances at his lap when she thought he wasn’t looking, remembering the shape and size of his member. His words as he bussed her hand echoed in her head, and she licked her lips at the idea of a more passionate kiss.
His chocolate eyes found hers, his expression tight with something that resembled hunger.
Agitated, she shot to her feet and stretched. While it was earlier than prior evenings had ended, he had always taken that gesture as his cue to depart.
When he grumbled a near-silent groan, she glanced over at him. Glad for the layers of her garments that might hide the hard points of her breasts, she stared at him, willing him to leave. She needed him to go, not moan. Every night it was harder to sit across from him and admire his mind and his form while trying not to yield to temptation.
He stood. He’d shed his jacket and cravat earlier and was in shirtsleeves and his waistcoat. He did nothing to conceal the prominent bulge in his trousers. Keeping his hands loose at his sides, he waited.
Charlotte’s gaze lingered on his cock for a second too long. Gulping, she turned away, unable to dismiss him. She stroked the pendant at her collarbone, a nervous habit, but even that reminder could not bring forth her voice.
As she’d known he would, William took it as permission to see how far she’d allow him to go. His voice husky, he offered, “Allow me to help you disrobe, Mistress. No need to call your lady’s maid when I am here.”
He was behind her, panting hard enough that the fallen wisps of hair from her updo gusted on her neck.
She shivered, her nipples hardening further. Her blood thumped in her chest and lower, between her thighs.
He raised his hands slowly to her shoulders. Gliding them across her exposed collarbone, he slid them up over her hair, careful not to catch it.
She sucked in a breath and bowed her head an inch, unable to find the words to stop him.
His fingers made careful forays for hairpins, easing each out as they encountered it. Her hair tumbled to her shoulders, and he leaned in to inhale.
Her heart thundered in her chest. What did she want? Could she find it within her to stop him? Her brain was not sure what she wanted, but her body was certain. Her skin itched for his touch, her fingers curled from the need to stroke him—his chest, his hair, his cock.
He combed his fingers through her hair to check for missed pins before moving to the fastenings at the back of her gown. His swallow was audible as he paused with his hands at her neck. “Mistress, may I?”
Her knees went weak, not because he asked permission, but because he knew enough to do so. Infernal intelligent rakelet.
She bowed her head forward, all the nod her conscience would allow.
She sensed as much as felt his lurch of surprise. His fingers shook as they seized the buttons and fabric and separated them, smoothing down the exposed skin to the next until he met the chemise and stays and she could not feel them against her.
He continued until the dress gaped from her shoulders, then returned to the stays. He seemed to be evaluating them, moving his fingers back and forth.
She pursed her lips. Could this be the first time he’d encountered them? The girls she assumed he’d played with at university or in brothels or the like might not wear them. The thought should give her pause to reflect on his youth. Instead, it thrilled her, more liquid heat shooting through her and pooling in her core.
Gracious, had the other night been the first time he’d seen a woman fully naked?
He’d likely not had a lot of privacy for any sexual play in the past, so clothing might have stayed on. More fire sparked, and she swallowed against the urge to take over.
She waited in silence, not wanting to embarrass him. He’d ask if he needed help.
He smoothed his hands down her sides, fingers wrapping a fraction of an inch below her breasts. Then he planted one hand against her back, and the other tugged on the ribbons. When they came apart after a few jerks, his sigh gusted over the back of her neck.
She grinned even as she shivered from the sensation.
Loosening the stays, he held them in one hand. With the other, he reached through the opening and pulled the gathers of her chemise away from her back, then rubbed where they’d pressed.
The gesture was comforting. Familiar. In a heartbeat Charlotte was in the past, Charles standing behind her, a teeny bit shorter, the angle different, but dropping her dress to the floor, then her stays, then pausing to smooth the creases in her skin from her chemise with tender, loving fingers. Her knees almost buckled beneath her anew as the grief struck.
William brought his hands to her shoulders as she gasped in a breath in an attempt to avoid crying.
Sniffling, she remained with her back to him and tried to compose herself, wiping away an errant tear with shaking fingers, the other clutching her golden heart.
