A Secret Affair (14 page)

“Then meet me upstairs.”

*   *   *

Frances was upstairs in her bedchamber ten minutes later waiting for Charlie’s knock at the door. They were going to do this. And it was right. They would be married soon. She smiled to herself. Charlie couldn’t have declared himself in a more perfect dreamlike manner. She closed her eyes. Oh, he was handsome and wonderful. Her future husband.

The knock sounded at the door, and she quickly opened it and dragged him inside. It wouldn’t do to have anyone see him out in the hall. The moment he entered the room, he turned the key in the lock behind his back and then pulled her roughly into his arms.

Their kiss was incendiary.

Charlie’s hands were in her hair, pulling out the pins, letting the mass of blond curls spill over her shoulders. “God, you’re beautiful,” he breathed. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to see you with your hair down?”

Frances’s only reply was to kiss him again. Now that she’d started, she couldn’t get enough of him. She hadn’t called the maid for obvious reasons, and Charlie was only too happy to play lady’s maid. She spun around, and he quickly unbuttoned her gown. “You were so bad that night at Colton’s town house. Tempting me like that,” he added.

She pressed her lips together. “I was bad, wasn’t I?”

“Um hmm,” he whispered against the back of her neck sending shockwaves through her body.

“But you were bad too, playing along with me.” She giggled.

“Darling, wild horses couldn’t have dragged me away from that spot at that moment.”

Her dress fell away as the last button came undone, and then Charlie began unfastening the laces of her stays. He was slow this time, deliberate, and Frances felt as if she might go up in flames waiting for him to finish. He stopped every few moments to kiss her neck from behind. Her eyes rolled back in her head every time his lips touched her warm skin.

When she was naked, Charlie turned her around to look at her. His eyes flared with lust, and she was proud. Proud that she could make him feel that way.

“Now it’s my turn,” she said with a smile, and Charlie helped her unravel his cravat and pull his shirtsleeves from his shoulders. Her hands moved to the buttons of his trousers, and the muscles in his abdomen jumped. She unbuttoned him, slowly. And when he removed his trousers, she stood back and took in his nude body. He was magnificent. As magnificent as she’d imagined he would be.

Charlie led her to the bed. She lay down on the cool sheets, and he covered her with his warm body. He kissed her, endlessly, drugging kisses that left her gasping for breath. Then he moved his mouth to her breast, and Frances arched her back. There was no clothing between them this time, and Charlie’s hand teased her nipple. She was a quivering mass of need by the time he finished playing with her. And they’d barely even begun.

His finger moved down to touch the sensitive skin between her thighs, and Frances grabbed his hand to stop him. “What is it?” he asked, his brow furrowed.

“Charlie. Take me. Make me yours,” she begged against his mouth.

He nodded. He nudged her legs apart with his strong thigh, and Frances felt him probing against her wet warmth. “It will only hurt for a moment, my love,” he whispered into her hair.

“I know,” she replied, closing her eyes tightly and steeling herself against the pain she expected.

Charlie slid inside of her, smooth, strong, deep. There was a tug and moment of discomfort, but then there was only the effortless slide of him inside her. She wanted to cry out. He moved his hips, and Frances moaned against his strong neck. His hips levered back and forth, owning her, possessing her. He groaned and Frances reveled in it. When his finger moved to tease the nub between her legs, she whimpered. And he kept the rhythm, in and out, in and out, pumping into her, making her his, all while he stroked her gently between the legs. She bit her lip hard. “God, Charlie, it’s so good. I—”

She whispered his name, and he took it into his mouth, sliding into her again and again until he groaned and shuddered and spent himself between her thighs. “Frances,” he whispered against her cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you too, my darling. I love you, too.”

*   *   *

When they surfaced from their haze many minutes later, Frances propped herself up on her elbow. “Tell me, what is London saying about me after Lady Lenora spread her story?”

“Ah, as to that, Lady Harcourt made the wise decision to keep her mouth shut this particular time.”

Frances shook her head, her curls tumbling over her shoulder. “What do you mean?”

He propped himself up against the pillows and shrugged. “I
may
have … persuaded her it was in her best interest to remain silent on the matter.”

Frances narrowed her eyes on him. “Charlie? What did you do?”

He pulled her naked body atop his and kissed her full on the mouth. “Oh, nothing much. I simply told her I’d introduce her to Oliver Townsende if she chose not to repeat anything you said.”

“But other people heard me. It wasn’t just Lady Lenora.”

“Yes, well, apparently Lady Lenora threatened all her so-called friends. She’s been doing nothing but speaking your praises, actually.”

“Are you jesting?”

“Afraid not. It’s quite remarkable, actually, her change of heart.”

“Self-serving you mean. I feel quite sorry for Oliver Townsende.”

“I do too, poor bloke. But all I promised was an introduction. The rest is up to her. Townsende seems wise enough to steer clear of the likes of Lady Harcourt, however.”

Frances grew sober for a moment. “Thank you, Charlie. For saving my reputation and for showing me true love.”

“No, thank you, Frances.” He traced his thumb along the edge of her ear. “For saving me from my own pig-headed notions of how life should be.”

He rolled over atop her then and kissed her. He was hard again against her leg.

“Do you want to … do that again?” she offered with a coy smile.

“Absolutely.”

Frances sighed. “I’ve no idea what we’re going to tell Annie and Jordan when they ask why we’ve missed a substantial portion of their wedding ball.”

Charlie kissed her lips. “We’ll tell them the truth.”

“We can’t!”

“Not that, my love. I meant we’ll tell them we’re officially engaged to be married.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Oh, yes. That.”

She kissed his cheek. “Oh, Charlie, we’re going to have such a happy life together. You shall be a wonderful tutor.”

He kissed the tip of her nose. “And you shall be a brilliant author.”

She looked up at him and smiled. “Do you truly think so?”’

“My dear, I know so.” Charlie tipped up her chin with his thumb and finger and stared deep into her eyes. “Frances, do you remember when you told me once that you wanted me to be your first kiss?”

She nodded, tears filling her eyes. “Yes. I remember.”

“I want you to be my last, my darling.”

He kissed her again, and Frances closed her eyes in blissful surrender.

Author’s Note

Dear Reader,

I hope you’ve enjoyed spending time with Frances and Charlie. They are two of my very favorite characters and I was thrilled to have the opportunity to tell their story.

I’d like to address the fact that a bachelor auction like the one Frances attends to bid for Charlie would have been extremely unlikely during the Regency. In an age of strict social mores and adherence to “rules,” such a scandalous event no doubt would have been looked upon with condemnation. However, there were times, especially when charities were involved, that the restrictions were relaxed a bit and I like to think that it was possible, if not probable, that such an event occurred.

As a storyteller, I’m more concerned with the “what ifs” than the “why nots.” And so, I enjoy taking a bit of license in order to bring you the most amusing romp-like “what if” my imagination can conjure.

Thank you so much for reading my stories. You are the reason I spend my time writing.

Valerie Bowman

Read on for an excerpt from Valerie Bowman’s next book

Secrets of a Scandalous Marriage

Coming soon from St. Martin’s Paperbacks

The Tower of London, December 1816

The large metal door to her cell scraped open and Kate closed her eyes. Then she stepped forward, summoned from one cold dank room into another. She had a visitor. Her first since she’d been taken to the gaol.

She opened her eyes. The harsh winter light filtered through the only window in the antechamber. The yeoman warder wore a blank expression on his face. He and the other guards always gave her the benefit of respect due her title. Whether they liked it or not.

The guard stepped aside, revealing the room’s other occupant. Interesting. Her visitor was a man. She narrowed her eyes on him. Who was he and what did he want with her? He stood with his straight back to her. He was tall, that much she could discern. Tall and cloaked in shadows.

The smell of mold and decay, rife in the Tower, made her stomach clench. The unforgiving winter wind whipped through the eaves, raising gooseflesh across her arms. She shivered and clutched her shawl more tightly around her shoulders.

“Ye ’ave ten minutes an’ not a moment more,” the gaoler announced before wrenching open the door and clanging it shut behind him as he left. The loud scrape and subsequent clank sealed Kate and the stranger in the small room together. She took a step back. A small rickety table rested between them. She was glad for that bit of separation at least. Whoever the man was, his clothing marked him a gentleman. He had better behave as one.

The tall man turned to greet her. He doffed his hat, but she still couldn’t make out his face. He wore a dark gray wool overcoat of considerable expense. A stray beam of sunlight floated through the dirty air, let in by the one small window nestled in the stone wall across from them.

He executed a perfect bow. “Your Grace?”

Kate cringed. She detested that title. “Bowing to a prisoner?” she asked in a voice containing a bit of irony. “Aren’t you a gentleman?”

He smiled and a set of perfectly white teeth flashed in the darkness. “You’re still a duchess, Your Grace.”

She pushed the hood from her head and took a tentative step forward. The stranger’s eyes flared for a moment and he sucked in his breath.

Kate’s stomach clenched. No doubt she looked a fright. She hadn’t bathed in days and could only imagine her own smell. Her hair, normally piled properly atop her head, was a mass of tangled red curls around her shoulders. She might be grimy and in trouble, but she wasn’t broken. And she refused to let the stranger see that his reaction affected her. She pushed up her chin and eyed him warily.

He stepped forward then, into the light, and Kate narrowed her eyes on his face, rapidly assessing every detail. She didn’t know him. But whoever he was, the man was handsome. Devastatingly so. Perhaps in his early thirties, he had dark-brown cropped hair, a perfectly straight nose, a square jaw. But his eyes were what truly captivated. Hazel in color, nearly green, assessing, knowing, intelligent eyes. They stole her breath. Lower, the faintest hint of a smile rested upon expertly molded male lips.

“Do you know who I am?” His voice splintered the quiet cold like a hammer hitting ice.

She regarded him with a steady stare. “Are you a barrister? Come for my defense?”

The man furrowed his brow. “You haven’t yet been given access to a barrister?”

She straightened her shoulders. “I’ve been … waiting.”

The stranger’s captivating eyes narrowed on her. “From what I understand, you’ve been in gaol for at least a fortnight. I find it difficult to believe a lady of your station has not yet met with a barrister.”

She lifted her chin. “Be that as it may, I have not.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint, Your Grace, but no, I am no barrister.”

“Not a barrister? Then who are you and why have you come to visit me? Please don’t tell me it’s just to see the spectacle of a duchess accused of murder.”

His gaze remained pinned to her face, his eyes still assessing, wary. “I am here to assist you, Your Grace.”

“Assist me?” she scoffed, stepping forward to get a closer look at the man. “I rather doubt that. Assist yourself perhaps. Tell me, how much did you bribe the gaoler to let you see the infamous duchess who shot her husband?”

The stranger arched a brow. “Did you? Murder your husband?”

She clenched her jaw. Then she laughed. “Oh, but of course. Didn’t you know? My husband, the Duke of Markingham, made it public that he intended to seek a divorce. Being divorced would have caused a horrible scandal. I couldn’t allow that. So, naturally…” She squeezed her fists against the fabric of her shawl, twisting it so tightly that her fingers ached. “Naturally, I decided to shoot him, causing an even worse scandal. Makes perfect sense. Don’t you agree?”

The corner of the stranger’s mouth quirked up. “My apologies, Your Grace. It was not my intention to offend. I assure you, I’m not a common gossipmonger come to witness your degradation. I intend to assist you. And yes, in return, there is something I want.”

She lifted both brows. “So, tell me then. What is it?”

He swept another bow. “I’ve come to make you an offer, Your Grace. One that can benefit us both.”

Pulling her shawl over her shoulders more tightly, Kate crossed her arms over her chest. “Forgive me if I am a bit doubtful, sir. I’ve seen enough deception in my twenty-eight years to be highly skeptical of the promises of men.”

His head quirked to the side and he regarded her with an inquisitive look. Her statement had obviously surprised him. “I understand, Your Grace. And I fully intend to explain. But first, I must ask for your discretion. If we are to help each other, I cannot reveal my identity unless you promise to keep what I am about to tell you entirely secret.”

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes on him. “Secret? Are you a spy?”

His brow rose, and tension seemed to radiate through his body. “Would you aid me if I were?”

She pointed toward the door. “Get out,” she said through clenched teeth.