His Mistress by Morning (21 page)

A chill ran down her spine. “What?”

“The
Agatha Skye,
” he said, pacing across the room and leaning his head against the mirror, “arrived at the docks this morning. Seven months overdue. Which matters little when the hold is overflowing with Eastern spices and coffee. Battersby’s shares are worth a bloody fortune. If I had but spent my winnings on those shares, gambled once more, I would be standing before you a wealthy and independent man.”

Charlotte felt the floor shift beneath her.

“Gads, I’m a wretched fool,” he said, raking his hand through his dark hair. “I squandered the money on you instead of—”

What did he mean? “Squandered it?”

“Oh, aye, squandered it. Getting you into the museum.” He shook his head. “I used to be so sensible—at least that’s what everyone says. And I suppose they are right. Then I met you and lost my heart, lost my mind. Why did you do this to me, Lottie? Was it a game to you?”

“No, never!” she shot back, frightened by the desperate light in his eyes. The hurt and pain she saw behind his wild accusations.

“The gambling, the races, all those nights—was it just another lark to you?”

“How can you say such a thing? I thought you—” Heavens, she didn’t know what to think. To know where she started and Lottie began, who was the real Sebastian—the man she’d known or the one before her now.

“I thought I did as well—” His words trailed off and he nodded at the diamonds at her throat. “But I see it was all for naught. You’ve made your choice.”

“No!” she shot out, her fingers tugging at the necklace, trying to remove it. “It’s not like that. I only want you.”

“You only want me?” He spat out the words as if they were poison on his tongue. “Whatever for? To make a mockery of? To turn me into the latest
on dit
? Because that is what you’ve done. I’m broke, Lottie. Up the River Tick. If I had been sensible, like my parents begged me, I’d be married to Miss Burke by now and I wouldn’t be here. But now, because of you, because I loved you, I’ve jeopardized even that. And for what? So I could see you standing there in another man’s offering.”

Charlotte snapped. Not Lottie, not even a bit of Lottie, but Charlotte Wilmont. The hypocrisy behind his words, Finella’s circumstances, the razor-thin line that cut a good woman out of society for the least infraction.

“How dare you,” she said in a low, dangerous voice. “How dare you speak to me like that. You claim to love me, and yet you call me a whore. Who am I, Sebastian? The woman you love or just merely another man’s leavings?”

He turned his back to her, and she knew she’d struck a chord, but she dug deeper, angry beyond reason. “You
won’t take my money, fine. But explain to me how taking my ill-gained fortune is so different from you taking Miss Burke’s dowry? How hard is it to see that if you marry that whey-faced chit, you’ll be the one picking up the reticule of money from the dresser in the morning?” she said, throwing his mother’s words at him.

He spun around and stared at her, and she felt both the heat of his anger and a long-simmering frustration over their tenuous situation boil over.

Charlotte sucked in a deep breath. She’d never been so furious in her life. So enflamed. And then, just as suddenly, so full of desire. Her breasts ached, her body pulsed with need at the sight of his fury. Oh, heavens, she wanted him now more than she had ever before. Three days away from him, away from his kiss, his touch, his claiming, made her burn with hunger.

She didn’t care that they were fighting, that this was all but the end of their affair—for there was no denying that there was only one solution: Sebastian must marry Miss Burke.

But that didn’t stop Charlotte from wanting him.

One more time.

“How dare you,” he sputtered. “I’ll show you the difference.” With that, he closed the distance between them and his mouth crashed down on hers.

Charlotte’s anger turned into a passionate fury. Her hands balled up in fists and beat against his chest, in a rage over his presumption, in anger over her own overwhelming desire for him.

He acknowledged her protest by catching hold of her hands and pinning them behind her back, much as he had the first morning she’d awakened in his bed. But this time, there was none of his good humor, no jests over her
ill humor. Just his fury holding her in place so he could take out his frustrations in this endless kiss.

And what a kiss it was. His tongue swept over hers, demanding his share, opening her and exploring her, taking what was his with little regard for her needs.

But it was enough for Charlotte. This pirate-like raid on her lips was making her toes curl, her body come alive with a dangerous, unyielding passion. This fire he ignited, set to blaze within her, called for one thing, and one thing only.

Retribution.

Yet how could she turn this tide with her hands behind her back?

He pushed her up against the wall, the solid plaster behind her one prison, his hard, muscled body another. His body. Up against hers. He had her there, at his whim, at his mercy, as now, with one hand freed, he began to stroke her, raid the treasure beneath her gown as if it were gold to be stolen.

Her gown came up, over her thighs, over her hips, his hand tugging at the sateen, seeking the silk of her skin beneath. His fingers ran a hot trail up the front of her thigh, lingering over the apex, teasing her, testing her, enough so to send her rebellious hips arching to meet his touch.

With one finger, he dipped beneath her shift and explored her, opened her up. Her thighs parted, quickly and willingly. He had his cache—and he knew it—swirling his finger around the nub hidden beneath, teasing her into a breathy moan.

Wet and trembling, she almost hated herself for wanting him so utterly, for being so susceptible to his touch.

“Do you want me, Lottie? Do you want me inside you?”

“No,” she lied. She was still mad at him, still despised the way he’d mocked her.

His finger went deeper, slipping inside her, into the heated moist slit that belied her emphatic denial. He stroked, tempted her further. “Tell me that you want me.”

“Never,” she managed, shifting closer to him, feeling the beginnings of her release start to build. She’d greedily steal this orgasm and leave him wanting. That would serve him right.

More so, she wanted him to beg, wanted him to be in this same dangerous, trembling state.

But how could she do that when he had her thusly, pinned against the wall, her hands trapped?

Her hips arched again, and this time they came in contact with the hard evidence of his desire. Of his obvious needs.

That place where he could be brought to heel.
Every man’s Achilles’ heel.

Without a second thought, she pushed herself off the wall and up against him, her breasts flattened against his chest, her hips riding up and down, letting her stroke him. Tease him.

How she loved the feel of him, of knowing what that steely length could do to her once it was freed, once it stood noble and erect. She rode up against him, letting it press against her, ease some of her own frustrations, fuel her already rampant imagination.

She hadn’t spent a fortnight in his arms not to know what made this man come alive. The power she yielded over his desires.

Sebastian’s mouth came back over hers, his kiss full of frustration and need. He released her wrists and she im
mediately put her hands to good use—letting her fingers do what her hips had been—stroking him. She put her palms on either side of him and ran her thumbs up and down his hardened length.

“Demmit, Lottie,” he moaned. “What are you doing to me?”

“Much the same as you are doing to me,” she said, letting her fingers tease him again.

He pulled her gown higher, tugging it over her head and tossing it aside, so she stood before him in her shift. Immediately he pulled her breasts free, and his head dipped to take one of her nipples in his mouth.

Oh, he would have to do that,
she thought, feeling her advantage slip away in this game of wills. Her hands fell away from him, dropping to her sides, impotent against his assault. His tongue swirled over her, teasing her into a tight void of desire. He continued to lap and suckle, while his other hand dove back between her thighs and began to stroke her again.

Why did he have to know her so well? For he knew just how to stroke her, just how to bring her to that dizzy brink, leave her panting and moaning, and then stop and leave her on that abyss, aching for completion.

And that is just what he did, and he looked down at her, his dark gaze glittering with victory.

Oh, this battle isn’t over,
she vowed. And she knew exactly how to turn the tables, sliding down the front of him until she knelt before him. She might look like she was submitting, but with his pants open and his manhood freed, she truly held the better hand. And then she looked up at him, one hand cupping his balls, the other holding his erection, the tides of war shifted.

Starting slowly, she ran her tongue over the tip, tasting him. Her fingers made a slow, lazy trail up the length of him.

Sebastian groaned, his hands fisting into her hair.

She took him slowly into her mouth, letting her tongue run over him, and then bringing it back out. Back and forth, she went, slowly taking him in her mouth, then quickly drawing him out, teasing him, as he had her, until his body started to shake and she knew his release was so very close.

Charlotte smiled, and stopped, rising up, letting her hands claim his body, letting him feel her.

“That is how I dare,” she whispered, answering his earlier question. “Because I can.”

He didn’t say a word; he merely growled something unintelligible, and finished it by catching her mouth in a demanding kiss. Then, just as suddenly, she was up in his arms and he was storming from the salon, headed for the stairs.

Her arms wound around his neck, clinging to him, her gaze running ahead, up into the darkness above, up to her bedroom, where they would most surely finish this dangerous game.

With one hand she went to take off the diamonds, but he stopped and said, “Leave them on so I don’t forget who and what you are.”

His savage words were like a blow and only served to renew her anger, her frustration, her passions.

Fine, if that was how he wanted to remember her, then she’d let him have this fantasy. Let him take it with him for the rest of his life. Into his cold marriage…

She’d give him a night that would be forever burned into his memory. And worse yet, into hers…

“Then take me now, demmit,” she said as he stood still, poised halfway up the stairs. “Take me now, and be done with it, if you dare.”

He stopped and looked at her, saw the challenge burning in her eyes, and without a word, he put her down on the steps. The carpeted tread was no more comfortable than the wall had been, but she wasn’t interested in a downy mattress or satin sheets—she wanted him, and she wanted him now. His fingers closed over the top of her shift and tore it in half, exposing her to him.

Charlotte shivered, trembled. He towered above her, and she suddenly wondered at the sense of her own brazen invitation. He didn’t even bother to disrobe, just came down on top of her, catching hold of her hips and driving himself into her in one quick stroke.

“Oooh,” she gasped, as much at this hot, rough invasion as at how her already thrumming body reacted to it—arching up to meet his eager, hard thrust.

Sebastian drove into her again, and Charlotte heard herself calling to him, “Yes, Sebastian. Oh, now, please.”

Her heels dug into the steps, pushing her body up, while one hand caught hold of the baluster. She met him, thrust for thrust, ragged breath for passionate moan.

Over her, Sebastian’s body tightened, his thrusts hard and fast, seeking the same thing she sought—release.

He groaned, and his body stilled for only a second before he shuddered, and then climaxed, pushing himself inside her completely, filling her with his hot release. That was enough to tip Charlotte over the edge and into that trembling bliss of completion.

The tumultuous waves that crashed within her pulled the last vestiges of his release from him, and he heaved one final, deep, breathy sigh.

For a few moments they lay there, on the steps, a tangle of limbs and spent passions, not quite holding each other, but still joined. The anger and frustration that had fueled this tempestuous display had gone the way of their passion, into the ethers.

Charlotte continued to quake and tremble around him, and she thought her release would never end—not that she wanted it to. And when it finally did, she looked up and found Sebastian watching her, one brow cocked arrogantly.

Oh, yes, he was quite pleased with himself.

“Gads, Trent, what have you done to me?” she said, giving her words a bit of Lottie’s flair by adding a saucy toss of her head.

“What I intend to do to you until morning comes,” he replied, and with that gauntlet, he rose, hauling her with him.

And then he carried her up the remaining stairs to her room and made good his vow.

Charlotte was still trying to catch her breath hours later when they both finally gave in to exhaustion.

“Gads, Lottie, I don’t know what came over me,” Sebastian said, laying beside her, propped up on one elbow, his fingers tracing lazy circles around her nipples. “My behavior was inexcusable.”

“Maybe the first time,” she told him. “But not the second or third.”

He grinned and leaned over and kissed her, softly and gently and full of the love that was their fate, their destiny.

There is a way for us to be together,
she told herself.
There must be.

But how?

“I came over here last night with every intention of…well, we’ll get to that in a moment…and then when I saw you in those diamonds, I—”

“Sshh.” She shook her head at him. “Don’t say another word. I was foolish to try them on. ’T’was all I was doing—trying them on, but I had no intentions of ever—”

“I know that now. Still, I was an utter ass last night. Between my parents and the Burkes, I felt trapped. I came here because you make me feel so alive, so free. I swear, you are the only person who understands me. Who doesn’t look at me and see only a title.” Then he took a deep breath and stared down at her, his features utterly serious. “Hear me out, Lottie. I’ve got something to ask you.”