Wed Him Before You Bed Him (13 page)

He thrust his tongue deep inside her welcoming warmth, and she thrust back, tangling hers with his as if she could not get enough.

God knows he couldn't. For eighteen years he'd imagined kissing her again, and the pent-up need was more than he could control. He hadn't intended this, but by God, he would take it.

C
harlotte was incapable of thought or breath. She knew only one thing—David was kissing her as if they had never been apart.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew this was unwise for so many reasons. But right now all the defenses against men that she had nurtured so carefully for over a decade had gone into hiding. She was too lost in the excitement of being held by him again to think of caution.

It was both a feast and a torment to have him kissing and touching her. He tasted of peppermint drops and smelled of the same spicy cologne he used to wear—a blend of rosemary and wine. It was all so enticingly familiar.

“Ah, Charlotte,” he whispered against her lips before dragging his mouth down her jaw to her neck, “it's been too long.”

Far too long. “This isn't much…of a revenge…if you ask me,” she choked out. His lips found the hollow of her throat and played there briefly before heading lower.

“I'm only getting started.”

His husky words sent an errant thrill through her, especially when he dropped onto the nearby settee and tugged her astride his lap.

Shocked, she reared back to press her hands against his chest. “My word, David!”

“Shh, sweeting,” he breathed as he gripped her thighs through her rucked-up skirts. Bending forward, he branded her neck with warm kisses. “Let me finish my revenge.”

Her hands stilled on his chest.
Sweeting.
No one else ever called her that. It swept her back to the heady kisses of her youth, to the way he used to make her feel every time he entered a room, to the last time he had kissed her so fiercely.

Only half-conscious of what she was doing, she slipped her arms about his neck, making no protest as he yanked her fichu free.

While his mouth did hot, devilish things to her throat, his hands lowered her bodice and loosened her chemise. She clung to his neck, heedless of anything but a mindless need to have his wicked mouth on her breast. And when at last it was there, she let out a moan that had him lifting his other hand to tease her other breast.

How could she have forgotten what it was like to have a man touch her, fondle her? And for it to be
David
…it seemed too incredible to fathom. He sucked hard on one nipple while he thumbed the other, his free hand slipping under her skirts to caress the stretch of bare thigh above her garters.

She felt his arousal swell against her privates, even through the kerseymere of his trousers. “You know,” she gasped, “Charles had…another theory about you and your part in this…legacy.”

“Do tell,” he growled, then lightly scraped her nipple with his teeth, sending a white-hot surge of heat down her spine.

“He said you might…have manipulated it so you could take up…where we left off eighteen…years ago.”

David's hand hesitated in its journey up her thigh. “And what did you say to that?”

“That he was mad.”

He lifted his head, his heated gaze locking with hers. “Clearly not as mad as you thought.”

Before she could react to that astonishing statement, he was kissing her again, one hand fondling her breast as the other edged beneath her skirts toward the part of her that burned to be touched by him.

A knock came at the door.

They both froze. As she drew back, the awareness of where she was and what she was doing crashed into her mind, uprooting her from her pleasure.

David stared at her with a darkening gaze. “Ignore it,” he breathed. “They'll go away.”

Unfortunately, she knew better. Pushing free of his hands, she stood and began frantically to repair her clothing. “Yes?” she called out. “What is it?”

Everyone in the school knew not to intrude upon her private sitting room without being invited, but this was still madness. The door was not even locked!

“The new applicants for dancing master are arriving, madam,” Terence said.

She walked close to the door. “Tell them I will be with them shortly,” she ordered, praying that her voice did not betray her agitated state.

“Very good, madam.”

As Terence's footsteps faded she fought for calm, beating down the arousal that still inflamed her senses. Then with a shuddering breath, she turned to David, who was already rising from the settee, his gaze intent on her.

“Forgive me,” she said shakily, not ready to even think
about what they had been doing, much less talk about it. “We lost our dancing master a week ago, and I have to attend to the matter.”

“Of course,” he said smoothly. “I understand completely.”

She blinked. That was not the response she had expected. “You do?”

“Certainly.” He drew out his pocket watch. “That should take, what? Two hours? Three? I'll use the opportunity to get a good look at the school, so I'll know what sort of property you might consider adequate.”

“But you should not…you must not…” she sputtered.

“Don't worry about me,” he said with a wave of his hand. “I'm sure I can find my way around perfectly well until you're done.”

A decidedly feminine panic seized her. “You do not mean to hang about while I am occupied elsewhere!”

His eyes locked with hers. “Why not?”

“Because you cannot wander my girls' school on your own,” she said firmly.

“So let that fierce footman of yours accompany me.”

She thrust out her chin. “I cannot spare Terence just now.”

One of his eyebrows arched upward. “Then it looks as if I'll be wandering on my own, doesn't it?”

“That is not acceptable.”

“Don't you trust me around your girls, Charlotte?” he asked softly.

It was not her girls she was worried about. “It has nothing to do with them.”

“Then what?”

As if he didn't know. Whenever he got near her, funny things happened to her insides, and she feared that if he stayed around until they could be alone again, the two of them might progress beyond kissing and touching.

She was not ready for that. It had taken her years to repair her damaged life, years to feel secure and settled. And if those years had sometimes been lonely, it had not mattered because she was safe. For the first time ever, she had felt safe.

Until Pritchard had begun trying to make his property commercially viable in a way that was sure to damage her school. And now David had marched back into her life, stirring up old feelings, making her want to toss everything aside just to be in his arms again.

It was not to be borne!

“I am concerned about how other people will see your presence here.”

“Probably the same way they see Godwin's. They'll think I'm a friend to the school.” A sudden devilish glint lit his gaze. “Or they'll assume that I'm waiting around for Mrs. Harris to let me make wild, passionate love to her on her settee.”

Alarm swelled in her chest. “Now see here, you cannot—”

“I'm teasing you.” His eyes searched her face. “Does no one ever tease you?”

The question brought her up short. Godwin was too serious for such, and the teachers were too cognizant of her role as their employer. Cousin Michael had teased her, but then he had abandoned her. The way David would abandon her when times grew hard.

“Actually…most people are too circumspect for that.”

“Have you grown so formidable, then?”

She forced a smile. “I hope not.”

“Because you look as if you could use amusement these days.”

“And I suppose you mean to give it to me?” she said sharply, the words leaving her mouth before she could stop them.

His brow lowered in a frown. “I'll tell you what I don't mean to do. I don't mean to ignore the fact that we were wrapped in each other's arms a few minutes ago.” He approached her with determined steps. “I won't act as if there's nothing between us, when I know you enjoyed every kiss and caress as much as I did.” He halted within easy reach of her. “And I sure as hell don't mean to leave here without resolving a few matters.”

“Such as?” She stared him down, determined not to let his height and sheer masculine energy cow her.

“Do you intend to accept the legacy?”

“Do you intend to seduce me?” If he could be direct, so could she.

A strange wariness came over his face. “Seduction implies an unequal division of power. I have no desire to play that game with you.” He came close enough that she could smell the peppermint on his breath. “If we share a bed, sweeting, it will be because of a mutual desire.
That
I can promise you.”

“I cannot share your bed.”

He lowered his voice to that erotic thrum that had always sent her senses aflame. “Afraid of getting too close to me again?”

“Afraid of losing all I have worked for,” she countered.

A muscle flicked in his jaw. “Despite what Godwin claims, I have no intention of destroying your school.”

“That is not what I meant,” she said hastily. She stepped away, needing to compose herself, which was impossible with him looming over her. “But you do not have the same stake in it that I do. You have not spent years developing its reputation, coaxing students here, placating parents.”

She thrust out her chin. “I am proud of what I have done, and I do not mean to throw it away on a fleeting pleasure.” When his eyes glittered at that, she added, “The reputation of this institution lies on my shoulders, and with matters so shaky just now, I dare not do anything to ruin it. It would be scandalous if people thought that you and I were…well…”

“Yes,” he bit out, “I suppose it would.” He was silent a long moment. “But since I have made it clear that I have no intention of forcing any ‘fleeting pleasure' on you, you have naught to fear from me. So you have no reason to refuse the legacy.”

She could scarcely suppress a laugh. Naught to fear? Only the constant temptation he offered to touch him, to confide in him, to lean on him. She was not even sure she could
trust
him, for God's sake! How could she be sure she wasn't making a huge mistake by letting him this close?

But what choice did she have? “If I accept the legacy, that does not mean I accept the necessity for moving the school.”

“I understand,” he said blandly. “You still wish to write your benefactor about buying this property.”

“Actually, I already have. I hope to hear from him shortly.”

“In the meantime, why not look at other properties?” He removed a paper from his coat pocket. “I have a list of available ones right here. Once you've finished your interviews, we can go look at them. While awaiting your leisure, I'll tour the school.”

She faced him with an arch glance. “That should be a unique experience for you, awaiting a woman's leisure.”

“Dangerous perhaps, but not unique. I did it once before.” His eyes bore into hers. “It proved the biggest mistake of my life.”

She sucked in a breath, remembering the last time they had been together in their youth, when she had asked him to wait for her answer to his proposal.

Deliberately she pretended not to know what he meant. “Then perhaps you should
not
await my leisure. I would hate to disappoint you. You could always return this afternoon.”

“And risk finding the place barred to me? Not a chance.”

A thin smile touched her lips. “I would never do anything so silly.”

“Good. Because it won't keep me away.”

When he followed those words with a look of raw hunger that set her every nerve afire, she knew his persistence had nothing to do with the legacy and everything to do with her.

And she couldn't decide how she felt about that. “I really must go,” she murmured. “I do have to conduct these interviews.”

“Of course.” He bowed. “Until later.”

Just as she opened the door, he said, “There's one thing you should be aware of. It was not me you saw kissing Molly that last night of your visit.”

Pausing in the doorway, she cast him a long look over her shoulder. “I know,” she said simply.

Then she left.

D
avid stared, frozen in disbelief, as Charlotte waltzed out the door. She
knew
? How had she found out?
When
had she found out, for God's sake? He'd learned of it himself only eight years ago, after Father's suicide.

Faced with the stark knowledge of why their father had killed himself, he and Giles had drunk an inordinate amount of whisky one night. Somehow their talk had turned to women, to the fact that marrying an heiress would solve David's problem of how to cover the massive debts Father had left behind. Mention of heiresses had led to a discussion of Charlotte, and Giles had admitted that he'd often wondered if Charlotte had seen him with Molly, wearing David's robe.

When it had dawned on David that it was very likely, he'd taken out his anger on his brother. The two of them had engaged in a drunken brawl, and for a while they'd stopped speaking entirely.

But in time he'd had to acknowledge that it was himself he was angry at, for not examining the situation more, for not forcing her to tell him what had happened. By then he'd already been corresponding with Charlotte as Cousin Michael for a few years, and had realized the value of what he'd thrown away too easily.

What if he had gone to her after Giles had told him the truth? What if he had said to hell with the world and married her instead of Sarah?

He ran his fingers through his hair. His family would have lost most of their property. His sisters would not now be in good marriages; Giles would not be a respected barrister. And Charlotte would have been forced to support
him
with the income from her school. It would have been intolerable.

But he would not now be regretting so many things. Like the fact that he wanted Charlotte and she didn't want him. Or was afraid to want him.

He swore under his breath. It had been heaven to hold her and kiss her, but hell to watch her put him aside. He was sure she had felt the same pull as he. They'd been halfway to doing the deed when they'd been interrupted.

Still aroused, he paced the room. What was he to do about this…this unwise attraction between them, this palpable yearning that clogged his throat even now? He couldn't be near her without wanting to make her his. And she clearly had no intention of letting him.

“Beg pardon, my lord,” said a voice from the door, “but Mrs. Harris has asked me to give you a tour of the school. I understand you have a friend who wants to enroll his daughter?”

Apparently she'd been able to spare her pugilist servant after all. And how clever of Charlotte to drum up a scandal-proof excuse for David's presence.

“I have quite a number of friends who would be honored to enroll their daughters here,” he evaded.

“Good,” said the burly servant. “We could use more young ladies these days.”

Trying not to dwell on why that was, David followed the man out. “It's Terence, isn't it?” David asked.

“Yes, sir,” he clipped out.

The man must not be too keen on this duty. That wasn't
surprising, given that his talents would be better used elsewhere. He was a few inches taller than David, and his arms were big as oak limbs. He looked as if he probably ate a heifer for breakfast every day.

“Are you the same Terence who fought Jack Higgins about twelve years ago at Salcey Green?”

Terence Sullivan had killed Higgins, a bare-knuckle boxer of great renown, in the ring that day. He would be about this man's age and size now, too.

“Do you want to see the school or not?” Terence said belligerently.

Apparently he'd struck a nerve. “Only if you want to show it to me. I don't mind striking out on my own if you have more pressing duties.”

Terence shot him a veiled glance. “Forgive me, my lord. I prefer not to speak of those days.”

“As you wish. Though I
am
curious about how the great Terence Sullivan came to be hired as a footman.”

“I started out as one. I only got into fighting later. After the bout with Higgins, I went back into service.” He clenched his fists at his sides. “Except nobody would hire me. Until Mrs. Harris took a chance on me.”

“Ah.” No wonder he was so protective of Charlotte.

“Now here is what we call the ‘great hall,'” Terence began, clearly eager to leave the subject.

For the next hour, the fighter took David through every room. David found it fascinating to see the place for himself after years of seeing it only through Charlotte's eyes in letters. He'd been to the Elizabethan-era building when he and Pritchard had signed the lien, and remembered it as chilly and cavernous, with a hodgepodge of questionable improvements made by Pritchard's grandfather.

He didn't recognize it now. “I gathered from things my late wife said that Mrs. Harris made a number of renovations when she first moved in.”

“Indeed she did,” Terence answered. “Got permission from her cousin to do so.”

David bit back a smile, since
he'd
been the one forced to ask Pritchard's approval on every improvement. In those days, Pritchard had been glad to have someone else improve his property, since it had been naught but a burden to him.

What a difference a little paint and carefully placed furnishings made to a stately old pile like this. The mahogany furniture and the draperies of dark green velvet lent it a courtly grandeur that would inspire any young girl. This was no cramped brick box where girls were packed in like biscuits in a barrel, but a place to roam and discover, a place that kept a person ever mindful of England's past.

No wonder she was reluctant to leave it.

David well understood the attachment one could have to a building. He'd fought hard to keep his family's manor from sinking under the detritus of time. And the enormity of what he'd done to Charlotte by encouraging her to fall in love with this place sent a blow to his chest.

“It's a shame her cousin doesn't ever come here,” Terence added, “or he'd know how much she's put into it.”

“I understand that he helps her only under condition of anonymity,” David said, curious to hear her footman's perspective on the odd arrangement.

“Aye.” Terence took him down a hall past several classrooms where girls were being taught arithmetic and natural history and Latin, an unusual curriculum for young ladies.

“Has she never attempted to learn his real identity?” David prodded.

“It isn't allowed. She had to sign a paper saying that she understood she would lose the low rent on the property if she ever tried to discover it.”

David feigned a look of male camaraderie. “Yes, but surely she lets
you
do some digging around.”

“Not if it means breaking the agreement. She told me to keep my nose out of it, and I always do as I'm told.”

“Ah.” Thank God for loyal servants.

“Though I think I know what sort of man he is,” Terence went on as he led them into a large room that was clearly used for dancing.

This should be interesting. “Oh?”

Terence stopped in the center. “The mistress says he's probably some philanthropist who doesn't want people looking too closely at his private affairs.” His eyes narrowed. “But I figure he's a rich and ugly old codger who took a liking to her, but knew he hadn't a chance in hell of winning her. So he set matters up to make her beholden to him.”

“You mean, by his cunning donation of money to the school and his wicked provision of low rents,” David said sarcastically, more than a little annoyed that Terence was so close to the truth. Or what used to be the truth, anyway.

“Nobody ever gives something for nothing.”

“Interesting theory.” David fought the urge to defend himself. “And what exactly do you think he wants for his ‘something'?”

“The same thing most gentlemen want from a beautiful young widow.” A dark frown crossed his brow. “One day he'll pounce, and there will be hell to pay.”

“He's certainly taking his time about pouncing,” David said irritably. “Hasn't he been helping the school for years?”

The footman shrugged. “I didn't say his plan was clever. It doesn't take brains to be a randy bastard.”

“Just a great deal of money, apparently.”

Terence fixed him with a level gaze. “As my old da used to tell me, ‘never trust a rich man.'”

No mistaking
that
warning. “Good thing I'm only moderately rich,” David said dryly.

“Which is why I only moderately distrust you,” Terence shot back.

David blinked, then burst into laughter. “You are the most unusual footman I've ever met.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Terence shrugged. “I'll take that as a compliment.”

“I didn't mean it as one.”

For the first time, the man smiled. “I know.”

Oddly enough, that defused some of the tension between them. As they continued around the school, David said, “It sounds as if you spend plenty of time protecting your employer from unwanted attentions.”

“Plenty enough.”

“What if the attention is not so unwanted?”

“That doesn't happen,” the footman said decidedly.

“Not even with Charles Godwin?” he bit out.

Terence shot him a curious glance. “Why do you want to know?”

He opted for honesty. “I find it's always useful to gauge one's competition before one enters the ring.”

Terence bristled. “If I were you, my lord, I'd first be worried about leaving here with all your teeth.”

David chuckled. “Believe me, that concern is high on my list as well. You forget—I've seen you fight.”

When the footman let out a reluctant laugh, he knew he'd scored a point, even if he was no closer to learning the nature of Charlotte's association with Godwin.

By now they'd finished with the interior. They were already strolling toward the front entrance so they could go out to see the gardens when Charlotte appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Terence, could you come here for a moment, please?”

“Certainly, madam.”

“I'll go walk about the gardens,” David said.

It didn't take him long to tour the gardens in front of the house. He'd finished there and was admiring the cherry orchard on the edge of Rockhurst when an unwelcome figure emerged from the trees.

Pritchard. Confound the bastard.

Samuel Pritchard was the firstborn scion of a wealthy London merchant. Though he was now nearing sixty, he'd been quite the reckless blade most of his life, as his ravaged features and look of dissipation attested. Indeed, Pritchard's penchant for debauchery was how the man had come to be at David's mercy during their fateful card game years ago.

David had been drunk, as he'd often been in the early days of his disgrace. When Pritchard had made a nasty comment about the Garish Goer, David had set out to fleece him. And he'd succeeded beyond his wildest expectations, something he was still paying for.

“Well, well, if it isn't Cousin Michael,” Pritchard remarked.

“You'd better pray no one heard you, Pritchard,” David
snapped. “Or have you forgotten that revealing my identity voids our agreement? You can be sure I'll be happy to demand the full fifty thousand pounds on the spot. Since you can't pay it now any better than you could pay it then, I suggest you hold your tongue.”

Though the man paled, his nasty smile didn't dim. “So the poor widow still doesn't know who you really are, does she? Well, it won't be long before she learns of it, in eight months, when she's thrown out on her pretty arse. Then nothing you can do or say will keep me from telling her who's the real culprit behind her troubles.”

David clenched his hands to keep from throttling the bastard. “Why don't you sell Rockhurst to me and be done with it? You know I'll pay you more than it's worth.”

Pritchard thrust his thumbs in the waistband of his trousers, which only accentuated the gut he was rapidly acquiring. “Why, so you can move the good widow and her school over onto it? No thank you. Since the entailment prevents me from selling the school's property, I mean to make good use of it. And I won't have Mrs. Holier-than-Thou hanging around causing trouble for me. I want her gone from both parcels of land, her and her pack of girls.”

“A smart businessman would see the abundant advantages to having a girls' school as a tenant. They're not hard on the property, and they're willing to pay for the improvements themselves.”

“But they're not willing to pay much of a rent, are they?”

“I'll subsidize the rent if necessary,” David said. Pritchard would be a fool to refuse such an offer. “And I might point out that your kindness to the school might help you repair your poor reputation in society.”

Pritchard's eyes narrowed. “I've begun to see that a poor reputation can gain a man more than a good one.” He jerked his head toward where a thin fellow was wandering the orchard some distance behind him, appearing to measure it out. “Watson there is fairly serious about buying Rockhurst and turning it into a racing establishment. And do you know why?”

David merely stared coldly at him.

“Because I've promised him that as soon as the lien is discharged, I'll be turning the school building into an impressive hotel, with a restaurant and a taproom that will tempt any young blade. I'll have half the racing community here every week, paying good money for their gin and ale while my friend there gets their money on the races next door.”

Sheer glee showed on the ass's face. “So you can see why I don't want the good widow hanging about. And why I have better prospects than whatever extra money you can offer for her rent.”

David's stomach sank. A hotel. The building would be perfect for that. How clever of Pritchard to have thought of combining a racecourse with a hotel, especially with Richmond being so close to London, and right on the river besides.