What Not to Bare: A Loveswept Historical Romance (25 page)

It felt incredible. Each time he stroked into her, a part of him touched that part of her, causing shivers to run through her, each successive stroke making her shiver more,
until she felt something slowly building inside of her, just like when they’d been here before, and he’d kissed her so thoroughly there.

She was really going to have to find out what it was called.

His chest pressed against hers, the light sprinkle of chest hair tickling her breasts, adding another dimension of touch. She felt almost as though she couldn’t stand it anymore, something had to happen, something had to give, and he was pushing into her, slamming into her, each time uttering a groan that was so primal and sensual and needy, it sent her that much closer to whatever was about to happen.

And then it did. A rush of satisfaction, of pleasure, went through her, and she felt warm, and well loved, and entirely sated.

The feeling lasted for a long while, and he kept moving, but not in the same harsh, slamming way. She was acutely aware of every part of her body that was touching his, and how it was silent in the room except for their breathing, and how he was rigid, and pulsing, and throbbed inside her, and she wanted to give him everything he had just given her.

She experimented with moving her hips a little bit, and it appeared that that was good, since he uttered another one of those groans, and she felt a bigger throb inside of her. He had his eyes closed, and his brow was furrowed as though he were in thought, but Charlotte knew he wasn’t thinking—he couldn’t be, not if he was feeling anything close to what she had.

She kept her rhythm the same, and he kept moving as well, so it was as though they were dancing. Albeit naked and lying down.

Her hands, she discovered, were holding on tight to his firm, hard arse, and his muscles flexed with each thrust. She felt that part of her begin to respond again. Was that normal? Could she do it again? Because that would be incredible.

Meanwhile, he kept pushing, bracing himself against her and the floor with his arms, which were, like the rest of him, defined with muscle.

His movements got faster and faster, and she responded, adjusting her motion as well, until finally, finally, he gave one final thrust and groaned as she felt him pulse and spasm inside her.

He sagged against her, his breathing ragged and unsteady.

“Was that … Was it good?” she asked.

He snorted against her skin. “Yes, Lady Question, it was. It was tremendous. You don’t mind if I lie here on top of you for the rest of my life, do you?”

That was a question she couldn’t answer. Not right now.

“Do you think our children will inherit their mother’s fashion sense?” He couldn’t bear to move, not yet, not when she was so warm, and so naked, and he was so content.

She started, as though surprised at his question. Perhaps she was; until now, she had pretty much been in charge of all the questioning. Maybe marriage would take that to an equal footing.
“Where are my slippers?”
he could ask, or
“What are we having for supper?”
And she could pester him with questions about any number of things; he couldn’t even imagine what she might dream up to ask him if they were to be together for the rest of their lives.

And that. The rest of their lives. That felt right, felt satisfying, even though he knew it would be difficult to give up returning to India. He might be able to take her there, but he couldn’t perform the same duties, not with a wife in tow.

It didn’t matter as much. He couldn’t say it didn’t matter at all, because that would be to deny his vocation, but now that his future was marriage with Charlotte, it felt right, as if it was what he’d been headed toward all along.

“Our children?”

He’d forgotten he’d even asked the question. She sounded … odd. He rolled himself off her, certain he’d probably been squeezing the air out of her lungs with his weight.

She continued speaking while he put his palm on her hip and stroked in lazy circles. This. This for the rest of his life.

“I suppose we can try to train them however we want.”

She still sounded odd. He didn’t want to ruin his postsex haze, so he decided not to ask her if anything was bothering her. Because if it was, he wasn’t doing his job right. Now that his job would be to marry, and to pleasure, Charlotte.

A fine task, indeed.

“Do you think you will want to stay in London, after we’re married? I could persuade my brother to lend me one of our family’s country houses, if you might want to
make that our primary residence. And then we can search for our own house.”

Our own house. Even the thought of it made him choke up. When had he started longing so much for heart and home?

The answer to that question had something to do with the woman currently lying naked next to him.

“Let’s discuss that later,” she replied. She tilted her head up to look at the clock. “My goodness, it is very, very late. I must go before my mother discovers I am not in my bed.”

She scrambled up, and he had a few seconds to admire the view of Charlotte—
his
Charlotte—naked before she located her shift and drew it up over herself and then found her gown.

“Let me help,” he said, getting up to assist as she drew the gown over her head. His fingers made quick work of the buttons, although he couldn’t resist kissing her neck as he went up.

Finally—although too soon, in David’s opinion—she was dressed. He’d donned his dressing gown again and opened the door. Gotam and Charlotte’s maid were across the hallway in the library.

Seeing him, Gotam leapt to his feet and strode across the hallway, while Charlotte’s maid followed behind.

“Oh. Your mother asked me to dine tomorrow night, so I will see you then.”

She nodded as though distracted. “Yes, that’s fine. I must go.”

Before he could reply, she’d flung the door open, not even waiting for Gotam to do so, and ran down the stairs, her maid following close behind. Gotam gave him a perplexed look, shrugged, and darted after them, already whistling for a hackney.

David watched as the ladies got into the cab, already missing her, but already anticipating when they could stay together all night, in the same bed without any cause for comment. Well, besides her comments, anyway.

Chuckling at the thought of what possible comments she might have, he walked up the stairs to his bedroom, feeling sated and excited all at the same time.

***

“Do I look all right?” David looked past Gotam’s turban to see his reflection in the glass.

Gotam snorted in disbelief. “My friend, have you not looked at yourself in the past thirty years or so? You look just the same as you always have, which is to say you are better than average looking. Much as it pains me to say it.”

“Yes, but …” How could he explain to Gotam that for once he wasn’t sure his looks would carry him through? Instead of falling asleep right away the previous evening, he’d spent hours going over all the events, trying to define the moment when he knew that he could not live without her.

When he’d fallen in love with her. Even if she didn’t believe him.

It made his chest tighten, to think that she did not feel the same way, not yet. But he had hopes that she would, if he just answered every question for her and spent as much time with her unclothed—not just for the sake of his good taste—as possible.

“There. You are ready.” Gotam brushed at one of the shoulders of David’s jacket and stepped back to admire his handiwork. David knew it was not to admire David.

“You will do. This event to which you have been invited, it is a family party?”

“Dinner.” He hadn’t yet spoken to Lord Bradford, but he hoped that the man’s sister would have persuaded him that this was the best thing for his niece. Even though it meant David would no longer be working in his current position.

The carriage rolled up in front of Charlotte’s house at just a few minutes before eight o’clock. David jumped out and strode up the stairs to knock at the door.

“Lord David.” The butler bowed and took David’s hat and coat.

“Oh, Lord David, how lovely of you to come to our family dinner. Now that you are family, of course,” Lady Jepstow said with a simper. “Charlotte will be down in just a few moments. Come in here, we’ll wait for her in the drawing room.”

David followed his future mother-in-law into the same boring room he’d been in before. Now that he had spent time with Charlotte, he found he missed it when things were not as … 
colorful
as they could be.

Lady Jepstow sat and gestured for him to sit opposite. “And where is Lord Jepstow?” David clasped his hands on his legs and tried not to keep glancing over at the door to see when Charlotte arrived.

“He is finishing dressing. He takes as long as my daughter does.”

Thankfully, David thought, he did not share his daughter’s taste in colors.

The door swung open, and Lord Jepstow entered, and something was definitely wrong. Unless Lord Jepstow had recently hired a squirrel to arrange his hair.

“She’s gone,” he said, waving his hands in the air in a frantic gesture. “Just gone.”

“Who, dear?” Lady Jepstow asked.

David shot her a quick look; no, she really did not know. “Charlotte, I assume,” he said through gritted teeth. “Gone.”

“She took her maid, her clothing, and Christian’s curricle.” At David’s questioning look, Lord Jepstow clarified. “Christian is her brother. My son. He’s out of town, studying. He’s always studying,” he added, as though that fact was at all important at the moment.

“I’ll find her.” David rose, feeling a swell of fury burning in his throat. That she dare use him—
again!
—made him want to find her and tie her to him so she could never leave.

Not that that would be conducive to a happy marriage. It could be enjoyable for a time, however.

He walked to the door, brushing off both of his—he hoped—future in-laws. The butler scurried toward him holding his things, and he slapped his hat onto his head and quickly drew on his coat.

“She left a note,” Lord Jepstow said, waving a piece of paper in the air.

Perhaps that would have been useful knowledge when you announced she had gone? David thought. But never mind. “What does it say?”

Lord Jepstow squinted at it in the recognizable way of someone with poor eyesight. “Perhaps you can—”

David took it from him, and read it.

David stared at the note, as much because he was flummoxed by what she was saying as what she had said in the first place. Her note was like her—chaotic, and enchanting, and confusing.

But what he did know was that she was not here, and he needed to find her so he could convince her that he did, in fact, love her. Even if she then took that information and still decided not to marry him, he wanted her to know. To believe it. He didn’t want her ever to think of herself as a Burden, Eternal or otherwise, on him.

Of course, finding her would be difficult, unless he were to ask every single person he encountered if they had spotted a woman, dressed as though she were color- and pattern-blind, asking questions.

Then it would be simple.

“Can you send whomever might have been in the stables when Charlotte took the curricle? Perhaps they might have an idea where she was headed?’

He felt his useful skills clicking into place; he was dealing with a crisis as he had so often in India. Only this time the crisis had to do with him and his permanent future
happiness, so he damned well better get it right.

No pressure or anything, he thought with a grimace.

The stable workers proved most helpful, and within half an hour David was astride a horse, Gotam riding alongside, flying up the Great North Road toward Scotland.

It was dark when they set out, of course, and the night got darker still. Thankfully he and Gotam had had plenty of experience traveling by horseback in the dark. There had been many times when David’s negotiations had gone on long into the night, and certain situations dictated that he not stay overnight. The coachman had informed him that Lady Charlotte had only left about an hour or so before, so David was hoping to catch her by Waltham Cross or Ware.

But he’d chase her all the way to Scotland if he had to. Stupid, stubborn, annoying woman.

He had plenty of time to think as they were riding. He’d chided her once for not thinking well of herself, and she’d told him she was only reporting her mother’s opinion. But how could she not think he wanted to be with her, especially after last night? Did she think he went around and made love to every young lady he met?

Well, perhaps that might have been true in the past, but not since meeting her. And not with so much passion. Not that she knew that. For all she knew, this was usual behavior for two people who admired and lusted after each other.

But David knew. He’d been in plenty of admiring, lustful relationships, and this was nothing like those. He should be scared, terrified even, to know he loved her so much already, but instead he felt as though it was a new adventure for him. And her, if she agreed to it.

He couldn’t think about what would happen if she didn’t believe him, if she didn’t want to share her life with him.

“They shouldn’t be too far off,” Gotam called out to David as they passed signs indicating they were only a few miles from Waltham Cross.

Within twenty minutes, they were entering the town, a somewhat large village that still showed signs of life this late in the evening.

David and Gotam headed for a well-lit pub, with a sign outside proclaiming it the Drowned Swan—an oxymoronic name, David suspected, since he was fairly certain that
swans floated rather than drowned.

All of that was forgotten as he walked in, leaving Gotam outside to handle the horses. Charlotte stood at the bar, her hat askew, holding what appeared to be far too much money to be flashing in a village, no matter what its size. Her maid, Sarah, stood just behind her, looking concerned.

Charlotte turned as he entered and, if it didn’t hurt to see it, he would have laughed at her comical expression of dismay on seeing him.

Instead of wasting time on that, though, he walked to the bar and said, “There you are, my dear. The horse threw a shoe, hence our delay. Have you arranged for a room yet?” He smiled at her before turning to regard the innkeeper—and, presumably, his wife—behind the bar.

“I was just telling your lady, my lord, that we do have a lovely room. The best in the house.”

“Oh good,” Charlotte said dryly.

“Can you lead us up there? Sarah, stay here, would you? Gotam is outside, he might need help.”

Sarah looked delighted at the opportunity to get away from the looming confrontation and whisked herself off, leaving a chagrined Charlotte.

“Traitor,” she murmured as the door shut behind her maid. Of course, Sarah was heading toward Gotam, and Charlotte hadn’t missed how close they seemed to have gotten, so perhaps Sarah’s pleasure was as much about who she was heading toward as what she was leaving behind.

“This way,” the innkeeper said, walking out from behind the bar and beginning to ascend a small stairway at the back of the common area. David nudged Charlotte, and she walked with him. Which was not to say she wouldn’t dash off again, so he tucked her arm into his just in case.

The room was pleasant, with white linens and a large window covered with white curtains. A bureau was on the left of the door, with a chair to the right, and a small fireplace just behind the chair.

If it weren’t for the possibility that he might have his heart irrevocably broken and his life left in tatters, he could enjoy being here for a while.

The innkeeper fussed around the room, pointing out its various appointments. David didn’t listen to anything the man said. He just kept his eyes on Charlotte, who was watching the innkeeper intently.