His Mistress by Morning (13 page)

Her nipples tightened as if his fingers were giving the same lazy attention to her. Charlotte’s breath froze in her throat. How was he doing this?

A deep, tempting voice whispered up from the recesses of her memories.
Do you want more, Lottie? Do you like it when I do this?

As his fingers picked at his coat, slowly and tantalizing, she swore her nipple was going to burst with need.

Oh, enough,
she wanted to tell him. Better that than give into the wanton desire to tug down her bodice, free her tortured breasts and plead with him to help himself. To kiss her. To kiss her aching nipples until she…

Now, Sebastian. Please, Sebastian.

Memories crashed down on her like waves of something she didn’t understand but craved with a need that couldn’t be quenched.

His naked body tangled with hers. The glimmer of sweat on his back, the salty taste of him. The smooth plain of his chest, the thick corded muscles of his thighs. The way he grinned as he rolled her beneath him and covered her.

Filled her, thrusting inside her.

Her hips rising to meet him. Her needs and his so very
intertwined, until she knew not how to distinguish the two, didn’t care.

Charlotte writhed in her seat. She hadn’t the vaguest notion how this was happening, but one thing was for certain, now she knew. Knew so very much.

Images, memories filled her dizzy thoughts.

Sebastian’s kiss spreading a fire through her limbs, and his lips blazing a tortured path across her body. She spread herself open to his touch, to his exploration, only too willing to be his India, his distant shore.

His breath, hot and thick, blew over her very core, sending a trembling wave of desire through her.

He wasn’t going to kiss her
there
…he couldn’t…why, it was…

Heaven.

Suddenly her fears over Finella’s lectures on French relations seemed silly, for if this was Paris, she was going to find a tricorn hat, stick a cockade in it, and let out an impatient and heady cry of “
Vive la France
.”

And when his tongue touched her, washed over her in hurried laps, she writhed again, her hips rising to meet this memory with a ragged need.

Charlotte could see where this writhing could become quite contagious. She closed her eyes, tried to blot out the memories, tried to stop the flow, but she couldn’t any more than she could stop the trembling need inside her.

…his hands pressed her thighs further apart, while his tongue delved deeper, swiping over her hungrily, sending stabbing waves of desire through her.

She looked up wildly at him, her gaze meeting his darkly dancing eyes.

Now, Sebastian, please, Sebastian,
her imagination cried out.

A slow smile spread over his lips, as if he knew her thoughts, held her need in the palm of his hand. Had the power to grant her this release, this completion that she’d never known.

Until now. Until she’d wished for his love and discovered that it held so much more than his kind regard, than just a handful of orange blossoms.

How could she have been so naive? Charlotte glanced up at him again and understood what love meant, not the starry-eyed version of poets and lovelorn fools but the deep, abiding passion that rose between a man and a woman when they shared each other’s thoughts, choices, their very desires.

Please, Sebastian. Oh, demmit, please
.

He nodded to her, ever so slowly, while his tongue slid over his lips.

“Oh my,” she gasped, as the rest of the memories burst free inside her. Brought with them that same sweet joy that Lottie-on-the-wall held in her secretive smile.

Oh, this isn’t possible,
Charlotte thought as she tried to catch her breath, as her body continued to unravel in pleasure. Waves of it.

Then the lights came up and a thunderous applause filled the house. The first act was over and she hadn’t noticed a single note of it.

She raised her gaze to Sebastian and smiled at him, sighing with completion.

In turn, he grinned at her.

And then their moment was broken as Miss Burke, looking from one to the other, realized that her almost-betrothed wasn’t giving her the due attention she deserved.
She said something to Sebastian, and when he didn’t reply, she fluttered her fan clumsily and sent it flying into his lap.

It landed like a thunderbolt and ripped the two lovers apart.

Sebastian retrieved the ivory and silk and with great gallantry handed it over to the pretty little heiress. After a few more exchanges, the preening debutante shot a hot glance across the way, lobbing it like a cannonball in Charlotte’s direction.

He will be mine,
her cold eyes seemed to say.
Completely
.

Something hot and green stabbed through Charlotte’s veins.
Never. Never. Never
.

She doubted the other girl would find much joy in a purloined picnic or a wild carriage ride, or dancing a jig over gambling winnings, let alone nights spent reading Coleridge. But most importantly, she would never know his passion.

Oh, yes, his passion
.

What was it Quince had told her when she’d protested about all these changes?

Let him love you, and the rest, well…

Let him love you…

Charlotte smiled, for now she understood exactly what Quince had meant. And what she needed to do.

She’d love him back, with her heart, her soul, and, most decidedly, with her body.

S
itting in the Opera House and giving into fantasies spun from Lottie’s memories was one thing; it was another entirely to be standing in her drawing room waiting for Sebastian to arrive.

So much for Quince’s assurances that all she had to do was remember….

Charlotte hugged herself and closed her eyes. It was the remembering that had her quaking from the top of her plumes to the bottom of her tasseled shoes.

Oh, it was easy to pretend to be Lottie Townsend, she realized, having spent the rest of the evening enthusiastically greeting her rush of admirers in the hallway with a wide smile, and then flirting outrageously with Rockhurst through the second act while watching Sebastian glower from across the way.

But when Rockhurst had dropped her off, and the chill of the cobblestones had come creeping through her slippers, Charlotte had stopped at the bottom of the steps and looked up at her house.

Her house.
A boon she’d gained by being the mistress of a duke. By letting him into her bed and allowing him to…

She’d shuttered her eyes and told herself that hadn’t been her. That had been Lottie’s scandalous doings. But she was Lottie now, and that meant that Sebastian would be coming up these same steps sometime during this very night, with expectations that had nothing to do with daydreams and everything to do with satin sheets and a decided lack of clothing…

“Mrs. Townsend, mum?”

Lottie turned and found the maid in the doorway of the salon. Oh, heavens! Was he here already?

“Um, uh,” she stammered, trying to think of how she should respond. It might help if she could remember the maid’s name. Botheration, what was it?

The girl shifted from one foot to another. “I took the tray over to that Herr Tromler fellow, and if you don’t need anything more, I’ll be going down to my room for the night. Mrs. Finella said she wouldn’t be home until late and wouldn’t need me.”

“Herr Tromler?”

“The German fellow.”

Charlotte bit her lip and shrugged.

The maid sighed. “The one next door. You said I was supposed to feed him at least once a day so he’ll play his violin for you.”

As if on cue, sweet strains of music exquisitely wrought could be heard, the notes winding their way through the open windows.

Charlotte stood spellbound. “That’s him?”

“Oh, aye, ma’am. Nice of you to feed ’im, if you don’t mind me saying. His landlady made him sell his coat last
week to pay ’is rent.” She paused and tipped her head to listen, a puzzled look on her face. “Fancy music that, but don’t see that it’s worth a beefsteak.”

Not worth a beefsteak? Charlotte closed her eyes and listened. Why, it was worth the entire cow. She stood there for another moment, wondering why this Herr Tromler wasn’t playing for the
ton
every night, giving command performances for the King himself, the music so seductive, so sensual it eased her fears, made her forget her usual worries of being cautious and prudent.

Prudence! Her name was Prudence.

“Yes, Prudence!” she declared.

“Aye, mum. Is that all, mum?” the girl prodded.

“Oh, yes. So sorry. Yes, I don’t see that I’ll need anything else.”

“’Cept the door, I suppose.”

“The door?”

“Aye, ma’am. That’s the bell ringing. Should I see who it is?” She had a sly look on her face, as if it were no surprise that someone would be calling at this hour.

Charlotte’s frantic gaze flew up. He was here?
Now?

Oh, heavens, how would she ever manage to survive this night?

From the window, the enticing notes from Herr Tromler’s violin stole around her fears, enticed them to flee into the night and let the hour be given over to another kind of pleasure.

“Mum? The door?”

Charlotte’s head snapped up as the bell jangled yet again. What if he was, as Cousin Finella had suggested earlier, “worked up a bit”?

Well, it seemed she was about to find out. Taking a deep breath, she nodded to Prudence. “Yes, please see to it.”

The girl bobbed her head and left Charlotte alone, surrounded by the softly sensual and all too romantic strains of Herr Tromler’s violin.

She stood transfixed listening to Prudence open the door and, in turn, Sebastian’s deep voice inquiring if Mrs. Townsend was at home.

All so formal and proper. Charlotte would have laughed if it hadn’t been for the panic welling up inside her. Better that, she reasoned, than him storming in, tossing her roughly over his shoulder, and carting her upstairs for a night of French debauchery.

Oui, oh, oui,
cried out that scandalous part of Lottie’s memories.
Très bon!

“Oh, yes, very easy for you to say,” Charlotte muttered back. “But whatever will I say to him?”

She turned and paced about the room as she listened to Prudence taking his coat and hat, and Sebastian making a few flirtatious comments about Prudence’s red hair.

That was it! Small talk. About the weather. She could see the entire scene scripted like one of Lady Walbrook’s wretched adaptations of Shakespeare.

Oh, heavens. She swallowed down another wave of panic. Would he ask or did she have to invite him to come upstairs to…to…

Charlotte closed her eyes and hoped that he was the one who was supposed to suggest they retire anon, for
she hadn’t the vaguest notion how she would ever get the words out.

“Do I hear correctly? You’re still feeding Herr Tromler?”

She whirled around to find him standing in the doorway, resplendent in his evening clothes.

A dark blue jacket, lacy white cravat spilling over his embroidered waistcoat, the silver threads twinkling in the candlelight. His buff trousers cut just so—just so it was obvious that Lord Rockhurst wasn’t the only man in the
ton
who didn’t need padding.

But it was more than the clothes, for while they gave him polish and flair, his chiseled jawline, his black hair, his deep green eyes, the commanding taut set of his shoulders would have made him a standout anywhere.

Sebastian Marlowe had to be, in her humble estimation, the most handsome man in all of London.

For one wild moment, Charlotte’s panic took another turn. He would need to remove those clothes to…well, to get on with this business, and she certainly didn’t know how to undress a man.

She wasn’t even going to consider how hers came off, though she suspected, given the dangerous light in Sebastian’s eyes, that he’d manage.

He tipped his head, still listening. “Whatever are you feeding him, Lottie? He’s in rare form tonight.”

“Beefsteaks,” she whispered, almost afraid to say anything.

Sebastian grinned, crossing the room and pulling her into his arms. “You have a heart of gold, Mrs. Townsend.” With that, he began nuzzling her neck, sending frissons of desire down her spine.

So much for the small talk.

“You are exquisite,” he said. Then, just as quickly as he started, Sebastian pulled back. “Hold up there. I’m furious with you.”

“With me?”

He strode over to the settee and settled down on it, not even waiting for her to sit. There was room next to him, but she chose the chair near the window.

Some courtesan you make,
she could almost hear Lottie saying in her ear.

“Yes, with you. Don’t think I didn’t see you tonight.
With him.
”

“Rockhurst?”

He laughed. “You sound as innocent as some Bath miss. Yes, with Rockhurst. If he wasn’t my best friend, I’d probably call him out for his cheek. Courting you when he knows I can do naught about it but watch.”

“You’re jealous?” Charlotte tried to quell the joy that sprang up within her heart. Sebastian jealous over her! Why it was as unbelievable as all this wish nonsense.

“Of course I am. I was stuck listening to accounts of the weather, and whether it is proper to give a stirring recitation of a moral lesson or a sweetly recounted ballad for Lady Routledge’s soirée.” He shuddered at either notion. “And then what do I have to look at? You. Looking like a dream. I swore for a moment there I could smell your perfume from across the room. Feel the silk of your breasts beneath my fingers. Recall how we spent last night…” His words trailed off. “Devilishly embarrassing to be sitting there, hard as a rock and hoping like hell Lady Burke doesn’t notice and think I am in this state over her preciously dull daughter.” He snorted.

He wasn’t even fond of Miss Burke?

No, wait…he’d felt it as well?

“I never meant to…I mean, if I had known—”

Sebastian came up from the couch and crossed the room in two easy strides. He caught her by the hand. “All I could think about was coming here, taking you in my arms, letting Herr Tromler’s music seduce you into dancing with me in that German fashion everyone finds so scandalous.” With that he swung her about the room, his hand on her waist and holding her right up against him.

“This is where you belong. Where I belong,” he whispered in her ear.

For a time they danced, Sebastian whirling her about the room to the strains of the sensual music. “Do you remember the night we danced liked this until Finny came downstairs and told us to go upstairs and get on with our business so she could get some sleep?” Sebastian chuckled.

Charlotte didn’t remember, so she just smiled in return. As the music swelled, Sebastian pulled her closer, and she felt as if she were floating about the room. Before, dances and balls had been torture, for she’d been sure she would miss a step or move out of turn, but this German dancing wasn’t complicated in the least—especially with him holding her so…so…tightly. “I love this,” she whispered.

“Yes, I know,” he said, grinning down at her. “Perhaps it is a good thing you can’t get vouchers—you’d set all the matrons teeth on edge because every man in Almack’s would be lined up to dance with you.”

“I doubt it would be like that.”

“Undoubtedly. And there I would be, as footsore as I was last winter when you and Corinna threw that crush you called a ball and you wanted me with you at every
dance. How very scandalous and unfashionable of you, Mrs. Townsend.”

Charlotte sighed and wished again she could remember. She’d thrown a ball? With Mrs. Fornett? Better yet, she’d danced the entire night with Sebastian.

“I don’t think I should worry about Rockhurst, it is that fellow next door I should be worried about,” he was saying.

“How so?” she asked as he swirled her around again.

“Listen to his music,” he said, jerking his head toward the window. “That is a man in love.”

“With beefsteaks,” Charlotte corrected.

“Not if he saw you in this dress…or better yet, out of it,” he said, his lips coming down atop hers, softly, slowly, surely.

Like he had earlier, he left her trembling with his kiss.

“I know exactly what you were about this evening,” Sebastian said as he turned her around the room one more time.

“You do?” Gads, she was glad he did, for she hadn’t the vaguest notion why she would want to spend the evening with the earl when she could be kissing Sebastian.

“Oh, yes, you little minx. You spent the evening flirting—”

“I was not!”

He snorted. “You, madame, were flirting. And you did so because you wanted me to come storming over here afterward, angry and hot, and ready to lay claim to you.” He caught her by the hand and tugged her quickly into his hard chest, his strong arms binding her to him with not the least bit of his earlier gentleness. His lips nibbled at that spot right behind her ear, his teeth nipping at her
skin, while his hand clapped down on her bottom and pulled her right up against him.

Up against
that.

Charlotte tried to breathe as her body reacted with needs that Lottie might love but she feared for the unknown fire they seemed to be kindling.

“Oh, yes, I know what you were about,” he whispered, his voice rough and ragged. “You wanted me to come in here hot and hard and in a mood to ravish you thoroughly.”

“I did?” Charlotte trembled, but not for the reasons he might think.

“Oh, yes, you did, you devilish little tease,” he said, his knee nudging her legs apart, his hand running up her thigh, roaming right toward the very heat of desire.

“Oh, no,” she whispered. Not as much from this forceful, towering Sebastian as from the dangerous course his hand was taking.

“But I’m not going to do that,” he said, releasing her just as quickly as he’d snatched her into his grasp, just as she thought his fingers were going to reach their reward.

Her reward.

Charlotte staggered back, teetering on her high heels, teetering on the brink of need. She was panting—panting with a desire for this man—and her body trembled again, this time not from fear but from need. Bone jolting, down deep need.

“No, Lottie, I have no desire to ravish you, for I’ve devised a much better punishment.”

Worse than this state she was in now? Charlotte didn’t know if she could take much more.

“No, you little mistress of my heart, I’ve decided not to throw you down on that settee and claim you in that hot and fast way you crave.”

Hot and fast? Right now if it would relieve her of this tormenting, trembling desire, she’d take the risk.

He circled behind her and she leaned back, letting her body meld into his, so she could feel that heat of his again. So they could sway again to the music.

But he didn’t touch her, didn’t attempt to drag her closer, and Charlotte was at a loss as to what she needed to do to get him…in a more ravishing state of mind.

She needn’t have worried, for he leaned over and whispered in her ear, “I plan on seducing you tonight, madame. Slowly. Perfectly. Until you beg me to finish you.”

Charlotte tried to breathe.

“Just breathe,” she muttered under her breath as he circled around her, his hawkish gaze fixed on her with a predator’s smug self-assurance.