Lord of Pleasure (2 page)

She pinched her lips together from the humiliation of her predicament and blinked back the tears stinging her eyes. No. She would not give in to her emotions. She would find a means to survive without selling her home. No matter what. Charlotte lifted her hand and rapped on the carriage ceiling.

“Hold!” a man yelled from outside.

The side door suddenly jumped open and the carriage tilted slightly to one side. Charlotte’s eyes flew up in astonishment. It was him!

Charlotte grabbed on to the upholstered seat of the carriage to steady herself as the man, who had earlier walked on, snatched off his hat and climbed inside. The expanse of his tall, muscled body within the small confines of the carriage was as shocking as realizing that the man was in fact accepting her offer.

He tossed his top hat onto the small seat across from her, and with an equally quick movement, slammed the carriage door shut. After latching the window, he tugged the wool curtains closed on both sides, encasing them in dull darkness.

He sat directly across from her and knocked on the roof of the hackney. As they rolled forward, Charlotte found herself practically gasping for air. She’d never done anything like this before and had certainly never been with any man aside from her husband. Though clearly, the sands of time were about to fill his absence. And how.

The tantalizing crispness of lemon and leather lingered in the air of the carriage. His scent. It tinged each and every shallow breath she drew. She stared back at the blurred outline of his body and face, knowing full well, despite the lack of good light, that he was watching her. Weighing her.

“What is your name?” he finally asked, his timbered voice filling the carriage.

She blinked, stunned by the sound of his attractive voice. “You may call me Charlotte,” she replied, not wanting to disclose too much, but not wanting to lie, either.

“Charlotte,” he repeated, as if enjoying the taste of her name on his lips. He shifted in his seat. “I suppose that leaves me to introduce myself in the same manner. The name is Alexander. A pleasure.”

“Likewise.” Alexander. Such a noble name.

He was quiet for a long moment. “I could not help but notice that you are wearing bombazine.”

She swallowed and tried to quell her nervousness by smoothing the said-fabric of her gown against her knees. It was a horrid dress, she knew, that did justice to neither her face nor her figure, but it was also the best of what she owned. Sadly.

“Are you a widow?” he pressed.

She eyed him in the dimness. Something about this Alexander lured her toward a place she did not wish to be. For without a touch, he was making her stomach squeeze in anticipation. And without even being able to clearly see his face or his eyes, she found herself wanting to indulge and lose herself to him. Completely.

She eventually nodded in response to his question, only to realize he probably couldn’t see her all that well. “Yes. I am. A widow.” Though she wasn’t by any means in mourning for the bastard. Rather, for her mother.

Silence settled between them as the carriage wheels clattered and droned relentlessly against the cobbled street. What unnerved her most about his overall presence was not knowing what he was thinking. Or what he had in mind for her.

He leaned forward in his seat, the heat of his body drifting toward her in the small space of the carriage. “Am I to be your first? Or do you proposition others often?”

Much to her annoyance, Charlotte felt herself not only blushing but outright trembling. What sort of questions were these anyway? This was
not
what she had volunteered herself for. She needed money. Not more drama.

She set her chin. “I apologize, but I am not interested in becoming any more acquainted than is necessary. I am asking for twenty pounds. Now either get on with it, or I shall have to ask you to leave.”

“You should be asking for more than twenty pounds.” He rose from his seat and, after a small pause, turned and settled himself unnervingly close beside her, making an already small space even smaller.

She jolted backward, instinctively wanting to escape him. Her head bumped the side wall of the carriage, causing her to wince. In turn, her bonnet shifted to one side, exposing not only her neck to him but also the side of her face and her dark, coiffed hair. She remained frozen as his large body further cupped her into the corner seat.

“So, what is your definition of getting on with it?” he whispered into her exposed ear, his warmth sweeping her entire cheek. “I, for one, would love to know.”

Her eyes widened and her breath now escaped in a panicked stream. It was obvious he knew her bonnet was ill placed and that he was enjoying it. Though, oddly, not half as much as she was.

“Whatever would give you the most pleasure,” she managed, astonished that she could actually form a coherent, not to mention sincere, reply.

“My dear, dear Charlotte.” His heated breath caressed her ear. “I do believe I fear for you. Because more than one definitive form of pleasure comes to my mind whilst in your presence.”

More than one definitive form of pleasure? She swallowed. How many did he have in mind?

“However,” he continued ever so softly, “I confess that I am far more interested in understanding what your needs are and hope that you’ll indulge my curiosity.”

His hushed voice entranced her and captured whatever was left of her sanity. She wet her lips but otherwise dared not move for fear that she would somehow bring an end to these delicious sensations swelling within her. “My needs are…quite basic, really.”

At that moment, she couldn’t define her needs aloud. Even if she’d tried. He was blurring everything. Her sight, her thoughts, her senses. The reason why she was even doing this.

His large hand brushed the length of her thigh, ever so gently. Ever so playfully. The heat of his attentive fingertips, which continued to rub her thigh, seared straight through the layers of her gown, chemise, and stockings. “A beautiful woman such as yourself should be demanding far more than mere basics.”

Charlotte felt herself fading to his touch. It was so overwhelmingly tender, yet firm, promising to offer so much more than she could have ever imagined from a stranger.

His hand slid up slowly toward her waist. And paused. “No corset?”

She would have gladly explained the demise of her poor corset, but couldn’t seem to form anything outside of a monosyllabic word. “No.”

His gloved hand continued up toward her right breast. “Less interference is always good.”

He provocatively grazed her nipple. It hardened at his touch beneath the fabric of her gown and sent a shiver through the rest of her. She bit her lower lip to prevent herself from gasping. It had been far too long since she’d been touched with such purpose.

His hand traveled farther upward and did not pause until it reached the tied ribbons beneath her chin. He slowly tugged them loose. Both tumbled down, brushing the hollow of her neck in their wake.

The feathery touch of cool leather met her exposed skin, sending countless sensations not only throughout her entire body, but
there
. It was as if he knew that every deliberate touch he bestowed upon her was capable of unlacing both her body and her mind.

He bent his head toward her as his hand nudged her bonnet from her head. Her bonnet dropped onto the edge of her lap, then slid away and vanished into the darkness at her feet.

Before she could entirely recover, his hot, moist lips grazed her forehead. Then moved on to the bridge of her nose. How divine that he’d consider her forehead and her nose above anything else.

Charlotte closed her eyes and waited in a mind-whirling daze for his trailing kisses to lead to her lips. The anticipation of having his lips upon hers left her all the more breathless, and in some way she could almost consider it payment enough. Almost.

He descended with his lips again and kissed her…
cheek?
She frowned and opened her eyes, not knowing why she felt so disappointed. This was supposed to be a mere business transaction, after all, and yet…

“Close your eyes,” he murmured from beside her on the seat.

Her frown deepened. How did he know her eyes were open? She herself could barely make out the fuzzy outline of his face.

“Close your eyes,” he urged again. His other gloved hand grasped her waist and dragged her closer to him. If that was even possible.

The scent of lemon and leather coated her skin and pulled her deeper into a heated, swirling world of pleasure. He pressed his body against hers, his muscled arms tightening. She felt herself drowning in his strong, possessive embrace.

Charlotte instantly surrendered to the overwhelming sensation of his warmth and allowed her eyes to flutter shut. Though she was by no means innocent of the ways between a man and a woman, and had experienced moments of marital pleasure at the hands of her own husband, this moment between them was sinfully unusual. For it felt sincere and tender. Yet so breathtakingly intense.

“Where do you live?” He kissed her cheek.

“Live?” The question drifted from her mouth as she longed for more of him. Somehow, nothing he could ask of her would be too much. “Berwick,” she breathed.

“And the number, love?”

As his tongue slid down the side of her cheek toward her neck, she fought back a moan and melted against him.

“I…forgive me,” she murmured against him, trying to remain coherent. “But I…I do not know you well enough to trust you with it.”

He slid his tongue down toward her lips and licked her lower lip hard, completely soaking it with his warmth. “Would you like to know me well enough?”

“Eleven.” Did she actually say it or was that a faint echo in her mind? Nothing in that moment seemed real.

He flicked his tongue across her upper lip, sending a delicious shiver throughout the length of her body, down to the tips of her fingers and toes.

“You wouldn’t lie to me, Charlotte? Would you?”

She tilted her face more toward him, hoping he would end her misery once and for all and simply kiss her. Hoping he would completely cover her mouth with his and ignite more of these wild sensations that were reaching an unsurpassed height. “I do not lie.”

“Good.” He leaned far back, snatching away the heat she’d grown rather fond of, and blew out what sounded like an exhausted breath. Rising, he flung open the curtains of the carriage on both sides, unlatched a window, and yelled out, “11 Berwick Street! And be quick about it!”

Charlotte sat up against the seat in complete horror, her lips parting as light splashed across her eyes and reality set in. Brainless is what she was. Brainless. “What are you doing?” she demanded.

“Be still.” He snatched up her bonnet from her feet, leaned toward her, and dropped it gently onto her head.

She blinked up at him in disbelief as he proceeded to not only straighten the bonnet against her head, but tuck loose locks of her dark hair back into place. He leaned in closer, his handsome shaven face now merely inches from hers, and appeared genuinely occupied with gathering up the gauze ribbons. As if he tied bonnets on a regular basis. His large gloved hands worked beneath her chin, attempting to secure them in place.

“What are you…
Enough!”
She shoved his hands away and pushed him back, sending him stumbling rearward into the upholstered seat across from her. “You are
not
inviting yourself into my home.”

His hard landing sent them both bouncing within their seats. He adjusted his long coat about himself, then smacked his top hat down onto his lap and glared at her.

“I have absolutely no intention of inviting myself into your home,” he snapped. “I am merely
escorting
you home to ensure that you don’t offer yourself up again to the next man on the street. Do you have any idea how stupid and dangerous that is?”

A gasp escaped her, and all she could do was gape at him. Why, he had meant to escort her home all along. And she didn’t know whether she was supposed to be insulted at the idea of being treated like a naughty child, or grateful at the idea that he cared. That is, cared after taking great liberties with her person!

He shook his bronzed head, causing his combed hair to fall out of place. “A woman of your good breeding ought to know better.”

She narrowed her gaze and refrained from outright slapping him. “And what would you know of my good breeding? I hardly supplied you with a list.”

“Your speech, your mannerisms, not to mention your level of experience, betray you. You, love, are no widow. Merely parading yourself as one. Though worry not.” He leaned forward and winked. “Your naughty little secret shall rest well with me.”

His astonishingly rude assessment of her situation strangled the last bit of patience out of her. “I refuse to be insulted by your twisted sense of judgment. You know nothing of me or my situation.” She pointed toward the door. Repeatedly. “Now get out.”

He laughed, amusement flickering within his eyes. “Or what?” He held up his gloved hand and grew theatrically serious. “You’ll ravage me?”

“Remove yourself at once!” She pointed toward the door again, still hating the fact that she had actually enjoyed his devious hoax of an advance. “Before I have the driver toss you into a pile of rubbish where you belong.”

He dropped his hand back to his side, leaned far back into his seat, making himself quite comfortable, and eyed her. “Let us say, for a moment, that I believe you. Which I don’t. Whose widow are you? Would I know of him?”

Everyone
in the upper crust of London society knew of Chartwell. Just as everyone also knew how he’d been shot through the heart—and rightfully so—by one of his many jealous mistresses while at the opera with his latest coquette. The poor, misguided woman was promptly hanged, and Charlotte’s life forever changed.

“No,” she said in a firm, clipped tone. “You would not know of him.”

He smirked. “Because he doesn’t exist. Does he?”

Charlotte set her lips into a rigid, thin line, the heat of her body reaching a level it had never reached in her entire life. She’d had enough of this. Of him.

“It is time for you to leave.” She snapped up her hand to knock on the roof of the carriage.

He jumped forward and caught hold of her wrist. “Not until we get you home.”

Charlotte yelped as he yanked her by the wrist, forcing her forward in her seat. He pressed her gloved hand tightly against his knee, against his warmth. Though she tried repeatedly to pry herself loose, he continued to hold her wrist firmly in place.