Seduced At Sunset (10 page)

After spending his morning on a complex medical case at
the hospital, William sat in the window of his private residence in Mayfair, toying
with the idea of returning to Hyde Park for a brief walk in the sunshine that
afternoon. The exercise would do him good of course, but something aroused his
hesitation.

Seeing Adelaide yesterday had been both thrilling and
disconcerting, for his heart had come alive at the sight of her under that
pretty lace-trimmed parasol. She was past sixty now, but still looked as fresh
and youthful as she had when they were young and living in
Yorkshire—before he had ventured out into the world to make a man of
himself, to earn his own living, and to discover a passion for the field of
medicine.

Turning away from the window, he let his gaze fall to his
desk—the bottom drawer, in particular, where he kept the letters she had
written to him years ago, just before her marriage to the duke, and shortly
afterward, when she had written to explain her decision after promising that
she would not go through with it.

He had left England upon reading those agonizing words and
had vowed never to forgive her. His bitterness had taken on a life of its own,
and he had lost many friends. If not for the distraction of his work, he might
have ended up a wretched drunkard—or dead from some foolish taproom
brawl. Instead, he had traveled to Amsterdam to immerse himself in his
training. By the time he returned to England, the fires of his anger had
cooled.

Then he had spotted Adelaide, the young Duchess of
Pembroke, in a London ballroom, and discovered it was
she
who had become wretched.

He would never forget that night and how his heart had
nearly stopped beating at the sight of her. She wore a gown of pale blue silk,
and was as dazzling as the sun, just as she had been in the park yesterday. But
all was not well, for she had fallen into the very depths of despair. She was
miserable and brokenhearted, and had had far too much to drink.

The duke was an unfaithful husband. He was critical of
her, and brutally cruel. She had the bruises to prove it.

William had dragged her out of that ballroom onto a
moonlit terrace, then down the steps and across a wide lawn to a boat at the
river’s edge. She was distraught and unable to stop weeping from the sight of
him. He had picked up the oars and stolen her away...

For a week, she had stayed with him in his family’s
hunting lodge in Cambridgeshire. There, William did nothing but love her. He
managed to patch up her emotional wounds and provide her with a respite from
her life at Pembroke Palace. They both knew she would have to return
eventually, however, for she had three young sons she loved devotedly, and she
could not possibly leave them.

And so, at the end of the week, she went home to the duke,
and though it broke his heart yet again, William let her go. The duke was
relieved to see her. He was so grateful, in fact, that he never raised a hand
to her again. Nine months later, she bore twins—Charlotte and
Garrett—who showed no resemblance whatsoever to the duke. They were
raised at the palace, and it was years before William knew the truth.

Now that the duke was gone, Charlotte and Garrett knew the
whole story about their parentage.

Charlotte...
Dear, sweet
Charlotte, who desperately wanted happy endings for those she loved. If only
she could find her own.

And what about Adelaide? What about her
happiness?

Seeing her in the park yesterday had aroused that old
familiar ache in William’s heart, an ache he thought he had mastered long ago.
He laid a hand on his chest and sank into a chair, thought of Dorothea who was
so very devoted to him, and finally decided it would perhaps be best to avoid
the park that afternoon, for there was simply too much water under the bridge
where Adelaide was concerned.

Chapter Eight

A steady rain fell hard over the city of London for the
next four days, and there were no further opportunities for walks in the park.
Charlotte was disappointed by Dr. Thomas’s failure to meet them the day after
their initial encounter, for her mother had hinted to him on that day that they
would be back at the same time the following afternoon.

“Perhaps there was some emergency at the hospital,”
Charlotte had said to her as they climbed back into their barouche, after spending
two solid hours wandering up and down the paths.

Adelaide made light of it, but Charlotte was vastly
disappointed.

A few hours before dinner, she had the copper tub brought
to her bedchamber and slipped into a hot bath. While the maid lathered and
washed her hair, she continued to wonder what Dr. Thomas was thinking and
feeling. Perhaps he had decided, once and for all, that their time had come and
gone, and he’d only needed to see Adelaide once to confirm it. She hoped that
was not the case, and at the same time, she wondered what her mother truly
wanted. Adelaide was not forthcoming about her feelings toward Doctor Thomas.
She had never—not once—admitted to still being in love with him.
‘We are just friends, nothing more,’ she insisted whenever Charlotte broached
the subject.

And then, there were Charlotte’s own dilemmas about
love...

No, she reminded herself, it was not love. It was lust
that had her body reeling and her mind in an uproar as she lay in the hot bath,
breathing in the exotic fragrance of the orange-scented bath oils. How could
she help but feel aroused by the sensation of the water lapping over her bare
breasts, while the fire crackled noisily in the hearth?

What was Mr. Torrington doing at that very moment? she
wondered as she closed her eyes and lay her head back on the rounded rim of the
tub. Was he thinking about her at all and yearning for another opportunity to
make love?

Her body had not been the same since their incredible
night of passion, and it took great strength of will for her to resist the urge
to dash over to his house and plead with him to bed her immediately. If only it
could be that simple, but she did not wish to become pathetic. She was a
mature, intelligent, and rational woman who had lived without a man her entire
life. She did not
need
him, and she did not wish to
degrade herself by chasing after him like a love-struck puppy.

But was he thinking of her as she was
thinking of him?
She asked herself that question, and imagined he was as
she closed her eyes, slid her fingers over her breasts, slid them lower into
the water...

“Oh. A letter arrived for you while you were in the
bath,” Adelaide said absentmindedly when Charlotte entered the drawing room
shortly before dinner. “I told the footman to leave it with me.” She held it
out.

“Who is it from?” Charlotte asked as she reached out to
take it.

“It doesn’t say.”

Charlotte turned from her mother and crossed to the
fireplace to break the wax seal. She unfolded the letter and read the words:

Tonight. Same place.

—D

A hot thrill exploded in the pit of her belly, and she
quickly folded the letter and tossed it into the fire.

“What was that about?” Adelaide asked.

“Just a note from my editor,” she replied. “Evidently,
they sent another shipment of my books to France.”

It was a bald-faced lie, but she was a rather gifted
weaver of fiction, hence her literary success.

“That’s good news,” Adelaide said.

The butler entered the room to announce that dinner was
served. As Charlotte rose from her seat to follow her mother into the dining
room, she glanced back at the fire, just to make sure no incriminating evidence
remained.

When Charlotte arrived at the back entrance of the hotel
shortly after midnight, he was there waiting for her. He must have been in the
room for some time, for he wore no jacket, only a loose white shirt beneath a
dark waistcoat. The shirt was already open at the collar. He had removed his
neck cloth as well.

Without speaking a word, he pressed his forefinger to his
lips to hush her, took her by the hand and slowly led her up the narrow
staircase toward the same room they had occupied previously.

All her senses inflamed beneath the heat of his touch, and
the sight of him in the smoky gaslight filled her with sexual yearning. His
broad shoulders and narrow hips were perfectly sculpted, and she couldn’t help
but admire his muscular buttocks as she followed him up the wide corridor. All
she wanted to do was tear his clothes from his body and run her hands over
every inch of his warm, sinewy flesh. The past four days had been pure agony,
not knowing if she would ever see him again, and now her need for him was
insatiable.

When they entered the room, he shut the door behind him
and locked it. Slowly, lazily, he approached her, while she backed up toward
the bed.

He was unshaven tonight, which only added to his rugged
appeal and intensified the animal attraction that sizzled her blood. She had
never felt such a powerful pull toward any man, and was unnerved by it, but not
enough to change her mind about this. She fully intended to enjoy every moment,
for as long as it lasted...

They made love twice, with only a short interval for
recovery in between, then fell asleep naked and exhausted while the rain tapped
softly against the windowpanes.

When Charlotte woke a few hours later, the bed was empty
beside her. She sat up groggily and looked around.

Mr. Torrington was seated in a chair in the corner of the
room, watching her. He had pulled on his trousers, but was naked from the waist
up. The light from the lamp beside him illuminated his bronzed shoulders and
the muscular contours of his chest and arms.

“Good morning,” he said in that growling voice that never
failed to captivate her.

“What time is it?” She squinted at the darkness outside
the window.

“It’s almost five, but don’t get up yet.” He rose from his
chair and returned to the bed. Slipping off his trousers, he slid beneath the
covers and gathered Charlotte into his arms. She wiggled close and wrapped her
leg around his.

“There should be a law,” he said, “against beauty like
yours.”

She gloried at the flattery and pressed a firm kiss to his
shoulder. “I feel the same way. Sometimes it hurts just to look at you. I feel
like my heart is going to burst. The way I want you... it feels almost
criminal.”

He brushed his lips across her forehead and stroked her
long hair away from her face.

Charlotte closed her eyes and cherished the splendid,
beautiful intimacy. Until recently, she had been perfectly content as an
unmarried woman. She had always enjoyed her independence and had never felt
lonely or deprived of male attention. But after the pleasures of these nights,
she realized what she had been missing, and wasn’t sure she could face the
possibility of never feeling this way again. Never again experiencing the euphoria
of the sexual act and all its wonders.