Seduced At Sunset (9 page)

He was amused by her coquettish tone.

“I was married once,” he told her, surprised that he had
not tried to dodge the question. “Like you, it was a long time ago.”

“What happened?”

It was not something he ever talked about with women, or
anyone else for that matter. At times it seemed like an event that had occurred
in someone else’s life, not his own.

“She died while carrying our first child,” he explained.
“She was only a few months into the pregnancy. The doctors said the baby was
lodged in the wrong place, not in her womb where it should be. They only
discovered that afterwards, when I insisted upon an autopsy. They told me that
a tube had burst and she bled to death, from the inside. She was in a great
deal of pain in her final hours.”

Charlotte laid her hand on his cheek. “I am so sorry. That
must have been horrific.”

He nodded.

In the years since, he had done his best to forget. It was
part of the reason why he left England for America—though not the whole
reason. There was so much more he simply could not say.

“When did you learn to box?” she asked, changing the
subject, and for that, he was grateful.

“In school. I couldn’t have been more than twelve when I
threw my first punch in a ring. It was a necessary skill back in those days
when we younger boys were bullied by the older ones. I quickly learned to
defend myself, however, and the bullying stopped after that.”

“I can well imagine, if you hit then like you do now. Did
your parents know you were getting into fights?”

“Yes.”

“Even your mother? Didn’t she try to stop it?”

He scoffed bitterly. “No.”

Charlotte’s eyes narrowed with curiosity. “Are you and
your mother not close? I only ask because of how you shrugged in the boat this
morning when I mentioned her.”

Drake inhaled so deeply, his ribcage expanded, which
caused Charlotte to lean back. “No, we are not close,” he said.

“Why?”

For a long while he toyed with Charlotte’s long, silky
hair, wrapping it around his fingers, then he told her everything she wanted to
know. “My father was a drunk,” Drake said, “and he beat me on a regular basis
until I was big enough to fight back. My mother did nothing to stop that
either, and I suppose I have always resented her for it.”

“Did you not have any brothers to stand up for you?”

“No, just two younger sisters, but they died of
diphtheria, both on the same day, if you can imagine that.”

Charlotte regarded him with shock, then spoke with
compassion. “I am sorry to hear that.”

He shook his head. “It was a long time ago. I was barely
twenty. Though I remember their faces so clearly.”

He took another deep breath and held her close for a long
time. These questions made him feel weary. Thankfully she asked no more after
that—though after a while, it appeared she had something else in mind...

Drake let his eyes fall closed when she began to lay soft
kisses on his chest. He was glad for the distraction. Soon his body warmed with
renewed desire. Her lips were soft and moist, her breasts lush and full as they
brushed against his torso. A few minutes later he was stiff as a mallet,
aroused by the sounds of her breathing, the sensation of her hot lips on his
stomach.

She rolled to straddle him, and her long hair fell forward
around his face. She kissed him hard, and he reveled in the sultry scent of her
skin and hungered for the salty taste of her womanhood.

Cupping her soft fleshy backside in his big hands, he
lifted her up and set her down on his raging erection, which lay flat on his
stomach. He wanted to plunge himself deep inside, feel her writhe above him
with ecstasy, but she slid lightly over him, stroking her slick self on his
throbbing length, teasing him into a state of barmy, primitive lust.

He was, quite frankly, surprised that he was ready to go
again so quickly after that explosive orgasm, which had left him so thoroughly
bushed. But those lips of hers... those soft breasts that filled his palms so
perfectly... He couldn’t resist the desire. His need for her, this very
instant, was irrepressible. It took his breath away.

There was no explanation for the intensity of it. They had
only just met. Why should she be so different from other women he had taken to
bed?

Perhaps because he had revealed so much of himself in a
very short time. It was odd, how she understood everything—his boxing,
his grief over losing his wife, his need for privacy from the public. In a way
it felt as if she were his mirror image in female form.

Bloody hell, he couldn’t think about it anymore, for she
had taken his shaft in her hand, raised it up, and was now sliding down over
him, cloaking him in a slow, hot rush of sensation and passion.

He flipped her over onto her back, and made love to her
with everything he had.

Drake returned home at dawn, exhausted, for he and Lady
Charlotte had stayed up all night. They were like two wild animals in the
darkness, desperate to make every moment last, to squeeze the most pleasure out
of each stroke, each kiss, each earth-shattering climax.

He was quite certain he had never performed like that
before. He had never known himself to be capable of such endurance. With
Charlotte, his desires had been insatiable, his strength relentless. Afterward,
he had come home to collapse on his bed and had slept for ten hours.

It unnerved him that he wanted her again the very instant
he opened his eyes. She was the first thing he thought about, and he wondered
what he should do about that. Arrange to see her again? Or try to resist the
urge until the desire tapered off—for he felt in danger of becoming
obsessed. He had only felt like that once before in his life. Many years ago
with Jennie. The frenzy of his passion had driven him to propose in a matter of
weeks, because he simply had to have her and possess her in every way. Ten
months later, she was dead, and he fell into a hellish vortex of grief that
lasted many years. The only place where he could dowse his agony was in the
boxing ring. And so... The Iron Fist was born.

But he had buried that part of himself when he left for
America, and the last thing he wanted to do was return to a dangerous passion,
which he feared had been awakened last night—in that jewel of a hotel
room with Lady Charlotte of Pembroke Palace.

“My word, you slept late today,” Adelaide said when
Charlotte finally emerged from her bedchamber and walked into the drawing room,
where her mother was having tea. “Are you feeling unwell? I was getting
worried.”

Charlotte sat down on the sofa and picked up a biscuit,
for she was famished. “I am fine, Mother. I couldn’t sleep last night. That is
all. I stayed up reading next to the lamp, which was probably a mistake. My
poor eyes.”

“You enjoyed it then?” Adelaide asked.

“Oh, yes,” Charlotte replied. “Once I started, I couldn’t
stop.” Inside she smiled when she said it.

It was no lie in terms of her immeasurable passions the
night before. She still couldn’t believe it had really happened. Mr. Torrington
was like some sort of god, who had carried her up to a cloud beneath the moon,
and there he had pleasured her tirelessly until she couldn’t think, speak, or
breathe. Her brain had turned to mush, while her body was thoroughly sexed and
satisfied. It all felt like a dream today, though she knew it had been real,
for she was sore down below and her chin was chafed from the shadow of stubble
on his magnificent chiseled jawline. It would no doubt take her a while to
recover.

She drank two cups of tea and devoured four biscuits,
while her mother updated her about the latest happenings at Pembroke Palace, for
Rebecca and Chelsea had both written letters.

Chelsea’s youngest daughter Mirabel had caught a frog in
the pond and refused to let him go. She had designed a charming rock garden in
her toy trunk where he could live. Eventually she had capitulated and set the
poor creature free.

Meanwhile, Devon and Rebecca’s eldest son—and heir
to the dukedom—had been caught kissing a girl behind the stables.

“He’s only twelve years old,” Charlotte said with feigned
shock. “Lord help us when he is old enough to take the curricle into the
village on his own. Every young lady within view will swoon in the streets.
Poor Devon. He will have his work cut out for him, keeping that boy on the
straight and narrow.”

Adelaide gave her a look. “He only has what’s coming to
him, for he was always a charmer himself. I lost a lot of sleep when he was
younger.”

“Vincent was the worst, though,” Charlotte reminded her.
“Thank God for Cassandra.”

“And June,” Adelaide added, referring to the daughter they
had conceived out of wedlock. The combination of fatherhood and Cassandra’s
love had finally convinced Vincent that he was capable of a love that could
last a lifetime.

All was well now. All four of the Sinclair brothers were
home, happily and respectfully wed. The scandals were forgotten—at least
until a new generation of Sinclairs entered the marriage mart.
That
was going to be an interesting time, Charlotte
thought.

“Should we take another walk in the park today?” Adelaide
suggested. “It was lovely yesterday. How wonderful it was to see William. One
should not let so much time pass between visits with old friends.”

Old friends
... But it was so
much more than that, surely—for they had loved each other once and were
cruelly torn apart. Not unlike Charlotte and Graham, and Mr. Torrington and his
wife. At least there was a chance for Adelaide and William to reverse the
heartbreaks of the past. They shouldn’t squander such an opportunity. William
had been resistant the other day, but after seeing her parents together in the
park, Charlotte was certain they were destined for each other. William must see
it, too, for he had come, hadn’t he?

She raised her teacup to her lips and wondered about this
other woman he had been seeing. How close were they? How intimate had they
become? She set her cup back down in the saucer with a noisy
clink
, for she couldn’t bear to think of it.

“Well?” Adelaide said. “Shall we return to the park?

Charlotte placed her cup and saucer on the table and
pushed it away. “I would love to, Mother, but before we do, I feel there is
something I must tell you. Something about William.”

“What is it?” Adelaide asked with a small frown.

Charlotte took a deep breath to get the words out. “He
told me the other day that...” She paused. “That he has been courting someone.”

Adelaide sat back. Her expression was unreadable. “I see.
Is it serious?”

“I am not certain.”

An excruciating moment of silence ensued. Adelaide sat
forward again to pour herself another cup of tea. “If he has found someone to
care for, then I am very happy for him.”

Charlotte struggled to understand what her mother was
truly feeling. Was she heartbroken and trying to hide it? Or was she genuinely
happy for William?

“Do you still want to go walking in the park today?”
Charlotte asked.

“Of course,” Adelaide cheerfully replied. “Why wouldn’t I?
The weather is perfect for it.” She took a sip of her tea and reached for the
newspaper.

“Then I will summon the carriage.” Not yet ready to admit
defeat—for Charlotte simply could not accept that William loved any other
woman but Adelaide—she stood up and left the room.