The Seduction of Lady Charity: The Baxendale Sisters Book Four (21 page)

“My beautiful love.” As the carriage, decorated with ribbons, jerked forward, Robin kissed her again, more passionately, and a cheer went up in the crowd.

****

At Highland Manor, autumn foliage arranged in big urns stood in every corner of the ballroom, which was now packed with guests. Charity and Robin greeted each of them in turn. Her father appeared to stand very tall and gazed at her proudly. Mama smiled and clutched her damp handkerchief. Charity swallowed, trying not to cry too. She’d made them happy and proud of her when she feared she never would.

Her sisters kissed her, Edward hugged her, Vaughn grinned, and Daniel gracefully kissed her hand as she and Robin made their way to the long table to be seated. A large wedding cake graced the table. Champagne corks popped. Music played. Father had brought an orchestra from London. Delicious food was served, after Mama went into a frenzy of preparation with Cook, and afterward, there were speeches, a moving one by her father and an amusing anecdote by the best man, Lord Bellamy.

Charity’s heart was full. She cherished every moment, and when she danced the waltz in her husband’s arms and gazed into his warm grey eyes, her passion for him made her thoughts fly ahead to when they would spend the night together. Despite the uncertainty that awaited them in Northumberland, she felt lightheaded with joy.

Her sisters, in their pink gowns, and their husbands all took the floor and smiled at her as they swept past. Mercy, too, was dancing with the best man.

“I believe Lord Bellamy is a little smitten with Mercy,” Charity said.

Robin turned his head to view them. “I’ve never seen him quite so taken. But his interest in a lady doesn’t usually last very long. I shouldn’t worry.”

She gazed up into his grey eyes. “I cannot worry about a thing. Not while I’m dancing with my handsome husband.”

He grinned, and his hand at her back settled her close. “That’s odd. I seem to be suffering the same complaint. And I only have eyes for one lady, despite the veritable cloud of beauty surrounding us.” His gaze smoldered. “I can’t wait to kiss you. Properly.”

“Have you never kissed me properly?”

“No indeed,” he said gruffly and turned her swiftly and decisively as the music swelled.

She closed her eyes and felt as if she was floating.

The music ended, and Robin took her hand to lead her from the dance floor. Clasping her husband’s hand, she smiled at the guests. Chaloner sat with his mother. Lavinia had not come. Charity was determined to find out why.

Chapter Twenty-Three

It was late afternoon when Robin and Charity waved goodbye to her family as they stood in the driveway. After the carriage drove out of the gates, she settled on the squabs close beside him, and the sweet perfume of roses enveloped him. Attar of roses. She’d bathed and changed into a carriage gown the color of cherries and wore a cream wool fur-collared cape and a little fur hat. His body stirred at the sight of her. She looked as delicious as the fruit.

Robin, too, had taken the opportunity to freshen up and change his clothes.

Out on the toll road, when she slumped against his shoulder, he took control of his rampaging emotions. “Tired? We’ll reach the coaching inn before nightfall. The proprietor is a good fellow, and I’ve found it well run when I’ve stayed there.”

“A little tired, perhaps.” She smiled up at him and yawned behind her hand. “But so very happy.”

“Me too, my love.”

“I hope the portrait has been carefully packed. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to it.”

“I made sure the footman secured it properly.”

A slight frown creased her forehead. “It won’t be your official portrait, Robin. I would like someone else to paint it. You can have that done at some later time.”

“A family one, perhaps.”

“I’d like that,” she said, her voice trembling.

She was more emotional than he’d ever seen her. Tired out, with the rush to be married, and the uncertainty. Protective of her, he wanted to envelop her in his arms, to take care of her and keep her safe and happy forever. He hadn’t forgotten her independent spirit, however, which would make that difficult. They would have their battles, but they were for another day. His arm around her, he palmed her chin gently and raised her face to brush his lips over hers. “You might like to sleep awhile.”

“Mm.” She leaned into his chest, closed her eyes, and quickly fell asleep.

He settled the carriage rug over them both and watched the play of late afternoon sunlight flicker across her lovely face. Her delicate beauty would be ageless. Grateful to the depths of his soul that she trusted him enough to sleep in his arms, he stretched out his legs and closed his eyes.

“Your Grace?” Robin woke with a start. The footman had jumped off the back of the carriage and set down a step. It had grown dark, and the carriage lights were burning. They’d both slept through it. Charity stirred in his arms.

“We’re here, darling.”

She sat up and patted her hair. “I slept all the way! It must have been the champagne.”

The footman opened the door, and they stepped out into the inn forecourt as the ostler scurried over. The inn was well lit and welcoming, the warm brick walls covered in ivy. The proprietor greeted them at the door. “Your Graces, such a pleasure to welcome you to my humble establishment. Shall you require dinner? My wife has prepared a suckling pig, and she makes the best apple pie in this county.”

After she and Robin had a light supper in a private parlor, the maid showed them to their bedchamber. “Do you require my assistance, Your Grace?”

“No,” Robin said, answering for her. “That will be all, thank you.” He picked Charity up and strode inside then deposited her, giggling, onto the carpet. “Does this chamber meet with your approval?” he asked as the door closed.

The room was well furnished. A fire of fragrant apple wood burned in the grate warming the room.

Charity removed her hat and carelessly plucked the hairpins from her hair as she eyed the bed. She turned to look at him, her cheeks flushed. “It’s perfect.” Her glossy fair hair flooded over her shoulders in a dense waterfall.

He raised his hand to stroke a glossy lock. “As you didn’t bring your maid, may I assist you out of your clothes?” He shrugged out of his tailcoat, his fingers itching to do just that.

“My maid balked at leaving Tunbridge Wells,” Charity said. “She thought Northumberland was in another country.”

He ripped off his cravat. “There are plenty on my staff who could make do until you employ a lady’s maid.” He was speaking as if they would remain there. He wanted to hold on to that for as long as he could.

Charity slipped off her shoes and came to put her arms around his neck. “I’ve wondered how I’d manage this in bare feet.” She smiled, her fingers caressing the nape of his neck. “You’re so tall. But fortunately, I am tall as well.”

“We fit together perfectly,” Robin said, running his hands over her waist to grip her hips and pull her closer.

She threaded her fingers through his hair and tugged gently at his curls. “I’ve thought about this too,” she said with a small smile. “While I was painting you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And what else did you think of when you were painting my portrait?”

She slipped her hands under his unbuttoned waistcoat and roamed across the planes of his chest encased in linen. “What you looked like naked.”

“Oh, did you?” He laughed and raised an eyebrow. “I thought only men thought of ladies that way.”

“So, you’ve thought of me that way?”

“I’m thinking of you that way, now,” he said huskily and turned her so he could undo her gown.

When she stood in a puddle of skirts and petticoats, in her chemise and stockings, Robin lost his breath. His gaze lingered on the curves of her breasts, where they pushed through the thin chemise, and the swell of her hips. He could see the soft outline of her sex at the juncture of her thighs. He began shedding his waistcoat and dragged his shirt over his head, dropping them to the floor in a pile.

“You have no valet, remember?” She began gathering the clothing up, giving him a view of a perfect heart-shaped bottom.

He grabbed the garments from her and tossed them onto a chair. In his trousers and stockings, with an already uncomfortable cockstand, he hefted her in his arms and strode to the bed and placed her on it.

She gazed at him expectantly with wide blue eyes. He could detect no maidenly concern, just a keen interest in his body, as he sat to strip off his boots then stood to undo the fall-front of his trousers.

“Oh!” Charity leaned back on the pillows. “I can’t paint you like that.” She contemplated his body. “But I will paint you. You are so beautiful, Robin.”

“You will not paint me naked.” Robin sat and removed her blue satin garters, peeling the stockings from her long, smooth thighs.

“You’re not going to be difficult about it, are you?” Charity’s smile told him he was going to give in sometime in the future.

He drew off her pantaloons then lay down beside her and silenced her with an urgent and exploratory kiss, his tongue plunging into her mouth. And when he kissed and nipped his way down her throat to tongue her pebbling nipples through her chemise, he was gratified to hear a soft moan and have her hands rake his hair in a distracted fashion. The ache in his groin deepened.

The chemise gone, she lay all pink and cream, with a vee of golden hair at the base of her gently curved stomach.

His gaze roamed her appreciatively. “I may commission an artist to paint you thus,” he said in a roughened voice, sliding his hands over her silky skin. He molded her breasts in his palms while he thumbed her rose-pink nipples.

“You wouldn’t,” Charity whispered, her breathing labored.

“What is fair for the goose…” He traced her bottom lip with his tongue and gave it a gentle nip.

His fingers sought the pearl within the silken folds of her sex and drew delicate circles. Charity moaned and wriggled. His mouth covered hers, devouring its softness. He could not hold off for much longer.

When Charity raised her hips to meet his hand, he eased a finger inside. She stilled. “It might be painful at first, sweetheart. But only at first.”

She nodded, her eyes dark violet, her breath quickening through her open lips.

Robin eased her thighs apart and settled himself at her entrance. He nudged forward, feeling her tense beneath him. Finding her moist and ready, he thrust inside her and groaned with pleasure. Finally, she was his.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Charity awoke, remembering Robin’s skilled lovemaking. she’d been carried away on a sensual cloud of pleasure. She stared into the fragile light of dawn, dimly aware of how different she felt. Pleasantly heavy with a sated warmth, and a slight tenderness between her legs, she was elated to have shared this extraordinary coupling with the man she loved.

She rested her chin on the palm of her hand and gazed lovingly at him asleep beside her, his dark hair tousled on the pillow. Reaching across, she lifted an edge of the blanket. He was sprawled over the sheet, completely relaxed, his long limbs stretched out, his wide chest with the smattering of dark hair rising and falling in a deep, gentle rhythm. Although she’d studied naked men in works of art, the reality was quite different. His warmth radiated along her side. One could never capture that with oils. There was dark hair on his legs and at the base of his stomach, where a man was shaped so differently from a woman. So perfectly made. She wanted to stroke over his skin again, skin that was surprisingly satiny to the touch, and feel the wonderful moving sculpture of his body, the play of muscle over strong bones, the weight of him. Would she wake him if she lightly caressed the hard, rigid muscle on his stomach?

“I hope you aren’t measuring me for a canvas.” He opened one grey eye, and his beautiful mouth gave the hint of a smile. “I shouldn’t like to disappoint you.”

“You are more beautiful than any painting I’ve ever seen.” Delighted that he was awake, she rested her chest against his, her cheek on his skin, drawing warmth from his body and breathing in his musky smell.

A hand stroked down her spine. “Are you well, my love?”

She lifted her head to gaze at him. “Perfectly. Actually more than perfect.”

He grinned and swept a lock of her hair away from her cheek. “That’s good to hear.” He yawned. “It’s dawn, but you should sleep a little more. You’ll be tired.”

“I can’t sleep. I keep thinking about what we’ll discover when we arrive.” She frowned. “I really want you to be the duke. It makes me sick in my stomach to think you may not be.”

“Darling!” He pulled her on top of him and settled her head against his shoulder. “It thrills me that you care so much. But we will be happy wherever we are.”

She knew he adopted bravado for her sake, so she merely nodded and closed her eyes. “You make a wonderful mattress.”

“I’m attempting to remain as soft and comfortable as I can.” He sounded doubtful.

She giggled. “You’re failing.”

“Oh, Charity. This is unwise. You might be sore.”

Her breath deserted her as she felt him stir beneath her. “I’m willing to try.”

He threw off the blankets. “Sit up, sweetheart. Straddle me.”