She stepped up to him and placed her hand against his back, flexing her fingers to absorb the feel of muscle and sinew beneath the billowing linen of his shirt. He tensed, and she rested her head against him, trusting him silently not to move away, for if he did she would stumble. "I do need you and want you. You've no notion of the torment I've suffered these last three nights without you. It's not merely your body I missed. I've missed your voice, your laughter, your smile. I cannot go another day without those things in my life."

"Charlotte." His voice was a harsh rasp. "Don't say any more. Just go."

She wrapped her arms around his lean waist, loving the feel of him. Splaying her hands across his abdomen, she felt the ridges of muscles shift as he groaned. Burying her face in his back, she breathed him in. "I want to link my future with yours, Hugh. I trust you to be the type of man I can depend upon."

His fingers laced with hers, and then he pulled her hands away, stepping out of her embrace. He turned to face her, his expression cold. "Why are you doing this?"

There was no room left for pride or fear, not any longer. "Because I love you."

"Your feelings will pass."

"I don't want them to pass."

"I'm sorry, I don't know what more I can say to you."

Charlotte held out her hands to him. "Tell me you have no tender feelings for me and I'll leave. I won't trouble you again."

There was no hesitation. "I wish you well in your future endeavors, but that is the extent of my interest."

She winced as his words cut deep. "You're lying."

Resolved, Hugh moved around Charlotte, then through the open doorway to the sitting room. His entire being ached for her and cried out for her touch, but he forced himself to leave her and kept his face impassive. There was too much at stake. She'd abandoned him so easily due to just a few cutting words from a man she despised. Before he risked himself further, he had to know she was sincere. He had to know it wasn't simply gratitude for his largesse that brought her here, but her love.

He poured himself a drink. And then another. A moment later he felt Charlotte's tiny hands caressing his back. He closed his eyes as he savored her touch. When her hands cupped his buttocks and squeezed, he reached down and tore open the placket of his breeches, freeing his swollen cock. He took himself in hand and began to stroke, needing to ease his lust before he reached for her.

Three nights he'd spent alone in this suite, knowing she was close, wanting her with a biting, penetrating need. To have her here, just as he'd imagined, was excruciating. His hunger was too powerful, his desire too great. Goaded any further, he couldn't say if he was capable of even a modicum of control.

"Allow me," she murmured, her hands reaching around his waist, her pert breasts with their erect nipples pressing into his back. When she circled his cock with both hands and began to pump, his breath hissed out between his teeth, the pleasure searing in its intensity. She rested her cheek against his back. "I've missed touching you, holding you."

"I am the same man I was three days ago," he growled, his head falling back, his eyes drifting closed.

"Yes," she whispered. "The man I love."

His hips began to thrust rhythmically into her talented hands. Charlotte knew just how to hold him, how tightly to grip him, how fast to take him to the ecstasy only she could bestow. He began to pant, the heat of his lust washing over him, bringing him to the edge of reason. His cock swelled, his balls drew up, a tortured groan escaped as he prepared to come…

Her movements stilled, and she stepped away just as he was on the verge of release.

"Damn you." He slammed his glass on the sideboard. Clenching his fists, he couldn't stop the tremors that shook his frame. "Is your goal in life merely to torment me?"

Charlotte stepped around to face him, her eyes shining like emeralds and burning with desire. "My aim is to comfort you, Hugh, to please and satisfy you, so that I may prove my love and win you back."

Her hands cupped the edge of the sideboard, and she jumped to sit upon it. Above the scoop of her bodice, the ripe swell of her breasts was flushed and covered with a spattering of reddish freckles he knew intimately, because he'd licked and worshipped every one.

Gripping fistfuls of her skirt, she yanked the hem of her gown upward, the fevered haste of her movements betraying how desperately she desired him. The length of her lithe, stocking-clad legs was revealed to him first, and then she spread her thighs, displaying the deep red curls that sheltered the plump lips of her sex.

Drawn to her, Hugh closed the distance between them, until her soft floral fragrance swirled through his senses with potent familiarity. Charlotte leaned back carefully until her shoulders rested against the wall, angling her hips to give him greater access. Watching his own movements with ravenous hunger and deep adoration, Hugh parted her lips with one hand while rubbing the tiny nub of her clit with the blunt fingertip of the other.

She gasped, and arched her back, thrusting her breasts toward him. Unable to resist, he bent and licked along her slender neck. "Yes…" she breathed. "I've hungered for the feel of your hands, the warmth of your mouth…"

His skin was burning hot and covered with sweat. Hugh could barely think, could hardly breathe. Shifting his hips, he was there, the broad head of his cock covered in her cream. She was so ready, he slipped the first inch inside her without any effort. The tight clasp of her body welcomed him and was nearly the end of him. His breathing harsh and ragged, his fingers digging into her thighs with bruising force, he paused and locked his eyes with hers.

And waited. Even though it was killing him.

Charlotte's hands moved to his shoulders and then around his neck, her calloused fingers entwining in the hair at his nape. "I belong to you, Hugh. In whatever way you'll have me."

His heart stilled before resuming its near-frantic beat, his thighs quivering with the need to fuck her, to claim her, his arms aching to hold her. "Any way?"

"Wife or mistress-I care not. Just don't send me away. I love you, Hugh." She pressed her lips to his, and he groaned. "I love you," she whispered against his mouth, her tears wetting his face and salting her kiss. "I'm so sorry I hurt you. This is so hard for me, to trust someone… but I do. I do trust you… and I love you so much."

Covering her mouth with his, he cradled her spine and slid her hips to the edge of the sideboard, dragging the creamy heat of her body over his cock until he was buried inside her. "Damn it," he breathed, crushing her to him. "I almost thought you wouldn't come to me. I feared you would go, and I would lose you."

"Never. Oh, Hugh…" Her cunt tightened around him. "Please…"

He lifted her and stumbled to the settee, every step nudging him deeper into the wet, clenching heart of her. By the time he sank into the cushions, he was certain he would expire. "Ride me," he ordered, his hands at her thighs urging her to move.

"Remove your shirt," she said.

He tore the garment in his haste to be rid of it, and his reward was sweet. Charlotte lifted until he was barely within her and then lowered, encasing him in her silk, her soft whimper of need spurring his ardor. He felt maddened, wild. He wanted to grip her hips and lead the way, plunging into her, until the desperate hunger he felt was thoroughly sated. Instead, he spread his arms and held onto the settee, knowing he was mere moments away from a magnificent orgasm. An orgasm made all the richer by the love of the woman who held him so intimately.

Gripping his shoulders for leverage, Charlotte set a hard, fast rhythm, pounding her lush body onto his cock as if she couldn't get enough of him. His eyelids grew heavy, the drugging ecstasy tightening every muscle in his body, his fingers holding the wooden rim of the sofa so tightly, he feared it would snap.

"I love you," he said, his voice hoarse with emotion.

Charlotte faltered.

He didn't.

Moving quickly, he had her on the rug, her thighs over his, his cock driving deep. His strokes were strong and steady, his gaze locked with rapt attention on her face. Her skin was flushed, her full lips parted, her emerald eyes bright with love. She came on a gasp, her back arching upward, her shivers tightening around his shaft until it became difficult to withdraw, difficult to return, the soft sucking sounds of their lovemaking filling the room along with her cries.

Hugh followed directly, pouring into her, flooding her with his joy and his love in a release so devastating, he knew he would never be the same again.


"You shall marry me, Charlotte."

"Are you certain? I'm not suitable."

He snorted. "You are entirely suitable. And marriage has decided benefits you're failing to consider."

Charlotte curled into him where they lay on the floor and stroked her hand across his chest. "Such as?"

"The marital bed, for one."

"Ah, yes, a bed. That would be lovely. Perhaps with marriage, we will make it there more often…"

Epilogue

London, August 1815


Sebastian Blake, Earl of Merrick, took the steps of Montrose Hall two at a time. He rapped with the knocker and waited. A moment later the door swung open, and he was faced with a stooped butler sporting the largest eye he'd ever seen in his life. He blinked, quickly comprehending the reason his footman had returned to the carriage in a fright.

"Aye?" the old man queried, in a gravelly voice.

He held out his card. "I've come to collect Lord and Lady Montrose. They are expecting me."