“Please,” she begged, her legs coming apart of their own volition. Her body needed his touch.
Tracing the back of his hand along her collarbone, he brought his thumb to stroke her breast, teasing the stiff peak hiding beneath layers of fabric. His hand moved to explore beneath her skirts, touching her where she craved it most. The combination of sensations pushed Charlotte to feel a familiar coil tightening within her. His tongue continued to tangle with hers as he explored her most private and needy places. She cried out as she came undone on his fingers.
Her hand reached out to touch Perry, his length straining against his breeches. Though inexperienced, she wanted to give him the same satisfaction he had given her. He nuzzled the nape of her neck. She whimpered as his pleasure-filled moan vibrated against her skin, and he achieved his own release. Breathless, he lifted himself off and lay on the blanket next to her, sighing in utter contentment. Wrapping her in his arms, he pulled her close and nuzzled his face in her hair.
“Lottie…” he spoke breathily. “Everything about you is pure heaven.”
Squirming to tuck herself closer into his body, a small smile tugged on her lips. She wanted to regret what they had done, but as much as she reached for the emotion, it would not come. As long as this remained their secret, there would be no harm in exploring that which she would never have with her future husband.
Charlotte squeezed her thighs together at the dampness clinging there, wondering if this was part of what married people did behind closed doors. Somehow, she doubted it was like this for all couples. If it were, Charlotte was an apt pupil and would happily learn the arts of love from her eager teacher…
The bittersweet memories still sent a pang of longing tearing through her chest. Charlotte had been so hopeful, so sure. So confident she could keep their closeness a secret. Acherished memory to savor on her tongue when she was whisked away to become the Viscountess Dewberry. Unfortunately, she had learned more about the art of seduction from Perry. Too much. She had paid a high price.
Love was tender. Love was sweet.
Love could tear your life apart.
Chapter Seven
Charlotte approached Perry’s room on quiet feet to look in on her patient. Peering into the room to ensure he was asleep, she held her breath. Perry had lain in a fog of fever and laudanum for days. After removing the bullet, the doctor explained that the wound was festering and had few treatments possible besides bloodletting. Charlotte could not bear to see Perry subjected to a procedure that would cause him to lose more blood. Surely there was another way to treat his wound.
She laid a hand on Aamina’s shoulder. Her maid had been taking shifts to watch over him when the housekeeper needed to attend to her responsibilities. Aamina was startled as she became aware of Charlotte’s presence.
Brows gathered in worry, Charlotte took in the sleeping man. Sweat glistened on his forehead, wetting the strands of hair around his face.
“Any signs of improvement?” she whispered to the other woman, who now stood next to her, allowing Charlotte access to the chair.
“Nothing, ma’am.” The maid crossed her arms and shook her head. “He’s in a right state. I hope he awakens soon. Would be ashame if the fever took such a nice-looking gentleman.” Aamina quirked a brow at her mistress.
Charlotte frowned. “Aamina!” she admonished.
The maid shrugged. “He’ll be due for fresh linens soon. Allow me to fetch them, ma’am. He’s sweated clean through these ones. Look at him shiver like that. Such a pity.”
Charlotte’s throat tightened with fear, but all she could do was nod. The maid bustled from the room, off to gather supplies to refresh the bedding.
Sitting in silence as the servant saw to his needs, she watched him struggle in his drug-induced sleep and winced at each painful whimper from his lips. If he awoke when she was in the room, her safety would be at risk. Her entire life at Fermoy depended on her presence being kept a secret. Pressing her lips together, Charlotte clasped her hands to keep from reaching out.
She longed to press a hand to his brow and give him the comfort he deserved.
Tossing a glance over her shoulder, she confirmed that they were still alone. A mere touch to comfort a man who was at death’s door would hardly be considered a crime.
Ignoring that every part of her knew what she was doing was wrong, her hand hovered toward his forehead. The temptation was too great.
Peregrine trembled beneath the blankets. The illness had settled in after a few days. His wound had putrefied, and he was in the powerful grip of a dangerous fever. The doctor seemed resigned to a poor outcome. A sick sensation surged in her stomach at the thought that he would not recover. Such an illness had killed many, regardless of age or level of health. Fever did not discriminate. They were at the mercy of God. She prayed Perry would be strong enough.
Pressing her palm gently to caress his burning skin, a soft sigh escaped her lips. The shivers running through his body stilled. For a moment, Charlotte could almost believe that she had the powerto heal him. To bring him from the brink of death and back to his robust health. If only such a miracle were possible.
Reaching for a cloth on the nightstand, she dipped it in the bowl of cool water and gently wiped his brow, then his face. Had he been a stranger, it would have been greatly inappropriate—and uncomfortable—to place her hands upon him so intimately. Soaking the cloth and wringing it out, she used it to bathe his torso and arms, stopping at his navel. The servants were not all aware of how intimately familiar she was with Peregrine Spencer. If she were careful, they never would.
Covering him once again with the sheets and snug blankets, she tucked them around him to give him the warmth she wanted so badly to infuse into his body. If only she could wrap her arms around him and hold him while he struggled, weaving in and out of consciousness. If only she could take his pain and absorb it into her own body to spare him.
With a shuddered breath, she changed the cloths and used a fresh one to cool his forehead, then left it in place. She brought her hands to cover her face, releasing a quiet sob. Though she had lived long without him, it comforted her to know that somewhere, Peregrine was living a contented life. Having him before her, teetering on the edge of life and death, was too much to bear.
She could live knowing he wasn’t hers.
She could live with the agony of regret and loneliness her disappearance had caused.
Charlotte couldn’t live with the thought of him dying.
