His hands were on her ass again, kneading frantically and large enough to swallow each globe as he angled his pelvis and she slid up and down against the length of him, hard as oak and yet so hot that he scorched her even through their bunched clothes. She ground against him, swollen, sloppy, aching, and—
“No!” she said, though it undercut her point that she panted the word. “No, I’mnot—”
“All right.” He stopped immediately, breathing hard against her neck. “But… why not?”
It wasn’t an eloquent argument, and yet Charlotte was in no position to poke holes in it. She paused for an agonized moment. “Yes. Right. Carry on!”
Soon she was drowning again, his tongue sweet against hers, then so hot on her nipples that her mind went blank and her body melted into liquid, the blood rushing to her cheeks, and her chest, and pooling between her legs until she was so slippery that she couldn’t—
Damn it, she couldn’t—
Oh hell yes, she could.
Wolfgang worked a nipple between his fingers while her other breast dragged against the wet cotton of his shirt. He sucked gently on her tongue while his left hand held her pinioned against the bulge in his breeches, so big and so hard and so unbelievablygoodthat she—
“That’s right.” His deep voice slurred with satisfaction and Charlotte shot off into the sky like a firework. Her head jerked back and her spine cracked as she flew up and up, whirling through the stars,becominga star. She swirled around the heavens and when she sank down gently, she was a golden, glowing mess in his arms.
Wolfgang held her through the last of the glimmers, still except for the brief, almost helpless kick of his hips and the hard kiss he pressed onto the top of her head. The enormous ridge between her thighs kept her off-kilter as the stardust settled, but as a minute passed and then another, her poor brain began to assert itself.
Oh.
Oh Lord.
She was weak as a kitten and she’d mewled like one, too.
Charlotte scrambled off his lap and onto her feet.
“I’ll bid you good night, Your Grace,” she said, with as much dignity and formality as she could when her cheeks glowed like twin suns, her hair chose that moment to fall out of its pins, and her dress held the wet, incriminating print of his body. “I’m dreadfully tired and I’m off to—”
“Bed?” His eyes were rich, gleaming, wrecked. “Think of me.”
His laughter followed her out of the room.
CHAPTER 40
Charlotte was much too overwhelmedto do anything but keep herself busy for the next few days. She’d already written up her proposal for a loan against the silk mill and couriered it off to Mr. Curlew, Julian’s man of business in London, along with copies of her ledgers and pending orders. She’d also written to her mother to tell her that their nightmare might soon be over, so Charlotte tried to fill her time by dreaming up new damask patterns for the Jacquard loom. Unfortunately, there was no pattern in the world that could drag her mind away from the memory of the hot press of Wolfgang’s mouth. It came to her late at night as she tossed and turned, whispering wonderfully filthy things into her ear, skimming down her neck, her collarbones, and over the swell of her chest to lick—
“What’s that, Lady Charlotte?” asked Lady Skeffington. “It almost sounded as if you squeaked.”
Charlotte’s face flooded with color. “Nothing!”
It was the afternoon of Vyse’s departure, and the ladies of the house were assembled for what the dowager had billed to the gentlemen as a meeting of her newly minted garden club, but it was really only an excuse for the women to take tea undisturbed.
“As I was saying, one doesn’t want tobreakfastwith a rake,” said Lady Skeffington. “A rake ought to be seen by moonlight or not at all. Otherwise, one realizes how ridiculous he is.” Something occurred toLady Skeffington and she deflated. “I suppose one could say the same for me. Moonlight’s so wonderfully flattering.”
“You always look marvelous, Mother,” said Alexandra, who herself was in exceptional good looks. She’d been running around without a hat for half the summer, and her hair was shockingly bright in the light that streamed in through the windows. “The problem with Vyse is that he may be a rake, but I’m not convinced he likes women. Or at least, perhaps he likes select parts of us, but he has very little interest in our minds.” She cast a glance at her mother and dropped her voice. “Although, I may as well confess—Charlotte, did you mean it when you said we should all take a crack at your suitors?”
“Of course I did.” Charlotte paused with a strawberry halfway to her mouth. “Surely notVyse?”
Alexandra took a sip of tea and placed the cup carefully in its saucer, waiting until she had the room’s full attention. “Well, I know he’s frightful, but I’ve heardsuchstories about him. I thought perhaps a rake might stir—” She stopped and colored. “Let’s just say I was curious to indulge in a kiss.”
“Alexandra!” cried Lady Skeffington.
“Leave her be, Lucretia,” said the dowager. “You forget how it is to be young.”
“Well?” said Elizabeth, leaning forward. “How was it?”
“Unsatisfactory! I doubt anything excites that man, except perhaps a whole gaggle of young ladies and a length of rope. I’ve formed a theory that rakes always disappoint—how can they bring any magic to the proceedings when they’re so jaded?”
