16. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter sixteen

S ince Charlotte had spent the day anticipating her visit with Hugh, she’d been unable to concentrate on anything except for the book she’d pilfered from the highest shelf in the library. Her father may have thought he’d hidden The Secret Life of Gentlemen , but Alexander had found it when he was about fourteen years old. Soon after, Charlotte had stumbled upon her red-faced, stammering brother. He had tried to conceal that he’d been looking at the book; therefore, Charlotte pretended she hadn’t seen a thing. But later that evening, she’d snuck into the library, climbed the ladder, and retrieved the shocking manuscript. Naked men and women in various positions filled over two hundred pages. The contents had not interested the eleven-year-old Charlotte. In truth, the artwork had made her rather ill, and she wished she’d had a maternal figure to explain the scandalous images. Perhaps then, they would not have haunted her adolescent dreams .

Knowing that Papa was searching for a worthy husband for her, a few weeks ago, she’d again sought out the book, and this time the pages piqued her interest. However, she could not imagine even kissing George Nash.

Earlier that morning, she’d again climbed that ladder. She’d tucked the book beneath her elbow and carried it back to her room to peruse it. Now, at two and twenty, and having experienced desire for Hugh, the artwork thrilled her to her tingling toes.

Goose flesh tickled every inch of her skin as she strolled to the gardener’s cottage, thinking about those indecent drawings. Especially the one where a woman knelt before a man, taking his length into her mouth. Maybe the idea should disgust her, but the truth was, she wanted to kneel in front of a naked Hugh and taste him.

Lantern and basket in tow, hoping to sneak past anyone associated with her father or stepmother, she avoided the well-worn path.

Upon reaching the cottage, she performed a silly jig. Since no light emanated from the loan window, Hugh must be alone. However, darkness might also mean he was asleep. Please let him be healthy and awake , she silently prayed as she tiptoed into the cottage and locked the door behind her. She stopped short, for she felt someone watching her.

She slowly circled, aiming her light into each corner. A soft beam illuminated a figure ensconced in shadow leaning against the headboard.

“Good evening, Firefly,” Hugh said, joy evident in his rich voice.

She fought her urge to skip to him and leap onto the bed. “Why are you sitting in the dark? ”

“I have no need for a lantern because you light up the room.”

Such flowery romantic declarations from any other man would be insincere, but one of the things that drew her to Hugh was that he did not seem the type of person to say something he did not mean. Unless she was simply in denial because she fancied him so much.

Although she’d prefer to kiss him, she should feed him first. “I have brought you bacon and apple pie.”

His deep chuckle only made her desire to kiss, lick, and nibble on him stronger. She was hopeless. A hopeless, lust-filled, hedonistic wench.

She placed the basket on the table and attempted to concentrate on lighting a second lantern as he approached. However, her hand shook the second his breath tickled her cheek.

He leaned close to rummage through the supplies.

She inhaled fresh soap. Steadying her ragged breaths, she faced him, her nose accidentally brushing against his cheek.

Although the brief contact almost did her in, he seemed unphased. He reached in front of her and lifted the pie from the basket. Licking his lips, he hummed his appreciation.

Perhaps he found the food more alluring than he found her. What a dismal notion. One thing was for certain—if he did not cease his sensual noises, she would grab him by the collar and pull him to her—and it would serve him right.

Wait. Was he wearing a different shirt? He was still cravet-less, and the fabric hung open, providing a glimpse of tanned skin, but it was not rumpled, and the blood stains were gone.

It seemed Hugh had changed clothing and taken a bath. A new decanter of liquor and an extra lantern were also on the table. That could mean only one thing. “Did my father bring you fresh clothing?”

“He did.” Hugh stabbed a fork into the pie, shoveling a large bite into his mouth. He closed his eyes and moaned. “Mmm. Mmm. My compliments to the cook.”

Dare Charlotte grab her fork, dig into the thick crust, and behave like a gluttonous swine?

Never! Although she did not mind Hugh doing it. Truth be told, she rather enjoyed his fervor. Instead, she picked up the knife, cut two slices, and placed them on plates.

“Shall we sit?” she asked.

“Of course.” He poured them each a drink from the decanter and lowered himself onto the chair.

Charlotte could hardly believe her luck. She was sitting across from the most handsome man in the world, and they were about to eat pie and drink brandy.

She brought her drink to her mouth and sipped. The liquid scalded her throat. She put down her glass and waved her hand in front of her face as if the fanning gesture might cool her insides.

“You do not enjoy brandy?” Hugh asked.

She preferred tea, chocolate, and lemonade. “I rarely drink it,” she said.

He smiled, setting her heart a flutter.

“There is an art to it. First, you appreciate the aroma.” He held his glass beneath his nose, closed his eyes, and inhaled. “Ahh, vanilla. Then, wrap your hands around the glass to warm it.”

He cradled his drink in his palms, his long fingers easily encircling it. Oh, she wished to be that glass, cocooned in his protective grip .

“Take a small sip, allowing it to roll over your tongue.” As he held the liquid in his mouth, his eyes filled with ecstasy. He swallowed, and his Adam’s apple moved ever so slightly, mesmerizing Charlotte. “Let it gently slide down your throat. Savor the piquancy. This one tastes of dried clove and cherries.”

Since she adored cherries, she tried another sip. Unfortunately, it burned as much as the first and reminded her of tree bark. She’d never actually eaten a tree, but she suspected it tasted a lot like her father’s expensive, “aged forever-in-a-barrel” brandy.

“Delicious,” she said.

His brow furrowed for a moment. Then, he chuckled, his smile pummeling her heart. “Are you fibbing to me, Charlotte?”

Agreeing with others was so ingrained in her that learning to speak her mind would take forever. “I do not favor it at all. It tastes like an old wooden clog.”

He laughed so hard he snorted.

“Did my father show you kindness today?” she asked.

He nodded as he opened his mouth to say something, but instead, he sipped and held the liquid in his mouth for a long while before swallowing.

How did he drink that fire water without coughing?

Following his lead, Charlotte sniffed, then attempted another tiny sip. This time, it went down without a dramatic choking fit. Still, she did not favor it. She was also too nervous to do much more than poke her pie-filling with her fork.

“I decided to accept your father’s offer,” he said.

Butterflies tickled her insides because that meant he was staying for the time being. But his exciting proclamation had a downside. She looked up from her apple smashing to meet his gaze. “I do hope ’tis not dangerous work.” Poor Hugh had already taken such a beating.

He placed his palm over her hand, and a bolt of heat shot up her arm. “I cannot talk about the details,” he said.

As she suspected, her father’s explanation of his business with Hugh was a bald-faced lie, for why else would he not be able to discuss it with her? As much as she wished to spend time with Hugh, she needed to seek out her father and get to the bottom of this situation. Besides, if she stayed, she would throw herself at Hugh and beg him to kiss and touch her. The ache in her core had grown to an alarming intensity. Although inexperienced in the ways of men and women, she knew that Hugh was the only one who could fill the emptiness. But this was not the time for lust. She must ensure his safety.

It took all of her discipline to push herself from the table and stand.

“Where are you going?” Hugh asked.

She had already lied to him about liking brandy. Although he had handled it good-naturedly, she would not be untruthful again.

“I plan to confront my father, for I fear he has engaged you in dangerous business.”

“No.” He stood and placed his palms on her shoulders. “I am safe. I need you to stay out of it.”

Everyone was always telling her what to do. She adored Hugh. She craved his body and his company, but she would not be ordered around by anyone ever again. Besides, he did not understand what he had gotten himself into by striking a bargain with her father, wealthy powerful man that he was. Therefore, she would both stand up to and protect Hugh.

She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “My father’s business is also my business. ”

“Hmm,” he murmured.

Before she could inquire what his cryptic mumbling meant, he pulled her to him. Slanting his lips over hers, he captured her gasp.

She was lost. Done for. His.

Threading her fingers through his hair, she met his kiss with an embarrassing amount of pressure and enthusiasm. She also took advantage of his moan to curl her tongue around his and suck. Tart cherries and sweet vanilla overshadowed the taste of apples.

“Oh,” she moaned, her mouth full of Hugh.

Perchance she did like brandy, especially when she licked it from his lips and suckled it from his tongue? What if his entire mouth was delicious?

She gently nibbled on his lower lip.

Oh, yes. She loved the taste of brandy. She wanted to bathe in it. Drown in it…

Drown in Hugh.

His hard length pressed into her hip as he deepened their kiss. Would he think her a strumpet if she brushed her hand over it ? The book had called it a cock. What if she were to cradle his cock ? Would it still be indecent if he remained under a layer of fabric?

Most definitely. But she no longer cared.

Unable to control her desire, she ran her hand over his shoulder, down his arm, to his thigh. His muscle contracted beneath her palm.

What did all that sinewy leg muscle look like, void of fabric? Did he resemble an Adonis in the scandalous book? Shivering, she made the boldest move of her life and pressed her palm against his crotch. Hard as granite. Hopefully, it would not hurt if she grabbed him because her curiosity needed to be sated, so she gently squeezed.

Goodness gracious, he was brick-hard.

“Fuck,” Hugh moaned through their kisses.

His hands became more needy, almost desperate, as he grasped at the back of her dress. He made quick work of her tiny buttons. Her dress slid off her shoulders and tumbled past her waist to pool around her ankles. Moments later, her stays lay atop the frock.

Cool air kissed her skin, and she shivered—but only briefly because Hugh enveloped her in his warmth. He swept an arm under her legs, lifted her off her feet, and cradled her in his arms. Even injured, he was strong. Feeling like a treasured fairy princess, she wrapped her arms around his neck and tangled her tongue with his as he carried her across the room.

He gently lowered her to the bed. She aggressively tugged on him until he lay on top of her. Apparently, she would rather ravage him than protect him.

Wait. That was not true. She would pull herself together and find her father. Just five more seconds of kissing, and then she would leave.

Make that ten more seconds.

To Beelzebub with that. Twenty seconds. She could do it.

And maybe she would have if he had not nuzzled her ear. “You, my Firefly, will be the death of me.”

So be it, because his gravelly voice was her complete undoing.

She writhed and moaned beneath him as he peppered kisses over her shoulder. Every inch of her wanted his attention, in particular her tingling nipples. On page fifteen of the sensual book, there was an illustration of a woman sitting tall, straddling a man as he held a breast in each hand. Surely, one could accomplish the same thing when a woman lay on her back.

She guided his hands to her breasts.

He smiled against her cheek as he kneaded the flesh surrounding her areola.

Fighting to catch her breath, she dug her fingernails into his shoulders.

“Fuck,” he whispered as he traced gentle figure eights around her breasts. “They are so beautiful.”

Please touch my nipples, she silently willed him.

Her mind reader lowered his head and licked first one peak, then the other. Pulling a mouthful of her flesh into his mouth, he suckled. Overtaken by bliss, she clasped the back of his neck and held his head in place. If only she could hold him prisoner and force him to lavish her breasts with affection forever.

Bucking and moaning beneath him, she encouraged him with pleas of “Yes” and “Oh, Hugh.”

While nibbling on a stiff peak, his fingers skimmed up her inner thigh, blazing a trail of scorching heat. She willed him higher. Mind reader that he was, he stroked the length of her sex as her feminine juices dripped onto the sheets. Her mind and body warred. She should stop him, but she was too intoxicated with pleasure to do anything but moan guttural sounds.

A pleasant tickle skittered across her pelvis as he played with her feminine curls. If only he would slide a part of himself inside her. It mattered not what part. She simply needed her empty ache to subside before she withered away to nothingness.

Once again, he knew her desires. His finger gently slid inside her .

She bucked with pleasure.

“Do you like this, Firefly?”

She opened her eyes to peer down at him. He watched her, his eyelids drooping seductively. She might feel intoxicated, but he looked deliciously inebriated.

Her spirited “Yes” did not capture how much she adored his touches.

He licked his index and middle fingers before sliding them inside her. Her walls pulsed, tugging him deeper.

“Yes,” I love it,” she whispered. She dropped her head onto the pillow and soaked up the magical sensation as he traced tiny circles inside her.

“Open,” he demanded.

It took her a moment to realize that he had shifted positions. She peered down to find his shoulders between her thighs.

“Open, Firefly.” He withdrew his fingers from inside her to press gently on her thighs.

Was he truly thinking of doing what she had seen on page one hundred eighteen of The Secret Life of Gentlemen because that position was entirely indecent? There was no way she could do that. Nay. She would not open her thighs.

Hugh studied her with pleading blue eyes. “Do you want me to stop?”

“Yes,” she lied. “Wait. No.” She dropped her thighs open. Although indecent, by God, she wanted it —if, indeed, he planned to place his tongue in her—

His breathy chuckle tickled her mound. He grasped her buttock’s cheeks and squeezed.

She gasped.

He licked the inside of first one thigh, then the other. “Mmm,” he murmured as she whimpered .

After lavishing her slit with long licks, he gently pushed his tongue inside her.

She moaned long and loud. She’d have died from embarrassment over her animalistic reaction, but she was too busy reveling in the bliss.

With his next lick, his nose grazed her clitoris. The puff from his inhale was the most intimate of caresses. Her womanly cavern caged his moans and groans until his pleasure-filled utterances echoed and reverberated off her internal walls.

While the flat of his tongue doled out lazy licks, she threaded her fingers through his hair. Holding his head in place, she undulated. As she ground her core against his face, a whirling sensation pirouetted in her belly.

Each stroke of his tongue brought him closer to her pearl. Taunting and teasing, he finally brushed against her sensitive nub. Crying out in ecstasy, she bowed upward. His licks morphed into suckling, and the vortex building within her swirled faster.

He pulled back.

No. No. No . She tugged at his hair as she opened her eyes and sought his gaze.

His pupils dilated with smoky need, and her desire coated his lips, nose, and chin. Masculine desire incarnate.

“You are beautiful,” he whispered. “And you taste of sweet sin.”

His grin wicked, he parted her wide, exposing her throbbing womanhood to the air. He eased two fingers inside her. In and out, they pumped until her limbs melted into the mattress. Dipping his head, he slid his tongue between his fingers. He gifted her with decadent licks as his fingers curled in a come-hither motion. Working together, his mouth and hand kept tempo with her pulsing cunny.

Her eyes rolled back in her head as the spinning consumed her very being.

All the while, his ministrations matched the pace of her wildly beating heart. Her cyclone of desire grew and grew until it reversed directions, knotting into a tiny, tense ball of exquisite pain.

“Hugh,” she cried out as she exploded into a million shards of color. She floated weightlessly. Then, like a leaf in the wind, she swirled downward until she softly landed in Hugh’s arms.