6. Chapter Six

Chapter six

G oodness gracious, she’d been brazen. Who would have guessed she still had it in her after years of behaving like a milksop? But she could not resist him. This miracle with his mouth pressed to hers was the right man at the perfect moment. So, she shamelessly grasped him, fervently kissed him, and suckled his tongue. Send her to hell. It had to be better than her lonely life at Chesterhill Manor with a cruel stepmother and a distracted father.

She ran her hands up his firm backside, reveling in his strength. Too bad she still wore gloves. And to Beelzebub with his layers of clothing.

“What is your name?” he asked between kisses.

“Charlotte.”

“Charlotte, the flickering firefly, sparkling and lighting up the night. ”

She’d never felt so lovely, especially after being sneered at while being compared to a sausage.

“What is your name?” she asked.

“Hugh.”

“Hugh.” The name suited him. “Would you…?” Her words caught in her throat. What was she to do with her aching breasts and tingling nipples if she couldn’t make this request? “Could you…?” She huffed. So much for being bold.

He caressed her cheek. “What is it, my lovely Charlotte? What do you want?”

“Would you still….? Must we truly find somewhere else to go?” Hopefully, he understood her meaning because she needed him to ease her ache, and she knew of no secluded or private space with the party going on at the main house. Ignoring her burning cheeks, she held his gaze.

His deep chuckle landed in her intimate area, setting it aflame. Good gracious, her entire body was on fire.

“Is this what you want?” Grinning, he cupped her breasts. His touch seared through fabric and stays.

She had simply been hoping for more kisses, but this was nice too.

“They fit in my hands perfectly,” he said.

They were much larger than his hands, but who was she to argue?

Cradling one breast as if it were a precious jewel, he ran a finger over the nipple. Even through fabric, the sensation made her gasp from delight. Dipping into her bodice, he slid beneath her stays and ran his fingertip along her skin. Pleasure shot from her bosom to her intimate area. Her core dampened, and her heart raced.

“Damnation, Firefly. I need to see them. ”

She was not a confident woman. Most of the time, she was downright unsure of everything, with one exception. She knew men liked her bosom. At least she expected as much since they often acted foolishly, swallowing hard and licking their lips as they pretended not to stare at her bountiful de?colletage. She’d never understood the fascination since she looked as though the sheer weight of them might make her topple forward at any moment and slam her head—and her breasts—on the floor. Tonight, she wanted to share them with Hugh, her handsome lover who smelled of ginger, tasted of spicy ale, and kissed like sin.

He cupped them both and then lifted them. They spilled over her bodice, bouncing indecently. The early fall breeze blew across her bare skin, eliciting gooseflesh.

“Fuck.” He whimpered. “I’d sell my soul to make love to them.” His gaze intense, he bent forward. His breath warmed what the air had just chilled. He traced the sensitive curve of her underbust, his tongue following his finger.

Tugging at his hair, she clutched his face to her bosom. Moaning pleas of, “Yes,” she arched into him.

With a wicked grin, he studied her countenance as his thumb and forefinger stroked her nipples. He gently circled his way inward to her areolas.

She hissed at the pleasure of it all.

“Fuck,” he murmured under his breath.

He pulled Charlotte so close that there was no space between their bodies. His lips were again on hers. Since she had no experience to call upon, she answered his probing tongue with the only tool in her arsenal—her newly restored passion. Oh, and the memory of the instructional guide she had recently peeked at.

“Firefly, we should stop before we are caught. ”

She desperately desired his tongue to slide back into her mouth. “Uh, huh.” She tapped his lips with her tongue.

“To the devil,” he mumbled.

He grasped the bottom of her dress and tugged it upward. The cool air tickled her calves, then her knees, and finally her thighs. She melted into him, encouraging him with pleas of, “Hugh. Oh, Hugh.”

“I’ve got you, Firefly.” His touch blazed a path from her calf to her thigh.

Was she about to make love to a stranger in the gardens where anyone might come across them?

But he wasn’t a stranger. This was Hugh, and he thought her beautiful and sparkly. He understood her stepmother was cruel. He knew how to make her body hum with life, and she experienced not an ounce of fear in his presence. Please, please, please let his hand travel higher and brush her aching core.

“Shite.” He pulled away from her so abruptly that she lost her balance and swayed.

It took her a moment to come back to her senses and realize that two shabbily dressed men approached. She quickly arranged her dress, being sure all parts of her were covered.

“’Tis him,” one of the men yelled.

“Hugh Fletcher, we don’t wanna hurt ye,” another said.

“Forgive me, Firefly.” He blew her a kiss and turned his back to her.

Charlotte’s heart crashed. Did he mean to leave her alone with these scalawags?

He’d only made it a few feet when footsteps approached from the opposite side of the path. She squinted and focused. Her stepmother’s men marched toward them, Lord Nash leading the unlikely parade .

“He is a slyboot.” Leon pointed at Hugh.

“Fuck.” Hugh groaned.

Nonplussed, Charlotte blinked. Why were they surrounded by six men who looked as if they might leap upon Hugh at any moment? Lord Nash’s fury was justified, but why were the rest of these men after him?

Fear snaked up her spine. She needed to save Hugh. But how?