Chapter 23

CHAPTER 23

C harlotte fought to pull air into her lungs.

Simon stared up at her, his blue eyes sincere. Dark stubble of his evening whiskers peppered his cheeks and jaw. She hated how quickly the word attractive popped into her mind. Would his beard scratch her skin if she allowed him to kiss her cheek?

How could she be so angry with him and at the same time want to run her fingers through his dark hair, pulling his lips closer for a kiss?

"Sir?" John, the footman, stood at attention in the open doorway. The man's gaze darted away, focusing instead on the ceiling.

"Should I send him away?" Lowered to a whisper, the plea in Simon's voice matched the entreaty in his eyes.

Yes . The word clung to the tip of her tongue. Years of self-preservation, the armor fastened tightly, kept it in place. "Y—y—you should go. I want my bath."

Simon gave a curt nod, then rose, his mouth tightening in a thin, straight line. When he reached the door, he didn't turn back, instead calling over his shoulder. "I'll return to say goodnight. John, bring some water to the guest room when you have a chance. I think I'll have a bath as well."

"The guest room, sir?" John's gaze flitted between her and Simon.

An aching emptiness assaulted her stomach. Call him back . Tell him to stay .

But when Simon turned, painful sadness replaced the typical playful mischief on his face. "Yes. Have my belongings moved there after Lady Charlotte has finished her bath."

The words froze on her tongue, then he was gone.

Once the tub was filled and Rose had helped her undress, Charlotte lowered herself into the water. Warmth eased her muscles, stiff from sitting in the coach for days. Rose had scooped up some of the flower petals strewn on the bed and placed them in the water.

As she washed Charlotte's hair, she chattered away. "I didn't expect such a fine house and grounds, did you, my lady? Everyone is so pleasant, and they all seem happy to be of service to Mr. and Mrs. Beckham."

Charlotte barely restrained the snort. "Unlike my brother, you mean."

"Oh. Please, my lady, I didn't mean any disrespect. The marquess has high standards, is all."

"Hmm." Charlotte closed her eyes, drifting into a sated sense of peace as Rose massaged her scalp. And yet, the house and grounds were as impeccably maintained as her brother's—without the iron-fisted rule and acid-laced orders. Mr. Beckham governed with kindness.

The tiny voice that had kept her safe for years whispered in her ear. Appearances can deceive . Remain on guard.

Wanting to trust Simon, she'd almost forgotten the sage advice of her inner protector. And still . . . another voice, so quiet she could barely hear it, whispered back. Let him in. Coupled with Honoria's request, the opposing voice grew stronger.

As the water splashed over her, Charlotte couldn't help but imagine Simon's fingers brushing against the sensitive areas of her body. He accused her of being attracted to him, and although she was loath to admit it, truth rang in his words.

She hated the way her stomach flipped when he'd kissed the inside of her wrist. How her fingers itched to test the silkiness of his hair. Hated how she wanted to see if she could make him moan when he kissed her. How that silly grin of his could turn her mind to mush.

Even more, she hated how his family adored him. Teased him. Accepted him for who he was. Hated the love he shared with his family—not because of what he had, but because it shone a bright light on what she lacked. Hated it because of the envy that grew like a weed in her heart.

Like a dark void, she felt the lack of such love so greatly, tears welled in her eyes. What would it have been like to be a cherished daughter instead of a millstone around her father's and brother's necks? To be protected by someone other than herself?

"Did I splash water in your eyes, my lady?" Rose's voice startled Charlotte from her self-pity.

She brushed the tears away. "It's fine, Rose."

And Charlotte knew it was a lie.

Simon dried himself with a soft towel and handed it to Brown.

"I've laid out your banyan should you venture to the next room. Will there be anything else?"

Simon chuckled at his valet's veiled suggestion that he take the bull by the horns, so to speak, and enter Charlotte's room. "No. Thank you, Brown." Charlotte was right about one thing; a bath had helped ease his tense muscles and calm his racing mind. However, it didn't help his growing desire for Charlotte.

Damnation!

Alone, he might need to take care of himself.

Brown exited, closing the door with a soft click.

Simon sighed and glanced toward the bed.

Knock, knock.

His head jerked toward the door. If Brown had forgotten anything so soon, he would have knocked once and then reentered. After snatching the dressing gown from the bed, he slipped it on. Not bothering to tie it, he held it together with one hand, then pulled the door open with the other.

Charlotte stood before him, looking fresh and pink from her bath. Her dark, thick locks flowed over her shoulders, unbraided and free. Luminous in the golden lamplight coming from his room, her deep brown eyes met his, vulnerability in their depths.

Mmm. So lovely.

"Did you need something?" he asked, immediately kicking himself for the idiotic question. Why else would she come to his room? Why hadn't he thought of something charming to lure her into his bed?

The softness he'd seen in her vanished, replaced with her usual iron resolve.

Maybe he'd imagined it.

"I've given what you said some thought."

Or maybe she was trying to hide it? Holding the door open wider, he motioned her inside.

As she stepped past him, the scent of lemon flooded his senses.

Clean and fresh, it made his mouth water with the urge to taste her. "You've changed your fragrance again. It used to be lilac, then vanilla."

Startled, she pivoted toward him. "You noticed my change in fragrance? "

"I notice a lot of things. Like how the lace on your dressing gown skims your collarbone, drawing my eyes to the soft dent in your throat." He lifted his gaze from said indentation to her face. "Which I want to kiss almost as much as that dimple."

She huffed. "I was hoping you would be serious for once."

"There is nothing I'm more serious about than kissing." Cautiously, he took a step forward, his gaze locked with hers. Pride expanded his ribcage when her lips parted. He schooled his features into his most serious expression. "But forgive me for interrupting. Please have a seat and tell me your thoughts."

This time, he waited until she had seated herself in the room's single chair, then he sat on the bed. The dressing gown gaped, and her eyes flicked down to his exposed chest. "Forgive me. I've just finished bathing as well and thought you had settled in for the night." He tugged the garment closer and tied it.

Ramrod straight, she sat on the chair as if it were a torture device. Although the epitome of control, her hands twisted in her lap. Was she nervous? "I do see some validity in your words."

"Any in particular?"

"That there might be some slight attraction between us."

He felt the twitch of his lips.

Which apparently her keen perception had caught, for she rushed to clarify. "More so on your part, of course." She waved a dismissive hand. "But it would be unfair if I didn't admit the obvious."

"Which is?" It was like pulling teeth. Not that he'd know. Thank goodness, he still had all of his own.

"That you are, by most women's estimations, handsome. So there is a sort of animal appeal."

Oh, he shouldn't bait her. Not with her inching toward the inevitable. However, he simply couldn't resist. "So, I appeal to your baser instincts, eh? Might I hope this means you are becoming amenable to consummating our marriage?" He patted the mattress beside him to emphasize his point .

Infinitesimal at most, the flicker of her eyes toward the bed spoke volumes. "I am considering it. You did mention you wished to have a son to inherit, and consummation is the task to accomplish that goal."

"Task? You make it sound like a chore, sterile and something to endure rather than enjoy."

She gave one of those snorts he found adorable. "Men find it enjoyable."

"For someone without experience in the matter, you seem to have some rather strong opinions on the subject. Wouldn't you rather make your pronouncement based on facts?"

She arched a dark brown at him. "How do you propose I do that?"

"Why don't we start slowly? Experiment a little with what you will enjoy. For example, let's return to the topic we started with—kissing."

Again, only a fraction, and if he'd not been paying attention, he would have missed it, but her shoulders relaxed. Lucky for him, he was a very observant man.

She gave a curt nod. "Very well."

Instinct told him the whole endeavor—good Lord, now even he was thinking of it as a duty—would progress better if she maintained control.

"Would you like to come sit by me here, or would you prefer to stand?"

She barely hesitated. "Stand."

He rose first, and in long easy strides so as not to appear too eager—although in truth he was—he stood before her, holding out his hand. "Allow me to help you up."

"Kissing only. You promise?"

"Promise. On my honor."

She slipped her hand into his, the electric charge of contact sparking through his veins. Her lips parted slightly as her gaze darted to his .

"That's called attraction, Charlotte. Do you find it pleasant?"

"I find it disconcerting."

He laughed. "I'll accept that. For now. But first, I want to kiss that dimple. Smile for me and remind me exactly where it is. Think of the look on your brother's face when I cast up my accounts all over him."

Her dark eyes sparkling with mischief, Charlotte graced him with a glorious smile.

Ah, there's that dimple.

Charlotte fought a laugh at Simon's absurd suggestion. However, the expression on Roland's face had been the one bright spot in the day which had tied her to the man in front of her for life.

And now Simon was her husband—wanting husbandly things.

What was she doing? Still, she promised herself she would try. And he promised he wouldn't force her.

Simon's blue eyes grew dusky and hooded as he lowered his head. The kiss against her cheek was soft . . . and nice. The skin on her arms pebbled, and feathery wings battered her stomach. Nothing like the sloppy kiss Felix had forced on her less than a month ago.

Too soon for her liking, he pulled back. "Well? Did you enjoy that? Because I certainly did." He definitely looked like the cat that got into the cream.

"It was not—unpleasant."

He laughed. The buffoon saw right through her. Perhaps he wasn't such a fool after all. "Then might I interest you in another? That hollow in your throat has my name on it."

Unbidden, her hand flew to the soft indentation, already anticipating the press of his lips against her skin .

"Yes. That one." Grasping her hand, he moved it out of his way before lowering his head.

As he pressed his lips against her throat, his fingers traced a featherlight touch over the side of her neck.

Sparks ignited under the skin. "Oh," she moaned, her head lolling back and eyes shuttering in sheer pleasure.

He chuckled, the gravelly sound vibrating against the sensitive area, shooting more sparks across her shoulders and chest, and settling low in her belly.

Damn the man. His boasts about his prowess were not exaggerations.

He lingered as if he had nothing better to do, finally ending with a quick flick of his tongue. "You, Wife, are delicious."

The absurdity of his comment was lost on her muddled brain. Truly, the man had turned it to mush. All she could think about was she wanted him to kiss her lips.

She turned her face up to his, her mouth puckered in what she presumed was the correct arrangement to express her desire.

"More?" The arrogant, self-assured tone of his voice indicated he already knew her answer.

Unwilling or unable—she wasn't certain—to answer him with words, she nodded. A curt down and up motion was all she could manage.

The ridiculous grin broke widely across his face, the rake! "Very well. Hmm, where should I kiss now?" He made a great show of stepping back, his gaze raking her from foot to head.

Tired of waiting, she pulled him toward her, grabbing a fistful of his dark hair, and lowered his mouth to hers.

Strong arms banded her around the waist, tugging her close to his body. Heat from his bare chest peeking through his gaping banyan seared through her nightrail.

She was ablaze. Tempestuous sensations bombarded her. The scent of masculine sandalwood mixed with something uniquely him. The sweet taste of chocolate as he dipped his tongue tentatively between her lips. Silky soft strands of dark hair beneath her fingers. His evening whiskers did indeed scratch, but in the most enjoyable way, causing a tightening in her breasts. Moans of pleasure—from him, from her? Both of them?

She cracked open one eye. The abandon sketching Simon's face surely matched her own. Peering down, she marveled at the wisps of hair covering the expanse of his bare chest. When she slid her other hand up to test the texture, the muscle in his pectoral twitched under her fingers, and power surged through her.

At the juncture of his shoulder and neck, a ropy sinew tightened, and he pulled his mouth from hers. "Careful, Charlotte. If it's only kissing you want, you're treading into dangerous waters."

Somewhere in the recesses of her jumbled mind, she wondered if she cared or if she'd just as soon drown in the waters of desire.