Chapter 32

CHAPTER 32

L ost in the warmth of Simon's embrace, Charlotte marveled at the new sensations that had racked her body. Honoria was correct. It was wonderful. A bit unsettling, but wonderful nonetheless.

Simon eased off her, but continued to hold her close, tucking her into his side and stroking her hair. "Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" he asked, his low chuckle teasing her.

She swatted his arm. "You're ridiculous. And don't be so full of yourself. You simply took me by surprise." She buried her face against his chest, hiding her smile.

He chuckled again, the sensual purr rippling across her skin like gentle waves of pure delight. "Then I look forward to surprising you on a daily basis."

Daily? Oh, my! His words thrilled her. Not only that she also anticipated experiencing such pleasure on a daily basis, but that her husband found her desirable enough to pursue her regularly.

Soft chest hair tickled her nose, and the scent of him—sandalwood and shaving soap—mingled with the lemon of her own as if affirming their union .

"So you enjoyed it?" she asked, her fingers playing with the dark hair around his navel.

No chuckle, but a full-throated laugh rumbled through his chest and vibrated against her cheek. "Immensely. And if your fingers continue their teasing, I will want to enjoy it again, but your body needs to recover."

In answer, she yawned. Sleep beckoned her, inviting her with open arms. And for once, she would go willingly. No night terrors would dare disturb her. Not while she felt so safe in Simon's care. Even the distant rumble of thunder, barely audible in the quiet room, had no hold on her that evening.

Not while Simon was with her.

Simon would protect her and soothe her.

"Will you stay with me?" she asked, trying to keep the pleading from her voice.

"Of course." Tipping up her chin with his finger, he placed a soft kiss on her lips, then grinned. "This bed is more comfortable than the one in the other room."

Gah! The cad! She should have known he couldn't be serious. The thought was sobering. Why should she expect anything else from him? Theirs was not a love match like Honoria and Drake, or Nash and Adalyn. And although she admitted her feelings for her husband had changed—softened to affection—at the moment, she was grateful she didn't love him.

To love him when he would never return that love would be unbearable. She'd endured enough rejection to last a lifetime. It was bad enough to think of the other women—Joy and Hester Pace no doubt only two among many unnamed ladies—Simon had lain with.

"How does Honoria stand it?" she whispered.

Simon pulled back, meeting her gaze. "What?"

"Thinking about the other women Drake has been with." It had to be infinitely worse when one loved the other person.

"Honoria doesn't have to worry about that." Muscles in Simon's arm grew taut, and his gentle strokes ceased, belying the casual tone of his voice and leaving the unspoken words like you do dangling between them like a sword of Damocles.

A weed of jealousy sprouted in her chest, thinking about the intimacy of the act, the closeness, the sharing of each other's bodies and that Simon had given himself to other women.

He gave her side a little tug. "Thank goodness you don't love me."

Odd, even though she had said practically the same words to herself moments before, hearing him utter them cut through her.

With a heavy heart, she lifted the armor she'd just discarded and put it back in place. Where it belonged. "Quite. And thank goodness you don't love me. But perhaps we've crossed a bridge and have reached peaceful coexistence."

Something flickered in his eyes, but he cast his gaze away so quickly, she might have imagined it. "A truce," he said. "All weapons to be left outside the bedroom."

"And around the family," she added. In the short time she'd known them, she'd begun to think of Simon's family as her own. Even if she couldn't—wouldn't—love Simon, she would love his parents and sisters, and possibly be loved in return. Warmth spread through her at the thought, and she snuggled closer to Simon.

"Yes." With his unfocused gaze directed at the dark ceiling, he resumed stroking her arm. "Thank you for your kindness to them. To Georgie in particular. It means a lot to me that—if something happens to me—you will look out for them. They couldn't have a fiercer ally."

"And we must work on providing an heir and securing their future." And hers.

His grin returned. "I object to the word work, as it is no hardship at all to make love to my beautiful, wanton wife." To prove his point, he kissed her with such fervor, he made her head spin—almost enough to erase the word love from her mind .

But not quite. Her heart pinged. "You said make love."

He stilled, his eyes flaring slightly. "If I recall, you seem to object to the other words used to describe the act."

Of course he meant nothing by the word. It was only a way to protect her delicate sensibilities. How na?ve of her. "Well, since I'm wanton, you are permitted to use more appropriate words to indicate your true feelings toward"—she waved her hand over their bodies and rumpled bed linens—"what we did. If nothing else, let us promise to be truthful with each other."

Heavy silence stretched between them, ominous and portentous.

What else had he been keeping from her?

The ridiculous grin vanished.

"Charlotte," he said, his tone so serious, so grave , her stomach knotted, and bile rose in her throat.

Light scratching at the door drew her attention away, and she sat upright. "Trifle! Where is she?"

"She raced out when I came in. Stay there. I'll let her in." He bolted from the bed, giving her a full view of his glorious backside and muddling her mind again.

As Simon opened the door, Trifle raced in, her little body shivering.

"Oh, the poor baby," Charlotte said, holding out her hands and motioning Simon to give her the kitten.

"What mischief have you been up to, little miss?" He scooped up the kitten and placed a kiss on its head before settling her in Charlotte's hands. "Although I must catch some fresh fish to reward her for not interrupting us at a crucial moment."

Climbing back into the bed next to her, Simon gave an exaggerated yawn. "Shall we all try to get some sleep?"

Occupied cuddling and calming Trifle, Charlotte gazed over to find Simon lying on his side, facing away from her. "Simon? You were going to say something."

He answered her with a soft snore .

Resigned, Charlotte stretched out next to him, snuggling Trifle between them. "Maybe I don't want to know. But you love me, don't you, Trifle?"

The cat purred and burrowed under her chin.

"Thank you," she whispered in the dark.

Guilt soured Simon's stomach as he squeezed his eyes shut and feigned sleep. Charlotte's exhortation to promise to be truthful with each other ate away at him. Of course, he wouldn't lie to her. But was it dishonest to withhold information as well?

What purpose would it serve to tell Charlotte he loved her? Would it make her uncomfortable because she didn't return his love? Would she say the words back and not mean them? And which would hurt more? Questions banged around in his skull.

No. Trifle had saved him from an egregious misstep, giving him time to remember Charlotte's earlier declaration: And thank goodness you don't love me.

Damn her to use my words back at me!

Charlotte didn't want his love. And what was love if not striving to make the other person happy? Hell if he knew.

Damn! Damn! Damn!

No wonder he avoided the cursed emotion for so long. The bloody thing was damn messy.

Resolved to prove his love by keeping his feelings to himself, he tried to sleep. Perhaps all would be clear in the morning.

A new day, a new start, a new adventure.

Trifle's soft fur brushed his back, the kitten purring contentedly between him and his wife.

Would there always be something between them, keeping them from a true marriage?

He pushed the painful thought from his mind, seeking and gradually finding the bliss of sleep .

Lost in pleasant dreams, Simon startled awake when something smacked him in the head. "Ooof!"

Meow . Perched on his head, Trifle's little face looked down at him. Her tiny paw—claws extended—stretched out for his cheek.

"Oh, no, you don't," he whispered, snatching the kitten up and away from his face.

The delicious warmth pressed against him moaned.

Fully alert, he gazed down at the arm wrapped around his waist. Charlotte's hand draped low across him, skimming his morning erection as she snuggled closer.

Even in her sleep, she was wanton. Would she be recovered enough for a repeat performance of the previous night's activities? Before he could ponder it further, Trifle meowed again.

"We both need the necessary, eh, girl?"

Charlotte stirred again at his whispered question, and Simon put his finger to his lips as if Trifle would understand the gesture. Gently—and reluctantly—lifting Charlotte's hand from his body, he carefully scooted off the bed, kitten tucked securely in his arms.

After cracking the door to allow Trifle out, Simon strode to the water closet and relieved himself. As he pulled on his trousers, Charlotte stirred again, her arm reaching out as if searching for him.

When his stomach growled, he padded to the window and tugged back the curtain enough to peek out.

Low on the horizon, the sun poked up its bright head. The storm had cleared completely. Puddles on the wet ground bore witness to the torrent that had tormented Charlotte the night before.

Simon turned back, gazing at his sleeping wife. The bed linens had slipped down seductively, exposing her bare back yet covering her gorgeous derrière. Dark hair fanned out on the pillow and flowed down her back unfettered. Sprawled out before him like a feast, his wanton goddess made his mouth water .

How different she looked from the woman he'd first met. Prim and proper in every appearance and every action, Lady Charlotte Talbot never had a hair out of place or bow untied. She wore her icy demeanor like armor, deterring anyone from coming too close and seeing the real Charlotte and shielding her from harm.

Unbidden, his hand lifted to his chest, rubbing at the strange ache beneath, privileged to have been giving a peek at the vulnerable woman she hid so well. I love you . He mouthed the words silently, hoping it fulfilled his promise to be truthful.

His stomach growled again, and enjoying one lingering look at his wanton goddess, he strode from the room to seek out breakfast.

After confirming Trifle had been let outside to do her business, he satisfied his enormous appetite. Finished, he prepared a tray for Charlotte and returned to their bedchamber.

He smiled. Our bedchamber.

Would she be recovered enough for another session of lovemaking? After she had eaten, of course. Simon wasn't that selfish. Besides, she would need her strength. He chuckled to himself as he slipped back in the room.

"Charlotte," he whispered, placing the tray on a bedside table. He pressed a kiss between her shoulder blades. "Wake up, slugabed. I have breakfast for you."

"Ugh. Go away." She lifted an arm and waved it at him, then it fell bonelessly onto the mattress.

He kissed her again. Inch by glorious inch, his lips traversed down her back until he reached the bed linens. "These are in my way," he said, tugging them down. As he placed a kiss on each side of her dimpled bottom, she rolled over, giving him a full view of her voluptuous breasts and thatch of maidenhair.

"Even better," he murmured against her navel before climbing on the bed and moving southward, completely forgetting his promise to allow her to eat breakfast .

Eyes wide, she looked up. "What are you—oh!" Her head fell back against the pillow as his mouth found the sensitive area between her legs.

Although he'd satisfied his stomach, it would seem his heart would never have his fill of her.

Sweet, the taste of her like honey. How could he have ever thought her a harpy or an ice queen? His goddess was fire, a hellcat, as she grabbed tufts of his hair and held him to her, finally shuddering with her release.

"Good morning." From between her legs, he gazed up at her, thoroughly enjoying the view.

"Am I to be awoken like this every morning?" she asked, her eyes hazy but not from sleep.

He wiped his mouth on the rumpled sheets. "If you wish. Or"—he grinned—"you could wake me in a similar fashion should you wake first."

Pink colored her cheeks. "Then I shall be sure to sleep later than you."

The minx. "No doubt, as I'm an early riser." He crawled to the other side of the bed and stretched out beside her. "So you enjoyed that, did you? And if you expected to disappoint me with that vow, rest assured, I enjoy doing it as much as you enjoy receiving."

The blush deepened. "I doubt that."

He laughed. "Fair point. Although I do hope someday you may find yourself willing to reciprocate. Remember"—he winked—"you would be in complete control."

"You are in?—"

"Corrigible?"

"I was going to say insatiable."

"Ah." He nodded. "That, too." Hovering above her, he placed a hand against her cheek and gazed into those dark eyes. Lord, he could fall into them if he let himself.

"How do you do that? "

"What?" He grinned—not his usual devil-may-care grin he adorned when flirting, but his I'm-so-damned-happy grin.

"Make a woman feel like she's the only one in the world?"

Ah, that was easy. "Because, for me, you are." He kissed her lips. "Now, have some breakfast before you tempt me further. You're likely too tender for anything else. I'll call Rose and have water heated for your bath."

With difficulty, he forced himself to rise from the bed and his beautiful wife. He placed the tray before her. "Now eat before the drinking chocolate grows cold. I know you like it."

When her mouth opened to a surprised little O , he knew he'd pleased her.

"After I wash and dress, I'm going fishing. I promised Trifle some fresh fish for being so considerate last evening."

"Considerate!? She was shut out."

"Apologize then?"

Occupied with her breakfast, Charlotte didn't answer.

Simon cast her one more glance before slipping out the door, marveling at how his luck had changed.

He whistled softly as he entered his room and tugged the bell pull for Brown. Perhaps he'd even catch Gus.