Chapter Ten

Later that night

Michael hid a yawn behind his hand as he climbed into his carriage. A desultory rain had taken possession of London, a fitting setting for his mood. He couldn't help but think matters with the damned necklace turned tiara would come to a head soon, and the most important thing was keeping his wife and son safe.

"Home, please," he told his driver then collapsed into the squabbed bench. How had his life suddenly come to this pass with the meeting of one frightened woman, whom he'd subsequently married? Out of a sense of honor and protection, no less? Certainly, desire crackled between them, and he couldn't seem to stop kissing her at every opportunity, but he wasn't searching for another romance.

This can't go any farther.

Closing his eyes, he thought over the events from the past couple of hours where he'd been ensconced with as many members of his club as were there this evening. After giving them a brief commentary of the necklace now that it had been found, he told them of the break-in and murder of Charity's butler. When he asked that a couple of the men keep a monitor on his townhouse front and back around the clock, every man at the meeting had volunteered their time. Never would he cease being grateful to his brothers-in-arms. Once he'd thanked them, he'd left the club for an emergency meeting with his man-of-affairs, for he meant to keep his promise to the Maitland staff.

To say nothing of making certain that his properties as well as his mother and sister were safe in Essex. The only outstanding errand he had was meeting with his solicitor so the man could draw up the paperwork including Charity in his will and ensuring she would have all that he'd promised her.

Blowing out a breath, he rubbed a hand along the side of his face. Everything had landed in a coil, but as of yet, there had been no violence brought against him or his family. With any luck, that would remain the same, but he'd been involved in far too many plots and plans regarding the rogues to think that his current contretemps would prove differently.

First and foremost, he needed to discover who in London wanted the particular piece of jewelry that Charity's father owned, and why. The casual mention of a duke in his letter to her had left a foul taste in his mouth, for he and his fellow club members had seen far too many rotten dukes in the past few years.

Surely it couldn't have been the same one?

The theory needed more thought and a bit of research. Perhaps he would implore the Duke of Strathfield to assist. That man knew the history and connections of nearly every important player within the beau monde as well as having access to people and resources he, Michael, as a lowly viscount, did not.

It was one thing to help his friends out of the mires they'd fallen into. There was excitement there and the fun and camaraderie in chasing down criminals. But it was quite another to have a set of criminals far too close to his family wanting a set of jewels residing beneath his roof. He didn't like it one bit.

God, I can't wait to see for myself that they are safe.

As soon as his carriage halted in front of his home, he didn't pause to put down the steps. In fact, he shoved open the door and vaulted down to the ground. Mumbling his thanks to the driver, he pushed open the wrought iron gate, rushed up the short walkway to the door, and then let himself into the townhouse.

"Brayton!" No sooner had he hollered for his butler than the middle-aged man appeared around the corner and met Michael by the staircase. "Ah, there you are." Seeing him relieved some of the tightening anxiety sitting in his chest. "Where is Lady Winteringham?"

"The last I have been apprised, she took dinner on a tray in her room."

"Ah." He frowned. "Is she still upset from earlier events?" Of course she was. Who wouldn't be? People outside of his club weren't accustomed to being threatened and seeing death all in the same week. Knowing that she suffered from those memories—and would for some time to come—caused his chest to seize with an ache about his heart. It was difficult for him to breathe, but he forced away those feelings, hoped they would stay away for a few moments until he could gain some privacy.

"I should say so, my lord. The maid who brought the tray up to her said she'd been crying. The viscountess declined any sort of assistance or company. Even that of your son."

"Poor Christopher, though he shouldn't be awake at this time anyway."

"He is not." The butler managed a small smile. "Miss Simpkins made certain he kept to the schedule, but he did check on Lady Winteringham before he retired."

"He is a good lad."

"Indeed, my lord."

Michael nodded. "I mean to retire myself. Have a good night."

"Thank you." Then the butler moved off along the corridor, no doubt to do his nightly rounds before turning in for the night.

Michael bounded up the stairs, taking the treads two at a time. Should he go directly to his rooms or visit hers? The choice was taken from him, for on the second-floor landing, anxiety caught up to him. He gripped the banister, gasped for breath, and reminded himself that he was no longer in the military, there wasn't the threat of being shot lurking from around every corner, and that he was safe.

Relatively.

It took several moments of deep breathing and giving himself time to experience the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him before he was once again the master of his body. As always, an episode like that left him exhausted, but at least he hadn't been trapped in a memory or a nightmare. Did that mean he was improving on that front or that the attack wasn't as severe as it could have been?

There were no easy answers.

What he did know beyond everything else was that he'd meant what he'd told his wife earlier. Her problems and concerns were his. Being hunted and attacked by the criminal network wasn't a normal occurrence, and she didn't deserve any of it. Hopefully, Strathfield would find some hidden information for him regarding Charity's father's past customers that might give them all a clue.

Taking one last deep breath, he reached the appropriate floor and then paused in front of Charity's door. If he didn't screw his courage to the sticking place, life wouldn't move forward in any aspect, and after the kisses he'd shared with her, he had to admit to himself there was an attraction between them that went beyond his wish to protect her.

After a forceful knock on the wooden panel, he pressed the brass handle and then pushed open the door. "Charity? Might I come in so we can talk?"

"Yes, of course." She sat propped against a mound of pillows at her back with a dinner tray—half enjoyed—resting on a table nearby. When their gazes met, she offered a smile that was a watery affair. Quickly, she left the bed and met him in the middle of the room. The sight of her bare, pink toes peeking from beneath the hem of her garment had his mind jogging to scandalous things. "Unfortunately, I'm afraid I won't be good company tonight, but I'm glad you've come."

"That is understandable." When his stomach rumbled, he closed her door and threw the lock, for he didn't wish to be disturbed, no matter what occurred between him and his wife. "There is something about witnessing a death that changes one's outlook."

"Yes, this is most certainly true." Those rounded eyes with the fathomless sapphire depths pulled at him until he had no choice except to take one of her hands and bring it to his lips. "The image of Mr. Akers is in my mind each time I close my eyes." Her hand trembled in his as he kissed the back.

"That will pass eventually, but I am sorry all the same." Only then did he realize she was garbed in a lace-edged night dress of such a pale pink color that it was almost white. Even more to the point was the fact the hardened tips of her nipples were visible beneath the fabric. Awareness of her as a woman rushed over his skin and need quickened through his blood. "Did you, ah, witness your father's death?"

"I did not." She shook her head. "I had been out on an errand; thankfully we were in London at the time. However, a constable came to the door after I'd returned home. Papa apparently drowned in the Thames. How he'd managed to fall off the dock there, I still couldn't say. They assured me it was from natural causes, but now, given what we know of the jewelry and how valuable it is, I'm beginning to wonder."

Well, damn. Could this coil have begun six months earlier?

"That certainly sheds new light on the subject. Did they let you view the body before burial?" Not knowing what else to do but wishing to bring her comfort, Michael slipped his arms around her.

"No." She shook her head. Tears welled in her eyes, making them luminous. "The men in charge said he wasn't fit for female eyes. I assumed it had something to do with him being in the water." When she shrugged, the action pulled her nightwear tighter across her bosom. "I asked that he be buried quickly in a quiet cemetery where my grandparents rest."

"I'm sorry. My questioning was insensitive."

"Not at all." Then she burrowed into his embrace, putting her arms about his middle and burying her face in his shoulder. "This is life, but at least I have you. Otherwise, being alone when all of this is happening…" A stifled sob was muffled in his clothing. "If I were home when the break in occurred, it could have been me dead on the landing."

"Hush, now. None of that happened; you are safe." Daring much despite the temptation, he held her close. Oddly enough, he rather enjoyed the closeness of having a woman in his arms, had missed the comfort of that since his wife died.

"Because of you and the sacrifice you made… for me." The shuddering sigh she uttered transferred to him. "I can still scarcely believe it." Her breath warmed his ch in and cheek.

And he was in danger of being lost. "Never a sacrifice, Charity. Never think that." Because he could, and because she was his wife, he fit his lips to hers. Each kiss fed the growing desire inside him and turned his blood to fire until he had no idea what was real and what wasn't any longer.

"Michael, we can't continue to do this without—"

Dear God, he knew , but he couldn't stop himself. As he walked her backward across the floor, he cut off her words with yet another kiss. Once her back connected with the closest wall, he shoved her arms above her head, holding her wrists with one of his hands. Obviously, he'd taken leave of his senses, but he didn't care. In her, there was a calm, a surcease of the horrible anxiety and worry, and he craved more of that. Like a savage, he ravaged her mouth, kissing her over and over. The feel of her soft body layered against his, the heat of her while he chased her tongue, the floral scent of lilacs urged him onward as he cupped the side of her neck with his free hand, drew the pad of his thumb along her jawline in an effort to tilt her head and deepen the embrace.

And it still wasn't enough contact.

Charity sighed in apparent surrender, and when he finally released her wrists, she put her arms about his shoulders, kissed him back, mimicked what he did to her until his blood caught fire and passion burned up every logical thought he'd ever had.

"What are you doing to me?" he whispered against the shell of her ear. It was the same thing he'd asked of her before, only there wasn't an easy answer.

"Perhaps the same thing you are doing to me… or else I'm going slowly insane," she whispered back, and the heat of her words danced along his cheek.

"Life right now is beyond comprehension." And suddenly it didn't matter, for in this moment, he knew exactly what he wanted. "Whatever it is between us, even within the bonds of a marriage of convenience, I haven't the strength to fight it any longer."

Come what may.

She stared at him with questions and longing in those impossibly blue eyes, and she slowly nodded. "I thought I was the only one who felt that way." Then she was in his arms once more, his lips on hers, his hands seemingly everywhere, and he was swept along on the tide of pure feeling.

Needing more contact—the basics of all contact, he gathered handfuls of her skirting, and she offered no protest when he removed her night dress in a twinkling. The act was made more impressive for the simple fact that he didn't cease kissing her through most of it. Passion fairly crackled between them; his wife shoved his jacket from his person with a little cry of frustration. That made him grin, but he couldn't properly gaze upon her nakedness until he was as nude as she. The remainder of his garments fell to the floor, littering the room as Michael slowly moved her toward the four-poster bed.

"This is a horrible idea," he whispered between kissing her. Well aware that his son slept in the room next door, the last thing he wanted was a curious boy at the door after being woken by strange noises.

"At times, my lord, horrible ideas are all we have until we can find something better." When she drew her gaze down the length of his body, he shivered.

Her use of the "my lord" had hot interest shivering through his shaft. "I have no argument with that logic." Quickly, he tugged off his boots, first one and then the other, balancing on a foot as he did so. They dropped with dull thuds to the floor. Seconds later, he shucked off his breeches, and proudly naked and painfully erect before her. "Do you wish to continue?"

"I…" Again, her gaze roved over his body, but this time there was heat in her eyes. "Yes. To put it bluntly, I want you."

"Good." Though his nerves crawled with worry, he helped her onto the bed, and when she lounged backward against the pillows with her legs slightly parted, he nearly shot his wad far too prematurely. "Damn, but you are beautiful." No doubt that skin was silky soft, and the dark pink pebbled tips of her nipples fairly broke him. He joined her on the bed, and when he covered her body with his, she sighed.

"Never in my life did I ever think I'd find myself in bed with a man." Charity slid her hands up his chest, and when her fingers slipped through the hair there, he hissed in response, for her touch was that erotic. "This is like nothing I've ever imagined."

"I'm happy to teach you anything you wish to know." At least that was the truth. This innocent woman he'd wed had the power to see him undone without a word. As long as she continued to look at him with those eyes that showed her every emotion, he would be powerless against her. "Are you certain you feel well enough?" He traced the jagged, scabbed over wound on her ribcage where the ball had skittered over her skin that first day he'd met her.

"Yes. It is healing. All is well."

"Good." With a knee between her legs, he spread open her thighs and then settled in the cradle of her hips.

"Honestly, I want to learn… everything."

Fuck me, I'm surely going to hell for the ruination of her even if she is my wife.

Once more, he claimed her lips, and with each meeting of those two pieces of flesh, the passion between them grew. Perhaps this was merely a search for an outlet from everything that had happened this week, but he didn't care. As his hardened length twitched at her hip and she continued to explore his chest and back with her fingertips, he gave himself over to the moment.

Perhaps if he bedded her, rid that tension from his system, he could tackle her problems with a clear head, and everything could even out between them. Yet even as he entertained that thought, he knew that taking this first step would send him tumbling down that sharp path without anything to break that fall.

I will worry about that later.

Then he concentrated on seducing his wife by dragging his lips down the side of her neck. At her collarbones, he licked the hollow between them, and when she tried to caress him, he tsked his tongue. Catching her wrists in his hands, he once more shoved her arms above her head.

"Let me guide this first coupling, show you how glorious relations between men and women can be," he said in a whisper as he palmed her breasts. Those quivering globes filled his hands and made him want to thank whatever deity was listening for making her so perfect.

At least for him .

"I… Oh…" Charity curled her fingers into the counterpane. "Michael, I…" Her back arched with every pass of his fingers. Each time he rubbed them over her nipples, she shivered. When he took one of those stiff peaks into his mouth, suckled it, worried it with the tip of his tongue, she moaned. "I had no idea. It's… wonderful."

"This is only the beginning." He chuckled into her skin, and yes, it was just as silky as he'd imagined. His own hold on reality was rapidly slipping away the longer he played with her nipples, her perfect, pretty, fantastic nipples—stroking, teasing, sucking, biting.

At her soft cry, he quickly soothed the flesh with his tongue until she moaned and writhed beneath him, asking him to stop but urging him to continue, and he began his torture all over again.

It still wasn't enough.

"Let me touch you," she managed to gasp while resting a hand on his chest. "I need a distraction."

I'll wager you do. "Your touch will only send me over the edge sooner, and I am trying to make this first time memorable for you."

"Have you always been so stubborn?" As she spoke, Charity she curled one hand about his nape, guided him to a nipple while she caressed her free hand up and down his arm.

A moan escaped him. "I don't remember." His attempt at a chuckle fell far short, for it took most of his concentration not to spend. "But I have been around the rogues too long."

"Self-preservation?"

"Perhaps." Michael glided a hand slowly down her body, between her breasts, down her torso, over her abdomen to bury his fingers into her curls. "Tell me how you are feeling."

"Better than before, but also with a sense of anticipation." She sucked in a breath when he eased those digits along flesh slick with arousal. "Why—" A surprised cry was poorly muffled when he uncovered that tiny bud at her center that would hopefully make her world catch fire.

"It's time you learned to fly." Unable to stop, he kissed her lips while he continued to worry that little button with varying degrees of friction.

"You are going to drive me to madness!" Her hips bucked off the bed, which caused his engorged length to pulse with urgency. She dug her fingernails into his shoulder.

"That is the point."

"Aggravating man." A moan escaped her. Charity pulled slightly away, breaking the kiss, but he continued with his torment, for he wanted her to experience everything.

"Fall into that first release for me. "

"But I don't…" Then she gasped and her body went taut.

It was the most glorious sight as she rode out those contractions with her eyelids fluttering and her lips parted in a silent scream. "Ah, Charity, you were made for this, I think." Heat trailed through his body as he settled more comfortably between her legs.

Dear God, the woman was gorgeous! The flush of passion spread over her chest. Her kiss-swollen lips were a dark rosy hue, which her nipples matched. Would that he had another couple of hours to completely explore her form, but it had been so long since he'd bedded anyone. Too much stimulation would cause him to explode prematurely. Yet everywhere he looked, her curves whispered naughty temptations to him. Indeed, she was a painter's dream, and for the moment, she was his.

And this couldn't happen again, for that was not why they'd wed.

"Michael, is something amiss?" The concern in her whisper went straight to his stones.

"No, in fact it is all too right." And therein lay the trouble.

In the dim candlelight, anticipation warred with apprehension in her eyes as she rested her hands on his shoulders. "Finish me. There is still a restlessness inside."

For better or for worse, there was no going back from this. "Wrap your legs around my waist." When she did so, his shaft slid along her velvety folds, and damn if that wasn't the most sensual feeling. The warmth of her, the faint scent of lilacs that clung to her skin, the way her dark waterfall of hair cascaded about her shoulders drove him closer to that edge. He took her lips the same time he guided the head of his member to her opening. Kissing Charity had rapidly become one of his favorite ways to pass the time, and damn if it didn't put him in mind of the last time he'd fallen…

No, damn it! This isn't that. I don't want a romance. I can't accept the grief that goes along with that.

The thought annoyed the hell out of him, so he kissed her with more authority. Slowly, ever so slowly, he penetrated her body but didn't go so far as to claim her. Not yet. This woman had managed to crawl under his skin and infect his blood. Now was not the time to figure out what to do about that, but he would later. Once he rid her from his system. Bedding her now, thoroughly enjoying her body would see to that.

It had to. Anything else was far too concerning.

After wrenching away—it was insane how he could lose himself by kissing her—Michael rested his forehead against hers. "Tell me you want this, Charity. Give me permission. I won't have you claiming I took you without your consent even if we are married." No matter the mutual desire they shared, he was a member of the beau monde, a viscount, and a father. Too much was at stake if she cried foul.

"Marriage is something I didn't consider lightly." Her eyes were limpid with pleasure. "I want to feel you moving inside me." When she grinned, his chest tightened, and his length pulsed. "Even if this is the only time we come together like this, I won't bid you nay. I am yours and you are mine."

Well damn. The innocent words plowed through his chest to slam against the wall around his heart, resulting in cracks. "True," was all he could manage to say in response. In mere seconds he'd be lost. "Hold onto me." He gripped her hips for leverage as he slipped further inside her honeyed heat. "You feel good."

Right.

As if this was always meant to happen.

She wriggled her hips. Warning tingles lanced through his member. "I understand now why this act is something everyone wants."

As he nuzzled the crook of her shoulder, he pulled out, and with a powerful flex of his hips, Michael impaled her, breaking through the slight resistance of her maidenhead, and kept going until he was fully seated in her warmth. His wife's gasp of surprise rasped in his ear. "Dear God." Her sheath was so tight, the sensations so overwhelming that for a few seconds he simply paused to enjoy being one with her.

"Ah!" She dug her fingernails into his shoulders but eased her grip shortly after. "I rather like this." Apparently not one to let him have all the fun, she caught his earlobe between her lips and then lightly bit the flesh. "Oddly, this gives me the most lovely comforting feeling."

Renewed hunger surged through him to culminate in his stones. He withdrew merely for the joy of thrusting back inside. As they both moaned in appreciation, he grinned. By the time he was done, she'd be boneless.

And they would both be ready to concentrate on the tasks ahead.

Then he began to move. As long as he kept urgency at bay and didn't give in to his immediate need to spend, he could prolong the joining. And by God, he wanted to watch her as he did it. Her body was lush and lovely as he stroked into her, teasing them both, ramping the desire, drawing out the pleasure.

Watching the emotions flit over her face was both satisfying and one of the most breathtaking experiences he'd ever been given.

Though his muscles strained, he kept hold of her while giving her time to acclimate. When Charity opened her eyes and found his gaze, she sighed, and in that moment of surrender, he rather adored her. She slid a hand over his shoulder, up the side of his neck, and as she cupped his cheek, she glided the pad of her thumb along his bottom lip, leaned upward and pressed her mouth to his.

"I want more."

Did she mean from the moment or a lifetime? For that matter, what the devil did he want? Since marrying her, his plans had become murky at best.

Michael didn't answer in words. He couldn't. Instead, he shifted his position slightly, and as she tightened her legs around his waist, he dug his fingers into her thigh and hip. Over and over, he thrust into her body, and this time he wasn't gentle. Too much need and pure lust drove him, and the only thing he wanted was to claim her in spectacular fashion.

As if he were a man possessed, he drove into his wife's body. The tactile glide of his shaft through her hot, wet passage coupled with her soft sounds of encouragement and the tiny points of pain from her fingernails pulled him beneath the overwhelming tide. On the heels of another growl, he leaned over her so the friction would rub differently against her button. The adjustment seemed to please her, for her cries rose in volume. Her perfect breasts bounced with his every push and the only thing he could think about was his mouth on those nipples, or how many times he could make her hit release with only his tongue and fingers.

Perhaps a task for a different time.

Heat raced through every nerve ending. Unrelenting need and pressure streaked into his length and stones. He wouldn't last. There was nothing for it but to ride it out.

Deeper and deeper he drove. Charity clung to his shoulders in a bid to be closer to him. Faster and faster his hips worked. She pressed her lips to the side of his neck. Harder and harder his strokes became until the inevitable point of no return had been achieved. In seconds, her body stiffened. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and when he slipped a hand between them to worry her slick, swollen nubbin, she shattered. He took her cries into himself with a hard kiss while the rapid flutter of contractions sucked greedily at his length.

Heat flashed up Michael's spine. He thrust once, twice more before release raced through his body and he hurtled hard over the edge into bliss. Unwilling to part from her so soon, he ground his hips into hers while his member pulsed and jerked. Sweat trickled down his back. For a few seconds, he collapsed into the softness of her body, and as she wrapped her arms about him, he released a shuddering sigh. It had been a long time indeed since he'd felt so welcome .

And safe. That wasn't lost on him.

When she murmured words that made no sense, he rolled to his side, took her with him, and tucked her backside against his front. "Was this all you'd hoped it would be?" Even the whispered inquiry sounded overly loud in the sudden silence.

"I have no words." She laid her hands over his beneath her breasts. "It was…" Her words trailed sleepily off. "…beyond expectations."

"I'm glad." If his grin was a tad more smug than usual, he had good reason. He'd been her first, would always have that honor, and what was more, she was already his, for they were married.

My wife.

Perhaps it hadn't been well done of him to take her this way to provide an outlet to release tension and anxiety for them both, but he wasn't sorry.

Not long afterward, Charity drifted into sleep. With his thoughts in a confusing mire, Michael slipped away and then out of the bed. He tucked her in, kissed her forehead, then quietly retreated to his own suite.

That can't happen again, for I want the distraction.

But damn, that joining was exactly what he'd needed.