Chapter Fifteen

May 22, 1818

As evenings went, this one was quite cozy with the steady drum of rain against the windows. Charity had been ensconced in a comfortable leather chair in the library. Michael was currently finishing a meeting with his man-of-affairs but had promised to join her later.

After the events that had occurred two nights ago, he'd been extremely attentive to her, and she didn't mind, for his company was pleasant and he was her husband.

Christopher had taken dinner with them but had been tucked into his own bed for the past few hours. According to reports from Miss Simpkins, who was barely civil to her, the boy had been unusually tired the past couple of days following the thwarted kidnapping attempt. Which wasn't that unbelievable, for Charity had also suffered from fatigue as well as bumps and bruises that still hurt as they healed.

But what her mind kept coming back to, and what prevented her from fully concentrating on the book in her lap was the fact that two nights prior, she'd spent lovely hours with Michael in her bed after the break in where he'd put her through her paces, had thoroughly explored every centimeter of her body with his lips, tongue, and teeth before claiming her with such gentle coupling that she'd been brought to tears afterward. Truly, that time with him had been amazing. Their marriage of convenience was becoming everything but that, yet it wasn't as terrifying as she had once thought.

The man she'd married was determined to deny her nothing, yet there was still the matter of the necklace hanging between them. She'd repaid his kindness by bringing danger to his door, and that wasn't well done.

With a sigh, she drained the champagne in her glass. It was her third of the evening, and since she wasn't accustomed to such luxury, her head was a bit fuzzy, and she was prone to giggling at inappropriate times.

"What is so funny?" her husband asked as he came into the room in the state of dishabille she adored the most—breeches, boots, lawn shirt rolled up to his elbows, and that cheeky grin that launched a veritable army of butterflies in her belly. "I would enjoy a good laugh."

"Laughter is better than fretting, isn't it?" She pointed to her empty champagne flute. "I've indulged a bit too much, I think." To that effect, warmth infused her cheeks and chest. "Are you here to keep me company?"

"I am." When he closed the door, the soft snick of the lock seemed to echo in the space. "I thought we might talk or dance or do a bit of both."

"I would enjoy either." With a faint smile, she followed his movements with her eyes as he crossed the room to a sideboard where he poured a measure of brandy into a cut crystal glass. "Will we waltz again? It was such a lovely way to pass the time in Hyde Park the other day."

"We could." As he approached the chair where she was curled up, he grinned. "Or dance a reel, anything you want." Then he perched on the armrest of her chair and offered her the glass. "Would you like to taste brandy?"

Charity wrinkled her nose. "My father let me taste it a few years ago. From what I remember, it was bitter and burned by throat."

"Indeed." He nodded. "It is an acquired taste. However, I have been feeling on edge since the intruder, and I thought perhaps you might be as well."

"How can I not?" The only time the fear ebbed was when she found herself in his company. Taking the glass from him, she raised it to her lips then took a sip of the amber liquid. As expected, the taste was vile, and it still burned her throat as she swallowed. With watering eyes, she gave it back. "Brandy is not my liquor of choice."

Michael's chuckle tickled through her chest. He took a healthy drink and then sighed. "I can ring for more champagne if you'd rather."

"I probably shouldn't since we both need to stay focused." Yet the longer he sat so near, the more drunk she became on his presence. "You smell so good; I adore that cologne." To the point that she'd sneaked one of his handkerchiefs to sniff when she needed comforting. As she stared upward into his face, she smiled, and her head felt all too muzzy. "It should be a crime for a man to look so handsome, but I'll tell you a secret."

"Oh?" His expression reflected amusement.

"I have always thought men with red hair the most attractive of all."

"Is that right?"

"Yes." She nodded and found the whole conversation funny but didn't know why. "Especially you. There is a bit of a wave to your hair, which means you can't tame it into any style with pomade. Nasty stuff anyway." When she laid a hand on his thigh, his muscles went taut beneath her fingertips. "And your hair is so soft. I adore how it feels at your nape, or that sprinkling of curls on your chest." She liked him rather more than was good for her. Did that make her silly or pathetic ?

After downing the remainder of his drink, the viscount set the glass on a small, round table near the chair where a stack of books rested. "Why, Lady Winteringham, are you flirting with me?" His eyes darkened and a hint of wicked promise twinkled in those depths that were more green than brown now.

What a silly man. "What if I am?"

"Hmm, a mystery." He slipped off the armrest then offered her a hand. "Where do you want this night to end?"

The moment she put her hand in his, he tugged her into a standing position and straight into his arms. Charity smiled, wobbled slightly as the book she'd been reading tumbled to the floor, unheeded. "Surprise me." She stared up at him with her focus on his mouth. "Two nights ago, we came together in a surprising way, and quite frankly, I don't think our marriage is one of convenience any longer."

"Is that such a bad thing?" He cupped her cheek, ran the pad of his thumb along her bottom lip.

A tremble of need twisted down her spine. "Not to me. We do have a bit in common." Feeling slightly wild and without inhibition, she twined her hands about his shoulders. "I can't explain how I feel with you, but it's as if I've known you forever, and…"

"Yes?" His lips were mere centimeters from hers, brushing them with every word.

"There isn't anything I wouldn't do for my new family. I lost my first through circumstances beyond my control—did I tell you that the intruder hinted to the fact his organization killed my father?" She giggled, for her head felt quite funny. "But I'll be damned if I lose my second family the same way."

"What?" Surprise sprang into his eyes. "Your father's death wasn't an accident?"

"Apparently not, but then, I think I knew that deep down." Tears welled, and she blinked them back. "We can talk about that later." Drawing a hand down his chest, she tugged at his shirt tails. "I am hovering on the edge of fear, Michael. Every time I wake, I almost jump at shadows. Something is coming, like a thief in the night, and the outcome of that terrifies me."

"Just as you will protect us, I will do the same for you. That hasn't changed." He touched his lips to hers in a flirtatious kiss but kept eye contact. "We will find these people and bring them to justice. I promise, then we will go on a wedding trip, perhaps talk about moving our union into a new stage?" He swept her into an embrace and held her close. "You must trust me."

"I do, I have since the first." With a sigh, Charity gave herself over to the strength of his arms around her and the soothing timbre of his voice .

"Perhaps we should indulge in dancing. It is a wonderful conduit into other, more pleasurable endeavors." Without another word, he took one of her hands and moved them both into the proper position for a waltz. "Ready?"

Her head felt a tiny bit fizzy, like champagne bubbles. "We're going to—"

"Yes. We are." He grinned, and the butterflies in her belly began a ballet as he set them into motion. "One should always make time for dancing, especially when one's wife is so damned appealing." His whispered words resonated in her chest and sent tremors down her spine.

Despite her worries, Charity relaxed. She matched him step for step; it was easier this time than it had been in the park. His hummed notes infiltrated her brain and eased the fears. The bubbling sensations in her head matched the tingles that being in his arms made her feel. Her hand, held securely in his, felt right, as did the brush of her thighs against his as they whisked around the furniture. Light flickered from the few candles lit around the room, lending the location a mysterious, romantic air, especially with the steady beat of the rain. When he tugged her closer, she glanced up and met his gaze. Those green-brown depths twinkled and the curve of his grin promised wicked, wicked things.

"I know that look." When she attempted to pull away, he tightened his grip. Awareness shivered over her skin.

"Then you should also know what might happen next." Again, he guided them around a grouping of furniture. "Do you take issue with that?"

"Of course not." She slid her hand from his chest up to his nape. Tiny fires erupted in her blood. When she'd said he was attractive with that red hair, she hadn't lied. "Should we go upstairs to my room?"

"Ah, I had something different in mind."

Her breath caught. "What?"

"I don't want you to think I'm without imagination."

"Oh?" Gooseflesh popped on her arms. This was the man she was falling slowly in love with, the man she'd married who'd vowed to protect her, and being with him left her in awe .

"Yes." He gave them another turn and then abruptly halted. Her skirts swirled around their legs. To her surprise, he walked her backward until her body connected with a bookshelf near a wooden ladder used to access upper shelves. When she tried to reply, he uttered a half-chuckle half-growl, lowered his head, then claimed her lips in such a searing kiss that her whole being throbbed with need. Over and over again he drank from her, fenced with her tongue, claimed her mouth and left no doubt as to his intent while he plucked the pins from her hair, buried his fingers in the strands to cup her head.

"Oh!" When he allowed her a moment to catch her breath, she sagged into him, staying upright by gripping his shoulders. "I have no argument."

His eyes glittered in the dim illumination as he trapped her between the shelf and the hard wall of his body. "I truly believe that you and I met for a reason."

"I never want you to feel obligated or worse, resentful because you married me when you could have had a better match." Unable to think of more words, Charity returned his kisses with abandon, but worry crept in and stole the joy of being in her husband's arms.

"You have my promise that I will never think that." When he put a finger beneath her chin and raised her head so their gazes met, there was nothing except honesty in his eyes. "The truth is we are wed; it doesn't matter why, and for the time being, I am enjoying walking the path to wherever we are headed."

Relief swept through her. She clung to him. "Truly?"

"I have never lied to you, and don't intend to start now." With a grin that creased the delicate skin at the corners of his eyes, he teased her lips with a series of quick, nibbling kisses.

Charity whimpered from the romance of the conversation and his embrace, so she lifted onto her tiptoes and claimed his lips in a proper kiss she hoped conveyed all that she felt but didn't have the courage to say aloud. It took little effort to tease his mouth open, even less to find his tongue with hers.

"Dear God, you are quite the vixen tonight." He tugged at the lace-edged bodice of her periwinkle blue gown, grunting when her breasts popped free of the fabric.

"How can you think that when I'm naught but the most boring of women?" When he took one of her tightened nipples into the warm cavern of his mouth, she gasped, for the sensations that tumbled wildly through her insides were always unexpected.

"You need to change your thinking on how you view yourself." With a laugh, the viscount switched attention to her other nipple, and as she cried out and arched her back to give him greater access, he captured her lips.

The more he took from her, drank from her, made love to her mouth, the more the frenzied heat of passion coiled and built within her. How am I to survive this again? Every time they came together, the feelings were more intense. She wound one hand around his nape while she slid the other between them to manipulate the buttons of his frontfalls. If he was consumed with her, she was even more so with him. There was something both comforting and thrilling about enjoying intercourse with one's husband.

Regardless if there had been no words of love exchanged between them.

"I want you." Why wouldn't those stubborn buttons come undone? The effort of manipulating them was beyond her fuzzy brain.

"Never say this will defeat you, Lady Winteringham." Her husband drew up handfuls of her skirting and bunched the fabric at her waist. Then he encouraged one of her legs upon his hip and she curled it around him, drawing him even closer.

"Don't be silly." With a sound of frustration, she finally yanked open the flap of his breeches while his exploring fingers sent prickles of awareness over her skin. His hot, hardened shaft sprang into her hand and she sighed. "Magnificent." And she hadn't yet had her fill of him.

"Too much more adoration and I shall walk around with a big head."

"I think this is quite big enough," she said with a giggle, for she felt far too floaty just now. Merely thinking about his member moving within her body left her shivery with anticipation.

"My dear viscountess, I do believe you are slightly inebriated." But he grinned and batted away her hand only to delve his fingers between her thighs. Easily, he strummed his fingertips over her swollen nubbin.

"Mmm." Shivers played her spine as tremors throbbed through her core. "As much as I adore your teasing and mastery of foreplay, tonight I merely want to feel you inside me." There was no shame in the admission, was there?

He didn't answer with words. Instead, he fit the tip of his engorged length to her opening and then caught her hands in one of his and pressed them to the books above her head. With his gaze holding hers, he thrust into her and didn't stop until he was fully seated. "Fuck me, I enjoy this moment way too much."

"As do I." Last time they were carnal, he'd brought her to release with his mouth before they came together in a traditional manner, and though she would have liked a repeat performance of that, Charity didn't care, for he filled her so well. A gasp escaped as her body adjusted around his shaft. Already, curling need in her lower belly was in danger of breaking and he'd barely penetrated her. "Michael…" She attempted to tug her hands from his, but he held tighter, holding them more firmly to the books. There was something wickedly delicious knowing she couldn't use her fingers to help the act along. "Michael, please, make me fly." Her appeal rasped loud in the silence of the library .

"Isn't a whispered plead how we landed in this marriage to begin with?" But he began moving in and out of her passage, anchoring her more securely with his free hand clutching her thigh. Slowly at first, and then after a groan, he increased his pace. Over and over, he speared into her body, stretched her with such delicious intention that she could barely keep standing. The scrape of the coarse hair around his stones against her nubbin provided additional friction and stimulation, and soon she squirmed with need.

"I will always remember that day; I was so frightened and then so grateful." She canted her hips as best she could to meet his thrusts that grew more forceful as each second passed. Her breath became little pants, and with every stroke, her back knocked against the bookshelf. "I couldn't believe you'd seen through my disguise." There was nothing to do but give herself up to his expert care.

Michael grunted. "How could I not? It was obvious, even to a nodcock, you were not a boy." He played her body with all the skill of a master, evoked responses from her she didn't know she was capable of achieving, and yet everything they did together felt as familiar as if they'd been together for a decade. "Damn, I'm coming already."

"Hurry." If he didn't, she would dissolve into a heated puddle of need.

Faster. Harder. Deeper. Over and over, the viscount drove into her, until she was sobbing with the desire to fly. Books tumbled down around them: Charlemagne, Keats, Shakespeare, Byron, Dante. To say nothing of more somber works regarding the history of the Church of England or works of Aristotle in Latin.

"Michael!" The bands stacking low in her belly and core shattered. Feeling as if her whole body was nothing but bubbles, Charity sucked in a breath, and when she would have cried out as her form fractured, he claimed her mouth in a frantic kiss, taking the sound into himself. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed into her as her inner muscles contracted around his length. It took less and less time with each new joining to tumble into that incandescent void.

The heat of him pressed against her drove her to the edge of madness. He clenched his fingers around her wrists, dug them into her thigh, while he pumped twice more and then fell into his own release. "Ah, Charity, what the devil are you doing to me?" His shaft twitched and he ground his hips against hers. Another quick round of tingling bliss zipped along her limbs.

She would go boneless soon, for he was all too potent, and somehow like this, they just… fit, worked like puzzle pieces. The coupling had been so intense, tears sprang to her eyes then le aked onto her cheeks as she floated on the remnants of that release. To her, he was more than just a rescuer, a hero, he had become her rock, her anchor in a constantly shifting world. "So good," she whispered and didn't know if she referred to the act or to him.

"Bloody hell, woman, you wear me out." With a weak chuckle, he wrapped his arms around her, his cheek fitted to hers, his ragged breathing echoing in her ear as he held her.

The rapid beat of her heart slowly subsided and she lowered her leg. His now-flaccid length slipped out of her and still he held her. Which was fine with her, for her bones had the strength of cooked porridge. "I rather enjoy a coupling that happens in a library. There is something clever about it." Charity looped her arms about his shoulders. She lightly nipped the side of his neck. "Cheeky even."

"Books and bed sport. What more could anyone want?" His tired laughter blended with hers. When he pulled slightly away, his dark eyes twinkled in the candlelight as he looked at her. "Perhaps we should get a dog."

A giggle escaped. "Perhaps. Christopher would certainly like that." She smiled. Truly, he was the balm for her soul, but she still felt uneasy.

"You are stewing again." Michael cupped her face and then pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Please don't worry about the mess we're in." He dropped a fleeting kiss to her lips. "Together, we will come through it even stronger, secure in the knowledge that our future will be safe."

"I hope you're right." Exhausted and on the verge of tears again, she laid her head upon his chest. The strong, fast beat of his heart reassured her they were here for a reason, so she closed her eyes. "If it's all the same to you, could we stay here for a while and listen to the rain? I don't wish to leave here just yet."

"We will do whatever you wish." Then he picked her up in his arms, carried her over to the chair she'd occupied before, and when he sat in it, he arranged her on his lap, cradling her as if he would a baby. "Was that surprise enough?"

"Yes." In fact, her body would hardly obey the commands of her still fuzzy mind. "At least I can think clearly now." She truly felt as if she could conquer this dangerous game they were playing with an unknown enemy.

Please let it all be over soon. I suspect that I will be lost if I lose this man.