Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Charlotte brushed her hands over the front of her scarlet silk gown as she stepped into the ballroom three days later. She couldn't believe it, but she was shaking with nerves. Actually shaking! She wasn't sure what had gotten into her. She looked around the busy room, scouting for the duke, searching for the slight curl of Alexander's hair. When she couldn't see him, she sagged in disappointment.

"Come along then," Aunt Lydia snapped beside her. She wore an expression as sour as the lemon yellow of her gown, and she prodded Charlotte further into the room. "You wanted to come, so no dilly dallying at the doorway."

"Ah, but it's good to be back in the folds of society, is it not?" Uncle Elliot beamed, his hands clasped neatly in front of himself. "It feels like an age since we were last at a ball."

"It has been an age," Aunt Lydia replied. "And that's just how I like it."

Charlotte turned and smiled weakly at her aunt. For some reason, she had been determined to stop Charlotte attending the ball at all, but Charlotte had been adamant. She desperately wanted to see the duke again, even if she would not admit as much.

And besides, it made no sense to her that her aunt would be against such a thing. Surely the woman hoped Charlotte would be out from under her feet sooner rather than later. Most guardians were eager to see their charges married off.

"Oh, look, there are some friends over there," Charlotte said, pointing vaguely in the direction of a group of people she was certain she had met once or twice. "I'll see you a little later."

Charlotte slipped into the crowd of people before her aunt could protest. She sighed with the relief of being away from her. Being in Lydia's company sometimes felt like far too much of a weight to bear. Rather than approach people who weren't, after all, friends, Charlotte walked around the ballroom, peeking into every alcove and behind every pillar she could.

Stupid.

She gritted her teeth as she came full circle to the entrance again, and she picked a glass of wine from a passing tray. Was she really so dumbstruck by a man that she would spend her precious time searching for him?

Yes. No. She frowned, annoyed at the way her own heart seemed to betray her. It had turned her into a simpering woman, eager for a man's attention.

But not just any man.

She slumped against the wall in the most unladylike of manners, knowing full well Aunt Lydia would be furious if she saw her, and she let the disappointment wash over her. She had been foolish to think fate would shine her light upon them again. Alexander's sweet words at the park must have been just that: sugar that had turned sticky in the rain.

With Chelsea still on her honeymoon, there wasn't even anyone worth talking to, and Charlotte found herself increasingly bored. She danced with a few gentlemen, of course, but not one of them lit her soul up in the way the duke did. Not one of them came even close to sparking something. It was becoming more and more apparent that the duke was not coming, despite what he had said, and Charlotte was as humiliated and angry, as she was bored.

"This is why I always avoid society," she muttered under her breath.

"What was that, dear?" an old man near her asked. "Could you speak up a little?"

Charlotte glanced at him and shook her head. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"

She trailed off, not sure what to say, and instead of completing her sentence, she turned and vanished down a quiet corridor. A little space to breathe and reconnect the pieces of her mind would do her good. The further from the noise and chatter of the ballroom she went, the slower Charlotte's pace became. Her heart calmed, the perspiration on her forehead drying.

It was then that she found the library. Through the open door, she could see the window across the way, the full moon large and pouring light inside. Libraries had always been one of Charlotte's favorite places to be, and so she slipped inside. She inhaled the scent of dust and book glue as she moved deeper into the room, her slippers sinking into the thick Turkish rug that spanned almost the entire width of the room.

She crossed the room to stand in front of the large window, her fingertips running across the windowsill as she looked out at the moon. It seemed to eclipse everything—the garden, the house, even her heart.

"I'd wager you have never been so foolish as to believe in the lies of others, have you?"

She gazed up at the moon as if it could answer, but instead of words she heard footsteps behind her. She froze, her body locking into place. She was trespassing; she shouldn't have been there. But as they approached, her shoulders instinctively relaxed, the beating of her heart calming to a rhythm she was becoming familiar with. She knew those footsteps. Would know them anywhere.

Alexander.

She didn't turn, didn't look at him, but within moments he was behind her. His warmth made the flesh on her back prickle; the rich scent of him enveloped her. And her body responded.

"Charlotte."

His voice was smooth and thick with emotion, and the sound of her name upon his tongue sent a shiver down her spine. How she would love to hear him call her name all the time.

"I didn't think you were going to come," she said, still staring out at the moon, their only chaperone. She didn't need to look at him. Her body already knew how much she wanted him. She let her hand drop by her side and her fingers moved, barely resisting the urge to reach back and touch his hip, his thigh, his manhood. She did not tell him how happy it made her to have him beside her.

"Please accept my apologies, my lady." He reached up and brushed the hair from the back of her neck, placing it on her shoulder. "I was delayed by a rotten carriage wheel."

Alexander bent his head and brushed his lips against the base of Charlotte's neck, so soft that it was barely there and yet she felt every part of it. Her skin glowed with sensitivity, and she tilted her head to the side, mewling at the feel of it.

"I don't think it would be unfair to say that I am pleased you missed me," he said, and as he spoke, she realized his face was still so close to her. His hot breath rushed over her skin. "I saw you disappearing into the library, and I couldn't resist following you."

Charlotte closed her eyes and swallowed as he kissed her again, tiny kisses that traced her bare neck and moved to her shoulders.

"It would not be unfair to say that I am glad you did," she muttered.

The duke put his hand on her waist and turned her slowly to face him, his lips barely leaving her flesh. Charlotte mewled again.

"Would you like to return to the ballroom?" he asked, working his way up her neck to the line of her jaw.

"No," Charlotte said on a gasp. "I find myself rather distracted here, Your Grace."

"As do I," the duke muttered. "Fate, it seems, has brought us together once more. It is almost as if she has foretold this."

He kissed her cheek, the corner of her mouth, and Charlotte raised her face to meet his, silently begging him to kiss her, caress her, take her.

His lips had almost touched hers when thunderous footsteps rang through the hallway. They both froze, listened carefully, but when the footsteps became louder rather than quieter, Alexander grabbed Charlotte's wrists and pulled her away from the light flooding the window.

They hid in the folds of the velvet drapes, and as the fabric fell against her bare arms, Charlotte shuddered again. Even that was enough to drive her wild, Alexander's presence setting her whole body on edge.

He put a finger to her lips to keep her quiet, and she looked up at him, unable to look away as the footsteps entered the library. Charlotte shuffled a step closer to him, his finger still on her lips, her eyes still on his.

The jangle of keys echoed through the room, followed by the muttering of someone Charlotte could only assume was the butler. "What is wrong with these people? An invitation to a ball is not an invitation to wander into private spaces."

Charlotte pressed her lips together, resisting the urge to laugh, and as she looked up at the duke, he shook his head in warning. No.

And then the door closed with a loud bang, and the distant noise of the ball turned silent. A key slid into the lock and turned, and all the while Charlotte gazed up at Alexander, not caring that she was locked in—only that she was locked in with him .

Finally, Alexander lowered his hand, but he didn't move away from her, nor take his arm from around her back. Instead, he pulled her closer and as he did so, he lowered his head for a kiss.

It was soft at first. Tender and loving, and it made Charlotte's heart swell. It was an emotion she had always wanted, one that she had secretly craved, so secretly that even she herself hadn't known it. But though her heart was satisfied, her body cried out for more.

She pushed herself even further into him, feeling the crush of her breasts against his chest and the crane in her neck. He responded as she had hoped, moving his body against hers as if he wanted every part of him to feel every part of her.

The kiss became passionate, barely controllable. The duke's urgent lips pressed hard against Charlotte's, his probing tongue searching for an entrance she readily allowed him. He thrust his hand into her hair, holding him to her, and she cocked her leg, her inner thigh brushing against his hip.

"We shouldn't," he muttered into her mouth.

"But I want to," she replied.

"As do I."

He stepped forward, pushing her against the wall, his hands at her waist as his lips found her neck once more, kissing the top of her jawline, behind her eyes. Charlotte rested her head against the wall and groaned as the sensation fluttered through her.

She knew what she wanted—had known it for years. She had played with herself often enough. But this… this was different. This was more. The intensity of what she felt made her want to drop to her knees and plead with him.

Take me.

As if hearing her silent thoughts, Alexander gathered the fabric at her hip, inching it slowly up her legs. It brushed over the sensitive skin of her legs, whispering to her what was about to happen. She shook, her terror at being revealed making her desire all the headier. She knew what was going to happen, and she wanted it, yet she truly had no idea at all.

The air was cool on her legs as the skirt moved up around her waist, revealing thighs slick with desire that glistened in the moonlight, her sex bare and waiting. The duke pulled back from his kiss and looked at her, stared at her, deep into her eyes. He seemed to be asking permission, and she nodded her head.

Yes. Please.

His palm was rough against the smooth, soft skin of her thigh, his hand roving over her hips and thighs until he found her. He still stared at her, but she could take no more, and she leaned forward to kiss him again, taste him again. This distraction was all she needed, and shifted her feet to part her legs farther.

He pressed his hand against her most intimate part, and Charlotte screwed her eyes shut. He would invade her, violate her, and yet she craved it more than anything. Slowly, he worked her body so that it allowed him access, and with a single finger, he pushed himself inside her. Charlotte's eyes burst open, and she gasped.

"Are you all right?" he whispered into her hair.

She had no power to reply, all words lost to her. She nodded, letting out another whimper, and the duke responded with gentle, rhythmic movements. She had teased herself often enough, in the darkness of her room, but nothing could prepare her for this.

What felt wonderful on her own was a hundred times more powerful with him, and in only a matter of moments, her hips moved instinctively in time with his hand, riding him as she had ridden so many horses. He chuckled, leaning in to kiss her neck again, and she tilted her head to allow it.

Charlotte's breath came rapidly, her chest rising and falling in time with the rhythm in her hips, and she moaned into his ear. The tension built, knotting itself tighter and tighter in her stomach until finally, finally…

It snapped. Charlotte threw her head back and let out a groan, suppressed only by her teeth, gritted to prevent herself from crying out. Recognizing her pleasure, the duke's fingers slowed, then stopped, and pulled her against him to rest. She laid her head against his shoulder, blinking as the shuddering in her legs calmed and she caught her breath.

Alexander ran his hand over her hair, smoothing it gently. "Are you all right?" he whispered.

"I… I think so," she replied, her voice barely more than a croak.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"

"No," she interrupted, pulling herself upright and looking at him, hoping the warmth in her eyes would reassure him. "I wanted you to. Don't be sorry. It was…"

She couldn't think of the words to explain what it was, but he nodded his understanding.

"Yes. But we should stop. We can't let it get out of hand."

Charlotte swallowed back her disappointment, but he was right. "Of course. Shall we return to the ballroom?"

The duke nodded again. "I'll find a way for us to get out."

Charlotte grinned, her energy returned, and she stood up straight and smoothed down her crumpled skirt. "No need," she said. "I have just the thing."

He looked at her curiously as she reached up and pulled a pin from her hair. She dashed over to the door, slid it into the lock, and deftly opened it. When she turned back to him, her eyes sparkled with pride and love and excitement. He raised an eyebrow.

"Very impressive," he muttered, and Charlotte beamed.

He took the pin from her hand and expertly slid it back into her hair, as if he had done it a million times before.

"I shall go out first," he said. "Give it a minute, and then find your way to the ballroom. We shall see each other another time."

Charlotte could only nod as he slid out of the door, for now the joy in her heart turned sour. As if he had done it a million times before. It felt like that because he had done it many times before. The duke, she realized with dawning dread, had been with many other women. He was experienced. Jealousy stabbed at her, mingling with the fear that he had merely used her.

But then, didn't I use him for my pleasure to?

With a deep, unhappy sigh, Charlotte returned to the ballroom feeling spent and utterly miserable.