Chapter Six

It was agreed that they would meet at the Ryton Townhouse at the next opportunity—they did not have that much time to waste, after all. Luckily for Ariel, her brother spent much of his time away from home, so it wouldn't be all that difficult for her to slip out unnoticed. Charles confirmed the dowager duchess planned to visit her sister for a few days, so they would have the sprawling ducal home to themselves. Well, minus the several dozen or so employees in the household. Charles had then escorted her back through the halls to the ball being thrown in his honor and, on the way, he explained that it wouldn't be that difficult for them to avoid servants. Ariel wasn't so sure, but she decided to trust him and agreed to the plan before she ducked back into the room. Charles followed several minutes later.

Caro had been concerned about Ariel's abrupt departure from the ballroom, but Ariel had assured her it had merely been a brief bout of queasiness that had quickly resolved. It was difficult for her to remain calm when Caro then insisted upon introducing Ariel to the American Duke, as everyone had dubbed him. Gone was the man who'd made passionate love to her in the shadows of this study. This man was still dangerously handsome, but cooler and more refined. It was a thrilling secret between them; she read it in the burning coals of his eyes as he took her hand and kissed it, as he calmly accepted her belated birthday felicitations. It was everything she could do not to melt into a puddle right then and there.

She hadn't stopped thinking about that moment…or their interlude in the study just prior. And she had practically counted the hours until her brother left and she could slip away. It was thrilling, particularly having waited three decades for her very first clandestine meeting, her first lover. She was practically giddy as she left her home and followed a circuitous route several streets over back to Charles' home. It was early enough in the day that there weren't too many people about, other than servants running their errands and the occasional nanny with her charges. It was still unfashionably early for calling, but that was the point. She was fairly confident no one took much note of her; she had worn her simplest dress of mint green muslin devoid of lace and beadwork, plain cap sleeves and scooped neckline, with only a simple embroidered floral hem. It was far less extravagant than many women of her station wore out, but she didn't mind. She felt pretty, and she hoped Charles would think the same.

Following Charles' instructions, she went ‘round back to meet him by the mews. The buildings were all immaculately kept and the cobblestones meticulously swept. The home she shared with her brother was nothing to sniff at, but this was practically a palace.

She stood near the garden gate with its high brick wall over which she could just see the tops of the sculpted shrubberies and pale blooms of honeysuckle releasing their fragrant perfume into the late morning air. Charles had said he'd watch for her and her heart kicked up its pace. Just the thought of him anticipating her arrival, watching her from somewhere unseen was enough to make Ariel's entire body hum with awareness.

When the gate swung open on silent hinges and a large, masculine hand begged for hers, she took it and was instantly pulled into Charles' arms. Flush with his body and snug in his embrace, she lost her breath as he claimed her lips with his. Hazily, she wondered if it would always be like this with him, if she would always wait with breathless anticipation for his touch, for a taste of him… She had her answer when his hands slid down her back to grip the full roundness of her bottom with a fierce possessiveness. She was grateful that he held her so firmly because there was sincere concern that her legs would give way.

This was abruptly followed by the realization that it couldn't always be like this.

They had a finite amount of time with which to carry on. Charles would board a ship back to Boston in less than two weeks. This… whatever this was, had an expiration date.

Ariel would have been lying if she claimed she hadn't considered backing out of the arrangement. She had to protect herself, but, on the other hand, where would she have another opportunity such as this? And with Charles?

This was likely both her last opportunity to take a lover, and have that lover be him. He had made it clear that he would be returning to America, and he'd said not one word about when or if he might ever return to England.

And so, Ariel kissed Charles with everything she had, wrapping her arms around him and holding him just as tightly as he held her. Their lips and tongues met in passionate fervor as they stood near the garden wall sheltered in an intimate alcove of honeysuckle-scented air.

∞∞∞

"We shouldn't be bothered," Charles assured Ariel as he shut the door to his bedchamber behind them. The maids had already tidied the room and a new position had already been found for the old duke's valet—Charles hadn't been able to bring himself to allow another man to dress him—so the chance that anyone should wander to this particular chamber on legitimate business was slim, indeed. He did lock the door and shoved a spindle-backed chair beneath the knob just to be safe, however.

His pulse quickened like the hum of a tuning fork as he watched Ariel slowly turn and peruse the room, and he wondered what she thought of what she saw. He hadn't changed a thing in the space, so it all felt a bit as if he were staying in someone else's home for a spell rather than a home grander than he'd ever thought to own. The papering was plain and masculine, as were the velvet draperies covering the four windows along the far wall and surrounding the canopied bed. It all smelled faintly of cedar, which wasn't at all unpleasant. The size of the bed was a bit smaller than Charles normally preferred with his oversized frame, but it felt too frivolous to order a new one when his stay in England was so short. It had done the job just fine, but that had been before he'd contemplated sharing the mattress with someone else.

His cock throbbed almost painfully when Ariel turned to face him once more. She was undeniably beautiful that day, dressed in a becoming shade of pale green that made her hair glow. The cut of the gown was simple, but, by God, it did magic with her bountiful breasts and skimmed her lush curves in just the right way. When her full lips tugged upward in a shy smile, Charles' restraint snapped. He closed the gap between them in less than a heartbeat, hauled her into his arms, and swept her over to the bed. He loved her small squeal of laughter, her breathless anticipation, the way she so trustingly held onto him and knew he was strong enough not to drop her.

They collapsed together on the bed, the ropes groaning beneath their sudden combined weight as they lay on their sides facing one another. Charles plucked a curl from her soft cheek and tugged it gently before flicking it away.

"So beautiful," he murmured without meaning to as the backs of his fingers traced a languorous path down her temple, cheek, throat, the beginning of the swell of her breast…

There was a small dip in the mattress near their heads and both looked up to find a very large feline, pure black save for its jade-green eyes and a small thatch of white in the center of its chest.

A startled sound escaped Ariel as she spotted their judgemental little voyeur. "Oh! Hello, there."

Charles sighed; he knew he should have checked the room and cleared it before he retrieved Ariel. "Off with you, you nosy little beast," he shooed halfheartedly. The cat merely looked at him and Charles swore he heard a scoff of dismissal.

"I did not know you had a cat," Ariel said, reaching up to offer the animal her fingertips. The cat sniffed them delicately before rubbing his cheek against her palm. "Did he belong to the old duke?'

"No, but I still inherited the little monster. His owner was one of my firm's partners back in Boston. He was a confirmed bachelor and there was no one to take him after his owner died, so I was stuck with the thing. I had to cart him clear across the ocean because the damned thing refuses to eat if I'm not the one to feed him. Fresh fish, cream, gourmet delights—doesn't matter, I've tried it all and he must see that I am the one to place the food out for him or he will starve himself."

Of course, the cat could stand to lose a pound or nine, but that was beside the point. The cursed cat had found a way to make Charles quite literally cater to him and there was no turning back now that they were three years into the forced parasitic relationship.

Ariel giggled and he cocked a brow at her, bending an elbow and resting his jaw on his palm to look down at her. "What is so amusing?" he demanded in a haughty tone, but she saw right through his bluster.

"Just that you may be a duke now, but you are still at the mercy of a small creature. What is his name?"

"Barnabus," Charles groused, slightly annoyed that she believed he was at the cat's beck and call. "A rather lofty name for a cat so large and round it might have killed a small dog merely by sitting upon it."

"Don't listen to him, darling," Ariel cooed as the cat bumped his forehead into hers. "You are perfect."

Charles narrowed his eyes at the cat, oddly jealous of the chin scratches he was receiving. "Enough about the little menace," he said, pulling her hand to his lips and pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the soft palm. "I've thought of little else but you since last night…" He rolled her beneath him with one swift tug and nuzzled his nose to hers. "And I'm ravenous."

Charles spent the following hour worshiping her like the goddess she was.

∞∞∞

Their next opportunity for a meeting came the following day; at least Arni was relatively predictable when it came to his "errands." Ariel was deliciously sore in unexpected places as she made her walk over to Charles' house, taking a slightly different route this time to lessen the chance of being noticed and recognized.

As before, Charles met her at the garden gate, greeting her with a kiss that made her toes curl inside her slippers, before spiriting her up to his bedchamber.

Having anticipated their arrival, the enormous black cat had already claimed a spot in the very center of the bed to survey their entrance with all the regal disinterest of a lifelong monarch. While Charles secured the door, Ariel slipped her reticule with its stolen surprise from her wrist.

"Hello, Mr. Bibbles," she cooed and ran her nails along the cat's silky head. She was immediately rewarded with a rumbling purr.

"What the devil did you just call him?" Charles' head whipped around.

"I was thinking a great deal about it and I believe it's a darling little nickname. It suits him."

"I am trying very hard not to be offended that you thought of my cat in such depth after leaving here, and not me," he groused.

"Oh, I thought of you as well," she replied evenly, her cheeks burning with the truth.

Charles cleared his throat before he spoke again. "Barnabus is the cat's name and Barnabus is what you shall call him."

Ariel wrinkled her nose and shot him a look over her shoulder. "It's so stuffy and silly."

"And Mr. Bibbles is so much more dignified?" he demanded, horrified.

Ariel lifted a shoulder in a shrug and pulled the prize from her reticule. She'd shoved a fat little kipper wrapped in a napkin and greasy paper into the small bag before she'd slipped from her home. The reticule would likely forever reek of fish now, but it was her least favorite one anyway and she hadn't been able to resist testing Charles' claim that the cat would eat only from his hand or not at all.

"We shall see which name he prefers."

Charles' brow furrowed deeply, but he went along with her game. Each of them called to the cat with their preferred moniker, Mr. Bibbles or Barnabus. The cat eyed them both, sniffed the air, and, in the end, it was no real contest. He sauntered over to Ariel and plucked the proffered kipper from the paper, wolfing it down faster than should have been possible.

"Damned traitor," Charles grumbled and Ariel laughed in response. "Don't be so put out, Charles; you didn't stand a chance against the kipper." She grinned and set aside the scraps and her reticule. "I know you dote upon Mr. Bibbles."

"I do not dote upon him," Charles denied her accusation and crossed his arms over his broad chest. "The fickle beast is ungrateful and has simply moved on to greener pastures. Clearly, the little demon will accept food from your hand; perhaps I'll deposit him at your doorstep when it's time for me to leave."

What should have been in jest served only to dump cold water over their situation; the reality of their finite time came crashing down around them. Truth be told, Ariel had thought of little else these last several days—that Charles' departure and the termination of their agreement grew closer with every passing hour—but it was the first glimpse she'd had that Charles might not be as immune to this fact as she'd believed. She read it in the aversion of his eyes after the comment had slipped past his lips, the tightness in his angular jaw, the words he whispered in her ear when their slick bodies were inter- twined…

Emboldened by this, Ariel rose to her feet and shook the wrinkles from her skirts. It was difficult to mask the mischievous smile threatening to break free.

"Are you jealous of the cat?" she goaded him but pressed a finger to his parted lips before he could protest. "I assure you, I am much more partial to your charms than his. Although…" Her finger trailed down and she allowed her nail to graze the underside of his chin, trace his jawline, and down the bobbing knob in his throat. He emitted a soft, low growl not unlike a cat's purr. "It seems that you are equally seduced by a scratch on the chin." She cupped his cheek and he nuzzled into her palm.

"I admit, it's reassuring to hear that I am higher than the cat in your estimation." Was it her imagination or was his voice unsteady?

Barnabus/Mr. Bibbles loosed an indignant meow.

"Oh, indeed," she replied with even severity.

"However…I've never been partial to fish…" he admitted, closing his eyes and savoring her touch.

"Duly noted." Ariel sniggered lightly. "I wonder…what else you might like," she added thoughtfully. Though they'd met for several trysts at that point, Ariel had yet to have the opportunity to do some exploration of her own. She decided to take her chance because there would likely not be another.

Ariel tentatively pressed her lips to the pulse in his neck, earning her a deep rumble of approval. His thick, dark lashes fanned across his cheeks when his eyes fluttered closed. Charles held himself remarkably still, fists balled at his sides as if he was terrified she would stop if he so much as twitched. She made a little testing nip at his throat and she was enraptured by the catch in his breathing. Charles' body grew tauter and tauter with each garment she removed from him.

Unwinding his cravat made him groan.

Sliding the fitted sleeves of his coat from his arms made him shiver.

Untucking his shirt and lifting it over his head, trailing her nails down the hard planes of his chest dusted with crisp hair made the lean ridges of his abdomen clench.

His breath trembled as he watched her undo the fastenings for the falls of his breeches.

His manhood was already thick and heavy with arousal, jutting proudly from a nest of dark curls, bobbing slightly and begging for her attention.

Ariel nibbled her lip and dropped to her knees in a puddle of skirts before she could overthink her desires.

"Ariel," Charles hissed.

She shushed him and admired the thick, smooth head of his member, the small pearl of moisture beaded at its tip, the soft sac beneath it. Ariel gently ran her fingers along the thick length and traced the veins beneath its velvet softness. Her fingers couldn't quite meet when she wrapped them around its girth, this part of him that brought her so much incandescent pleasure. Every inch of Charles brought her pleasure…from his smile to his rare, husky laugh, his hands, his lips, his tongue, his teeth, his sultry eyes, his smoky voice with its slightly foreign accent, the way he worshiped her body and made her feel more beautiful than she'd ever felt in her life with nothing more than a glance. He had done nothing but give her pleasure since the moment they'd met, and she wanted to return the favor.

Ariel made several testing strokes with her fist, and she was immediately rewarded by a guttural groan that set her skin aflame. The juncture of her legs began to ache and weep in anticipation; her nipples were painfully taut and sensitive against the fabric of her bodice. The fingers of her free hand ached to reach beneath her skirts and try to relieve some of the growing tension there; the thought of touching herself while also pleasuring Charles made her grateful her trembling legs were securely on the floor.

Recalling just how much she enjoyed it when Charles used his mouth to tease her, she decided to place a tender kiss on the blunt head of his sex. The tip of her tongue flicked out to taste the salty drop of dew just there, and she savored it. She committed every sound, texture, flavor, and scent to her memory and vowed to hold it there until her last breath.

She seized her opportunity to peruse his body, to learn what Charles liked and how to touch him. She took great pride in making him—the large, intimidating, American-born duke—tremble with need, to ache and burn for her, teasing him until he could take it no more.

A sound unlike no other she'd heard before rumbled from deep within Charles' chest. In one swift show of strength, he hiked her in his arms and tossed her on his plush mattress in a pile of fluttering skirts. Her hair flew free from its pins, obscuring her vision. Before she could react, however, he dove upon her like the ravenous beast she'd unleashed. Charles pinned her to the bed, spread her legs wide, and took his turn to worship her with his mouth and fingers curled just so.

It didn't take long for him to bring her to a shuddering release, but he was far from done with her. Ariel was still drowning in the pounding waves of her climax when he reared back and entered her in one swift thrust. He filled her again and again, pounding into her body at a relentless pace, cradling her in his strong arms as if to protect her and possess her all at once. He pressed his lips to her ear and filled her mind with a constant stream of words both tender and titillating. He described how good she felt, how she drove him mad, how he needed her and never wanted this to end.

Charles' soul poured forth from his lips as he arched and strained above Ariel, desperate to hold off until she achieved another orgasm. He relished the way she could take all of him, how she so obviously enjoyed his power, her strength as she wrapped herself around him and met his thrusts. He didn't want to pull out of her body; he wanted to claim her with his seed.

He didn't want this to end.

He didn't want to leave her.

The realization struck Charles with the startling intensity of an obsidian arrowhead. But, as wrong as it was, something about it felt more right than anything he'd ever experienced.

He loved the sound of Ariel's laughter.

He adored the way she scrunched her nose when she giggled, but only when it was just the two of them.

He appreciated her candor, her bravery, and, especially, how she appeared to be the only person in England who saw him as a person and not just a title he had accidentally inherited.

Charles gave himself over to the sensations of their joined bodies and, when she came again, he kissed her deeply, claiming her in the only way he could as his member throbbed its release against her supple thigh.