An Heir of Deception (27 page)

So lost in her ardent perusal, she didn’t notice he’d halted and was observing her reflection in an oak-framed floor mirror. His eyes darkened and the skin around his jaw grew taut as if he was clenching his teeth hard enough to hurt.

“Don’t.” The roughly muttered warning spoke not of his anger but of his inner turmoil.

Charlotte turned abruptly, her back to him. Blistering heat suffused her face. After an infinitesimal pause, she heard her bed chamber door click softly closed.

Alex quickly ducked into his room after escaping the alluring presence of his wife, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. He’d had to get out of there or he would not have been responsible for what would have happened next.

Good God, she’d nearly burned him with that look, so full of raw need and desire. And the response it had elicited in him had made him think that sanity was highly overrated. Would that he could forget the past, because only then could he allow himself to go down the very same path that had come close to destroying him before.

The future stretched out before him like a prison sentence in which he’d be forced to pay for crimes he himself hadn’t committed. He wasn’t naïve enough to believe that if he made the mistake of engaging in marital relations with her that it wouldn’t leave him vulnerable to her charms again, that he wouldn’t want her every day in every conceivable way as he’d once done.

That was not to say a woman couldn’t hurt him again, but he’d be damned if he’d make the mistake of opening his heart to the
same
woman who’d broken it the first time. His pride alone would not permit that. The task before him—one that now seemed more daunting than recovering from his initial heartbreak—was in determining how he could live with her and not take what she so obviously wanted without going stark raving mad.

Or perhaps the true task was in determining if he in fact wanted to.

Chapter Fifteen

For the next two weeks, Charlotte accustomed herself to her new life, which at times was not an easy task. She looked forward to her daily visits with her sister, and Nicholas divided his time between going to Rutherford Manor to play with his cousins and spending time with his father.

Every day Alex had some activity planned for him and his son. An expert horseman, Alex was teaching Nicholas how to ride. The fear that had so consumed her on the day of their first lesson had receded considerably, but hadn’t abandoned her completely. Her son was so young and her own riding skills could only be considered the side of passable that wouldn’t get her thrown from a trotting horse. But her fear wasn’t without merit for her father had died from a fall from his horse.

With the plans for the ball underway, Charlotte’s anxiety began to climb. She hadn’t attended a ball since the year she’d left England nor had she danced a step. There’d been no time for dances or balls with a child to care for. What there had been were countless sleepless nights. To make sure her finances would stretch another year, Charlotte had only been able to afford a cook, and Jillian, who served as a maid-of-all-work.

That was not the case here. Her husband employed a full staff and frankly there was very little for her to do much of the time and she wasn’t accustomed to being idle. That evening she told him as much at the dinner table, on which she’d had the footman place two large vases of primrose and daisies from the garden. If she must endure yet another of those beastly, silent meals with her husband, it would be nice if she had something innocuous and pleasant at which to look.

“Perhaps you should speak to Missy and find out what wives do to pass the time,” he advised as he cut into his roasted chicken. He spoke as if he found the topic pedestrian, which annoyed her to no end. Obviously the result of frustration.

Every night when she took herself off to bed, he went out to God knows where. She suspected he’d already taken a mistress. Or perhaps he’d always had one. And the thought of him with another woman tormented her, which had her twisting her bed sheets in her sleep.

He hardly spoke two sentences to her in a day. He was excruciatingly civil but coolly rejected any overtures of amiability on her part by excusing himself from any room she entered that he occupied. That was unless Nicholas was present, but then he’d direct all his attention to him. Charlotte could never have imagined she’d be jealous of her son, but during those times she’d smart in silence, wishing for a small fraction of Alex’s attention. Lord, it wouldn’t be so hard if she didn’t have to live with him and see him every day.

Her knife sliced cleanly through her potato. “My brother and Missy have a real marriage. I’m certain our wifely duties do not coincide that much.” Yes, she was feeling a bit peevish but her husband could blame himself for that, subjecting her to this untenable situation.

This got his attention. Slowly, he lowered his fork to his plate and observed her. A bolt of awareness coursed through her.

“Am I to take that as a complaint?” he asked quietly.

Would it change anything if it were?

“No, I’m simply stating that as we do not have a real marriage, it is unfair of you to in any way equate Missy’s life with mine. Missy spends a great deal of her time with James when he’s not working. Then there are the children. She has three and since we’ve been in England, Nicholas isn’t so in want of my company. Now he has cousins…and you.”

Continuing to regard her silently, Alex resumed eating. Charlotte did the same. Unfortunately the food was wasted on her. She found she could no longer enjoy her supper.

Neither spoke for the duration of the meal and Charlotte was happy to escape to her bedchambers once it finally ended. Alex did nothing to stop her, not that she’d expected he would.

Alex sat and watched his wife vacate the dining room. The feminine sway of her hips practically taunted him to take what his body desperately craved; a night between her thighs satisfying every lascivious thought he’d ever had about her. And there had been plenty.

Frankly, he was more than a little surprised he hadn’t succumbed to drink by now. He could have worked off his sexual hunger between the thighs of his former mistress, who would have welcomed him and lived only an hour away. Instead he spent what remained of the evening playing cards in an exclusive social club in town surrounded by smoke, gambling and drink. If he desired a woman, one could be had easily enough. Much to Alex’s chagrin, he’d discovered only one particular woman would do.

Living with Charlotte was enough to test his will as nothing else had done. When he returned home in the early hours of the morning, his eyes bored holes through the door connecting their bedchambers as he lived in half dread and hope it would one day open. In the scene he’d play back in his mind when feeling particularly firm in his resolve, he’d refuse her and send her skittering back to her bed…alone.

But during the latter times—which far eclipsed the former in both frequency and breathtaking clarity—he’d resist but alas, lose his valiant fight when her female charms and innate irresistibility became too much for him. Then he’d take her in every conceivable manner and position, their release coming hard on the heels of another and another until exhaustion overtook them both and they collapsed in a tangle of arms and legs, their bodies replete with carnal satisfaction.

Alex, I do not have enough to fill my days
, had been her comment without the faintest hint of provocation. Although, he had no doubt she’d not have minded if
he
filled
her
in the one way she’d love most. As would he. His mouth quirked at the thought but his erection had grown too pronounced—almost painful—to derive any real amusement from it.

Two days ago, he’d discovered her in the library on the step ladder reaching for a book. His arrival apparently had been too silent for when she sensed his presence, she gave a violent start, losing her balance, and would have tumbled to the unforgiving wood floors had he not caught her in his arms. Her supple curves had wiped clean his memory of the past and he’d seen only an infinitely desirable woman, her blue eyes darkened with awareness and passion.

To this very moment, he hadn’t the vaguest idea how he managed to extricate her from his arms without the popping of ivory buttons and tearing of a rose-print percale, which comprised her morning dress. She’d been barely standing when he’d all but sprinted from the room, fearing if he remained the servants—or heaven forbid, their son—might have gotten an eyeful of things meant for the bedchambers…if that.

And this was how he felt after only two weeks. Yet he’d sentenced himself to a lifetime of this deprivation and torture. What the hell had he been thinking? Sleeping with her didn’t necessarily mean he’d relinquish his heart as readily as his body had turned traitor.

Why should he suffer more because of her actions, well intentioned as she’d thought them to be? If nothing else, he deserved to derive not just the joy of having his son with him but the pleasures her body promised and had more than delivered in the past. Moreover, he was weary of denying himself. Weary of fighting himself.

He rose from the table and exited the dining room, only stopping to inform Alfred he’d not require his assistance that evening.

Before retiring for the evening, Charlotte checked in on Nicholas. Sprawled on his bed, he was the picture of innocence and serenity. Brushing a lock of hair from his forehead, she leaned down and kissed him softly on the cheek.

Ten minutes later, as she prepared for bed, a sharp knock sounded on her chamber door. Before she could wonder at the knocker’s identity, it opened and Alex entered, shrinking it in size with his presence.

Without uttering a word, he latched the lock. He then turned back to her. His waistcoat was already off, and his fingers began to work the buttons of his fine cotton shirt.

Charlotte, who had just donned a night dress of a thin cotton that was fairly translucent if the light struck it just so, instinctively folded her arms over her breasts and exclaimed, “Alex, what are you doing here? Is something wrong?” His sudden presence made swallowing difficult. He looked dark and determined—and ravenous.

“Did you, not ten minutes ago, complain that we do not have a
real
marriage? Well, madam, you shall have a real husband tonight as it appears you require additional duties to fill your days. Now, if you’d be so kind as to remove your garments.”

How entirely proper and reasonable he sounded while his eyes devoured her. There was something excessively primal about Alex tonight. He moved purposefully, pulling his shirt over his head, his hooded gaze never once straying from her. The heat in his eyes suggested he’d been stripped of his surface civility and now operated purely on his base needs and desires.

“Remove your clothes or would you rather leave that task to me? I know I will enjoy it.” He had moved on to his trousers, unbuttoning and then pushing the superfine navy wool down over his hips.

Liquid heat pooled at her center as she watched in helpless fascination and belly-clenching lust as more of his taut, naked flesh was revealed. His legs were lean and muscled, dark hair covering flesh lighter in color than his face but that could never be considered pale. The muscles in his abdomen flexed and rippled as he bent to strip himself of his trousers completely. His erection jutted out against his cotton drawers, demanding her exclusive attention, which it received most fervently.

Dear Lord, he was beautiful. She could never tire of looking at him.

Before lust completely overtook her fogged senses, it suddenly struck her that he hadn’t gone out tonight. The first time since she’d moved in. Was his mistress not available? Nothing would be worse than to discover that’s why he’d come to her.

“Couldn’t she accommodate you tonight?” she asked, unable to keep the waspishness from her tone. The jealousy she was unable to hide.

He paused in kicking aside his trousers. “Exactly to whom do you refer?”

Charlotte crossed her arms over her chest. “Your mistress.”

“I do not have a mistress,” he replied calmly.

“I do not believe you.” Although she desperately wanted to.

“I have no reason to lie to you. If you’re referring to where I spend my nights, believe me it is not enjoying another woman’s charms.”

Shaking her head, Charlotte cried, “I don’t believe you.” Even as she discounted his claims of innocence, her fervid gaze couldn’t help drifting down to peruse every inch of his exposed muscled flesh. His raging erection.

He stalked toward her and stopped no less than a foot away. “Well believe this, I haven’t the desire to bed another woman, only you. If I could, believe me I would have weeks ago. Right now I want to be inside you more than I want my next breath.” He pitched his voice very low. “Now, will you remove that or shall I?” He gestured to her nightdress.

At his words and the slumberous look in his eyes, a shock of relief, thrill and desire slammed into her with the force of a frigate. No respectable woman would be aroused by his manner—no wooing or gentle seduction. But as if to disprove any claim she had to respectability, her nipples peaked and moisture flooded her core. It was official, she was a wanton.