He kissed her deeply, moaning into her mouth as he guided her hips up and down, rocking her against the hard, thick ridge of his erection. The rhythmic pressure sent bliss swirling through her.
“It’s good?”
She nodded, breathless. “Yes.”
“When we’re wed,” he said huskily, sliding his hand under her shift, “it will be even better. I’ll be inside you. Here.”
His fingertips slid up the quivering slope of her thigh, until they found the center of her. His touch teased up and down her sex until she thought she would go mad. She could not have brought herself to ask for what she needed, but her body knew. And so did he.
She ached to be filled.
At last, he slid one fingertip inside her. She whimpered with relief, wrapping her arms about his neck and clinging tight.
“Like this,” he whispered against her ear, moving his hand in a firm rhythm. “Deep. And hard. Over and over.”
“Please . . .” She gasped. “Don’t stop.”
“Never. I’ll never stop until you come.” His thumb circled the swollen bud at the crest of her sex. “You do understand what that means? You’ve touched yourself here?”
Charlotte nodded, breathless. “Innocent, not ignorant.”
“Good.”
His approval emboldened her. She began to move with him, seeking more of the exquisite pleasure he gave. She did understand the paroxysm of pleasure a woman’s body was created to feel, and she had learned how to bring it about herself. But it had never, ever been like this.
Her body was aflame, alive with need. It seemed unfair, his ability to drive her to distraction while remaining so cool, controlled . . .
Relentless.
She bit her lip.
“That’s it. I need to feel you come for me.”
All the rebellion had been sapped from her, washed away in the encroaching tide of desire. She rode his hand, shameless, climbing to a peak so devastating she was certain to cry out.
He captured her mouth in a kiss, and she sobbed into it, grateful, clutching his neck tight while the climax dissolved her to jelly from the navel down.
When the waves of pleasure subsided, he gathered her in his arms, drawing soothing circles on her back as her breath calmed and her pulse slowed.
As she returned to herself, a small sense of mortification whispered at her from the shadows of her upbringing. His fingers had been inside her, slick with the moisture her body had created. She held fistfuls of his shirt in her hands, and perspiration had broken out on her brow.
It was all very unladylike. But she wasn’t supposed to be a lady in times like these, just a woman.
She wanted to see Piers like that. Stripped down to a man—raw, elemental, animal. Panting and damp with sweat. She wanted to see him lose himself. She wanted to break through his defenses like a blazing meteorite and leave nothing but a smoking ruin.
She wanted him. More than she’d ever wanted anything.
Her heart swelled with a sudden, bewildering tide of affection.
“Piers?”
He must have heard the confusion in her voice.
“Hush.” He stroked her back in that same, calm rhythm, ignoring his unsatisfied arousal. Denying his own needs while tending hers. “It’s natural to feel a rush of sentiment afterward. Women often do. It will pass.”
Would it pass?
Or would it deepen, like a hole widening in the earth? One misstep, and she would tumble and fall in love with him forever?
She wasn’t feeling terribly bold or clever any longer. She felt small and fragile and very confused.
“I don’t suppose this is why you came downstairs.” He brushed the hair from her brow.
“No.”
“Was there something you needed?”
She nodded, willing her muddled thoughts to clear. “A book. The Peerage. I need to check again for C’s.”
“Charlotte.” He tipped her face to his. “You don’t need to do anything of the sort.”
The meaning in his gaze was clear. He’d just spread on this desktop, in black and white, the proof that he intended to provide handsomely for her, and for her family, as well. He’d given her both searing pleasure and tender protection. He’d whispered those intriguing words: I hope.
And maybe—just maybe—he’d made her start hoping, too.
Charlotte could all but hear her mother’s voice: Foolish girl, what more could you want?
Love.
Love was what she wanted. What she’d always wanted. More than fine houses or the title of marchioness. Even more than breathless orgasms, lovely as those were.
Could she come to feel love for Piers? Could he ever feel the same toward her? He kept his heart so closed off, so walled away. If he’d courted her purposely, that might have given her a foundation to build dreams upon, but there could be no assurances in a forced match.
She could hope all she wished, but before surrendering her life to a man, Charlotte needed to know.
“I . . .” She pushed herself off his lap, arranging her shift and dressing gown as she stumbled to the side table and gathered the book. “I just want to be sure. That I haven’t missed anything. Good night.”
She clutched the book to her chest and hurried from the room.
She needed this book. She needed to find the mystery lovers.
She needed certainty, now more than ever before.
Chapter Twelve
Charlotte was going cross-eyed.
Debrett’s Peerage was a book of nearly nine hundred pages, all of them printed in minuscule type. Despite the free time afforded by another rainy day, she still had more than two hundred of them to search.
The ladies had assembled in the drawing room, just as they had for the past two days of foul weather. Mama was nibbling squares of shortbread and leafing through a ladies’ periodical. Delia sketched, Frances worked at a bit of embroidery, and Lady Parkhurst played solitaire at the card table.
Charlotte sat alone by the rain-streaked window.
“I’m so glad you are finally taking an interest in that book,” Mama remarked.
“Is this a recent development?” Frances asked. “I would have wagered you had your own copy memorized. If not annotated.”
Charlotte ignored the baiting comment. Frances would not distract her from the task at hand.
It would have been much easier if she knew the C corresponded to a surname or title. But it was just as likely to correspond to a Christian name, which necessitated scanning each page and, when she located a C, flipping back to the peer with whom she was associated and checking the location to see if the lady might reside anywhere nearby.