Her Mad Grace by Sylvia Day

Chapter One

Derbyshire, December 1814

Rotting.

To Hugh La Coeur’s mind, that was the most apt description for the moldering mansion on the hill. Usually the bright white of newly fallen snow brought a peaceful serenity to the landscape. Not so with this property. Even the pristine beauty of winter could not hide the neglect apparent in everything about the place.

He hesitated for a moment, taking in the view with a disgusted snort. Ominous clouds roiled above him, but the sky was darkening for another reason—the day was ending. Thoughts of returning the way he’d come, through the snow and without light, forced Hugh to proceed. If his need were less dire, he’d ride on in search of a more hospitable-looking home. But he was desperate, and the curling smoke rising from the manor’s chimneys told him the place was inhabited. Help was at hand, and he couldn’t ignore it, no matter how much he desired to.

He tied his mount, one of his prized carriage bays, to the metal ring protruding from a nearby stone pillar. At one time the pillar had held up the park gate, but not any longer. One side of the gate remained upright, while the other leaned precariously atop the frozen ground.

“Atrocious,” Hugh muttered to his horse, as he edged his way through the opening and started the long walk up the drive to the main house.

He glanced around with morbid fascination. It was easy to imagine how beautiful the property must have been once, a source of pride for its noble occupants. But fate had dealt a cruel blow to the peer and family who owned the place. It had obviously gone without maintenance for many years. Vines, long dead, crawled over the brick exterior. Places where paint had once brightened the façade now peeled and warped from lack of care.

The wind picked up, and soft, powdery snow began to swirl around Hugh’s polished Hessians. His hair blew across his forehead, his hat long lost in a ditch. The storm would be upon them soon. His legs lengthened their strides. He would have to hurry.

Reaching the door, Hugh banged the tarnished lion-head knocker. The sound echoed eerily, and he shook off the shivers. He was an earl, for Christ’s sake! The esteemed, if slightly scandalous, Earl of Montrose, an ancient title that carried a wealth of prestige. His station should place him above such childish fears. But frankly, the place looked haunted, and the forgotten air that surrounded the hall filled him with foreboding.

He almost fled, blizzard be damned, when the door creaked open with torturous slowness. A stooped butler, as decrepit as the manse in which he worked, stood in the doorway.

“Aye?” the old man queried in a gravelly voice.

Hugh handed over his card. “Is the lord of the manor at home?”

The butler squinted at the lettering. He lifted the card to an oddly protruding eye and then dropped his hand with a grunt. The servant gestured wildly behind him. “You’ll find ’im in the cemetery out back.”

Before Hugh could blink, the door was swinging with lightning speed toward his face. Moving with a pugilist’s quick ease, he slipped into the hall before the door slammed shut. The butler turned, bumped into his chest, and shrieked in terror.

Rolling his eyes, Hugh steadied the frail man. “Listen, old chap. My desire to be here is far less than your desire to have me here. I require some assistance. If you provide it, I can be on my way.”

The butler studied him closely with his oversized blue eye. “Wot ye be needin’, gov’na?”

“You may address me as ‘my lord,’ ” Hugh corrected, with a pointed look at his calling card, presently being crushed in the butler’s hand. “What is your name?”

The servant sniffled. “Artemis.”

“Very well, Artemis. Are there any other men about the place?” Hugh glanced around. “Men preferably capable of physical exertion.”

Artemis studied him with blatant suspicion. “’Enry. ’E’s a strapping lad wot runs the stables. And Tom, ’e ’elps Cook wiv the vittles.”

“Excellent.” Hugh released a sigh of relief. “Would it be possible to find decent horseflesh around here?” Even as he asked, he knew it was asking too much, given the sight of the place.

“O’ course!” the old man cried, affronted. “’er Grace ’as the finest ’orses you’ll ever see!”

Hugh stilled, his mind rapidly disseminating the information he’d gathered so far. His Grace lay in the cemetery, which left Her Grace widowed. There weren’t many duchesses, hardly any that were widowed, and only one of whom he was aware who would claim ownership to a sorry place such as this—

“‘Her Mad Grace’?” Of all the damnable luck!

“’ere now!” Artemis complained. “We don’t take kindly to that nonsense ’round ’ere!”

Hugh cleared his throat. He was leaving. Now. “Well, I’m certain Her Grace wouldn’t mind at all if I borrowed her—”

“You can’t just barge in ’ere and run off wiv ’er Grace’s ’orses.” The old man straightened as best he could. “You’ll ’ave to ask ’er first!”

“Ask her? Good God, she’s in residence here?” The place wasn’t fit for man or beast, let alone for a duchess.

“O’ course. Where else would she be?” Artemis snorted.

Hugh arched a brow. “Where else indeed?”

“Come along, then, gov’na.” The servant shuffled away, stopping only to grasp the candelabra off the console. “You can wait in the parlor while I tell ’er Grace yer ’ere.” Shoving open a set of double doors on the right, Artemis gestured impatiently for him to go inside, shoving the candelabra at him as he passed.

Hugh moved into the room and then spun about as the door slammed shut behind him. “Abominable service,” he muttered, glancing around.

No other candles were lit, and the grate was cold. Every bit of furniture was draped and covered with thick dust. Even the portrait over the fireplace was hidden from view. Depositing his meager source of light on a cloth-covered table, he set to work building a fire.

Grumbling under his breath, Hugh inspected the coal bucket, surprised to discover it did indeed have coal inside it. Within moments he’d started a fire. He stood and used a nearby dusty sheet to wipe his hands.

Of all the confounded places for his wheel to break, why did it have to be here?

Hugh rubbed the space between his brows, trying to remember everything he’d heard about the dowager Lady Glenmoore. The elderly duke had shocked the ton a few years past with a rushed elopement with his second wife. Then His Grace had gone on to compound the astonishment by passing away within scant weeks of his marriage.

It was widely speculated that the new duchess had helped her husband to his final reward. The succeeding Duke of Glenmoore had distanced himself from his stepmother in short order, banishing her to a remote holding, where it was rumored she passed the time scaring the wits out of hapless passersby such as Hugh. The duchess’s weird behavior had earned her the moniker ‘Her Mad Grace.’

A bizarre noise caught his ear, pulling him from his thoughts, and Hugh held his breath as it drew closer and increased in volume.

The door opened, the squeaking of the unoiled hinges accompanied by the cacophony of rattling china. His eyes widened as he found himself dumbfounded by the vision that greeted him.

A young woman entered, her slim arms weighted with an ancient tea service. The entire arrangement wobbled horrendously, and he gaped at the bouncing, clattering items on the tray. He’d never seen anything like it in his life, and he waited breathlessly for the moment when everything would crash to the floor.

She whimpered suddenly, and the sound galvanized him into action. Hugh closed the space between them, plucked the service from her hands, and set it down. Turning to face the maid, he saw that her entire body shook as if she stood in the back of a cart traveling a very bumpy lane. Pretty, in a plain sort of way, with flyaway brown hair and pale blue eyes, she offered a smile as shaky as the rest of her.

Hiding his reaction with practiced ease, Hugh realized the young woman suffered from a pitiable nervous affliction of some sort, not surprising considering the residence in which she lived and made her livelihood.

She stammered something unintelligible, dipped an odd, crooked curtsy, and fled the room, as if he posed some grave threat to her person.

Hugh shook his head in wonder. Were all the servants plagued with some ailment or another?

Glancing at the service, he was relieved to see the tea had already been prepared. He poured and drank, appreciating the warmth, which chased away his chill. So much time passed while he waited, he nearly finished the pot before the door creaked open again.

Hugh turned to face the newest arrival. He was so amazed at the graceful glide with which the figure entered, he forgot to set his cup and saucer down and merely stared.

Black-clad from head to toe, her face veiled with lace, the duchess swept in with haste and halted just as quickly. She stood a few feet away, her figure short and petite. Because the darkness of her gown blended with the shadows, he could see very little of her, but something about her gave him pause. His body tensed, turning hard all over, and his fingers held the delicate china saucer far too tightly. Sweat misted his brow despite the cold. It wasn’t nerves or apprehension that held his attention so completely. No, it was far worse than that . . .

Good God, he was becoming aroused!

Shooting a horrified glance at the tea in his hand, he quickly deduced that the infamous madness must spread through the water. Hugh dropped the cup and saucer on the table with such haste, the remaining liquid splashed over the rim and stained the dusty cloth below.

“Is there something wrong with the tea?” the duchess queried, her voice muffled by the thick veil.

He shook his head. “No. I apologize for the—”

“What do you want?” she snapped suddenly.

“Beg your pardon?” He, of the dry wit and ready retort, could think of nothing more clever to say, his brain feverishly trying to comprehend why his body was ready to mate with an elderly duchess suffering a mental malady.

“Why are you here?” she repeated slowly as if it were he that suffered the brain affliction. “What have you come for?”

Hugh gathered his wits. “My carriage wheel was damaged in a rut. I require the use of—”

“I’m truly sorry, but I haven’t the means to help you.” She fled the room with as much haste as the maid.

Mouth agape, he decided something truly heinous polluted the water hereabouts. There was no other explanation for this craziness. Flushed, slightly disoriented, and quickly becoming mad as hell, Hugh strode out the open doorway, bearing down on the dark figure who scurried away.

“Oh, Your Grace,” he called out with deceptive courtesy. “Another moment, if you please.”

Her pace quickened. So did his.

His legs were longer.

She hit the steps, hiking up her skirts, and he lunged forward, catching her elbow. She gasped. He almost did, too, but restrained himself. Her arm was firm and well-formed under his fingers, not at all as he imagined.

“Perhaps I misled,” he said dryly. Her lace-covered face turned to his. “I wasn’t asking.”

She stiffened.

“You’re ill; I collect that.” His gaze narrowed as he attempted to discern the facial features hidden behind the veil. “It appears you are unaware that a blizzard is fast approaching, and this is one of the coldest winters on record. My servant’s arm was broken in the fall, and one of my horses is lame—”

“Lame?” she repeated, her voice tight.

Ah! He suddenly remembered Her Grace’s love of horses, as professed by the ancient Artemis. Cad that he was, Hugh had no hesitation in playing on her sympathies. “Yes, lame. I’m certain the beast will recover, given the proper care and rest. So, too, will my footman, if also provided with proper care and rest.” He released her arm and stepped back, prepared to give chase if she fled again. “I haven’t the time to seek out another domicile, Your Grace. I am the Earl of Montrose, not some thief set to rob you. I will return your horses and conveyance to you at my soonest, I can assure you of that.”

She stood silently for a long moment, her damaged brain seeking something to say, he was certain. Finally she gave a jerky nod of agreement and turned, taking the steps with remarkable agility for a woman of her vast years.

Relieved, Hugh turned and bellowed for Artemis. He had no notion if the madness was permanent or not, but he had no desire to catch it in any case.

“Go with him.”

Charlotte looked out the upper-floor window and watched the dashing earl hitch the horses to a cart. He was a tall man, broad of shoulder, with the most glorious shade of dark-honey hair. He stood silhouetted by the snow, his elegantly dressed body moving with latent power, his shoulders bunching and flexing beneath the velvet of his coat. She couldn’t see his face from here, but she guessed he would be handsome. Or at least she hoped he would be. A man blessed with so fine a form should have a face to match. “It wouldn’t be proper.”

“Who cares about proper?” came the laughing rejoinder. “We’ve never done anything properly. And the earl appears quite . . . interesting.”

Interesting? Yes, he would be. It had been so long since she’d spoken to someone even remotely her age. She told herself every day that she was content with her life here, but sometimes, at night, she wished for things to be different.

Turning, Charlotte allowed the heavy velvet drapes to fall back into place. Her gaze moved around the spotless, well-appointed room, with its damask-covered walls and Chippendale furniture, before settling on the trim figure who waited with an arched brow. “I don’t know. I’d like to help him, but the more assistance we extend, the more he may discover about us.”

“Keep him busy then. We can’t leave them out in the cold. The horse is injured and must be tended. The footman could use your healing touch. They’ll catch their death, and neither one of us could live with that. You’ve done well enough protecting our secret these last years. I’ve every faith that you will continue to do so.”

Charlotte moved toward the armoire. Opening the mahogany doors, she withdrew a dinner gown and spread it out carefully on the end of the bed. “I still think it’s ill-conceived. The duke’s orders were clear. The others can help him and send them on their way.”

“Neither Henry nor Tom can set a broken bone, and well you know it. Go on now. You are better with those horses than anyone. The earl could use your help.”

“But it’s late!” she protested.

“Excuses, excuses. It’s not late at all, and since Montrose mustn’t see me, I won’t be eating dinner with him, so you can put that away. You will have to entertain him alone, but you knew that already. Now hurry up and change, before you’re forced to chase after them.”

Charlotte sighed. “If you insist.”

“I do.”

Damning the fates for sending him out in this godforsaken weather, Hugh adjusted the harnesses and chanced another glance at the sky. It was growing dark quickly, the storm clouds rolling in with portentous haste. He worried about his injured footman and his horse. Risking the journey had been foolhardy at best, but his sister, Julienne, had invited him for the holidays. He’d declined at first, but in a fit of boredom had changed his mind and decided to go anyway.

And this was the result, of course. Julienne would point out all the ways he’d handled the journey irresponsibly: He should have written to accept her invitation so she could expect him. He should never have waited so long to leave. He should have stopped at an inn when the weather took a turn for the worse. He should have commissioned a sturdier equipage, instead of one built to impress. And she would be correct on all counts, as usual. One of these days, he’d like to prove her wrong. He’d like to prove to them both that he was capable of managing his own affairs. That he was a man one could trust to lean upon.

Hugh lifted his head and watched the two young men approach him, carrying blankets and flagons of spirits to warm his servants. They were strapping lads, as he’d requested, although one of them stuttered terribly and the other had a lazy eye. Regardless, they would serve his purpose, and they seemed eager enough. Not that he blamed them. If he were in their place, he’d wish for any fortuitous circumstance to leave this forgotten estate.

The soft nicker of a horse behind him urged him to turn around. His gaze moved upward from the snow-covered ground, following the lines of a massive horse. His mouth fell open as he perused long, shapely legs encased in breeches, a slim torso framed by a spread cloak, stunning green eyes, and rich crimson hair. He gaped, at a loss for words, deciding he would’ve been better off avoiding the blasted tea, because it certainly couldn’t be a woman who sat astride the hulking beast. And wearing breeches no less!

“My lord,” the fantastic vision murmured from her high perch. And it was a her. No man could bear that beautiful face or stunning, feminine bedroom voice. A voice that curled around him in the deepening dusk and heated his blood.

He snapped his mouth shut.

“You are . . . ?” he growled rudely. Hugh knew he was suffering from a deplorable lack of social grace, but truly, there were only so many bizarre things a person should be expected to tolerate in one day, and since this afternoon, he’d had more than his share.

“Charlotte,” she replied as if that were explanation enough.

“Right.”

He frowned, his gaze narrowing as it raked her lithe form for the second time. Her manly attire delineated every soft curve of her legs. The cropped, form-fitting riding jacket, though somewhat out of date, showcased firm, high breasts and a trim waist. Impossibly he felt overheated again, although just moments before he’d been shivering. He studied her intently, noting her perfect posture and uplifted chin. “What are you attempting to do out here in this miserable weather?”

“I’m here to assist you, my lord.”

“Right.” He should argue further, and would, as soon as his brain was working again. At the moment it was completely occupied with the stunning redhead in breeches, leaving not one thought process free to refuse her.

Charlotte was not young, nor was she old. Five and twenty would be his guess. She was a classic beauty, with skin as clear as the finest porcelain. Her mouth was wide—too wide, some would say—and her lips full and carnal in their plumpness. She had lovely clear green eyes, and they met his with an easy forthrightness he admired.

“Who are you?” he asked.

The infinitely kissable mouth curled in a smile, and his gut tightened. A few moments ago he would have been alarmed. Now he was merely resigned. Apparently, he was getting aroused by all of the female inhabitants of the area.

“I thought we resolved that already,” she murmured, her throaty voice threatening to shove him over the precipice of aroused into thoroughly erected.

“A servant?”

“Hmm . . . More of a companion. I’ve been asked to accompany you.”

“For what purpose?” he scoffed. “I must make haste if I’ve any hope of reaching the next posting inn.”

“It’s already too late for that, my lord. You’ll have to remain here for tonight at least, perhaps even until the storm blows over, if it’s as wicked as the skies herald.” She chuckled, and his cock twitched.

“Hell and damnation!” It had been years since he’d been troubled by an unwanted cockstand, yet this unusual female had him throbbing in his trousers with a simple bout of amusement.

Her eyes widened at his curse.

“My apologies,” he corrected quickly. “My manners seem to have flown.” Along with the common sense of every individual he’d had the misfortune of meeting today. “I cannot possibly remain here overnight.”

“Why not?”

“Why not?” he repeated.

“That is what I inquired,” she said dryly. “Why can you not stay?”

“There’s no room, for one,” he pointed out.

“There’s plenty of room. The manse is quite vast.”

He scowled. “How much of it is inhabitable?”

Charlotte laughed. And Hugh was captivated. He decided in that moment he would have her, and suddenly the storm he had cursed mere moments before became a blessing. It would trap them together, giving him the opportunity to seduce her into his bed. His mood brightened. Unlike the rest of his life, he made no stumbles in the bedroom.

“Oh, my lord. Don’t be fooled by the apparent neglect. There are several available rooms, all clean and ready for guests.”

He arched a brow.

“Truly.” She flicked the reins with casual ease, and the huge brute of an animal moved toward the lopsided gate. “We should make haste.”

“What exactly can you offer in the way of assistance?” he asked, vaulting onto the driver’s seat of the cart, while the two young men jumped into the back.

She patted the bulging saddlebag he’d been too distracted to notice before. “I heard your footman has a broken arm. I can set it and tend to him, while you attend to your carriage.”

Hugh nodded, resigned. It would save time, and if she couldn’t help John, at least she’d be pleasing to the eye in the meantime. Damned if the sight of her in those breeches didn’t make every thought leave a man’s head.

He urged the horses forward, and she moved aside to allow him to lead.

Charlotte’s hands were quite literally shaking on the reins.

She’d never been studied in such a manner in her life, in a way that made her skin hot and her palms itch. She was no ingenue—her attractiveness had been the backbone of her existence for many years. But it had been a novel experience to be raked by Montrose’s warm brown eyes. She felt looked at, truly seen, for the first time in years.

At first glance he appeared nonchalant, but she wasn’t fooled. He’d perused her in detail, and liked what he saw. It had been thrilling. Arousing. And she wanted the handsome earl, who was an obvious libertine, to strip her with his eyes again.

Charlotte had hoped he would be fine of face, but the reality was far more devastating than she had imagined. He exhibited none of the signs of ennui and dissolution common to men with a marked predilection to excess. Montrose was, in fact, youthful and quite fit. More than fit. Vigorous, actually, and virile. Potently virile.

His mode of dress was understated, almost reserved, which suited him because his physical beauty alone was attractive enough. Any further adornment would simply be too much.

There were varying forms of male arrogance: the arrogance of wealth and privilege, the arrogance of intelligence, and the arrogance of attractiveness. The Earl of Montrose bore all of those traits, and a little bit more. The intensity of his stare, the way his hands had tightened the harnesses, the leisurely, seductive grace with which he moved—it all betrayed him. A man that comfortable in his own skin would know all about sexual pleasure and wouldn’t doubt his ability to bestow it. He was a man who fucked often and well. A man few women could resist.

Charlotte watched him closely as they left the grounds and moved onto the snow-covered lane, noting the easy expertise with which he held the ribbons. She was a woman who appreciated men who had a way with horses, because she liked them so well herself. Quite frankly, she respected men who took the time to become experts in the things that interested them. And Montrose was just such a man.

Glancing up, she noted the rapidly darkening sky. Yes, he would definitely be spending the evening with them, and if the turbulent wind was any indication, he might be staying much longer than that. Blizzards could sometimes last for days, with the roads being impassable for weeks after they passed.

She would have to be careful or he could learn more about them than she wanted him to. She would have to keep him occupied so he wouldn’t sneak around in his boredom.

And she liked that idea far more than she should.

Chapter Two

“Will he recover?”

Hugh glanced over his shoulder and found the lovely Charlotte lounging against the stall door. “I expect so. A minor sprain, I think.”

Returning his attention to the task at hand, he continued to apply salve to the scraped and swollen front legs of one of his carriage bays. Unlike the main house, the stable was warm, well tended, and in excellent shape, a fact that didn’t surprise him at all.

“Allow me to have a look,” she murmured, coming toward him.

In the tight confines of the stable stall, there was no room to avoid her. She squeezed in between where he knelt and the front of his horse, her breeches stretching deliciously over a lush derriere. Hugh’s mouth dried at the sight, his entire body hardening as her scent, a soft mix of flowers, enveloped his senses.

“I agree.” Her tiny hands soothed over the raw scrapes, and the animal breathed a soft whinny. Watching the caressing strokes of Charlotte’s hands, Hugh swallowed hard. It was a common enough task she was performing, and yet his interest in her was so unusually strong, it made the everyday action startlingly erotic.

Earlier, while struggling to remove his trunks from the disabled carriage, Hugh’s gaze had continuously strayed to the beautiful redhead as she set his footman’s broken arm and tended to his abrasions. There was a quiet confidence to her deportment and an unflappable air of control that he admired. He’d struggled most of his life to find that sort of confidence in himself, but to Charlotte it seemed innate.

Most women of his acquaintance would have been no assistance at all, but Charlotte had been invaluable. With her help they’d finished quickly and returned to the Kent estate with barely a moment to spare. Outside the wind howled and blew around with such force it was hard to see. Even now, her gorgeous red locks were dampening, the snow in them melting in the warmth of the stable.

“You shouldn’t have ventured out here,” he said.

“I wanted to be certain you found the salve.” Still crouched, she turned to face him, bringing her ripe mouth within inches of his own. Across her nose was a light dusting of freckles, the bane of most women’s existence, but a trait he’d always found charming.

Hugh studied her with a frown, trying to reason out why he found her so desirable. Charlotte was beautiful, yes, but no more so than he was accustomed to. The revealing breeches could have much to do with his constant state of arousal, although he’d never before considered men’s clothing particularly enticing. Of course his brother-in-law would beg to differ.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked.

She arched a brow. “I told you—”

“No. Not here in the stables, here in Derbyshire.”

Charlotte sat and crossed her legs. Hugh did the same.

“I grew up here. I left for a while and then returned.”

“Your family is here?”

Hugh reached for a nearby towel and rubbed the salve from his palms. Then he picked up her hands and cleaned them as well, taking note of the calluses and ink stains that marred her fingers. The nails were trimmed to the quick, neat and without vanity, similar to the way she comported herself.

“No,” she murmured, a bit breathless. “I have no family.”

Finished with the cloth, he set it aside, but kept her hands within his. She didn’t protest, for which he was grateful. He enjoyed touching her, relishing the way it made his entire body prickle with a singular sensual awareness.

“Tell me about the duchess.”

If he hadn’t been holding her hand, he wouldn’t have known she tensed at his query. Her adeptness at hiding her feelings intrigued him. She was too young to be so expert at evasiveness.

“What would you like to know?” she asked, looking away.

He snorted. “What wouldn’t I like to know? Is she mad, like they say? Does she mistreat you? Why does she live like this? The horses live better than you. Why—”

Charlotte covered his mouth with her hand. “No, no, and she doesn’t have any other choice.” She stood and tugged at their joined hands. He rose to his feet.

“Allow me to show you to your rooms, my lord. You’ll see things are not so dreary as they appear at first glance.”

“You’re avoiding my questions.”

She smiled, a potent mixture of sweetness and allure, and his stomach clenched in response. “Not so,” she assured him, releasing his hand. “I simply want to answer some of your questions without words.”

There was a bit of promise in the sparkle of her eyes, a hint that told Hugh she found him attractive. He was glad of that, for it made his goal much easier to attain. It was bloody freezing outside, and he’d be trapped here for days. The time would best be spent in bed with a lovely companion, and he wanted Charlotte with a sharpness he’d not experienced in a very long time, if ever.

Hugh stepped closer, gauging her reaction, and smiled when she stood her ground, her emerald gaze neither frightened nor wary. “I thank you for your help today,” he murmured, reaching for her hand.

She lifted hers to meet his, startling him. “It was nothing.”

“It was wonderful. The way you handled James’s injuries and set his broken bone . . . I don’t know that I could have done it.” He brushed his thumb over the back of her hand and felt her shiver.

“You might be surprised at the things you can accomplish when the need is dire enough.”

“You sound as if you speak from experience.”

“Perhaps.” Charlotte tilted her head and frowned, studying him with a far-too-perceptive gaze. “And you?”

He shrugged. “I never seem to reach the dire point,” he confessed, attempting to make the words light but failing miserably. “I’m always rescued before it progresses that far.”

Her grasp tightened, giving him a comforting squeeze. “I think you did well enough today, barging into the house and cornering Her Grace. There was no one to rescue you or your servants, yet you managed quite nicely on your own.”

Hugh’s eyebrows rose.

Charlotte touched his mouth where he was attempting to curb a smile and said softly, “I am a very good judge of character, my lord, but I misjudged you.”

“Oh? In what way?”

Her smile matched his. “I was very impressed with you today. Earlier, I wouldn’t have thought you’d need to hear that. But apparently you do.”

And with just that simple statement, the sharp edge of Hugh’s desire honed to a burning point. Suddenly the cozy warmth of the stables was too hot, the air around them crackling with sensual energy. He’d never experienced anything like it, this itching, burning feeling coursing over his skin. That it was brought on by simple verbal praise astonished him. But, then, everything that had happened today astonished him.

Charlotte recognized the change in the atmosphere. Her pupils widened, her mouth parted. Hugh stepped back a fraction, forcibly preventing himself from moving too fast and frightening her. She took a step forward, closing the distance he’d just created.

Against his better judgment, Hugh tugged her nearer. When she came forward willingly, he reassessed her. Charlotte was comfortable with his touch and his bold approach. In fact, he would say her approach was just as bold, belying her innocent exterior.

“Charlotte.” His free hand came up to brush across her cheek, finding her creamy skin as soft as he’d imagined it would be. “I believe you are the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“My lord—”

“Hugh,” he corrected. He’d never been comfortable with his title, and at this moment it created a distinction between their classes of which he didn’t wish to be reminded.

She leaned into his touch, her mouth curving in a wry smile. “I’m usually immune to charming rogues.”

Hugh didn’t deny the obvious. Instead he ran his thumb across her lips. “Your mouth is beyond lovely. It’s simply perfect.”

His free hand moved to her shoulder, then down along the curve of her spine. Charlotte arched into him, pressing her breasts to his chest. Unhampered by stays and petticoats, he could feel her, all of her, yet not enough of her.

Lowering his head slowly, he moved his fingertips away, intent on kissing her. She had such a lovely mouth, so full and ripe. And it said such wonderful things.

It was the not-so-gentle bite from his horse upon his shoulder that brought back the reality of the small stable stall and the storm that raged outside. For a moment, Hugh considered ignoring the rude intrusion and continuing anyway, but the warning snort from the beast behind him changed his mind.

“We should go back to the house,” he said with true regret. “I believe my horse is jealous.”

Charlotte blinked and took a moment to reply, visibly withdrawing from his blatant seduction. “Yes, I suppose that would be wise.” The matching note of regret in her voice soothed Hugh’s nigh-unbearable frustration.

Hands linked together, they left the comfortable stable and struggled across the courtyard, entering the manse through the kitchen. They were wet and frozen by the time they completed the journey, and the cook stared at them agape as they stumbled inside followed by a billowing cloud of snow. Hugh gaped right back.

The cook was the largest woman he’d ever seen. Impossibly tall and built like a laborman, she quite frankly scared him. Gray hair stuck out in every direction, and grayer eyes raked him from head to toe. With a gleaming knife in her hand and a helpless chicken on the counter, she was a terrifying sight to behold. He might have stood there for hours, arrested by shock, had Charlotte not grabbed his arm and tugged him from the room.

“Good God,” he muttered as he followed Charlotte up the servants’ stairs to the upper floors.

Minx that she was, she laughed. “Wait until dinner,” she promised. “You’ll be impressed.”

“I’m impressed already.” He’d never met an Amazon before in his life.

Traversing well-appointed hallways, Hugh barely had time to register the dichotomy of the house before he found himself in an immense bedchamber warmed by a fire. It was beautifully furnished and immaculately cleaned. He found it hard to believe he was in the same residence he’d entered just a few hours ago.

“Why isn’t the rest of the manse maintained?” he asked, glancing back at her.

Charlotte shivered by the door, her hair and garments wet with melting snow.

He held out his hand. “Come warm yourself by the fire.”

“Not yet.”

The “yet” gave him pause, a tiny intimation that she intended at some point to tarry in his rooms. Their eyes met and held, his with silent query, hers open and clear.

“Go change, then,” he said. “Before you catch your death. You can explain to me after you’re warmed.”

She nodded. “I’ll return directly to escort you to supper.”

Hugh sketched a quick bow. “I await your pleasure.”

“How long did it take before he started asking questions?”

Charlotte sighed. “Longer than I would have expected.”

“How did you answer?”

“I didn’t.”

“But you’ll have to.”

Nodding, Charlotte began to strip from her damp clothes. Goose bumps covered her skin, and she stepped closer to the warmth of the fire. “Montrose is very interesting, just as you suspected.”

“And handsome.”

“Yes, he’s quite gorgeous, and a brazen rake, too.” Smiling, she thought of the way he’d cleaned her hands for her and the concern he’d shown for his injured footman. “But much nicer than I would have thought. A touch vulnerable, too, which I never would have suspected. I took him for the arrogant sort, but beneath that exterior, I think he doubts himself a little.”

“Oh . . . he is interesting! Perhaps it’s good he’s come along, then. You’re young and lovely; it’s truly a shame you’ve chosen to dedicate yourself to me. Not that I’d ever send you away. You keep me from going completely mad with boredom.”

Charlotte laughed. “It’s no sacrifice, as you well know.”

“’Tis far different from the life you knew.”

“That is not a bad thing.” Charlotte sank gratefully into the steaming bath. “My former life had its pleasures, to be sure, but I was ready for a change and a bit of equanimity.”

A few moments of silence passed. “I studied the map while you were gone.”

Resting her head against the lip of the tub, Charlotte closed her eyes. “I’m sick to death of poring over that blasted thing. When the spring thaw comes, we’ll charter a ship and go ourselves. Perhaps then we’ll discover something useful.”

“His Grace was very ill when he gave you that map,” came the soft reminder. “Perhaps he wasn’t altogether sane at the time.”

Charlotte sank lower into the water. She’d considered that possibility many times. The books Glenmoore had left behind were cryptic at best, and the map, while comparable to others depicting the same body of water, had distinguishing features she could find nowhere else. Still, what choice did they have? The new Duke of Glenmoore was miserly with the trust and—

“Have you considered any other possibilities?” interjected the lilting voice Charlotte had come to love.

“No,” she admitted. “But I suppose I shall have to, in short order.”

“Well, in the meantime, enjoy the earl.” The soft rustle of muslin betrayed movement. “You should wear your red silk to dinner. You’re breathtaking in it. He’ll never be able to resist you.”

“He’s not trying to resist me,” she said dryly. She’d never cared for libidinous pleasure-seekers like Montrose, though she’d tolerated them when necessary. Hugh, however, wasn’t at all like his appearance led one to believe. In fact, he seemed almost lonely. Much like she was.

“Ah, well, even better.”

Charlotte laughed. “I’m certain it’s not proper to discuss this sort of thing with you.”

“Who cares about proper? We’ve never done anything properly.”

Hugh glanced again at the mirror, adjusting his cravat for the hundredth time, before resuming his pacing. What the devil was taking Charlotte so blasted long?

He’d give her a few moments more, then he’d track her down. Who knew what had happened to her in this museum of oddities? Why, he shuddered just thinking about it! It was abominable for such a gorgeous creature to be rusticating out here, in the wilds of Derbyshire. It was a travesty he intended to rectify as soon as the cursed weather cooperated.

When the long-awaited knock finally came, he threw open the portal with such haste that Charlotte stumbled backward in surprise. He was equally astonished.

Dressed in a crimson silk gown of stunning simplicity, she stole his breath and his wits. With off-the-shoulder sleeves, low-cut bodice, and high waist, the dress featured no adornments of any kind. Charlotte herself wore no jewelry or gloves, and her coppery hair was piled atop her head in riotous curls. Her skin was pale as moonlight, and the scent of her, fresh and flowery, was an arousing counterpoint to the seductive look of her.

It took all of the self-control Hugh possessed to keep from grabbing her and ravishing her upon his bed. Charlotte appealed to him on so many levels, he found it hard to collect them all.

He watched, mesmerized, as her mouth curved in a knowing smile. She was thoroughly aware of the effect the sight of her would have on any man.

“Shall we go to supper?” she asked.

“Must we?”

Her green eyes glowed with warm amusement. “I’m rather starved myself.”

So was Hugh, but not for food. However, the thought of her company while eating his meal was somewhat pacifying. He stepped out of his room and offered his arm. The light touch of her bare fingers burned through his coat and shirt to his skin below, making him ache for her. Charlotte was tiny, the top of her head barely reached his shoulder, and from his high vantage, Hugh had an excellent view of the ripe swell of her breasts.

He looked away, staring resolutely down the gallery. Unlike the demimondaines with whom he usually associated, it felt wrong to ogle Charlotte as if she were worth nothing more than a good tumble. She was intelligent and kind, as evidenced by her steadfastness in the face of today’s events. Fact was, he rather liked her, what little he knew of her, and since he had a few days to fill, he determined to discover as much about her as he could in that time.

As they moved from one hallway to another and prepared to descend the main staircase, Hugh felt as if he were moving through time. The brightly lit and beautifully furnished part of the house faded into the dust-covered and rotting section as easily as they turned the corner.

“It’s less of a burden on the servants to maintain only the areas we use regularly,” Charlotte explained before he could ask.

Thinking of the motley crew he’d met so far, he had to agree.

Hugh was relieved to see that the dining room was clean and kept in usable condition, but he was slightly disappointed to see only two place settings on the long mahogany table.

“Is Her Grace not joining us for dinner?” Even as he asked, he wondered why a paid companion would be allowed to dress so beautifully and eat dinner with him instead of with her employer. But he refused to ask. No sane man would question such good fortune.

“She’s become accustomed to eating her meals alone.”

“Odd, that,” he murmured as he held a chair for her. He’d made a habit of surrounding himself with large, boisterous groups of people, rarely spending a moment without company of some sort. Eating alone sounded . . . lonely.

Taking his seat, Hugh settled in to enjoy his meal when a familiar noise drew his attention to the swinging door that led to the kitchen. He shook his head and sighed.

Sure enough, the portal swung open and the young, jittery maid entered. The soup tureen in her hands wobbled alarmingly, and the ladle protruding from it rattled so loudly, nothing else could be heard. Directly on her heels and bearing a pitcher came Tom, the lazy-eyed boy who’d assisted Hugh earlier.

The two servants almost collided, compliments of the madly swinging door. Together they performed an odd sort of spinning dance, stumbling forward and back and around, as they attempted to keep their liquids from spilling out everywhere.

For a moment, Hugh watched the antics in dumbfounded fascination, and then, muttering an oath, he pushed to his feet and rescued the maid from the soup (or the soup from the maid, depending on how one looked at it).

“’Tis a wonder you don’t starve,” he muttered, and Charlotte laughed.

“They would have been fine, if you’d have given them a moment.”

Hugh shot her a disbelieving glance.

“Truly,” she insisted.

“Are you the only normal individual on the premises?” he rejoined as he took his seat.

The lovely full mouth he found endlessly erotic curved in a wide grin. “That depends on what you consider normal. Some would say that a young, unmarried woman who chooses to live with a mad duchess is far from normal.” She glanced at the shaking woman at the end of the table. “You may serve now, Katie.”

The pretty brunette flashed a tentative smile and moved to fill their bowls with soup. Hugh watched as, despite her affliction, she managed the task without spilling a drop onto the pristine tablecloth.

The meal consisted of a variety of delectable dishes, including curried fowl and braised ham, and Charlotte was refreshing and engaging. She made him laugh with her dry wit and was attentive enough to keep his glass filled with wine. Hugh attempted to broach the subject of the duchess, but like a consummate politician, she directed the conversation to lighter topics, such as the spring dance in the village and Mr. Edgewood’s skinny, unappetizing pig. Lost in the pleasure of her company, Hugh was content to allow her evasiveness. For the moment.

After dinner they retired to the upstairs library, and Hugh took the opportunity to study her in greater depth. It was easy to discern that she was not merely a paid companion. There was a practiced grace to her movements and a studious understanding of the customs enjoyed by men of privilege. She brought him a cigar, which she lit with expertise. Moving to the sideboard, Charlotte poured a large ration of brandy, which she warmed over a candle flame before bringing it to him. Her hips swayed softly as she approached, her shoulders held back to better display her lovely breasts. The invitation in her eyes was apparent.

“You’re attempting to seduce me,” he murmured with a smile, extremely pleased. It was not unusual for women to pursue him, but he was especially enjoying it this evening. Setting his cigar aside, Hugh caught her wrist when she held out the glass and tugged her into his lap. “Would you like me to take you away from this place?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he acknowledged what an excellent idea it was. Charlotte was far too lovely to be hidden away, and he could easily see himself keeping her for a while.

She didn’t reply. Instead, she turned her face and pressed those lush lips to his. Plump and flavored of wine, her kiss was intoxicating. He was held motionless, achingly touched and aroused by the simple gesture. He, a man consummate in the carnal arts, was arrested by a mere kiss. It was Charlotte who took control of the moment, Charlotte whose tongue licked along his lips and teased for entry. Hugh could only groan and pull her closer.

“Montrose,” she whispered, her forehead pressed to his.

“Hugh.”

“Hugh . . .” She said his name on a sigh, a warm breath that mingled with his before he breathed in and made it his own. “I am a woman of the world. I don’t need to be rescued.”

Holding her was both pleasure and torment. His cock was hard and swollen against her luscious derriere, aching to fill her. “What do you want, then, Charlotte?” he asked hoarsely. “I’ll give you anything you desire.”

Her hand came up and entwined in his hair, kneading his scalp, until his eyes closed helplessly, awash in pleasure. The air around them heated, becoming heavy with a desire so intense, it almost frightened him.

The sudden crash in the hall startled them both.

“Damnation,” he cursed, setting her from his lap before rising to his feet and striding to the door. Throwing it open, he stuck his head out and found Katie down the hall with a broken pitcher at her feet. Noting the blood that pooled in her palm, he hurried to her side, pulling out his handkerchief as he went.

“Poor thing,” he murmured, dabbing at the cut. “It must hurt terribly.”

“’Tis nothing. Please . . .”

It was the first time Hugh had heard her speak, and her soft, lyrical voice drew his gaze upward. He found her crying.

Flustered by her tears, he sought to soothe her. “Charlotte will have you good as new in a moment.”

“It’s not that,” she sobbed. “I broke the pitcher.”

“That old thing?” he dismissed gruffly. “I shall purchase a dozen more for you when this storm has abated. Then you can break as many as you like.”

Katie lifted her face and gave him a grateful, wavering smile. Hugh coughed in embarrassment and looked away, relieved when Charlotte knelt beside them and took the girl’s hand. Straightening, he backed up a step.

Charlotte examined the wound. “We must go to the kitchen to tend this.” She offered him a silent apology with her eyes. “You can retire. I’ll manage.”

“I’d like to help.”

“Truly, there’s nothing you can do but watch. And it’s been a long day. I shall see you tomorrow.”

Hugh hesitated a moment before nodding his acquiesce. Charlotte was obviously accustomed to handling her affairs alone, and the dismissal was obvious. He would not be seeing her again tonight.

He didn’t understand why he wished to help her carry this burden, and any others she might have. He avoided responsibility whenever possible, and Charlotte was made of stern stuff, he knew. Yet there it was, the unmistakable desire to take care of her.

After the two women disappeared around the corner, Hugh entered his suite and locked the door. No longer distracted by his attraction to Charlotte, his thoughts returned to where he was and the situation he was in.

Somewhere on this floor, the mad duchess waited.

He’d never been a nervous sort. In fact, he was known for his steely concentration, which had stood him in good stead through two duels and had given him a reputation as a man with whom to be reckoned. Because of his even temperament, Hugh found the whole mystery of the decrepit mansion and the legend of the duchess rather thrilling. His life had become a tedious cycle of business meetings, women whose names he couldn’t remember, and fair-weather friends. He was bored of it all, which was the main reason he’d decided at the last moment to visit Julienne.

As he undressed, he racked his memory trying to recall what he could about the old duke and his hasty marriage. Glenmoore had been an Eccentric, an Original, always haring off on worldly adventures at which everyone else had shaken their heads. Hugh knew Glenmoore’s son had always considered his father to be something of an embarrassment.

Now Hugh wished he’d paid greater attention to the talk. When his sister had married Lucien Remington, he’d become adept at avoiding gossip of any nature. For future reference, he’d have to rethink his reticence. Perhaps there was something useful to be gleaned from the chatter after all.

Charlotte was an enigma he would unravel. A lady’s companion was expected to have a sterling reputation, and yet it was fairly obvious by the way she dressed and her skilled seduction that Charlotte was a bit tarnished.

Every one of the servants had some affliction or another. It was highly possible that the tempting redhead’s reputation was hers.

Damnation, he was thirsty!

He’d had nothing but wine since the pot of tea earlier. Shooting a wary glance at the fresh pitcher left by Katie, Hugh sighed in resignation and poured a small ration. There was no help for it. He couldn’t drink liquor the entire duration of the storm. With everything that was happening around him, he was better off sober.

He lifted the glass and drained its contents. Then he crawled into the massive bed and promptly fell asleep.

Hugh stiffened but made no other movement. All of his senses alert, he listened carefully for the sound that woke him.

There it was again—the soft sound of material brushing against itself.

Someone else was in the room with him.

Throwing back the covers, he leapt from the bed, startling the dark form that stood at the foot of it. He lunged forward, arms out to capture his Peeping Tom.

And ended up facedown on the rug.

Startled, knowing he should have caught the intruder, Hugh jumped to his feet and spun about, expecting to catch something and finding only air. Running to the nightstand, he lit the taper, then looked around, finding no one and nothing amiss.

He cursed as he pulled on his discarded trousers. A man could take only so much.

As he reached for the candle, he noted the pitcher next to it and muttered an oath that would have blistered the ears of a seasoned sailor. If the blasted water was to blame for this, he’d be foxed the duration of his visit and be glad of it.

In the meantime, though, Hugh didn’t believe he’d imagined the specter at the end of the bed, and he also didn’t believe the individual simply dissipated into thin air. Having Remington as a brother-in-law had taught him a thing or two about appearances, and he’d use what he’d learned to search the walls on either side of the fireplace.

It took less than an hour to find the tiny lever. Hugh engaged it, and the wall slid open without a sound, betraying how well maintained the mechanism inside was.

With a small smile of satisfaction and the thrill of discovery, he picked up the taper and stepped inside.

Chapter Three

Bending over the desk in the study, Charlotte released a deep breath and seriously considered ripping the blasted map she was studying into pieces. She’d spent three years attempting to puzzle out the cryptic thing and had very little to show for her efforts.

If she had only herself to look after, she would frame the map as a colorful memento and carry on. But she had an entire house of people to worry about, and her efforts alone could never support them all. Moving them away, finding a place to live, trying to make ends meet . . . impossible. But of course, that’s exactly what Carding intended.

Charlotte tightened the belt of her lined silk robe. Her negligees had been purchased for her past life and were ill-suited to her present circumstances, but she wore them regardless. They reminded her that she was a woman, that she was still young and attractive. Left out here in the country, it was far too easy to forget those things.

Bleary-eyed, Charlotte knew she should retire, but thoughts of the handsome earl just a few doors down made sleep difficult. She hungered for him, hungered for the hard body and impressive cockstand she’d felt while sitting on his lap.

All night he’d looked at her as if nothing else in the world existed. Despite his readily apparent desire and her obvious willingness, he’d restrained himself. He’d kept his hands from pawing her despite the hard, throbbing erection she’d felt at her hip. His slow, leisurely seduction showed he respected her, perhaps even admired her. Bold as she was, she’d considered knocking on his door, knowing the charming rogue would welcome her eagerly. She was considering it now . . .

“Hello.”

Startled, Charlotte glanced up, and her heart lodged in her throat. Not but a few feet away stood the Earl of Montrose, wearing only trousers and an endearingly tousled head of dark blond curls. He was such a beautiful man, powerfully built, with shoulders that were a tailor’s dream tapering to a washboard stomach and trim hips. His dark eyes were heavy-lidded, seductive, gazing at her with their customary breathless intensity.

“I didn’t hear you come—” Her voice trailed off as she looked past him and saw the opening in the wall of the study. “Have you been sneaking around?” she snapped.

Barefooted, he stepped toward her with the top button of his trousers undone, the muscles of his stomach rippling with strength as he moved. “I was sleeping,” he drawled softly. “Someone else was sneaking around. In my bedchamber.”

Charlotte winced inwardly, but kept her face impassive. Bloody hell.

“Sounds as if you had a bad dream,” she murmured, rolling up the map. “After what happened today—”

“It wasn’t a dream, Charlotte.”

She froze as Montrose rounded the desk and came up behind her. He smelled wonderful, an enticing scent of softly warmed cologne and aroused male. And there was no doubt he was aroused—the hard length of an impressive erection strained against the front of his trousers. She stood tense, expectant, waiting for him to make the first move.

The earl blew out his taper and set it aside. His chest pressing into her back, he reached around for her hands and stilled their movements. “I’ve allowed you to be evasive, sweet, but now it’s time we discussed the answers to the obvious questions.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she breathed, her heart racing at his proximity. The heat of his skin burned through her robe. Unable to stop herself, she squirmed against him and felt the hard swell of his cock slide across her buttocks.

He spread the map open, his breath hot and harsh in her ear. “Now where is the sharp wit I so admire?”

Charlotte swallowed hard. He did admire her, and for more than her appearance.

One of his large hands rested safely over hers on the map. The other, however, ventured away, cupping her shoulder before sliding down her back. She arched into his caress helplessly. “This is beautiful,” he murmured, stroking the heavy silk of her robe. “The green brings out the color of your eyes and sets off your hair.”

“Montrose . . .” Her eyes slid closed. It had been so long since another person had touched her. Too long.

“Hugh,” he corrected softly, his teeth grazing the side of her neck. Shivering, she caught her breath in an audible rush. Much taller than she was, he had no trouble looking over her shoulder. “What are you studying so intently?”

“I-it’s nothing.”

“Hmmm . . .” Hugh’s hand moved to her hip and kneaded the flesh gently. “It looks like a map of the West Indies to me.”

Charlotte leaned heavily against the desk. “I look at it when I wish to bore myself to sleep.”

His hand over hers lifted and came to rest on her stomach, pressing her back into his hard chest. His tongue, hot and moist, licked along the shell of her ear. “Are you having trouble sleeping, then?”

Lord, she felt drugged, her mind working sluggishly to respond to his questions. The earl was a master seducer, she’d recognized that immediately. But to be the object of such skill was completely overwhelming.

“Sometimes,” she admitted.

His mouth nuzzled the sensitive skin of her neck, his erection burned into her lower back. “Explain the map to me.”

She tried to remember why she didn’t want to answer his questions and failed. “I-it’s believed t-to lead to a treasure.”

The earl’s hand at her waist slipped inside the opening and cupped her breast through her night rail. Expert fingers circled with teasing, brushing caresses, while his other hand slowly raised the hem of her gown and robe. “What kind of treasure?”

“Pirate’s treasure.”

Hugh rolled her nipple between his fingertips. “An interesting way to pass the time.”

A moan escaped her, and she arched into his cock. “Ah . . . yes.”

His palm cupped her bare thigh, then slid upward. He was taking over her senses, waging a silent battle to force her to lower her guard. And he was succeeding. She’d already revealed far more than she should.

“Are you attempting to seduce me, my lord?” She gasped as his hand cupped her sex.

“Seduction is long past, sweet. Now I’m making love to you. But don’t change the subject. Tell me why you have such interest in that map.” With a long swipe of his tongue, he licked her neck, then whispered, “And spread your legs.”

A breathless laugh escaped her at his arrogance, but she complied with his request, because she could do nothing else. She was rewarded with his stroking fingertips, gentle and reverent, gliding through the slick evidence of how very much she wanted him.

“I promised to find the treasure,” she moaned, melting into him.

“For what purpose?” His finger slipped inside her and began to pump in a leisurely rhythm, driving her mad.

“Why does anyone seek treasure?” Her head fell back against his shoulder. “Heavens . . . that feels wonderful.” She shivered, and his hand at her breast gripped tighter.

“For money, for fame, for adventure,” he suggested, his voice so gruff, it betrayed his arousal. “Which is it for you?”

Charlotte arched her hips into his hand, her body on fire. His teeth bit into her neck, his fingertips tugged at her nipple, his fingers thrust between her legs until her orgasm was almost upon her. She cried out and tensed in expectation.

He stopped, and his hands left her.

“No . . .” she protested. “Don’t stop.”

With a hand between her shoulder blades, Hugh pressed her gently forward until she lay sprawled across the map. He lifted one of her legs and set it sideways atop the desk, opening her completely.

“Why do you want to seek treasure, Charlotte?” His palms stroked the curve of her bare derriere.

“For the money.”

“For the duchess?” He kissed the small of her back. “For yourself?”

“Both.” She shuddered, her arousal so painfully acute, she considered relieving it herself. Her hand moved off the desk to do just that.

“Don’t even think about it,” he warned. And then she heard him remove his trousers. “Tell me you’re not a virgin.”

Her throat was so tight, she could only shake her head.

“Do you want this?” he growled, thrusting his hard cock through the lips of her sex.

“God, yes,” she breathed. “I want it.”

He bent over and pressed his damp cheek to hers, his erection resting in the valley of her buttocks. “I want you more than any woman I can recall, Charlotte. Your scent intoxicates me, the feel of your skin drives me to madness, and your mouth . . . I want to do obscene things to your mouth.” He kissed her cheek so gently, her heart clenched. “But I need answers, and I expect you to give them to me. Will you do that when I’ve finished?”

At the moment, she felt like doing anything he asked.

Hugh’s hands stroked down her back, soothing, caressing. “Are you in danger, sweet? Perhaps you hide here to escape something unpleasant?”

Charlotte’s hands closed into fists. Seduction was one thing, as long as it was honest and without guile. “Don’t pretend to care, Montrose, when I hold no illusions that you do or will. You want sex. Fuck me, and be done with it.”

He straightened abruptly, his voice tightening. “I’m not lacking in sex. It’s you I want.”

She took a breath, then released it, sensing she’d pricked him and wondering why that mattered to her. “I swore not to tell anyone, Montrose. Can you collect that? I don’t know you. In a day or two you’ll leave and—”

She gasped as he thrust his cock into her with no further preliminaries.

Her fingers clawed at the desk and her back arched as pleasure seared her senses. He was large, so unbelievably built, and hard as steel, throbbing within her, until she felt nothing else.

Hugh leaned over her, lacing his fingers with hers. “I’m inside you, Charlotte.” He nudged deeper, reminding her of that fact. As if she could forget. “I intend to remain inside you for the next few days. There are things I can do, ways I can take you, that will prompt you to tell me what I want to know just so I’ll allow you to come. Or you can be a good girl and just tell me now. Then we can spend the next few days enjoyably discussing ways to alleviate your problems.”

Arrogant men were one of her deep irritations. “I am not without skills of my own,” she bit out, clenching deliberately around him, pushing herself into orgasm.

He growled, his hands tightening brutally on hers, as she came around his cock. She threw her hips back to take him completely inside her, biting her lip to hold back her cries. It was a breathless, burning release, searing her senses, but it was only a tease, a brief respite, and as he swelled in response, she writhed in torment, needing more.

Hugh withdrew from her, then slid forward again, making her feel every thick, silken inch, stretching her deliciously, until she thoug

Date: 2015-04-20; view: 698