"'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 Sylvia Day - Bad Boys Ahoy!
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 h*ps swayed softly as she approached, her shoulders held back to better display her lovely br**sts. 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 c*ck 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 Sylvia Day - Bad Boys Ahoy!
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 Sylvia Day - Bad Boys Ahoy!
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 Sylvia Day - Bad Boys Ahoy!
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 ThreeBending 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 Sylvia Day - Bad Boys Ahoy!
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 Sylvia Day - Bad Boys Ahoy!
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 c*ck 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 Sylvia Day - Bad Boys Ahoy!