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 al
low 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 thought she would die of it.
“Naughty Charlotte,” he murmured. He stroked her again with expert awareness. “We can stay here for hours.” Again he withdrew, again he thrust. “Or we can retire to my bed, and you can lay on your back. I could suck your nipples then, sweet. Lick them, bite them, while I fuck you. Wouldn’t you like that?”
She ground her teeth together and shuddered all over as he pumped into her again. “Bastard.”
“No, I’m quite legitimate. And wealthy. I could help you, sweet.” Out. In. “Why seek treasure when you have me?” His fingertips stroked the straining length of her spine.
“I don’t have you.”
He stilled his movements. “You could.”
She lay prone upon the massive mahogany desk, spread and helpless, filled with Montrose’s wondrous cock, her heart racing so fast she could hear nothing over the rushing of blood in her ears.
What was he saying? What was he offering? And why, when she’d given him what he desired without a fight?
Hugh didn’t move, he simply waited, and she knew without him saying so that he wouldn’t continue until she replied one way or the other. She didn’t understand what he was offering, but whatever it was, she wanted it, she wanted him. Desperately.
She’d spent her entire life caring for herself because there was no one else to do it. She found it difficult to trust others, and she was a pragmatist at heart who believed in keeping her emotions far removed from her sexual liaisons. And yet she found herself wanting to believe a silver-tongued rogue. Knowing she shouldn’t, Charlotte nodded her head.