Page 17 of Always the Chaperone

Charlotte breathed, “You cannot do that.”

William’s other hand was still guiding the horses, and he was able to manage them while touching her in such a wonderful, terrible way.

He chuckled. “You can stop me anytime you wish, Charlotte. You have hands. Stop me if you don’t like it.”

But she was glorying in this feeling, shivering under his touch, and she wanted it to continue—and yet she had to stop him, this was too wild, too rebellious!

With a great effort of will, her hand met his with the intention of moving it, but he was stronger than she was—or perhaps she did not wish him to stop.

Charlotte moaned aloud as he continued to explore her leg with gentle strokes, unable to restrain herself, unable to slow the beating of her heart.

“William,” she whispered, unsure what she was going to say next.

“William, we have to turn back!”

Charlotte jolted at the sound and saw John leaning back in his curricle.

“Why?” William called, his hand still placed heavily on her thigh.

“It looks like rain, and these curricles are no match for strong wind,” John called back. “We cannot have Miss Darby and Lady Charlotte drenched through. We will have to return them home.”

Charlotte was still catching her breath as William turned to her and whispered, “I think I would quite like you wet, Charlotte. What do you say?” Without waiting for her response, he shouted back to his brother, “Fine by me, John, lead the way.”

As the curricles turned right at the next opportunity, William removed his hand to steer the horses.

“I-I do not know,” she said shakily, “how you have the audacity to…to touch me like that.”

“I wanted to touch you like that,” William shot back. “I have wanted to touch you since I saw you seated on that piano stool. If anything, I think I should be applauded for waiting so long.”

She spluttered, unsure what to say.

“More importantly,” he said with a wicked smile, “don’t you want to be touched?”

She stared open-mouthed, and his grin broadened. How could he possibly know what pleasure his fingers gave her, how alive her body had felt in those moments, more alive than any other time in her life.

“Now then, before I return you to the safety of your home,” William said, all intensity gone, “I have an invitation to make to you. I am attending Braedon’s ball tomorrow, and I would like you to accompany me.”

Charlotte sagged in the curricle, relieved to return to normality. Rain started to drizzle down, causing shrieks from young ladies on the pavement, their hands reaching for their bonnets. “Of course. Who will I be chaperoning?”

A frown creased his forehead. “No one. I am inviting you as my guest.”

It was the last response she had expected. Invited as his guest? She could not remember the last time that had happened.

She imagined entering a room filled with candles and noisy guests who fell silent at the sight of her on the arm of such a handsome man. Even in her mind, someone pointed at her and laughed. There was chatter from a corner and a snort, which was shushed.

Charlotte stiffened as the curricle pulled up outside her home. It was pouring with rain now; John had been correct in his guess at the changing weather.

She would not make a laughingstock of herself and could not attend a ball with someone who made her feel things she could not explain.

“No, thank you,” she said abruptly.

Opening the door to the curricle, she did not wait for William to descend and help her down. The front door was already being opened by Matthews, and she almost made it inside without another word from the handsome duke.

“Charlotte.”

Just her name was enough to make her stop and turn around. How did he have such power over her?

He was still seated in the curricle, and there was a look of disappointment across on his face.