Page 49 of Always the Chaperone

It met with continuous temptation, her breasts, quivering under the slightest touch, those hips so round and soft. But eventually, his hand reached that secret, warm, delicious place where he wanted to sink his manhood right now—but not yet. He had so much more pleasure to give.

“Charlotte,” he managed in a shaky voice. “Do you trust me?”

She looked at him with wide eyes hazy with desire and nodded—and cried out with pleasure as he slipped two of his fingers inside her.

William almost cried out with her. God’s teeth, but she was ready for him. Her nightgown was damp, and she tightened around his fingers. As he moved them gently, he caressed that nub of pleasure, and she arched against the sofa.

“William!”

Hearing his name cried out was enough to push him over the edge, but he gritted his teeth. This was not the time to lose control. This was when he could show Charlotte exactly what she meant to him. How she deserved to be loved.

Lowering his mouth to her neck, he teased kisses down it until he reached her décolletage without forgetting to keep his fingers moving ever so gently, working up to a rhythm, slowly, slowly.

But she did not want slowly. She twitched with desire and moaned, eventually managing to whisper, “More, William.”

It was too much. Burying his face in her breasts and finding her nipple with his tongue, William caressed and stroked, her panting and moans echoing in his ears and driving him wild as he brought her to climax.

Her spasms around his fingers made his manhood desperate to be inside her. As she settled, she looked into his eyes with shock and surprise.

“That was…wonderful.”

“And there is more,” he whispered, unable to stop himself from kissing her again. “More, Charlotte, and I want to give it to you.”

She gazed at him in wonder, and as he opened his mouth to ask her once and for all to make him happy and marry him, she leaned and kissed him full on the mouth.

“In that case,” she said, “why don’t you come upstairs with me?”

Chapter Thirteen

For a heart-stoppinginstant, Charlotte could not believe what she had just said. Lying on the sofa almost completely naked with a man—who could have believed it?

She would not have believed it even an hour ago, and yet here she was. And here he was.

William Lennox, Duke of Mercia. How could one man mean so much to her? Just looking at him made her melt.

In that case, why don’t you come upstairs with me?

She trusted him. How could she not? He was an honorable man, one with a deep sense of pride in himself and his word. Charlotte was sure he would not tell anyone about tonight. Her reputation was safe with him.

He had come here tonight wanting this—wanting her. It had been obvious the moment he entered the room.

She wanted more of that divine pleasure he had given her, pleasure beyond what was possible on this earth.

But he had not responded to her offer. In fact, William was gazing at her with complete astonishment. Had she gone too far? He will end up marrying someone else, to be sure. Any man gets bored of chasing one woman eventually. But would he give her this? Would he give her tonight?

“We would be taking a risk.”

“I will not tell anyone,” she whispered. “I trust you. I know you will not, either.”

He swallowed. “But…but what about a child?”

Pushing him away, she walked around the sofa to a small, unassuming wooden box placed in the corner of the room on a table. She opened it and pulled out a preservative.

William sat up hurriedly. “Why in God’s name do you have a French letter?”

She laughed at the way he responded. One would almost think he had never seen one before, and that man was far too good with his hands to be so innocent. “They are not mine! They are Richard’s.”

His eyes widened, and Charlotte explained, “Look, we are both of age, and he and I have always been honest with each other. He has no secrets from me. I knew he had women here, and he was determined after taking his vow never to marry. So, shall we?”