Page 90 of To Woo a Wicked Widow

He rubbed her knuckles with his thumb.

Even that small touch set her on fire.

“I know that I could never take the place of that love, but I do think you have a particular regard for me.” He gestured to their naked bodies. “I hope it goes beyond this physical expression, although I do find that an excellent argument for marriage.” He grinned wickedly. “Think of all the pleasant afternoons we could pass as charmingly employed as we have today.”

Her whole body heated. She wanted him so much.

He gathered her into his arms, pressing himself against her once more, stirring her passion in an instant. His body betrayed his interest too as his hard member pushed against her belly. He nuzzled the hollow of her neck, his lips enflaming her as moisture flooded between her legs.

A moan rumbled from within her chest.

“I will break my word of honor, Charlotte, and ask you again, will you make me the happiest man alive and say you will marry me?” He sunk his lips onto her mouth, filling her with his strong essence, pinning her to the bed for what seemed like forever.

At last she shook off his mouth. “I can’t, Nash . . .”

The devastation in his eyes twisted her heart.

She hurried on. “If you will not give me the chance to say yes.”

He lay stunned, as if flummoxed by her words. “Yes?” A bare whisper.

“Yes.” She nodded, her life seeming to click into place as she pulled him toward her. “Freedom means something else entirely to me now. I want the freedom to make decisions, but I also want the security of knowing you will always be there, whenever I need you. I want the right to claim you as mine,” she tightened her grip, “and no other woman’s for as long as we both shall live.”

“Then marry me and never worry about that again.”

She hugged him close. “When?”

He laughed. “Tomorrow? Tonight? We’ve already started the wedding night.”

“Wretch.” She burrowed further into his chest, loving the clean scent of him. “I would like to have a wedding—a real wedding that I can look forward to. Not a mad dash to Gretna Green, nor a cold ceremony that I dread with all my heart.” But there was a fly in the ointment still. “The only thing I regret is giving my father his way once more. He will be smug for the rest of his life over this.”

“Would you let him ruin your happiness—our happiness—because of that?” Nash peered into her face.

“No.” She tightened her grip on him. “Now that I have you, it will take an act of Parliament to rid you of me.” She risked a peek at his face and thrilled to see his tender smile. “I would like to have all our friends and family, and I mean our whole family here at Wrotham.”

“The tenants?” His brows rose, but his smile firmed. “I think that’s a glorious idea. They would love to be a part of the joining of our two estates.”

Charlotte slid her hands down his muscular back and rubbed herself against his shaft. “I believe we should reenact that joining right now, my lord.” She seized his lips, thrusting her tongue into him.

After a few moments he eased himself away. “Much as I would love to continue, my love, I fear we have been far too long away from the festival.” He nodded toward the window, which showed shadows lengthening where earlier there had been none. “We must hurry back to Lyttlefield so you can change before the supper and the final festivities.”

“And what are they, pray tell?” She ran her hand across his taut stomach, trying to tempt him back to their private festivity.

“The crowning of the corn maiden and her joining with the lord of the harvest.”

Charlotte sat up, startled by the image of big Michael Thorne coupled with any of the young girls who were vying for the title of corn maiden. “Joining? They don’t really . . . join or marry, so they?”

Nash sat up on the side of the bed, and Charlotte reluctantly did the same. No more fun for now.

“A hundred or more years ago I hear they did more than the current symbolic kiss to insure the fields’ fertility.” He grabbed his breeches from the floor and looked at her over his shoulder. “If the corn maiden got with child, the lord of the harvest married her in the spring to encourage the fields at spring planting.”

Charlotte shuddered. Traditions were one thing, but such pagan rituals sat ill with her.

About to don his breeches, Nash glanced down and grunted. “Wait a moment, love.” He disappeared behind the screen and she heard water splashing into the bowl. She cocked her head. She supposed she should wash as well. An unpleasant stickiness between her thighs reminded her of their recent lovemaking.

Nash reappeared and she hopped down from the bed. “Do you mind if I . . .” A sudden embarrassment stopped her words.

“By all means, my dear. And I suppose that puts paid to the question of your virginity.” He nodded toward the bed, where a dark stain smeared the white sheet.