Bad Boys Ahoy!

Chapter One

Derbyshire, December 1814

Rotting.

To Hugh La Coeur's mind, that was the most apt description for the moldering mansion on the hill. Usually the bright white of newly fallen snow brought a peaceful serenity to the landscape. Not so with this property. Even the pristine beauty of winter could not hide the neglect apparent in everything about the place.

He hesitated for a moment, taking in the view with a disgusted snort. Ominous clouds roiled above him, but the sky was darkening for another reason-the day was ending. Thoughts of returning the way he'd come, through the snow and without light, forced Hugh to proceed. If his need were less dire, he'd ride on in search of a more hospitable-looking home. But he was desperate, and the curling smoke rising from the manor's chimneys told him the place was inhabited. Help was at hand, and he couldn't ignore it, no matter how much he desired to.

He tied his mount, one of his prized carriage bays, to the metal ring protruding from a nearby stone pillar. At one time the pillar had held up the park gate, but not any longer. One side of the gate remained upright, while the other leaned precariously atop the frozen ground.

"Atrocious," Hugh muttered to his horse, as he edged his way through the opening and started the long walk up the drive to the main house.

He glanced around with morbid fascination. It was easy to imagine how beautiful the property must have been once, a source of pride for its noble occupants. But fate had dealt a cruel blow to the peer and family who owned the place. It had obviously gone without maintenance for many years. Vines, long dead, crawled over the brick exterior. Places where paint had once brightened the facade now peeled and warped from lack of care.

The wind picked up, and soft, powdery snow began to swirl around Hugh's polished Hessians. His hair blew across his forehead, his hat long lost in a ditch. The storm would be upon them soon. His legs lengthened their strides. He would have to hurry.

Reaching the door, Hugh banged the tarnished lion-head knocker. The sound echoed eerily, and he shook off the shivers. He was an earl, for Christ's sake! The esteemed, if slightly scandalous, Earl of Montrose, an ancient title that carried a wealth of prestige. His station should place him above such childish fears. But frankly, the place looked haunted, and the forgotten air that surrounded the hall filled him with foreboding.

He almost fled, blizzard be damned, when the door creaked open with torturous slowness. A stooped butler, as decrepit as the manse in which he worked, stood in the doorway.

"Aye?" the old man queried in a gravelly voice.

Hugh handed over his card. "Is the lord of the manor at home?"

The butler squinted at the lettering. He lifted the card to an oddly protruding eye and then dropped his hand with a grunt. The servant gestured wildly behind him. "You'll find 'im in the cemetery out back."

Before Hugh could blink, the door was swinging with lightning speed toward his face. Moving with a pugilist's quick ease, he slipped into the hall before the door slammed shut. The butler turned, bumped into his chest, and shrieked in terror.

Rolling his eyes, Hugh steadied the frail man. "Listen, old chap. My desire to be here is far less than your desire to have me here. I require some assistance. If you provide it, I can be on my way."

The butler studied him closely with his oversized blue eye. "Wot ye be needin', gov'na?"

"You may address me as 'my lord,'" Hugh corrected, with a pointed look at his calling card, presently being crushed in the butler's hand. "What is your name?"

The servant sniffled. "Artemis."

"Very well, Artemis. Are there any other men about the place?" Hugh glanced around. "Men preferably capable of physical exertion."

Artemis studied him with blatant suspicion. "'Enry. 'E's a strapping lad wot runs the stables. And Tom, 'e 'elps Cook wiv thevittles."

"Excellent." Hugh released a sigh of relief. "Would it be possible to find decent horseflesh around here?" Even as he asked, he knew it was asking too much, given the sight of the place.

"O' course!" the old man cried, affronted, "'er Grace 'as the finest 'orses you'll ever see!"

Hugh stilled, his mind rapidly disseminating the information he'd gathered so far. His Grace lay in the cemetery, which left Her Grace widowed. There weren't many duchesses, hardly any that were widowed, and only one of whom he was aware who would claim ownership to a sorry place such as this-

"'Her Mad Grace'?" Of all the damnable luck!

"'ere now!" Artemis complained. "We don't take kindly to that nonsense 'round 'ere!"

Hugh cleared his throat. He was leaving. Now. "Well, I'm certain Her Grace wouldn't mind at all if I borrowed her-"

"You can't just barge in 'ere and run off wiv 'er Grace's 'orses." The old man straightened as best he could. "You'll 'ave to ask 'er first!"

"Ask her? Good God, she's in residence here?" The place wasn't fit for man or beast, let alone for a duchess.

"O' course. Where else would she be?" Artemis snorted.

Hugh arched a brow. "Where else indeed?"

"Come along, then, gov'na." The servant shuffled away, stopping only to grasp the candelabra off the console. "You can wait in the parlor while I tell 'er Grace yer 'ere." Shoving open a set of double doors on the right, Artemis gestured impatiently for him to go inside, shoving the candelabra at him as he passed.

Hugh moved into the room and then spun about as the door slammed shut behind him. "Abominable service," he muttered, glancing around.

No other candles were lit, and the grate was cold. Every bit of furniture was draped and covered with thick dust. Even the portrait over the fireplace was hidden from view. Depositing his meager source of light on a cloth-covered table, he set to work building a fire.

Grumbling under his breath, Hugh inspected the coal bucket, surprised to discover it did indeed have coal inside it. Within moments he'd started a fire. He stood and used a nearby dusty sheet to wipe his hands.

Of all the confounded places for his wheel to break, why did it have to be here?

Hugh rubbed the space between his brows, trying to remember everything he'd heard about the dowager Lady Glenmoore. The elderly duke had shocked the ton a few years past with a rushed elopement with his second wife. Then His Grace had gone on to compound the astonishment by passing away within scant weeks of his marriage.

It was widely speculated that the new duchess had helped her husband to his final reward. The succeeding Duke of Glenmoore had distanced himself from his stepmother in short order, banishing her to a remote holding, where it was rumored she passed the time scaring the wits out of hapless passersby such as Hugh. The duchess's weird behavior had earned her the moniker 'Her Mad Grace.'

A bizarre noise caught his ear, pulling him from his thoughts, and Hugh held his breath as it drew closer and increased in volume.

The door opened, the squeaking of the unoiled hinges accompanied by the cacophony of rattling china. His eyes widened as he found himself dumbfounded by the vision that greeted him.

A young woman entered, her slim arms weighted with an ancient tea service. The entire arrangement wobbled horrendously, and he gaped at the bouncing, clattering items on the tray. He'd never seen anything like it in his life, and he waited breathlessly for the moment when everything would crash to the floor.

She whimpered suddenly, and the sound galvanized him into action. Hugh closed the space between them, plucked the service from her hands, and set it down. Turning to face the maid, he saw that her entire body shook as if she stood in the back of a cart traveling a very bumpy lane. Pretty, in a plain sort of way, with flyaway brown hair and pale blue eyes, she offered a smile as shaky as the rest of her.

Hiding his reaction with practiced ease, Hugh realized the young woman suffered from a pitiable nervous affliction of some sort, not surprising considering the residence in which she lived and made her livelihood.

She stammered something unintelligible, dipped an odd, crooked curtsy, and fled the room, as if he posed some grave threat to her person.

Hugh shook his head in wonder. Were all the servants plagued with some ailment or another?

Glancing at the service, he was relieved to see the tea had already been prepared. He poured and drank, appreciating the warmth, which chased away his chill. So much time passed while he waited, he nearly finished the pot before the door creaked open again.

Hugh turned to face the newest arrival. He was so amazed at the graceful glide with which the figure entered, he forgot to set his cup and saucer down and merely stared.

Black-clad from head to toe, her face veiled with lace, the duchess swept in with haste and halted just as quickly. She stood a few feet away, her figure short and petite. Because the darkness of her gown blended with the shadows, he could see very little of her, but something about her gave him pause. His body tensed, turning hard all over, and his fingers held the delicate china saucer far too tightly. Sweat misted his brow despite the cold. It wasn't nerves or apprehension that held his attention so completely. No, it was far worse than that…

Good God, he was becoming aroused!

Shooting a horrified glance at the tea in his hand, he quickly deduced that the infamous madness must spread through the water. Hugh dropped the cup and saucer on the table with such haste, the remaining liquid splashed over the rim and stained the dusty cloth below.

"Is there something wrong with the tea?" the duchess queried, her voice muffled by the thick veil.

He shook his head. "No. I apologize for the-"

"What do you want?" she snapped suddenly.

"Beg your pardon?" He, of the dry wit and ready retort, could think of nothing more clever to say, his brain feverishly trying to comprehend why his body was ready to mate with an elderly duchess suffering a mental malady.

"Why are you here?" she repeated slowly as if it were he that suffered the brain affliction. "What have you come for?"

Hugh gathered his wits. "My carriage wheel was damaged in a rut. I require the use of-"

"I'm truly sorry, but I haven't the means to help you." She fled the room with as much haste as the maid.

Mouth agape, he decided something truly heinous polluted the water hereabouts. There was no other explanation for this craziness. Flushed, slightly disoriented, and quickly becoming mad as hell, Hugh strode out the open doorway, bearing down on the dark figure who scurried away.

"Oh, Your Grace," he called out with deceptive courtesy. "Another moment, if you please."

Her pace quickened. So did his.

His legs were longer.

She hit the steps, hiking up her skirts, and he lunged forward, catching her elbow. She gasped. He almost did, too, but restrained himself. Her arm was firm and well-formed under his fingers, not at all as he imagined.

"Perhaps I misled," he said dryly. Her lace-covered face turned to his. "I wasn't asking."

She stiffened.

"You're ill; I collect that." His gaze narrowed as he attempted to discern the facial features hidden behind the veil. "It appears you are unaware that a blizzard is fast approaching, and this is one of the coldest winters on record. My servant's arm was broken in the fall, and one of my horses is lame-"

"Lame?" she repeated, her voice tight.

Ah! He suddenly remembered Her Grace's love of horses, as professed by the ancient Artemis. Cad that he was, Hugh had no hesitation in playing on her sympathies. "Yes, lame. I'm certain the beast will recover, given the proper care and rest. So, too, will my footman, if also provided with proper care and rest." He released her arm and stepped back, prepared to give chase if she fled again. "I haven't the time to seek out another domicile, Your Grace. I am the Earl of Montrose, not some thief set to rob you. I will return your horses and conveyance to you at my soonest, I can assure you of that."

She stood silently for a long moment, her damaged brain seeking something to say, he was certain. Finally she gave a jerky nod of agreement and turned, taking the steps with remarkable agility for a woman of her vast years.

Relieved, Hugh turned and bellowed for Artemis. He had no notion if the madness was permanent or not, but he had no desire to catch it in any case.

"Go with him."

Charlotte looked out the upper-floor window and watched the dashing earl hitch the horses to a cart. He was a tall man, broad of shoulder, with the most glorious shade of dark-honey hair. He stood silhouetted by the snow, his elegantly dressed body moving with latent power, his shoulders bunching and flexing beneath the velvet of his coat. She couldn't see his face from here, but she guessed he would be handsome. Or at least she hoped he would be. A man blessed with so fine a form should have a face to match. "It wouldn't be proper."

"Who cares about proper?" came the laughing rejoinder. "We've never done anything properly. And the earl appears quite… interesting."

Interesting? Yes, he would be. It had been so long since she'd spoken to someone even remotely her age. She told herself every day that she was content with her life here, but sometimes, at night, she wished for things to be different.

Turning, Charlotte allowed the heavy velvet drapes to fall back into place. Her gaze moved around the spotless, well-appointed room, with its damask-covered walls and Chippendale furniture, before settling on the trim figure who waited with an arched brow. "I don't know. I'd like to help him, but the more assistance we extend, the more he may discover about us."

"Keep him busy then. We can't leave them out in the cold. The horse is injured and must be tended. The footman could use your healing touch. They'll catch their death, and neither one of us could live with that. You've done well enough protecting our secret these last years. I've every faith that you will continue to do so."

Charlotte moved toward the armoire. Opening the mahogany doors, she withdrew a dinner gown and spread it out carefully on the end of the bed. "I still think it's ill-conceived. The duke's orders were clear. The others can help him and send them on their way."

"Neither Henry nor Tom can set a broken bone, and well you know it. Go on now. You are better with those horses than anyone. The earl could use your help."

"But it's late!" she protested.

"Excuses, excuses. It's not late at all, and since Montrose mustn't see me, I won't be eating dinner with him, so you can put that away. You will have to entertain him alone, but you knew that already. Now hurry up and change, before you're forced to chase after them."

Charlotte sighed. "If you insist."

"I do."

Damning the fates for sending him out in this godforsaken weather, Hugh adjusted the harnesses and chanced another glance at the sky. It was growing dark quickly, the storm clouds rolling in with portentous haste. He worried about his injured footman and his horse. Risking the journey had been foolhardy at best, but his sister, Julienne, had invited him for the holidays. He'd declined at first, but in a fit of boredom had changed his mind and decided to go anyway.

And this was the result, of course. Julienne would point out all the ways he'd handled the journey irresponsibly: He should have written to accept her invitation so she could expect him. He should never have waited so long to leave. He should have stopped at an inn when the weather took a turn for the worse. He should have commissioned a sturdier equipage, instead of one built to impress. And she would be correct on all counts, as usual. One of these days, he'd like to prove her wrong. He'd like to prove to them both that he was capable of managing his own affairs. That he was a man one could trust to lean upon.

Hugh lifted his head and watched the two young men approach him, carrying blankets and flagons of spirits to warm his servants. They were strapping lads, as he'd requested, although one of them stuttered terribly and the other had a lazy eye. Regardless, they would serve his purpose, and they seemed eager enough. Not that he blamed them. If he were in their place, he'd wish for any fortuitous circumstance to leave this forgotten estate.

The soft nicker of a horse behind him urged him to turn around. His gaze moved upward from the snow-covered ground, following the lines of a massive horse. His mouth fell open as he perused long, shapely legs encased in breeches, a slim torso framed by a spread cloak, stunning green eyes, and rich crimson hair. He gaped, at a loss for words, deciding he would've been better off avoiding the blasted tea, because it certainly couldn't be a woman who sat astride the hulking beast. And wearing breeches no less!

"My lord," the fantastic vision murmured from her high perch. And it was a her. No man could bear that beautiful face or stunning, feminine bedroom voice. A voice that curled around him in the deepening dusk and heated his blood.

He snapped his mouth shut.

"You are…?" he growled rudely. Hugh knew he was suffering from a deplorable lack of social grace, but truly, there were only so many bizarre things a person should be expected to tolerate in one day, and since this afternoon, he'd had more than his share.

"Charlotte," she replied as if that were explanation enough.

"Right."

He frowned, his gaze narrowing as it raked her lithe form for the second time. Her manly attire delineated every soft curve of her legs. The cropped, form-fitting riding jacket, though somewhat out of date, showcased firm, high breasts and a trim waist. Impossibly he felt overheated again, although just moments before he'd been shivering. He studied her intently, noting her perfect posture and uplifted chin. "What are you attempting to do out here in this miserable weather?"

"I'm here to assist you, my lord."

"Right." He should argue further, and would, as soon as his brain was working again. At the moment it was completely occupied with the stunning redhead in breeches, leaving not one thought process free to refuse her.

Charlotte was not young, nor was she old. Five and twenty would be his guess. She was a classic beauty, with skin as clear as the finest porcelain. Her mouth was wide-too wide, some would say-and her lips full and carnal in their plumpness. She had lovely clear green eyes, and they met his with an easy forthrightness he admired.

"Who are you?" he asked.

The infinitely kissable mouth curled in a smile, and his gut tightened. A few moments ago he would have been alarmed. Now he was merely resigned. Apparently, he was getting aroused by all of the female inhabitants of the area.

"I thought we resolved that already," she murmured, her throaty voice threatening to shove him over the precipice of aroused into thoroughly erected.

"A servant?"

"Hmm… More of a companion. I've been asked to accompany you."

"For what purpose?" he scoffed. "I must make haste if I've any hope of reaching the next posting inn."

"It's already too late for that, my lord. You'll have to remain here for tonight at least, perhaps even until the storm blows over, if it's as wicked as the skies herald." She chuckled, and his cock twitched.

"Hell and damnation!" It had been years since he'd been troubled by an unwanted cockstand, yet this unusual female had him throbbing in his trousers with a simple bout of amusement.

Her eyes widened at his curse.

"My apologies," he corrected quickly. "My manners seem to have flown." Along with the common sense of every individual he'd had the misfortune of meeting today. "I cannot possibly remain here overnight."

"Why not?"

"Why not?" he repeated.

"That is what I inquired," she said dryly. "Why can you not stay?"

"There's no room, for one," he pointed out.

"There's plenty of room. The manse is quite vast."

He scowled. "How much of it is inhabitable?"

Charlotte laughed. And Hugh was captivated. He decided in that moment he would have her, and suddenly the storm he had cursed mere moments before became a blessing. It would trap them together, giving him the opportunity to seduce her into his bed. His mood brightened. Unlike the rest of his life, he made no stumbles in the bedroom.

"Oh, my lord. Don't be fooled by the apparent neglect. There are several available rooms, all clean and ready for guests."

He arched a brow.

"Truly." She flicked the reins with casual ease, and the huge brute of an animal moved toward the lopsided gate. "We should make haste."

"What exactly can you offer in the way of assistance?" he asked, vaulting onto the driver's seat of the cart, while the two young men jumped into the back.

She patted the bulging saddlebag he'd been too distracted to notice before. "I heard your footman has a broken arm. I can set it and tend to him, while you attend to your carriage."

Hugh nodded, resigned. It would save time, and if she couldn't help John, at least she'd be pleasing to the eye in the meantime. Damned if the sight of her in those breeches didn't make every thought leave a man's head.

He urged the horses forward, and she moved aside to allow him to lead.

Charlotte's hands were quite literally shaking on the reins.

She'd never been studied in such a manner in her life, in a way that made her skin hot and her palms itch. She was no ingenue-her attractiveness had been the backbone of her existence for many years. But it had been a novel experience to be raked by Montrose's warm brown eyes. She felt looked at, truly seen, for the first time in years.

At first glance he appeared nonchalant, but she wasn't fooled. He'd perused her in detail, and liked what he saw. It had been thrilling. Arousing. And she wanted the handsome earl, who was an obvious libertine, to strip her with his eyes again.

Charlotte had hoped he would be fine of face, but the reality was far more devastating than she had imagined. He exhibited none of the signs of ennui and dissolution common to men with a marked predilection to excess. Montrose was, in fact, youthful and quite fit. More than fit. Vigorous, actually, and virile. Potently virile.

His mode of dress was understated, almost reserved, which suited him because his physical beauty alone was attractive enough. Any further adornment would simply be too much.

There were varying forms of male arrogance: the arrogance of wealth and privilege, the arrogance of intelligence, and the arrogance of attractiveness. The Earl of Montrose bore all of those traits, and a little bit more. The intensity of his stare, the way his hands had tightened the harnesses, the leisurely, seductive grace with which he moved-it all betrayed him. A man that comfortable in his own skin would know all about sexual pleasure and wouldn't doubt his ability to bestow it. He was a man who fucked often and well. A man few women could resist.

Charlotte watched him closely as they left the grounds and moved onto the snow-covered lane, noting the easy expertise with which he held the ribbons. She was a woman who appreciated men who had a way with horses, because she liked them so well herself. Quite frankly, she respected men who took the time to become experts in the things that interested them. And Montrose was just such a man.

Glancing up, she noted the rapidly darkening sky. Yes, he would definitely be spending the evening with them, and if the turbulent wind was any indication, he might be staying much longer than that. Blizzards could sometimes last for days, with the roads being impassable for weeks after they passed.

She would have to be careful or he could learn more about them than she wanted him to. She would have to keep him occupied so he wouldn't sneak around in his boredom.

And she liked that idea far more than she should.

Chapter Two

"Will he recover?"

Hugh glanced over his shoulder and found the lovely Charlotte lounging against the stall door. "I expect so. A minor sprain, I think."

Returning his attention to the task at hand, he continued to apply salve to the scraped and swollen front legs of one of his carriage bays. Unlike the main house, the stable was warm, well tended, and in excellent shape, a fact that didn't surprise him at all.

"Allow me to have a look," she murmured, coming toward him.

In the tight confines of the stable stall, there was no room to avoid her. She squeezed in between where he knelt and the front of his horse, her breeches stretching deliciously over a lush derriere. Hugh's mouth dried at the sight, his entire body hardening as her scent, a soft mix of flowers, enveloped his senses.

"I agree." Her tiny hands soothed over the raw scrapes, and the animal breathed a soft whinny. Watching the caressing strokes of Charlotte's hands, Hugh swallowed hard. It was a common enough task she was performing, and yet his interest in her was so unusually strong, it made the everyday action startlingly erotic.

Earlier, while struggling to remove his trunks from the disabled carriage, Hugh's gaze had continuously strayed to the beautiful redhead as she set his footman's broken arm and tended to his abrasions. There was a quiet confidence to her deportment and an unflappable air of control that he admired. He'd struggled most of his life to find that sort of confidence in himself, but to Charlotte it seemed innate.

Most women of his acquaintance would have been no assistance at all, but Charlotte had been invaluable. With her help they'd finished quickly and returned to the Kent estate with barely a moment to spare. Outside the wind howled and blew around with such force it was hard to see. Even now, her gorgeous red locks were dampening, the snow in them melting in the warmth of the stable.

"You shouldn't have ventured out here," he said.

"I wanted to be certain you found the salve." Still crouched, she turned to face him, bringing her ripe mouth within inches of his own. Across her nose was a light dusting of freckles, the bane of most women's existence, but a trait he'd always found charming.

Hugh studied her with a frown, trying to reason out why he found her so desirable. Charlotte was beautiful, yes, but no more so than he was accustomed to. The revealing breeches could have much to do with his constant state of arousal, although he'd never before considered men's clothing particularly enticing. Of course his brother-in-law would beg to differ.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked.

She arched a brow. "I told you-"

"No. Not here in the stables, here in Derbyshire."

Charlotte sat and crossed her legs. Hugh did the same.

"I grew up here. I left for a while and then returned."

"Your family is here?"

Hugh reached for a nearby towel and rubbed the salve from his palms. Then he picked up her hands and cleaned them as well, taking note of the calluses and ink stains that marred her fingers. The nails were trimmed to the quick, neat and without vanity, similar to the way she comported herself.

"No," she murmured, a bit breathless. "I have no family."

Finished with the cloth, he set it aside, but kept her hands within his. She didn't protest, for which he was grateful. He enjoyed touching her, relishing the way it made his entire body prickle with a singular sensual awareness.

"Tell me about the duchess."

If he hadn't been holding her hand, he wouldn't have known she tensed at his query. Her adeptness at hiding her feelings intrigued him. She was too young to be so expert at evasiveness.

"What would you like to know?" she asked, looking away.

He snorted. "What wouldn't I like to know? Is she mad, like they say? Does she mistreat you? Why does she live like this? The horses live better than you. Why-"

Charlotte covered his mouth with her hand. "No, no, and she doesn't have any other choice." She stood and tugged at their joined hands. He rose to his feet.

"Allow me to show you to your rooms, my lord. You'll see things are not so dreary as they appear at first glance."

"You're avoiding my questions."

She smiled, a potent mixture of sweetness and allure, and his stomach clenched in response. "Not so," she assured him, releasing his hand. "I simply want to answer some of your questions without words."

There was a bit of promise in the sparkle of her eyes, a hint that told Hugh she found him attractive. He was glad of that, for it made his goal much easier to attain. It was bloody freezing outside, and he'd be trapped here for days. The time would best be spent in bed with a lovely companion, and he wanted Charlotte with a sharpness he'd not experienced in a very long time, if ever.

Hugh stepped closer, gauging her reaction, and smiled when she stood her ground, her emerald gaze neither frightened nor wary. "I thank you for your help today," he murmured, reaching for her hand.

She lifted hers to meet his, startling him. "It was nothing."

"It was wonderful. The way you handled James's injuries and set his broken bone… I don't know that I could have done it." He brushed his thumb over the back of her hand and felt her shiver.

"You might be surprised at the things you can accomplish when the need is dire enough."

"You sound as if you speak from experience."

"Perhaps." Charlotte tilted her head and frowned, studying him with a far-too-perceptive gaze. "And you?"

He shrugged. "I never seem to reach the dire point," he confessed, attempting to make the words light but failing miserably. "I'm always rescued before it progresses that far."

Her grasp tightened, giving him a comforting squeeze. "I think you did well enough today, barging into the house and cornering Her Grace. There was no one to rescue you or your servants, yet you managed quite nicely on your own."

Hugh's eyebrows rose.

Charlotte touched his mouth where he was attempting to curb a smile and said softly, "I am a very good judge of character, my lord, but I misjudged you."

"Oh? In what way?"

Her smile matched his. "I was very impressed with you today. Earlier, I wouldn't have thought you'd need to hear that. But apparently you do."

And with just that simple statement, the sharp edge of Hugh's desire honed to a burning point. Suddenly the cozy warmth of the stables was too hot, the air around them crackling with sensual energy. He'd never experienced anything like it, this itching, burning feeling coursing over his skin. That it was brought on by simple verbal praise astonished him. But, then, everything that had happened today astonished him.

Charlotte recognized the change in the atmosphere. Her pupils widened, her mouth parted. Hugh stepped back a fraction, forcibly preventing himself from moving too fast and frightening her. She took a step forward, closing the distance he'd just created.

Against his better judgment, Hugh tugged her nearer. When she came forward willingly, he reassessed her. Charlotte was comfortable with his touch and his bold approach. In fact, he would say her approach was just as bold, belying her innocent exterior.

"Charlotte." His free hand came up to brush across her cheek, finding her creamy skin as soft as he'd imagined it would be. "I believe you are the loveliest thing I've ever seen."

"My lord-"

"Hugh," he corrected. He'd never been comfortable with his title, and at this moment it created a distinction between their classes of which he didn't wish to be reminded.

She leaned into his touch, her mouth curving in a wry smile. "I'm usually immune to charming rogues."

Hugh didn't deny the obvious. Instead he ran his thumb across her lips. "Your mouth is beyond lovely. It's simply perfect."

His free hand moved to her shoulder, then down along the curve of her spine. Charlotte arched into him, pressing her breasts to his chest. Unhampered by stays and petticoats, he could feel her, all of her, yet not enough of her.

Lowering his head slowly, he moved his fingertips away, intent on kissing her. She had such a lovely mouth, so full and ripe. And it said such wonderful things.

It was the not-so-gentle bite from his horse upon his shoulder that brought back the reality of the small stable stall and the storm that raged outside. For a moment, Hugh considered ignoring the rude intrusion and continuing anyway, but the warning snort from the beast behind him changed his mind.

"We should go back to the house," he said with true regret. "I believe my horse is jealous."

Charlotte blinked and took a moment to reply, visibly withdrawing from his blatant seduction. "Yes, I suppose that would be wise." The matching note of regret in her voice soothed Hugh's nigh-unbearable frustration.

Hands linked together, they left the comfortable stable and struggled across the courtyard, entering the manse through the kitchen. They were wet and frozen by the time they completed the journey, and the cook stared at them agape as they stumbled inside followed by a billowing cloud of snow. Hugh gaped right back.

The cook was the largest woman he'd ever seen. Impossibly tall and built like a laborman, she quite frankly scared him. Gray hair stuck out in every direction, and grayer eyes raked him from head to toe. With a gleaming knife in her hand and a helpless chicken on the counter, she was a terrifying sight to behold. He might have stood there for hours, arrested by shock, had Charlotte not grabbed his arm and tugged him from the room.

"Good God," he muttered as he followed Charlotte up the servants' stairs to the upper floors.

Minx that she was, she laughed. "Wait until dinner," she promised. "You'll be impressed."

"I'm impressed already." He'd never met an Amazon before in his life.

Traversing well-appointed hallways, Hugh barely had time to register the dichotomy of the house before he found himself in an immense bedchamber warmed by a fire. It was beautifully furnished and immaculately cleaned. He found it hard to believe he was in the same residence he'd entered just a few hours ago.

"Why isn't the rest of the manse maintained?" he asked, glancing back at her.

Charlotte shivered by the door, her hair and garments wet with melting snow.

He held out his hand. "Come warm yourself by the fire."

"Not yet."

The "yet" gave him pause, a tiny intimation that she intended at some point to tarry in his rooms. Their eyes met and held, his with silent query, hers open and clear.

"Go change, then," he said. "Before you catch your death. You can explain to me after you're warmed."

She nodded. "I'll return directly to escort you to supper."

Hugh sketched a quick bow. "I await your pleasure."

"How long did it take before he started asking questions?"

Charlotte sighed. "Longer than I would have expected."

"How did you answer?"

"I didn't."

"But you'll have to."

Nodding, Charlotte began to strip from her damp clothes. Goose bumps covered her skin, and she stepped closer to the warmth of the fire. "Montrose is very interesting, just as you suspected."

"And handsome."

"Yes, he's quite gorgeous, and a brazen rake, too." Smiling, she thought of the way he'd cleaned her hands for her and the concern he'd shown for his injured footman. "But much nicer than I would have thought. A touch vulnerable, too, which I never would have suspected. I took him for the arrogant sort, but beneath that exterior, I think he doubts himself a little."

"Oh… he is interesting! Perhaps it's good he's come along, then. You're young and lovely; it's truly a shame you've chosen to dedicate yourself to me. Not that I'd ever send you away. You keep me from going completely mad with boredom."

Charlotte laughed. "It's no sacrifice, as you well know."

" 'Tis far different from the life you knew."

"That is not a bad thing." Charlotte sank gratefully into the steaming bath. "My former life had its pleasures, to be sure, but I was ready for a change and a bit of equanimity."

A few moments of silence passed. "I studied the map while you were gone."

Resting her head against the lip of the tub, Charlotte closed her eyes. "I'm sick to death of poring over that blasted thing. When the spring thaw comes, we'll charter a ship and go ourselves. Perhaps then we'll discover something useful."

"His Grace was very ill when he gave you that map," came the soft reminder. "Perhaps he wasn't altogether sane at the time."

Charlotte sank lower into the water. She'd considered that possibility many times. The books Glenmoore had left behind were cryptic at best, and the map, while comparable to others depicting the same body of water, had distinguishing features she could find nowhere else. Still, what choice did they have? The new Duke of Glenmoore was miserly with the trust and-

"Have you considered any other possibilities?" interjected the lilting voice Charlotte had come to love.

"No," she admitted. "But I suppose I shall have to, in short order."

"Well, in the meantime, enjoy the earl." The soft rustle of muslin betrayed movement. "You should wear your red silk to dinner. You're breathtaking in it. He'll never be able to resist you."

"He's not trying to resist me," she said dryly. She'd never cared for libidinous pleasure-seekers like Montrose, though she'd tolerated them when necessary. Hugh, however, wasn't at all like his appearance led one to believe. In fact, he seemed almost lonely. Much like she was.

"Ah, well, even better."

Charlotte laughed. "I'm certain it's not proper to discuss this sort of thing with you."

"Who cares about proper? We've never done anything properly."

Hugh glanced again at the mirror, adjusting his cravat for the hundredth time, before resuming his pacing. What the devil was taking Charlotte so blasted long?

He'd give her a few moments more, then he'd track her down. Who knew what had happened to her in this museum of oddities? Why, he shuddered just thinking about it! It was abominable for such a gorgeous creature to be rusticating out here, in the wilds of Derbyshire. It was a travesty he intended to rectify as soon as the cursed weather cooperated.

When the long-awaited knock finally came, he threw open the portal with such haste that Charlotte stumbled backward in surprise. He was equally astonished.

Dressed in a crimson silk gown of stunning simplicity, she stole his breath and his wits. With off-the-shoulder sleeves, low-cut bodice, and high waist, the dress featured no adornments of any kind. Charlotte herself wore no jewelry or gloves, and her coppery hair was piled atop her head in riotous curls. Her skin was pale as moonlight, and the scent of her, fresh and flowery, was an arousing counterpoint to the seductive look of her.

It took all of the self-control Hugh possessed to keep from grabbing her and ravishing her upon his bed. Charlotte appealed to him on so many levels, he found it hard to collect them all.

He watched, mesmerized, as her mouth curved in a knowing smile. She was thoroughly aware of the effect the sight of her would have on any man.

"Shall we go to supper?" she asked.

"Must we?"

Her green eyes glowed with warm amusement. "I'm rather starved myself."

So was Hugh, but not for food. However, the thought of her company while eating his meal was somewhat pacifying. He stepped out of his room and offered his arm. The light touch of her bare fingers burned through his coat and shirt to his skin below, making him ache for her. Charlotte was tiny, the top of her head barely reached his shoulder, and from his high vantage, Hugh had an excellent view of the ripe swell of her breasts.

He looked away, staring resolutely down the gallery. Unlike the demimondaines with whom he usually associated, it felt wrong to ogle Charlotte as if she were worth nothing more than a good tumble. She was intelligent and kind, as evidenced by her steadfastness in the face of today's events. Fact was, he rather liked her, what little he knew of her, and since he had a few days to fill, he determined to discover as much about her as he could in that time.

As they moved from one hallway to another and prepared to descend the main staircase, Hugh felt as if he were moving through time. The brightly lit and beautifully furnished part of the house faded into the dust-covered and rotting section as easily as they turned the corner.

"It's less of a burden on the servants to maintain only the areas we use regularly," Charlotte explained before he could ask.

Thinking of the motley crew he'd met so far, he had to agree.

Hugh was relieved to see that the dining room was clean and kept in usable condition, but he was slightly disappointed to see only two place settings on the long mahogany table.

"Is Her Grace not joining us for dinner?" Even as he asked, he wondered why a paid companion would be allowed to dress so beautifully and eat dinner with him instead of with her employer. But he refused to ask. No sane man would question such good fortune.

"She's become accustomed to eating her meals alone."

"Odd, that," he murmured as he held a chair for her. He'd made a habit of surrounding himself with large, boisterous groups of people, rarely spending a moment without company of some sort. Eating alone sounded… lonely.

Taking his seat, Hugh settled in to enjoy his meal when a familiar noise drew his attention to the swinging door that led to the kitchen. He shook his head and sighed.

Sure enough, the portal swung open and the young, jittery maid entered. The soup tureen in her hands wobbled alarmingly, and the ladle protruding from it rattled so loudly, nothing else could be heard. Directly on her heels and bearing a pitcher came Tom, the lazy-eyed boy who'd assisted Hugh earlier.

The two servants almost collided, compliments of the madly swinging door. Together they performed an odd sort of spinning dance, stumbling forward and back and around, as they attempted to keep their liquids from spilling out everywhere.

For a moment, Hugh watched the antics in dumbfounded fascination, and then, muttering an oath, he pushed to his feet and rescued the maid from the soup (or the soup from the maid, depending on how one looked at it).

"'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 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 hips swayed softly as she approached, her shoulders held back to better display her lovely breasts. 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 cock 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 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 allow 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 deliriously, 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.

"Thank God," he muttered, his mouth pressing feverish kisses against her skin, belying the control he'd exhibited only a moment ago.

Hands on her hips, Hugh pinned her down. Releasing his desire, he began to fuck her with greedy abandon. Hard and deep, his driving rhythm unfaltering, he brought her to orgasm and then continued to take her, plunging through the grasping depths of her body. He came, she was certain of it. She heard his deep groan, felt his seed pulse and then spill out, but he didn't cease, didn't grow softer.

He slid her knee forward, opening her further, so that nothing impeded his cock from her depths. His sac, tight and hard, slapped against her clit, making her beg. Hugh swore and cursed, and came again. Charlotte could only grasp the edge of the desk and allow the pleasure to take her, to fill her, to sweep away her reservations, until all she felt was Hugh La Coeur and a tentative dream that would never come to fruition.

Chapter Four

Hugh stared at the map and wished he'd paid more attention to the Earl of Merrick's discussions of trade routes in the West Indies.

He snorted. In the last twenty-four hours, he'd wished he paid better attention to a lot of things. He'd always been a bit self-absorbed and rarely bothered with matters not directly pertaining to him or Julienne. Now suddenly he found himself concerned for a stranger. It was disconcerting, to say the least, and confusing.

Behind him, in his bed, Charlotte slept on. He'd give her a few more minutes, and then he'd take her again. The need he felt astonished him. He'd been at her most of the morning, and still his cock was hard and throbbing to be inside her once more. Only when they were fucking did he feel even remotely like his normal dissolute self, albeit minus his usual control.

Hugh couldn't grasp why his brain refused to concentrate on the finer points of the sexual act with Charlotte. It was simply base, no finesse, all need and sweat and fierce desire. He'd been unable to pull out before spilling his seed-not once, but every damn time. It was intolerable, but he was unable to resist, assuring himself that one more encounter would sate his lust, one more spine-melting orgasm would appease his craving.

"Hugh?"

The soft sigh behind him made his heart race. It had taken a bit of… persuasion to convince her to use his given name. Hugh was inclined to think she'd initially been stubborn just to enjoy more of his fucking, a thought that filled him with masculine satisfaction.

He turned and offered a smile. "Yes, sweet?"

Charlotte's eyes dropped to his erection, widened, and then lifted again to his. She licked her lips. Flushed and disheveled, sprawled out across the mess that was his bed, she was breath-takingly beautiful. "What are you doing?"

"Studying your map." He rested his hip against the escritoire and crossed his arms. "It's unusual and cryptic."

She nodded. "There are some books and a journal that I've been using to decipher it."

"Where did you purchase these things?"

"The elder Glenmoore gave them to me."

Hugh frowned. "Why?"

She slid upward on the bed, propping herself against the pillows, caring nothing for modesty. And he was glad of that, for the sight of her creamy skin, firm breasts, and rosy nipples filled him with delight. He could gaze at her for hours, had in fact done that very thing this morning, counting her freckles and admiring her sleeping innocence. Then he'd cursed himself and the madness that had been plaguing him since he arrived. He'd donned his trousers and retrieved the map, determined to think of something other than Charlotte.

"Glenmoore knew his son would give us nothing," she said, with obvious bitterness. "His Grace grants us the use of this home only because it suits him to keep us under his thumb."

"Why not simply institutionalize the duchess?"

Charlotte stiffened visibly. "She's not mad."

She paused, and he said, "It would be best if you divulge everything without prodding."

"I was his mistress," she blurted, lifting her chin.

Hugh gaped. "The old man's? Good God."

"No." She rolled her eyes. "Not the elder Glenmoore. The newest Glenmoore."

"Oh." He scowled.

"You knew I wasn't innocent," she reminded softly.

Waving off her statement with a toss of his hand, Hugh bristled at the jealousy he felt for a man she was no longer with. "Yes. Yes," he muttered. "And that doesn't bother me in the least. I'm grateful actually. No other way I could molest you all morning."

She laughed. "I was most willing to be molested."

Hugh arched a brow.

Her wide mouth spread in a delighted smile. "It isn't often that well-endowed, gorgeous men with hearty sexual appetites come to call."

He snorted and ran a hand through his hair.

She sighed. "Your mood is odd for a man who should be sated."

"I don't like that you would have taken any man," he admitted gruffly.

Sliding from the bed and dragging the sheet with her, she retorted, "And I don't like that you think I would have."

He watched her stalk toward the door, her spine straight and proud. She was magnificent, a red-haired goddess who brooked disrespect from no one.

Going after her, Hugh stepped between her and egress. "I'm sorry. Please don't go."

Charlotte tilted her head back and considered him carefully. "You're surly this morning."

"I apologize. You are not to blame."

Evidently satisfied, she nodded and moved back to the bed. "It was beautiful here once," she said over her shoulder. "The first time I visited, the manse and grounds took my breath away." She crawled back into the bed.

"Glenmoore brought you here?" He followed her to the bed and sat on the edge.

"He was Marquess of Carding then and impatient for his father to die." She looked at him with narrowed green eyes. "Do you know him?"

An image of the brawny, overbearing duke came immediately to mind. "I've met him on occasion."

"He's an ass," she said curtly. "He didn't care at all that his father might be offended to meet his mistress. Carding never cared about anyone but himself." She brushed her hair back over her shoulder. "Glenmoore was ill, and Carding left him here, far from his ancestral seat, to die alone and uncared for. The servants were understaffed, no doctor was sent for. It was terrible. I was ashamed to know him."

Hugh reached out and claimed her hand, knowing that, as nurturing as Charlotte was, she would have been deeply distressed by the elder Glenmoore's suffering. She squeezed back, and he felt an odd tugging at his heart that she would take comfort from him. He was certain he'd never been a comfort to anyone.

"One evening I went to Glenmoore's room to check on his welfare. His chamber was freezing, since no one could be bothered to light the grate. The chamber pot was full and smelled dreadful. I couldn't be certain when the last time was that someone had fed him." Charlotte shuddered at the memory.

"And you took care of him," he finished, feeling a flicker of pride to which he had no claim.

"I had to," she murmured, stroking his palm with her fingertips. "Animals are treated better."

Sliding further atop the bed, Hugh rested against the headboard and pulled her back between his legs, wanting to hold her and offer whatever solace he could. He stroked his hands down her arms and kissed her shoulder.

"You are so sweet, Hugh." She wrapped his arms around her waist.

He buried his face in her hair to hide his embarrassment. "Tell me more," he said gruffly, deflecting the conversation away from him.

"Glenmoore was ill but still lucid and sane. He didn't know who I was, of course, but once I explained, he took my presence in stride, and we spoke at length. I really liked His Grace. He had a sense of humor and a zest for life I admired. I couldn't leave him to suffer simply because Jared wished to be rid of him-"

"Why was his wife not caring for him?"

"Glenmoore wasn't married at the time. He wed not long after I arrived."

Hugh rubbed his lips against her shoulder, frowning. "What woman in her right mind would marry a man in that condition? He had an heir and was unable to produce further issue. She had nothing to gain."

"There are reasons for everything, Hugh." Charlotte rested her head back against his shoulder. "You must trust that hers were sound."

He snorted in disbelief, then said, "Carding must have been furious when you handed him his conge."

"Oh, he was," she agreed, snuggling deeper into his embrace. "He ranted and railed, and threatened to destroy me so that no other man would ever have me."

She took a deep breath. "But after the despicable way he treated his father, I wanted nothing further to do with him. I told him to do his worst."

"Bloody hell," he breathed, impressed. No one defied a duke, let alone a slip of a girl who relied on him to support her.

Charlotte laughed. "I'm no martyr, so don't think that. I was already planning to sever my arrangement with Carding, and I'd saved up enough to live comfortably. Offering to care for Glenmoore afforded me the time to discover what I wanted to do next and to help the old duke at the same time. It seemed a perfect arrangement."

"But something happened to your plans."

"I underestimated Carding. If I'd known how he would react, I would have handled things differently. I would have returned with him to London, collected my things, and then made arrangements to come back. Instead I sent my abigail-a stupid, stupid mistake. Carding wasted no time. He went through my house the night he returned and disposed of all of my clothes and jewelry, most of which I had acquired before I met him. He ceased paying the servants here, so they left. The ones we have now deserve better recompense for their efforts. All we can offer is food and a roof over their heads, hence the reason I don't overtax them with cleaning areas that aren't used."

"What of the money you'd saved?"

"It wasn't money I saved but jewelry."

"Which Carding stole," Hugh finished.

She ran her fingertips over the backs of his hands, a soft, absentminded caress he enjoyed far too much. "In deference to Glenmoore's feelings, I attempted to hide what his son was doing, but he knew. As his condition worsened, he gave me the map, books, and journal. He wanted to repay me for seeing him through his last days, and he hoped to ensure my future in some way."

"But once he was gone, why didn't you leave? As beautiful as you are, you must have known you could secure another protector."

She turned in his arms, a position that pressed her breasts to his chest. Hugh's breath hissed out at the contact, and he struggled to concentrate on her next words. "Everyone here relies on me. If I leave, what will happen to them? They are excellent servants, but very few employers can look beyond their handicaps. Besides it's not too dreadful. We eat well. We're clothed and warm."

"Then the map is just a hobby?" He stroked his hands down her back. "You appeared quite engrossed in it earlier."

"That is due to my pride." Charlotte arched into his caress. "I dislike living under the duke's thumb. It allows him to feel that he's won, that he's bested me. If I could acquire financial independence, I could control my own fate. That's worth studying the map with all the enthusiasm I can muster. Besides, there was nothing else to occupy me in this weather." She pressed a kiss to his nipple. "Until you came along."

Hugh tucked her hair behind her ear. "I've never considered keeping a mistress, but-"

"Why pay for what I give you for free?" she interrupted with a sly curve to her lips.

"You're avoiding the subject again." He slid lower and draped her body over his. "You are quite adept at evasiveness."

"I am adept at a great many things."

He laughed and kissed the tip of her nose, pleased that she'd confided so much in him. "Is Her Grace harmless?"

"Oh, yes," she assured him. "She's no danger to you."

"Then why did she venture into my room this morning?"

Charlotte's eyes lit with mischief. "Perhaps she wished to have her wicked way with you."

"That's not funny," he grumbled.

She giggled. "I think it is."

He began to tickle her.

"Stop it!" she gasped, laughing.

"Now this…" he said. "This is funny!"

Turning, Hugh pinned her beneath him and smiled.

"Oh, no, you don't!" she protested, pushing upward against his chest. "I must eat; I'm starved. I want to bathe and… other things."

Hugh rolled his eyes and then rolled to his back with an exaggerated sigh. "For a mistress, you're not very accommodating," he complained.

Charlotte tossed a leg over his hips and straddled him, still clutching the sheet like a toga. "I am your lover, not your mistress. And I've been accommodating you for hours, my lord. Now you must accommodate my hunger."

"Hugh," he corrected, needing the familiarity. He was beginning to believe his recent ennui was a result of his lack of close personal associates. Perhaps all he needed was a mistress, one woman he could concentrate his attentions on, rather than indulging in fleeting liaisons. But first he had to prove to Charlotte that she needed him in some way. "When we've finished breakfast and fucking, we'll go over the map and journals together."

She laughed and looked down her nose at him.

"You don't believe I can help you?" he asked, with a frown. Perhaps this would be more difficult than he'd thought. "I have some investment in Lambert Shipping and-"

Gentle fingertips drifted across his lips, searing him with their touch. "I believe you can do anything you set your mind to, but I don't believe you'll ever finish fucking."

Hugh growled, her belief in him causing his lust to surge. "Best you retire to your room now, before I prove you right."

Charlotte leapt from the bed and ran from the room in a fit of giggles.

"You should never have visited his room," Charlotte scolded. "Now he knows about the hidden passageways and the map."

"I'm sorry," came the contrite reply. "You said he was gorgeous. I just wanted to see for myself. Was he dreadfully angry?"

Charlotte took a seat at her vanity and relented with a sigh. "He might have been originally. But he's not any longer."

Soft hands settled on her shoulders. "I just wanted a good look at him."

Glancing in the mirror, Charlotte caught the reflection of the woman at her back. "Perhaps it's best if you don't see him. There is something fundamentally unfair about having a man that gorgeous around. It makes it nearly impossible to think clearly." Lowering her gaze, she was startled to discover that the woman who stared back was younger than she remembered, with flushed cheeks, bright eyes, and a kiss-swollen mouth.

Hugh La Coeur liked kissing. He took his time with it, tasting her, caressing the inside of her mouth with deep licks of his talented tongue. She'd had her share of selfish bed partners, men who couldn't be bothered with foreplay. Hugh, however, was a tactile man. He loved to caress her hair, her skin, her lips, and she preened like a cat under his touch, wanting to stretch and purr and soak up his affection.

Fierce and primitive in bed, he took her body as if it belonged to him, as if it existed only for his pleasure. The tiny glimpses of vulnerability she'd seen in him certainly didn't extend to the bedroom. His lovemaking was breathtaking, his stamina impressive. Twice she'd begged him to leave her alone, only to find that she craved him again within moments. He knew it, too, the arrogant man. It was rather like an addiction to chocolate, she supposed. She only hoped she would have her fill before the storm blew over and he went away.

Charlotte picked up her brush and ran it through her hair. "I told him about the map and Glenmoore."

"That sounds promising. What did he say?"

"He offered to help, actually." She thought of his reactions to everything he'd witnessed so far and had to admire his aplomb. Nothing seemed to catch him off guard. And the way he'd soothed Katie and offered to buy a dozen pitchers for her… Charlotte had been touched. She didn't trust people easily, but Hugh's flashes of kindness for her, for his footman, and for her servants made her believe he was someone who genuinely cared for her welfare.

"Do you think he can? Help, that is?"

She shrugged. "I'm not certain, but I don't see how it can hurt anything for him to try, and it will keep us occupied during the storm."

Laughter greeted that statement. "I didn't think you needed any outside influences to keep you two occupied."

Charlotte set the brush down with a firm click. "Now that, I'm certain, isn't proper at all!"

Chapter Five

Hugh stared into Artemis's single eye and refused to give ground. To cave in to a servant… Why, the thought was abominable!

"Listen, old chap," he said curtly. "'Tis a simple enough question."

Artemis set his hands on his hips. "And one ye need be askin' 'er Grace!"

"You answer the door, for Christ's sake! You know as well as anyone if Lord Glenmoore comes calling here."

"O' course I know! Doesn't mean I'll be tellin' you!" The bulbous eye protruded further as the butler narrowed his gaze. "You can ask from 'ere to perdition, gov'na, and I-"

"Hang it all!! The proper address for a peer is 'my lord.' Is that so bloody difficult?"

Artemis gasped. '"Ere now! Are ye complainin' 'bout the way I perform my duties?"

"Complaining?" Hugh snorted. "Good God, I'm astounded. Amazed. Stunned."

Artemis nodded in agreement. "And so you should be, gov'na."

"'Tis not every day one finds service of your caliber," Hugh muttered, running a hand through his hair.

"Are ye bein' sarcastic?" Artemis asked suspiciously.

"Who, me? Never."

"What are you two arguing about?" Charlotte asked as she descended the staircase. Dressed in soft floral muslin that was a few seasons out of style, she looked fresh and young, a vision of ripe innocence that belied her sensual past.

"You can ask 'er!" The butler turned to leave without being dismissed. "A man shouldn't 'ave to deal with this sort of treatment in 'is place of employment," he grumbled as he shuffled away.

Hugh gaped after him.

Charlotte laughed, a raw, husky sound that made his cock hard.

Damnation! He scowled. He couldn't go around sporting a constant erection, which is precisely what he'd been doing since he arrived.

Coming to a stop before him, she brushed his frown away with the soft touch of her fingers. "Artemis is a good man, and whatever you asked, you shouldn't have asked him. You know as well as I that no respectable upper servants would ever divulge information about their employers."

Not accustomed to admitting he was wrong, Hugh stewed for a moment before nodding.

Charlotte's green eyes sparkled with amusement. "Now, what did you want to ask?"

Hugh released a deep breath. "I'd like to know if Glenmoore still comes to visit you."

A dark red brow rose. "In what capacity?"

He snorted. "In any capacity."

"He stops by occasionally," she said carefully. "But I no longer share my bed with him, if that is what you're inquiring."

The relief that flooded him was profound and, because of that, disturbing. "Why does he come, then?"

"I suspect he simply wishes to assure himself that the duchess remains here and poses no threat to his precious reputation." She laced her arm with his and steered him toward the drawing room, where tempting aromas made his stomach growl.

He was ravenously hungry, and once they were seated, he tucked into the delectable meal with gusto. Consisting of kidney and eggs, honey cakes and plum cakes, the food was delicious. Despite the rather frightening specter the cook presented, Hugh had no trouble admitting that her talent in the kitchen was impressive. She was much better than the resident chef at Montrose Hall.

When Katie came in a few moments later, bearing a pitcher of wildly sloshing water and favoring a bandaged hand, he simply smiled, unalarmed. Everything seemed different today. The candlelight that bolstered the dreary morning light seemed more golden, the food more appetizing, Charlotte more beautiful.

Suspecting it was contentment he was feeling, Hugh grinned, savoring the moment. He wanted to feel this way more often, and he knew Charlotte was the cause. Therefore a stratagem was required to convince his lover that having him around could benefit her in more ways than orgasms. Since she'd provided the solution already, he had only to take advantage of it.

"You're in a fine mood," Charlotte noted, smiling against the rim of her cup. Hugh La Coeur was also in fine form. Dressed in warm shades of brown, he made her mouth water, the handsomeness of his features intensified by a boyish smile.

"I am. More's the pity for you." He waggled his brows suggestively.

She laughed. "A girl could become accustomed to having you around."

"I hope you do." He pushed away his empty plate and stood, moving to her chair. "Shall we retire to my room and study your map?"

Charlotte rose, a sharp tingle of awareness coursing through her veins. She glanced at Hugh over her shoulder and batted her lashes. "I thought studying the map came later?" Her eyes dropped to his trousers, and she watched, fascinated, as his cock swelled before her eyes.

"Stop that." He grabbed her elbow and led her to the stairs.

"Stop what?" she asked innocently, biting back a smile.

"You know very well what," he said, his voice a slow drawl that made her toes curl in her slippers. "Drooling while staring at my cock."

"I did no such thing!" she protested, choking back a giggle as they ascended the stairs.

He shot her an arch glance. "You did, too, insatiable minx. A man can hardly get any rest around here."

She choked. "Horrid man! You wouldn't leave me alone. How many times did I roll over and attempt sleep?"

"Several," he said smoothly. "But it wasn't long before you reached for me again."

Charlotte paused on the middle stair. "Only because your erection was poking me in the spine!"

Hugh shrugged in exquisite nonchalance. "You were wiggling."

She stared at him, fighting back laughter, her entire body warming to the sensual amusement she found in his dark gaze. He was so devastatingly handsome, full of vigor and mischief. He was a man who lived life, while she'd spent the last few years in a daze. She was drawn to that energy, to that zest, wanting to absorb the thrill of it into the marrow of her bones.

Unable to help herself, she stepped forward and offered him her mouth. With a deep groan, he obliged, gifting her with one of his sensual kisses. Charlotte melted against him, her hands drifting to clutch the powerful muscles of his shoulders.

"See?" he murmured, licking her parted lips. "You are doing it again."

Achingly aroused, she laughed breathlessly. "You're a conceited rake."

"And you're a brazen wench." His hands cupped her breasts, teasing her hardened nipples.

She pulled back with a grin. "You like that I am."

Hugh leaned back against the railing and crossed his arms. "I quite like that you are," he agreed. "Now would you like to go over your map?"

Charlotte considered him for a moment, from head to toe. He was fully, impressively aroused, and she was obviously willing, but he wanted to study the blasted map? She chewed her lower lip.

"Think you can keep your hands to yourself?" he prodded.

She narrowed her eyes, enjoying the game. "Can you?"

He grinned. "Shall we see who can hold out the longest?"

"A wager?" She rubbed her hands together. "Certainly."

"What are the stakes?"

"The stakes?"

"There has to be something in it for the victor. 'Tis the possibility of winning something that drives a man to gamble."

"A tumble isn't enough?"

"I had intended that to be my prize," he said with a pout.

She laughed. "You can always choose the same."

A dark gold brow rose. "Ah, but my gain must be greater than yours, or your loss more than mine, to make it truly a wager."

"You appear to know a great deal about gambling," Charlotte noted.

"I've had some experience," he said smoothly. "So if you are able to keep your hands to yourself for longer than I, you shall win a hot, sweaty tumble. I, however, want a boon."

She frowned. "What sort of boon?"

"I haven't decided yet."

"You're cheating!"

"I am not. Of course, you can always forfeit now and save us both the trouble…" He dropped his arms and stepped closer, enveloping her with his scent and potent masculinity.

"Oh, no. I won't forfeit. I shall win."

He gripped her elbow and then gestured up the stairs with his other hand. "Excellent. Let's begin."

Her heart racing with excitement, Charlotte moved with Hugh up the staircase and to his room, her mind industriously considering all the avenues she could take to ensure her victory. The first thing she did upon entering his chamber was move to the fireplace and throw on more coal.

"What the devil are you doing?" he asked. "It's plenty warm in here."

"Truly? I feel a chill."

Hugh shrugged out of his coat. "If you want me naked, you have only to ask."

"I thought I had. You wanted to look at the map instead."

He shot her a mock glare, and Charlotte laughed. She hadn't had this much fun in ages.

No, that wasn't true. She hadn't had any fun in ages.

After removing his waistcoat and cravat, Hugh moved to the desk and bent over the map. "Can you bring me everything you have that pertains to this?"

"Of course." Charlotte left the room with a plan and returned a quarter of an hour later with her first salvo ready to fire.

Gliding back into Hugh's suite with a wide grin, she paused just inside the doorway, arrested by the sight of his bare back. He'd removed his shirt and shoes, the corded muscles of his shoulders bunching as he leaned his weight on his arms, his skin covered with a fine sheen of perspiration from the warmth of the fire. She sighed, thinking she could simply stare at him for days.

Without turning around, he said, "Drooling again?"

"You are the most conceited man," she muttered. She reached the desk and dropped the books with a loud thump. He lifted his gaze to look at her.

"Bloody hell," he breathed, taking in the black negligee she wore. Held up with ribbons at the shoulders and completely sheer, it was an erotic confection she'd had for years and never donned before. The gown flowed with her, changing opacity, teasing the eye with glimpses of her nipples and the curve of her waist.

Charlotte brushed her fingertips across his full lips. "Careful, darling. You'll drool."

His brows snapped together. "Cheaters never win," he growled.

"I'm not cheating."

His scowl clearly refuted her. "Why don't you show me what you've gathered so far, so I don't waste time pointing out things you may already know."

Shaking her head, she wondered why he was so determined to keep them out of bed and focused on the map. With any other man she might consider the possibility that the map interested him more than she did, but with Hugh she knew that wasn't true. He wouldn't be so frustrated if he weren't fighting the temptation she presented. Something was afoot, and if she wished to discover what it was, she'd have to play along.

Pulling the books closer, she grabbed the slender journal from the top and opened it. "According to Glenmoore, he won this map in a wager while traveling through the Caribbean. He dismissed it as nothing more than a souvenir, until he was approached by a local man who swore he was among the crew that originally hid the treasure."

Hugh stared at her with his intense dark eyes. "What exactly is this treasure?"

"Glenmoore was never able to discover the answer to that with certainty. There were two tales. The simple one was pirate's gold. The other featured a love story."

"A love story?" he asked skeptically.

Nodding, Charlotte turned the pages of Glenmoore's journal until she found a worn piece of paper tucked inside. Upon opening it, a lovely female visage appeared. "Her name was Anne," she explained. "According to the story Glenmoore heard, she fled an unhappy marriage to sail the high seas with a pirate named Calico Jack. They were together for a time, but Jack was eventually caught and hanged. It is said that Anne, who was pregnant when he was killed, fled the authorities and hid his ill-gotten gains."

Hugh rubbed the back of his neck. The pose emphasized his powerful arms and beautifully built chest. She licked her lips.

Good heavens, she was going to drool.

"Charlotte, don't you think-" He raised his eyes from the map and met hers. Then he groaned. "How in damnation is a man to concentrate on anything when you dress in that manner and look at him thusly?"

"Why are you so interested in the map all of a sudden?"

Reaching down, he stroked his erection through his broadcloth trousers. "I'd like to be useful to you for things other than sex."

Charlotte blinked, then moved to a nearby chair and sat down. All thoughts of seduction and winning their amorous bet left her head. "You'd like to be useful," she repeated softly, awed by the statement. "I don't believe I've ever had a man say that to me before."

"Yes, well, I, for one, have never said such a thing before," he grumbled. "Being wanted for simple fornication has its decided benefits. And giving in to such demands is certainly less painful to a man's genitals. I blame the water hereabouts for this madness."

He scrubbed a hand across his face before pulling the journal closer. "Do you truly believe in this treasure nonsense?"

She watched him studying the journal, obviously sexually frustrated and yet determined to find a way to be valuable to her, and her heart softened. What an odd man he was. She couldn't puzzle him out, but then, what did it matter? She felt alive and appreciated, and this man was the cause.

"Charlotte?" He glanced at her and muttered an oath under his breath. "Do you intend to assist me with this or not?"

"I forfeit." She'd never done such a thing in her life. Cursed (or blessed, depending on how one looked at it) with a competitive nature she took every challenge seriously.

"Beg your pardon?"

"You win. I forfeit. Can we have sex now?"

"Hell and damnation!" Hugh pushed away from the desk and began to pace. "You are not allowed to forfeit."

She stood. "Why not?"

"Because I need to help you with this."

"You can help me later."

He paused and faced her, holding his arms out, displaying his perfection even as he displayed his frustration. "Why are you being so bloody difficult?"

"What do you want, Hugh?" she asked softly. "What do you gain by assisting me?"

Growling, he turned away. "The storm will pass soon, leaving me no reason to tarry here."

"Yes, I know."

"My carriage was new, damn it, and cost me a bloody fortune! I should be enraged, furious, that the wretched thing broke. Yet I'm grateful, because it gave me the opportunity to meet you. And I suspect once I leave, I shall miss you, and I never miss anyone."

Her heart racing, Charlotte crossed the small space that separated them. Her hands caressed his back, feeling the muscles tense beneath her fingertips. His words, his passion… she'd never witnessed anything like them. "Hush," she soothed.

"You left this morning to bathe, and you were gone forever. It's madness, I tell you. A horrid, insidious madness, to crave the company of a stranger the way I do yours. Yesterday at this time, I didn't even know who you were. And last night, when I was inside you, I wanted no more than that. But this morning, I thought perhaps more would be nice-"

"Shhh…"

"-and now-"

Too short to reach his lips, she pressed an ardent kiss to his nipple, and his hands fisted in her unbound hair.

Hugh pushed her roughly away, revealing fierce, dark eyes that might have frightened her if she hadn't been so aroused. "And now I want you to come with me. Become my mistress. You'll want for nothing, I promise you that."

"Oh Hugh…"

He crushed his mouth down on hers, and Charlotte was flooded with sensation, a sharp, almost painful racing of heat across her skin. All morning she'd craved him. She'd needed his touch, his smile, the warmth of his gaze. It was madness, she agreed, to want the attentions of a stranger, but that was how it was, and she couldn't be sorry, not when it felt this wonderful.

Sinking to his knees, he pulled her down with him, his hands leaving her hair and moving to her breasts, every touch rife with an underlying tenderness that cut her to the quick. "I'll replace all your jewels, all your gowns. I'll give you a home, and it will be yours, in your name-"

"Cease talking, damn you." She didn't want promises or dreams. She just wanted right now, just this moment, and nothing more. She was afraid to want more.

Spinning away, she dropped to all fours and spread her legs, waiting for the sweet, oblivious pleasure that filled her when they joined.

But when he moved, it wasn't as she expected. It wasn't with the fevered urgency he'd displayed only hours ago. Instead it was a hot brush of breath through her gown, the heated press of his cheek against her spine, the soft slide of his hands along her sides.

She dropped her forehead to the rug, her body quivering, her skin dampening with sweat from her proximity to the fire.

"I would like the luxury of touching you like this," he murmured, his fingers running along the length of her spine. "I want to take my time, savor you, instead of feeling so rushed, so desperate."

"Desperate?" she gasped, arching into his touch.

"That is how I feel, as if I must have my fill before it's too late." Hugh lifted her hair to his face and breathed deeply. "This is such a beautiful color. It's the most glorious shade of red I've ever seen."

Charlotte attempted to roll over so she could savor him as he was savoring her, but he held her still with a firm grip.

He slid her gown up slowly, using the soft material to caress her skin. She shivered as his hand dipped between her legs, tangling in the damp curls. "And this red-darker, more passionate. From the moment I saw you on that massive horse, I wanted to know what color the hair here would be." His finger circled her engorged clit with a featherlight touch, while his other hand reached around and cupped her breast. "When you lie naked in the bed, your hair spilled across the pillows, your skin so pale, your nipples and lips so dark… I can hardly bear it."

He kissed the curve of her derriere. "But it is the things you say and the sound of your laughter that move me most."

She closed her eyes, awash in feeling and emotion. Charlotte looked at life pragmatically, and she felt no shame for her past. The need to survive had long ago overridden her pride. But in all of her experience, she'd never had a man take such time with her, stoking her arousal, making her liquid with desire, as Hugh had done from the very beginning. The sexual act shouldn't feel this intimate, not when the situation was so temporary. But then he slipped a finger inside her, and she lost her trepidation. He entered a little more, and she tensed, sore from his earlier amorous attentions.

Hugh hummed a coaxing sound, and then his mouth was there, his tongue moving in deep licks, just the way he kissed. He parted her with his fingers, his other hand kneading her breast, rolling her nipple.

"Please," she whispered, circling her hips into his thrusting tongue, wanting him… desperately.

He straightened, and a moment later she felt the hard heat of him, pressing slowly into her, filling the empty ache she hadn't known was there until he'd arrived. Patient and tender, he stroked her spine, soothing her, as his cock stretched swollen tissues unaccustomed to such constant use.

"Yes…" she sighed, when his thighs touched hers, her body stretched to the limit to accommodate him. She arched her hips upward in silent invitation, and he slipped deeper inside with a soft curse.

"This feeling," he grunted, hunching over her and cupping her silk-covered breasts with his hands. "I cannot imagine ever having enough of this."

He slid out slowly and then pressed forward again, starting a leisurely rhythm and maintaining it, the steady in and out inundating her with pleasure. She whimpered and began to writhe, begging him to end her torment.

"Do you truly want it to end?" he asked in a husky murmur. "I don't."

Her short nails left scratch marks in the rug as he slowed his pace. She didn't want it to end-this moment, his visit, none of it. But if she didn't orgasm soon she was afraid she would die. "Please…"

He thrust deep and groaned, burying his cock to the hilt and coming, burning her from the inside with hot, pulsing streams of his seed.

Charlotte came just like that, convulsing around him, his chest to her back, his hands on her breasts, his groans with her cries, until she couldn't tell where she ended and Hugh La Coeur began.

Hugh brushed fiery red curls from Charlotte's face before kissing the tip of her nose. "I want you to come with me when I leave." Lifting her from the floor, he carried her to the bed.

She buried her face in his throat. "I cannot leave here."

"Why not?" He set her atop the counterpane and then slid beside her.

She caught his hand and brought it to her heart, her eyes a soft and misty green. "Because we're safe here, the servants and I. We have a home where we're comfortable. It may not be ideal, but it's reliable."

Resting against the pillows, Hugh studied her face. "I can be reliable. I shall open an account for you, in your name. I've promised you a house, and I'll provide it. Everything I give you will be yours to keep. Plenty to provide for you and the others."

Charlotte looked away. "I like Derbyshire," she said softly.

He stared at her, feeling as if he'd taken a physical blow. She would choose this place, this life, over him? He'd told her how he felt, revealed emotions he didn't know how to manage, and she shunned him. In truth she didn't trust him.

It's reliable, she said. Unspoken was the notion that he was not.

"Jesus," he muttered, sliding off the bed. He walked to the window and pushed aside the drapes, gazing at the winter scene outside. A few days more and he would be free to move on, free to return to the careless life he'd once enjoyed but now found sadly unfulfilling. If he expired today, what memory would he leave behind? That of a man who was unreliable and irresponsible? He didn't want to be that man anymore.

"There are things you don't know," Charlotte said behind him, her voice soft and tentative.

He kept his back to her but was acutely aware of every move she made. "Are you going to tell me what they are?"

"I…" She paused, then sighed. "No."

"Well, then." Hugh released a deep breath, his disappointment painful. "I suppose that answers my question."

"I wish I could explain."

"Please," he said, raising a hand. "Don't say anything further. I asked, you replied. There's nothing more to be said." But part of him wished she would tell him, would confide in him, would trust him. Then again, the more he knew, the worse his ridiculous attachment could become.

No, it was best to keep her as an amusement and nothing more, regardless of how he felt at the moment.

Hugh turned from the window and retrieved his trousers. Then he collected his shirt.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

He didn't look at her. "For a walk."

"Where?" The sheets rustled. "I can show you around the manse."

"I'd rather you didn't, if you don't mind." He could sense her hurt from across the room, but he forced himself to ignore it, moving into the adjoining sitting room to create much-needed distance between them.

Having spent most of his stay in the bedroom, Hugh wasn't familiar with any other wings of the house, but he didn't imagine it would be too difficult to find the study he'd stumbled into before. Most of his focus had been on Charlotte last night, but if he remembered correctly, there was a liquor-stocked sideboard in there.

And a drink, or several, was just what he needed, to find the frame of mind that kept his emotions far removed from his bedsport.

Chapter Six

It took only a few moments after leaving Charlotte for Hugh to find the study, which was just down the hall. He also found something else. Seated at the desk, with books scattered all around, was a young girl of no more than sixteen or seventeen years of age. Pausing on the threshold, he wasn't certain if he should enter or not. Propriety dictated the girl be chaperoned in his presence, but then he doubted anyone in this household would take offense.

Who the devil was she? She looked… normal. And the casual way in which she made use of the study made him think she must be a member of the household and not a servant.

The girl looked up at just that moment, and her face broke out in a delighted grin. With hair as dark as night and bright blue eyes, she was quite lovely. "Hallo, Lord Montrose," she greeted as she rose from behind the desk and came toward him. "'Tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance." She held out her hand.

Completely dumbfounded, Hugh moved out of sheer habit, reaching for her fingers and bowing. "A pleasure…?"

She giggled. "Guinevere. My mother was a bit of a romantic. But you should call me Gwen as all my close associates do."

Arching a brow, Hugh studied the chit further. Tall and slender, she held herself with the hallmarks of good breeding but deported herself with an informality that betrayed her lack of proper social training.

"Are you studying?" he asked, looking over her shoulder at the items on the desk.

"I was attempting to, yes." Gwen smiled. "But history is simply not holding my attention today. Where is Charlotte?"

"I'm not certain." Surely she wouldn't still be in his room. Most likely she'd never grace it again, leastwise not while he was occupying it.

"Ahhh… a lover's tiff," Gwen murmured sagely. "Surprisingly early, but inevitable, I've been told. And the deeper the attachment, the more hurtful the row."

"How the devil would you know of such things?"

Shrugging, Gwen turned back to the desk. "There's not much of interest out here, my lord, and few people with whom to talk. Around these parts the only true form of entertainment appears to be courtship, and I'm a curious sort. It's rather like an opera, you see, or a play. Quite fascinating the way the sexes associate with each other, wouldn't you agree?"

Hugh shook his head. He'd never encountered a stranger group of individuals in his life. "I require liquor," he muttered, moving with long strides to the sideboard, where several crystal decanters sat lined up with tumblers. Tossing back one drink, he savored the burning heat in his stomach, before pouring another and turning to face the young Guinevere again. "Are you related to Her Grace?"

Her brows arched. "I'm her ward."

"Right." He finished his second drink. To these people it would make perfect sense to leave a young girl in the care of a duchess not quite right in the head.

"'Ere now!"

Hugh glanced at the doorway, where Artemis stood with hands on his hips. "You shouldn't be talking to 'im," the servant scolded Gwen.

"Beg your pardon?" Hugh stiffened.

Artemis turned his bulging eye toward him. "I tole 'er Grace you'd be nothin' but trouble. But she wouldn't listen to me. And look what you've done!"

"What the devil are you talking about?"

"She's cryin' and yer in 'ere imbibin' spirits and swearin' in front o' Miss Guinevere. And 'alf dressed, too! Disgraceful."

"Oh, dear." Gwen gave a regretful shake of her head and moved to make her egress. "That must have been some row you had."

"I've done nothing," Hugh cried, affronted at the unfair accusation, and a tad embarrassed. Artemis was correct. He wasn't acting the gentleman. "I've yet to be introduced to Lady Glenmoore. I'm certainly not the cause of her distress. Most likely it's you. Lord knows I'd be in tears if you worked in my household."

Artemis gasped, his hands coming to his hips. "See?" he blustered to Gwen. "I tole ye how they are!" He lifted a finger to the side of his head and spun it in a circle. "All the Quality are a bit-"

"Damnation!" Hugh slammed his empty tumbler onto the sideboard. "Of all the insolent-"

"Good heavens," Gwen interrupted, wrinkling her nose. "Artemis, stand down."

Hugh crossed his arms. "He's mad as you please."

"Eh?" Artemis snapped. "Ye can't even recall the name o' the lady you've been entertainin' all mornin'."

"Oh, my." Gwen blushed, her hands lifting to her cheeks.

Hugh froze. His horrified gaze shifted to Gwen. When she winced, all the pieces fell into place. Stunned, he shot a glance at Artemis, who for once had the grace to look chastened. "Good God." He leaned heavily against the sideboard. "Where is she?"

"Perhaps you should wait until you're less surly," Gwen advised.

"I am not surly!"

"You're yelling," she pointed out.

"I am not-" He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He was yelling. Despite the foul mood brought on by Charlotte's lack of faith, he needed to control himself and deal with the situation rationally. "I need to speak with her." Opening his eyes, he said, "She'll be safe with me."

"I don't doubt that," Gwen said with a smile. "'Tis obvious you are both a bit soft on one another. Artemis, do you know where Her Grace is?"

The butler gestured toward the hallway. " 'Er room. Third door down on the right."

"Thank you."

Artemis blocked the doorway for a moment. He opened his mouth and then snapped it shut, moving out of the way.

Halfway down the gallery, Hugh paused and took another deep breath. There was so much to comprehend at once, it was nearly impossible, and in the end, the only one who could clarify anything was Charlotte. And feeling a cad that he'd made her cry, Hugh was suitably contrite when he knocked on the closed door. He heard her bid him entry and walked inside.

She sat at the escritoire, studying the map. With her bright red hair piled atop her head and dark green dressing gown, she was a vision. When she looked up, her eyes were as clear as a field of grass in spring, her nose pert and not red. She hadn't been crying at all. It was easy to deduce that he'd been duped. Obviously the butler felt Hugh should know the truth.

Her chin lifted. "Good morning, my lord." Her voice was cool and impartial, far removed from the temptress who'd been on her hands and knees for him just a short time ago.

Goaded into it by her chilly demeanor, he replied, "Good morning, Your Grace."

Charlotte flinched, a slight movement of her brows that he would have missed if he hadn't been determinedly searching for it.

"Artemis," she muttered under her breath. "Drat him."

Hugh closed the door and waited.

She sighed. "Very well, then." Coming to her feet, she moved around the small desk and approached him head-on, just as she approached all her difficulties. "Is there anything else you discovered?"

"You refer to Guinevere?" He realized then that their meeting could not have been unplanned. Had the young girl studied in her room, he would never have learned of her existence. For whatever reason, the members of Charlotte's odd menagerie wanted him to know their secrets.

Pursing her lips, she gestured to the nearby settee, waiting until he sat to continue. "Everything I told you was the truth."

"Truth by omission," he argued.

"But the truth nevertheless."

"Was that you in black and shrouded in lace?"

"Yes, that was I."

He released a sigh of relief. He'd thought he was insane for feeling aroused by the darkly clad duchess. Knowing it was Charlotte in disguise put the whole encounter in perspective.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Gwen is Carding's daughter. Since he's not married, I'm certain you can deduce the nature of her association to him."

Hugh leaned back, noting the sudden weariness that weighted Charlotte's slender frame. "He left her with you?"

"Good heavens, no," she said, with a bitter laugh. "That man cared nothing for his own father. Think he would care for a bastard? It was Glenmoore who asked me to look after Gwen. He discovered her existence when she was a child, and started a small stipend for her mother. But the mother passed on, and there was no one to care for Gwen. Carding refused to do anything for her, so Glenmoore brought her here. He wanted a grandchild desperately, and Gwen is such a dear. One cannot help but adore her."

"And the marriage?"

"It was the only way Glenmoore could ensure Gwen's future. He could leave me a trust for Gwen, and grant me the rights to claim it, should Carding prove to be a problem."

"A pitiable trust fund," Hugh muttered. "This place is a disgrace."

Charlotte reached over and claimed his hand, jolting him with a spark of sensual awareness. "Glenmoore was afraid to bequeath too large a trust. Since the marriage was never consummated, as Carding well knows, the duke wanted to give as little provocation as possible for a contest."

She stood and began to pace. "No one can discover who the duchess is, Hugh. We cannot have outsiders questioning who Gwen is. Those were Carding's only requirements in allowing us the use of this house."

"What future does this place hold for her?" he asked, standing to face her. "What kind of life is this?"

"None. Which is why Glenmoore left me the map."

"Bloody hell, Charlotte!" Hugh scrubbed a hand over his face. "'Tis ridiculous to pin all your hopes on that blasted map. Pirate's treasure and other such nonsense… You shall rot out here. And Gwen, as well."

"And you would take us in?" she challenged, her cheeks flushed and eyes sparked with anger. "A mistress with a minor ward and entourage of disabled servants? Gwen would be thoroughly ruined. Or do you intend to hide us away? Perhaps the accommodations would be superior, but we would still be trapped, our futures dependent on the whim of a rake's temporary infatuation."

His hands clenched into fists. Would no one ever trust him to be responsible? "Tell me, Charlotte, what am I to you?"

She snorted. "A charming stranger. A man too devilishly handsome for his own good. An amorous libertine who shows flashes of kindness that startle me."

Hugh turned away and moved toward the door. He'd heard enough.

"What am I to you?" she called after him.

Pausing on the threshold, he turned back. "A beautiful woman whose sensuality calls to me. A nurse, a guardian, a champion for those in your care. A pragmatist who will do anything to survive, a trait I appreciate, since I lack it myself. An honest individual who said she admired me, who believed, if only for a moment, that I am capable of doing whatever needs to be done."

"You are."

"Only when it relates to you."

Charlotte's lower lip quivered, her fingers picking restlessly at her skirts.

He took a deep breath and said, "I've acted out of character ever since I stepped foot in this monstrosity of a house, and since I didn't much care for my character before, I don't mind at all. In fact, I rather like myself better when I'm with you. I like that I admire things about you other than your physical attributes, though I admit to spending a great deal of the last twenty-four hours admiring those." He sketched a bow, then turned again and left the room.

"Hugh, wait!" Charlotte hurried after him.

"Why?" he asked over his shoulder. "I understand."

"But you don't."

Hugh stopped but didn't turn around. She circled him, her lush floral scent enveloping his senses.

She tilted her head back to look at him. "If it were just you and I, and no one else, I would go with you. I would leave everything behind to be with you, for however long you would have me."

"But it isn't that way."

"No." Her hand reached for his, just as she'd often done since he met her. "And I am dreadfully sorry it isn't. You must realize, too many people depend on me to simply hand over everything and hope for the best."

His mind shifting industriously, Hugh reasoned out a way to prove he was someone on whom she could rely. "You want to find that treasure, and I can assist you. But you will have to trust me."

Her eyes widened, her wariness a palpable thing.

"I can take you to Lord Merrick," he continued, hoping to allay her refusal. "His father-in-law is Jack Lambert. If anyone could decipher that map, Merrick could, or at the very least he would know someone who could."

Charlotte swallowed hard.

Rushing ahead, he said, "Both my sister and Lord Merrick have holdings in Derbyshire. That was my destination before fate led me here." He brushed his fingertips across her lips.

"You shall have to travel by ship eventually. It would relieve me greatly to know you traveled on a Lambert vessel, with proper escort and protection. I can make arrangements for you."

"You would do that?"

He smiled at the softening he saw in her gaze. "Only one person in my life has ever relied on me for anything-my sister, Julienne-and I'm ashamed to admit I failed her. Miserably. You would be doing me a great honor if you would rely on me and give me the chance to redeem myself. You've carried your burdens for a long time. Why not pass the weight to me for a while?"

"From the moment you arrived, my burdens have felt lighter, even if in truth nothing has changed."

He kissed the tip of her nose. "I would appreciate your intimate companionship for the duration of our association, but only if you wish it. If you don't, I still promise to assist you in whatever way I can. This is not about sex, Charlotte. 'Tis important to me that you understand my motives."

Resting her head against his chest, she laughed. "I understand, Hugh. And continuing our association would please me as well. It's shameful, really. I've been nothing but a wanton since you arrived."

"Only when you're not rescuing the entire population of Derbyshire misfits," he said dryly.

"'Ere now!" Artemis complained, stepping out of the study. "We don't take kindly to that nonsense 'round 'ere!"

Hugh attempted to step away from Charlotte, but she held fast, and after a second he relaxed. Another second more, and he discovered he rather liked holding a female in a nonamorous position. It was soothing.

Looking over the pile of red curls, he locked his eyes with Artemis's one, which had the gall to wink.

Hugh chuckled, realizing he just might like the butler a little after all.

Chapter Seven

"It hasn't snowed in the last two days," Charlotte said sadly, as she looked out the window. She'd come to love the sight of snow, since the fall of it meant Hugh would stay another day.

Glancing up from the journal, the object of her affection gifted her with a boyish smile. The effect of that smile was so powerful, her breath caught and her hand lifted to shelter her rapidly beating heart.

Hugh ran a careless hand through his golden hair. "I noticed that this morning."

He was so achingly beautiful, she could hardly bear it. Thankfully he remained unaware of how he affected her. "If your carriage is repaired in time, perhaps it will be possible to set off tomorrow."

"My thoughts were similar." He closed the book and gestured for her to come closer.

The earl had been in residence for a fortnight, and so far his interest in her showed no signs of waning. He slept in her bed every night and spent every waking moment with her, maintaining his easy charm without any sign of boredom. If she moved to leave the room, he followed. If she wanted to take a nap, he went with her. For the first time in her life, the loneliness that was her constant companion was gone, replaced by the steadfast presence of the dashing Earl of Montrose.

"You seem nervous," he noted.

"And this surprises you? I haven't left the area in a very long time. My clothes are sadly out of date, and my social deportment is rusty."

Hugh chuckled, and when she came close enough, he tugged her into his lap. "No one will pay any mind to those things. Your beauty is so blinding, it outshines everything else."

"Perhaps you think so," she muttered.

"I definitely think so," he corrected, kissing the tip of her nose. "You have nothing to fear. The company we'll keep are infamous for their eccentricities. My sister and Remington aren't conventional by any means, and Merrick disappeared for years. To this day no one knows where he was. That sort of behavior is odd. My arriving with a gorgeous woman on my arm is positively commonplace, regardless of her attire."

Charlotte looked away, stung by the knowledge that she was simply one of many. She'd known he would be a temporary pleasure when she met him. Why she'd allowed herself to care for him, she couldn't say. But then, it was most likely inevitable. How could any woman deny him anything, including her heart?

"I have never taken a woman to meet my sister before," he said softly, and when she turned to look at him, it was clear he knew her thoughts. His dark eyes studied her face, a frown gathering between his brows.

To divert him from his intense perusal, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him close. "Thank you for helping me, Hugh. I cannot begin to tell you what it means to me."

"No more, I imagine, than what it means to me that you trust me to do so." He tucked her against his chest and sighed. "Are you even a little excited to leave this place and mingle with the rest of the world?"

"Oh, I'm very excited. This will be Gwen's first time away from the district, and I eagerly anticipate meeting Lucien Remington. I've heard some-"

She squealed as she was tackled to the settee.

Hugh loomed over her with narrowed gaze. "You've been trapped out here for three years, and the most excitement you can muster is for Lucien Remington?"

Charlotte made no attempt to squelch the thrill she felt at his possessiveness. She blinked innocently. "Well, he's rather legendary among the demimonde. I met his mother once. A delightful woman. She-"

Lowering his head, Hugh bit her bottom lip.

"Ow!" she complained, pouting.

"He's married. To my sister. Very happily, I should point out. It's almost sickening the way they fawn over one another."

She shrugged. "I can look."

"No," he said gruffly. "You cannot."

"You're jealous!" Giggling, she tugged his head down and kissed him. Against her thigh, she felt his cock swell. "You should know that women like to ogle handsome men. Usually with as much enthusiasm as men like to ogle attractive women."

"My sister might not approve," he said, against her lips.

"Oh, you see, women actually like it when the men they escort draw such avid attention. It makes us quite proud to possess something so desired."

"Hmmm…" Hugh's mouth twitched as he held back a smile. "I suppose I should round up some admirers. Perhaps then you'll pay more attention to me than to Remington."

Charlotte's smile wavered. She almost didn't want to leave the estate, preferring instead to remain trapped with Hugh, safe from the forces that would separate them.

"Ah, some women like it," he noted perceptively, his hands brushing the hair away from her face. "But you are not one of them."

The conversation was rapidly moving to areas best left unexplored. "You're heavy," she said, trying to create distance between them, even if it was only physical. It was a lie, of course. She relished the feel of his hard, powerful body stretched over hers. She loved how it made her feel cherished and cared for, instead of dominated.

"You bear my weight often. This is the first I've heard you complain." His gaze burned her with its intensity. "Am I beginning to bore you, Charlotte?"

"No!" Her hands reached for his face. In the last fortnight, she'd learned many things about her lover, the most important being how deeply he feared being expendable. "Oh, Hugh, not that. Never that."

"Never?" He brushed his mouth across hers.

Arching up into his weight, she pulled him close. "Take me to bed now."

"Why?"

She offered a seductive smile. "You know why."

"Yes." He lifted away from her. "I know why."

Charlotte watched him, confused, as he rose from the settee and moved to the window where she'd stood a moment ago.

"What do you think about when we're making love?" he asked suddenly.

"What do I…?" She shook her head and sat up. "I don't think about anything."

"Precisely."

"What are you saying?"

"You use sex as a way to avoid your feelings."

She was speechless for a moment, surprised by the accusation. "And you don't?" she scoffed, rising to her feet.

"No rows," came Gwen's chastising voice from the doorway. She swept into the room with her customary enthusiasm. Dressed in sprigged muslin, with her long, dark hair tied at the nape, she appeared younger than her seventeen years. "We've been trapped together for days. 'Tis inevitable that we would become a tad testy with one another."

"I've been here for years," Charlotte retorted. "Montrose is the testy one. Perhaps his lordship is the one who is bored?"

Hugh turned from the window, and the smoldering light in his eyes stole her breath. "With the games you play to keep me at bay? Yes, I weary of them."

"Keep you at bay? How can you say that after these last two weeks?"

He snorted, and her hands clenched into fists. He wanted everything, damn him.

Gwen coughed discreetly. "Cook outdid herself for tea. Katie will be bringing it up shortly."

Bowing, and looking damned dashing while doing it, Hugh said, "You must excuse me today, Miss Guinevere. I feel a headache coming on. I believe I'll retire for a nap." His glare blamed Charlotte as he walked past her and left the room without another word.

"Oh." Gwen's wide-eyed gaze moved to Charlotte. "He's not testy. He's angry."

"Apparently."

"Will he still take us with him when he departs?"

The plaintive note in Gwen's voice drew Charlotte from her thoughts. "Of course," she soothed. "He won't be angry in an hour or so."

Gwen's head tilted to the side. "Why not?"

"Men don't usually stay angry at women for long." Charlotte moved back to the settee as Katie entered with a cacophony of rattling china. "Even if the fault is ours."

Sighing, Gwen joined her, spreading out her skirts to avoid wrinkles, as Charlotte had taught her. "I don't believe I will ever understand men. The more I learn about them, the less they make sense."

Charlotte laughed. "Truer words were never spoken."

"If Lord Montrose is bored, perhaps I could play whist with him, or cassino, though it's not as much fun with only two."

"He'd probably enjoy that."

Hugh had taken a liking to Gwen, and his gentle, courtly dealings with the young girl warmed Charlotte's heart.

"But perhaps you meant to say, it is the company that bores him," Gwen said, wrinkling her nose.

"Oh, no, Gwen." Charlotte covered her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "If he's bored with anything, it's me."

"I doubt it's that." Reaching for the tea, Gwen began to serve, demonstrating a grace and social adeptness Charlotte had worked hard to teach her.

But Charlotte had no formal training. Everything she knew about proper social deportment was learned from studying others. She wanted Gwen to have a better start in life, and already time was running out. Gwen would come of age in less than a year.

"Montrose is smitten with you, Charlotte. It must be thrilling to have so handsome a man take such a keen interest in you."

"It is," she agreed. "I'm afraid, however, that I'm terribly smitten myself."

"Why be afraid?"

"Because we'd never suit."

"You suit beautifully," Gwen scoffed.

"In some ways, but in others we're worlds apart. You haven't experienced the class system yet, but you will."

"You are a duchess."

"I am a counterfeit duchess. The title doesn't change who I've always been. And this discussion is moot in any case. Lord Montrose is a man who holds only temporary interest in women."

Passing over a cup and saucer, Gwen smiled. "I propose a toast."

"Over tea?" Charlotte arched a brow.

"Don't tell me it's not proper. It's all we have at the moment, so it will have to do."

Charlotte laughed. Gwen's enthusiasm for life had never diminished, despite having spent so much of her childhood hidden away as a mistake. "Very well. What are we toasting?"

"New adventures."

Charlotte raised her cup. "To new adventures."

"Are we almost there?" Gwen asked. She craned her neck out the carriage window, her hand holding her bonnet to her head so it wouldn't blow away.

Hugh watched her antics with a wide grin, understanding how excited she must be to venture out after all these years. "How many times do you intend to ask that question, Miss Guinevere?"

"As many times as necessary for you to give me a straight answer." She shot him an arched look. "'When we arrive' is not a proper response."

"When have we ever done anything properly?" Charlotte teased, laughing as Gwen scowled in response.

"Oh, we're turning! We must be here!" Gwen nearly shook with excitement. "What a beautiful property. I wasn't aware they could make homes that big. And look at all the carriages!"

"Damnation," Hugh muttered, looking over Gwen's head to see the front of the Remington manse. Neoclassical in design, with fluted columns and overlooking a wide circular drive, it was stunning in its elegance. But the beautiful facade didn't hold his attention. Instead his narrowed gaze was riveted to the line of carriages that clogged the drive. Shunned by the highest tiers of Society, the Remingtons nevertheless had no lack of friends or acquaintances.

"Good heavens." Charlotte's hands went to her throat. "What will we do now?"

Hugh blew out a frustrated breath. He'd intended to tell Julienne about Charlotte, Gwen, and the whole mess with Glenmoore's map, but now he would have to alter course. Charlotte had taken great pains to hide her marriage to Glenmoore-encouraging Artemis to scare away visitors and hiding Gwen. Looking at her now, he could see the tension tightening her lips.

"Not to worry," Hugh soothed, thinking quickly. "Gwen will simply be your companion."

"And I will be Mrs. Riddleton," Charlotte finished, reaching for his hands and squeezing them tightly. "Your widowed paramour. You're brilliant, Hugh!"

"Riddleton?" he asked, even as warmth spread from her compliment up to his heart.

"My maiden name." Her eyes sparkled, and Hugh felt great satisfaction in having lightened her worries. It was a feeling to which a man could grow accustomed.

Gwen giggled. "It will be fun! Like a charade." She resumed her seat and rubbed her gloved hands together. "You are an angel sent from above, Lord Montrose. I cannot tell you how happy I am that your carriage was disabled near our home. If you hadn't come along, I would be studying right now and lamenting my boredom. Instead I am about to enjoy my first social gathering. I do hope there are more handsome men to ogle."

"Good God," Hugh muttered, arching a brow at Charlotte, who had the temerity to grin.

It took a few moments for the other carriages to dispatch their passengers and luggage, but it seemed all too soon that they were alighting by the front steps. Hugh was holding his hand out to Charlotte when a familiar deep voice sounded behind him.

"Montrose, we weren't expecting you."

Looking over his shoulder, Hugh smiled at his brother-in-law. "I couldn't allow you to have a gathering without me. Can you imagine how dreadfully boring that would be?"

Lucien Remington laughed aloud. "We're delighted to have you. And your lovely companions."

Charlotte stood on the bottom step with wide eyes. Gwen was worse, with her mouth agape. Both women stared at Lucien with obvious appreciation. Scowling, Hugh pulled Charlotte closer.

"Remington, allow me to present my very good friend, Mrs. Riddleton, and her companion, Miss…" Hugh cleared his throat to get Gwen's attention.

"Sherling," she blurted out, sticking out her hand. "Guinevere Sherling."

Lucien accepted the offering with a low bow, dazzling the young girl with a charming grin. Hugh began to tap his foot, not at all pleased with the reactions the ladies were having to the attractive former libertine.

And then Charlotte took his arm. Looking down at her, he caught her slight smile. "I prefer blonds," she whispered.

Suddenly Hugh's day was much brighter.

Remington gestured for the servants to collect the trunks and then led them inside. Gwen stumbled to a halt as they entered the foyer. A floating dual staircase directly ahead capped an expansive marble floor flanked by several doorways on either side. Overhead a massive crystal chandelier hung from a domed ceiling, featuring a painting of lush fern fronds on a pale blue background.

"This is so beautiful," Gwen breathed, clearly awestruck.

Lucien tilted his head in acknowledgment. "Thank you, Miss Sherling."

"Hugh La Coeur." All heads turned to the right, where Lady Julienne Remington stood in the doorway to the parlor. Dressed in pale blue silk with darker blue trim, his sister was a vision of beauty and poise. Heedless of the guests that milled around, she glided toward them with a brilliant smile and surrounded him in a fierce hug. "You should have told me you were coming, but regardless, I am very happy to see you."

Hugh lifted his sister's feet from the floor. "The sentiment is mutual," he whispered gruffly. Growing up without parents had made them closer than most siblings. After all the scrapes and mischief from which she'd rescued him, there wasn't anything in the world he wouldn't do for her.

Setting Julienne down, he drew Charlotte closer. She held out her hand and introduced herself.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Riddleton," Julienne said with a genuine smile. "This weather became so tedious, we decided to liven things up with a little winter house party. I'd warn you about some of my guests, but since you came with Hugh, I doubt anything you encounter will offend overmuch."

Charlotte laughed. "I thank you for your hospitality, my lady."

Julienne linked her arm with Charlotte's and smiled at Gwen. "Come along. I'll show you to your rooms and relate the scheduled activities."

With a quick wink over her shoulder, Charlotte moved to the grand staircase with Julienne and Gwen, leaving Hugh staring after her.

"She's lovely," Remington murmured.

Hugh nodded his agreement, though he rather thought "lovely" was too tame a description.

"I admire your taste."

"That's quite a compliment coming from you, Remington."

Lucien laughed. "Shall we head to the billiards room? Most of the gentlemen are there."

As they left the foyer, Hugh asked, "Is Lord Merrick here?"

"Merrick is expected to arrive later this afternoon."

"Smashing." Hugh very nearly rubbed his hands together with glee. "I'd like to speak with him privately, if he'll consent."

"Certainly. You may use my study whenever you like."

Now that the matter for which he'd come was settled, Hugh looked forward to enjoying the afternoon. The last week with Charlotte and Gwen had been pleasant and the most relaxing time he could remember, but he missed the bawdy humor and salacious discourse he found exclusively in the presence of other gentlemen.

He entered the smoke-filled room behind Remington and raked his glance over the occupants. Lord Middleton, who stood with a group in the far corner, raised his hand in greeting and gestured him over. Hugh moved to meet him, but he paused midstep, his smile frozen, as a man standing near Middleton turned to see who approached.

"Montrose," the Duke of Glenmoore called out, with a wide smile. "It's been some time since we last met."

Hugh's jaw tensed. "Not long enough," he said under his breath.

After seeing Gwen comfortably ensconced with the other companions, Charlotte followed Hugh's sister down the hall. She couldn't help smiling. Julienne Remington was very easy to like. Blessed with the same honey blonde hair as Hugh and the same dark eyes, she was lovely. Bearing the poise and grace of a woman born to privilege, she nevertheless seemed open and accessible.

"Here we are," Julienne said, throwing open a door on the right. "I hope you'll be comfortable."

Stepping into the bedchamber, Charlotte gazed around in wonder. Decorated in shades of plum and taupe, it was spacious and luxurious. "This is beautiful," she breathed.

"I'm pleased you like it. Tonight we've scheduled a ball." Julienne lifted her arms in the air and spun about. "I've felt like dancing for months. It took great effort on Mr. Remington's part to acquire an orchestra, but he managed it, and I'm terribly excited."

"I lack suitable attire for such an event," Charlotte confessed. She had one evening gown with her that was simple enough in style to go without notice, but she would never attend a ball without Gwen. It would break the girl's heart, although she would never admit it.

Julienne studied her figure carefully. "You and I are not much different in build. I believe I have a number of dresses that would fit you. You can look through them and see which one most suits your taste."

"Oh, really, you mustn't trouble yourself."

"'Tis no trouble at all, Mrs. Riddleton."

"Charlotte," she corrected.

"Charlotte." Julienne grinned. "I like you, Charlotte. I have always enjoyed the company of straightforward and strong women. Hugh needs that sort of support in his life."

"He's quite capable of supporting himself."

Arching a brow, Julienne looked clearly dubious. "In any case, my brother is quite handsome."

"Yes, quite," Charlotte agreed with a laugh.

"And in evening finery, he's unsurpassed, as you must know."

Not willing to admit how little she and Hugh knew of one another, she said nothing, but she could picture him clearly. Showcased in stark black and white, his golden beauty would be devastating to the female senses.

"We mustn't have him wandering about unescorted," Julienne continued. "Wouldn't you agree?"

Charlotte clenched her fists. She might never be able to keep him, but for the next week Hugh La Coeur was hers, and she would do whatever was necessary to make certain every other woman present knew that. "Yes." She offered a grateful smile. "Thank you so much, my lady."

"Julienne."

"Thank you, Julienne."

"Did you bring an abigail with you?"

Charlotte shook her head, knowing the outmoded style of her garments most likely betrayed her limited means.

"Wonderful. You and I shall prepare for the evening together. My maid will take one look at your glorious hair and beg to style it. I hope you don't mind."

"No. That sounds lovely. Thank you. You've been so kind to me."

"Nonsense. It will be fun. Bring your companion, too, if you like." Julienne moved to the door. "Now, as much as I'd rather stay with you, I must see to the new arrivals. Your trunks will be up shortly. If you're at all interested, the other ladies are in the sitting room, a few doors down on the right. You'll hear the gossip as you draw closer."

Pausing with her hand on the knob, she offered a warm smile. "I'm very pleased you came, Charlotte. I shall track you down in an hour or two, and we'll have the opportunity to become better acquainted."

"I'd like that."

The door had barely shut behind Julienne Remington when a knock came. Gwen rushed in without waiting for permission. "Oh, Charlotte!" she cried. "There's a ball tonight. Isn't that exciting? My first ball. I cannot wait to see the clothes. And the men."

Laughing at the young girl's exuberance, Charlotte shrugged out of her travel pelisse. "You will wear my ice blue satin."

Gwen's eyes widened as she shook her head. "Oh, I couldn't possibly. That's your best gown."

"Lady Julienne has graciously offered me the use of one of her gowns."

Squealing with delight, Gwen spun around with her arms wide. "I really like her. She's as nice as Lord Montrose."

"Yes, she is." Another knock came to the door. When Charlotte opened it, she found two footmen waiting with her trunks, and a maid to unpack them.

Gwen came to her side. "Shall we retreat to the rear garden? Lady Canlow's companion said it was designed to look even prettier in the snow than it does in the spring."

Charlotte retrieved her pelisse and cloak, feeling a freedom and lightness of spirit that she doubted she'd ever felt before. And it was all Hugh La Coeur's doing, she knew. She linked her arm with Gwen's. "Well, we definitely must have a look, then."

Chapter Eight

"That has to be one of the more fantastic stories I've ever heard," Lucien said, with a shake of his head.

Hugh threw his head back and released a deep breath. "I know. Believe me. I thought I was going mad. You've never met such a ragtag collection of lovable misfits in your life." He started to pace. "Where in hell is your butler?" he snapped.

He'd sent the servant to locate Charlotte and bring her to him almost a half hour past. The Remington manse was vast, but not that vast.

"You are wearing a hole in my rug, Montrose," Lucien said dryly.

Cursing, Hugh stilled, staring down at the elegant Aubusson rug beneath his feet. He spun about as the door to the study opened. The butler entered, a prime example of an upper servant with his impassive face and unflappable demeanor. Snorting, Hugh realized he liked Artemis better. Artemis would have told him why Charlotte was absent immediately, unlike Remington's butler, who waited to be asked before he would speak.

"Out with it, man!" Hugh barked. "Where is Mrs. Riddleton?"

The butler turned his head to Hugh with a disdainful sniff. "Apparently there was a collision between two footmen as they carried Lord Merrick's trunks up the stairs. Mrs. Riddleton took the injured party to the kitchen. I informed her of your summons, my lord, but she said you would understand why she was unable to respond immediately."

Throwing up his hands, Hugh turned in exasperation to Lucien, who sat calmly behind his desk. "I swear, Remington, that woman is a magnet for the injured."

Laughing, Lucien rose and moved toward the door. "We'll go see how they're faring. Then we'll retire somewhere private, and you can inform Mrs. Riddleton about Glenmoore's presence."

When they reached the kitchen, they discovered a well-tended footman eating hot buttered scones, and no Charlotte. The servant leapt to his feet, flushing guiltily, but Remington waved him back down.

"Where the devil did she go?" Hugh asked a scullery maid, who stammered so terribly with fright in the face of his ill humor, he could hardly comprehend her.

"There was an ac-cc acci-ci-"

"Bloody hell. An accident?"

The maid nodded, and Hugh shot a glance at Remington, who was beginning to scowl.

"What happened now?" Lucien barked.

"Lady Denby broke her cup, Mr. Remington, and cut her finger."

"Where?"

"The upper sitting room."

Hugh and Remington took the servant's stairs to the upper floor, where they found Lady Denby with a bandaged finger, and no Charlotte.

Lucien sketched a quick bow before asking, "Do you have any idea where we can locate Mrs. Riddleton, Lady Denby?"

The buxom brunette batted her eyelashes and offered a coy smile. "Why, Lucien Remington, whatever do you need Mrs. Riddleton for?"

"I need her," Hugh growled. He was starting to feel a mild panic under his frustration. If Charlotte was traipsing all over the premises, she was very likely to run into Glenmoore.

Lady Denby arched a brow. "I see. Well, I would try the stables, then, Lord Montrose. I believe she mumbled something about checking on a horse."

He released a deep breath and moved toward the door.

"The stables?" Lucien asked, following on his heels.

"Yes, yes, she's mad for horses." Hugh moved down the hallway with impatient strides. "One of my new carriage bays was injured when my wheel broke. She fussed over him the entire way here."

Lucien's soft chuckle earned him a scathing glance over Hugh's shoulder. "A magnet, you said."

When they reached the stables, Hugh found his horse sporting a liniment-covered foreleg, and no Charlotte.

"Damn and blast and bloody, everlasting hell!" Hugh cried, kicking a stall door and sending a fine spray of hay into the air. If he didn't find her immediately, he would go mad. Well-and-truly mad.

His heart raced in a desperate rhythm as he pictured Glenmoore finding Charlotte before he did. She'd promised to keep Gwen hidden in return for the use of the manse. Who knew how Glenmoore would react if he discovered the two had not only left, but were attending a large social function. The duke had discarded her clothes and jewelry, and spent the last three years ensuring that she had no life whatsoever. Hugh could only imagine the malicious temper that would goad a man to retaliate so viciously against a woman as kind and nurturing as Charlotte.

"I've never seen you like this," Lucien said softly.

"Like what?" Huge snapped, his hands clenching into fists.

"Like this. So concerned for another individual. Even when I wished to court Julienne, you weren't this upset."

Hugh growled. "'Tis the damned Derbyshire water. I've never been the same since. I'm completely mad."

"Yes, dear brother, I believe you are quite mad for her." Remington's hand came to rest on his shoulder. "It was bound to happen sometime."

"What was bound to happen? What the devil are you rambling about?"

"You're in love with her."

Lucien offered a commiserating smile as Hugh gaped and then sagged into the abused stall door. "I know just how you feel. Someone had to tell me, too. I think men who are accustomed to lives of carnal indulgence find it harder to acknowledge how dependent their happiness can become on one woman."

Shaking his head, Hugh considered himself carefully. He'd known Charlotte for such a short time. How could it be possible that he loved her already?

"How do you know?" he asked. "How can you be certain?"

"When you are in love, you cannot stand to be away from your lover. Her touch, her smile, her attentions, are necessary things. You admire her above all other women; her faults are what you find charming. You want to care for her, protect her, be all things to her. Your desire for her stuns you, humbles you, and makes every other female pale in comparison."

"Good God." Hugh scrubbed a hand over his face. "That sounds dreadful. And terrifying." He dropped his hand and sighed. "And very much like the way I feel about Charlotte."

Patting him on the back, Lucien gestured toward the stable door. "Let's go find her, shall we? Before you expire."

"Oh, it's lovely," Gwen breathed, running her hands reverently over the tiny pearls that encrusted the sleeves of Charlotte's gown. "I've never seen a garment so fine."

Charlotte eyed her reflection with both longing and trepidation. The satin gown was a beautiful green that complimented her eyes and brought out the striking hue of her hair. "I couldn't possibly-"

"Nonsense," Julienne cut in, resplendent in mauve-colored silk. "That dress looks much better on you than it ever has on me. You must wear it."

Turning, Charlotte gave Hugh's sister an impulsive hug. "Thank you so much." Having been occupied all afternoon with entertaining Gwen and helping wherever she was needed, she hadn't had the opportunity to see Hugh at all, and she missed him dreadfully. She was pleased to think that when he finally saw her, she would look as she did now, dressed in a green very much like the robe she wore the first night they made love.

She was also quite willing to admit that her infatuation with the handsome earl was rapidly progressing to deeper waters. A few hours without him, and she felt bereft. She wondered where he'd been all day, how he'd occupied himself, if he'd thought of her at all and missed her, if only just a little.

"I cannot wait until the moment Hugh first lays eyes on you," Julienne said, with a smile. "I've waited so long for him to find his footing and a steady companion."

"Find his footing?" Charlotte asked.

"Yes." Julienne waved her arm carelessly. "His entire life he's fallen into one scrape after another. Don't misunderstand, he's very intelligent and inherently kind. He simply has a tendency to leap before looking. He says and does things before considering all the consequences, and then regrets his actions later. Hugh has made an effort to change over the last few years, but it may be a while yet before he becomes a man that one would call responsible. There were a few times when I wondered…" She shook her head. "But you are a sensible sort, confident and poised, and Hugh is obviously quite taken with you. You'll be a good influence on him. I can tell."

Charlotte frowned, attempting to reconcile the picture painted by Julienne with the image she bore of Hugh-a man who was strong and resourceful.

"Shall we go down to dinner now, ladies?" Julienne asked, effectively squelching the questions Charlotte had been about to ask.

"Oh, yes, let's!" Gwen cried.

Shaking off her sudden unease, Charlotte turned to look at Guinevere. Dressed in the ice blue gown, Gwen's creamy skin was displayed to perfection. But there was something missing from the ensemble, and despite how hard she considered it, Charlotte could not remember what it was.

Collecting the elbow-length gloves the abigail held out to them, they left Julienne's dressing room and headed toward the main staircase. Several other guests also left their rooms, and Charlotte studied the latest fashions carefully, eager to see what was new and popular. A bright bauble on a passing baroness caught the light, and suddenly she remembered what it was Gwen's dress was missing.

"Please go on ahead," she said, stopping in the middle of the gallery. "I forgot something."

Gwen frowned. "What is it?"

"The diamond brooch that goes so beautifully with that gown."

"You would allow me to wear that?" Gwen's eyes widened.

It was one of the few pieces of jewelry Charlotte had remaining, and it was one of her favorites.

"Of course. I think the dress looks almost naked without it." And the fact was, after this week the chances of Gwen mingling with Polite Society were very slim indeed. Charlotte wanted to ensure the young girl enjoyed every moment to the fullest.

"Well, we should retrieve the brooch, then," Julienne said with a smile.

"Please proceed without me," Charlotte urged. "You have guests to attend to, and Gwen is so excited. I hate to delay either of you."

As the two women moved away, Charlotte lifted her skirts and ran to her room. Hugh was certainly waiting downstairs by now, and she couldn't wait to see him. There was so much yet to learn about each other, so many questions to ask. Clutching the diamond-encrusted piece in her gloved palm, she backed out of her chamber and shut the door.

"I thought that was you."

She stiffened at the familiar voice behind her.

"Only a woman of your breeding would run down the hallway like a hoyden."

Taking a deep breath, she turned around. "Good evening, Your Grace."

The Duke of Glenmoore smiled and sketched a mocking bow. "Good evening, Your Grace."

"I detest it when you call me that," she said tightly, her gaze raking his stocky form. He remained unchanged from the last time she'd seen him, a year ago. He was still handsome, with his dark brown hair and even darker, almost black eyes-eyes that radiated none of the warmth she found in Hugh's. Once she'd found Jared appealing; now she wondered why.

"I detest that you married my father. Some things cannot be changed. Such as our agreement." He stepped closer. "What are you doing here?"

She lifted her chin. "Whatever I please."

Jared laughed, a harsh sound lacking any humor. "Decided to make a laughingstock of the old man after all?" His gaze narrowed. "I will not allow you to besmirch the Kent name."

Charlotte forcibly restrained herself from taking a step back. Any sign of weakness would only fuel Jared's ire. "No one knows who I am."

"Charlotte," came the soft, hesitant voice down the hall. "Are you well?"

She turned her head toward Gwen and managed a reassuring smile. "I'm fine. Please go wait downstairs."

Jared glanced down the hall, and his face darkened with fury. His hand lashed out, gripping her upper arm in a brutal vice. "You brought my bastard to a social gathering? Are you mad?"

Gwen gave a pained gasp, then turned on her heel and ran back down the hall.

Furious, Charlotte slapped his face, inwardly cursing the material that prevented a satisfying sting. "Unhand me. You make me physically ill."

"As does the sight of that mistake, dressed in finery and mingling with Society," he bit out.

"She is not a mistake! In fact, Guinevere is the only decent thing you've ever accomplished in your lamentable life. In return for your scorn, she has remained hidden, at the cost of her childhood and the chance to make friends. What more could you ask of her?"

"To know her place, something you never appeared to have learned."

"I have remained hidden as well," she argued. "No one knows who I am, nor do they know who Gwen is. Ignore us, and no one will be the wiser."

He yanked her closer, hovering over her like an avenging specter. "I want to know why you're here and what you intend, and I want to know now! If your aim is to extort money from me, I'll tell you now I refuse to give you a shilling more than what was bequeathed to you."

"Release her, Your Grace." The voice down the hall, though soft, was laced with menace.

Charlotte turned her head to find Hugh coming toward them with obvious predatory intent. His shoulders squared, his jaw tense, he looked ready to do damage, and she was awed. She simply couldn't think for a moment, arrested by the sight of him, beautiful in black and shrouded in fury. A force to be reckoned with.

The duke, unaware of the danger, didn't even spare him a glance. "This is none of your affair, Montrose."

"I would listen to him, Jared," she murmured, having no doubt, by the look of him, that Hugh was willing to ignore the Glenmoore title to protect her.

As she relaxed under his touch, Jared stiffened and glared at Hugh. "What do you want?"

"At the moment I want you to release my fiancee. Then I want you to step away and go about your business."

Charlotte gaped. Then her heart began racing so fast, she swayed on her feet.

Jared looked at her with raised brows. "Marrying down, Charlotte? At least this peer isn't on his deathbed."

"Go to hell," she snapped, tugging at her arm. Rescuing her was one thing. Lying to a duke of Glenmoore's power would only lead to trouble.

Releasing her, Jared stepped back. "She's after money, Montrose. She's a mercenary female, if I ever saw one. Do you know anything about her? Her past? Anything?"

Hugh stopped mere inches way. "I know everything about Charlotte and Gwen and the whole morass. I shall be taking them all off your hands. The only thing you need concern yourself with is the dispersing of Charlotte's trust, which I'll set aside for Gwen, as your father intended."

Jared's face broke out in a grin. "Ah, I see. What a perfect match you two are."

"What are you talking about?" Charlotte asked crossly.

"This is about the widow's trust, Charlotte dear." His gaze returned to Hugh. "You should know, Montrose, that the stipend is negligible. Not enough to keep you in the style to which you've become accustomed. Certainly not enough to wager."

Hugh stiffened. "This is not about money."

"It is for Charlotte," the duke said. "It's always about money for Charlotte." He looked at her. "Do you know anything about your intended, dear? Did he tell you how he wagered away almost every shilling of the La Coeur funds? He was forced to sell his sister to Remington to bail them out of debt. Why do you think an earl's daughter married a bastard?"

Suddenly Charlotte's nausea became a very real hazard, and she clutched her stomach in a vain attempt to still its roiling.

"Lady Julienne chose Remington of her own accord," Hugh growled.

"She was set to marry a marquess," Glenmoore continued, digging in deeper, as he relished Charlotte's obvious distress. "But then Lord Fontaine cast her aside when he realized how far in his pockets Montrose was."

"Lies!" Hugh glanced her way, his face flushed, his fists clenched.

Glenmoore arched a brow. "Are you claiming you weren't nearly destitute from irresponsible gambling?"

Hugh's expression could have been set in stone. "That was long ago."

"Only a few years, I believe." The duke's smile was filled with malice. "Regardless, I was on my way to join the rest of the party, and I don't wish to hold up the proceedings. Congratulations, Montrose. Charlotte. I'll await your missive detailing where I should direct Charlotte's pension. Also, since you won't require the manse anymore, I'll make arrangements to sell it." Glenmoore walked away, leaving destruction in his wake.

Hugh was so furious for a moment, he could hardly think. When Gwen collided with him on the stairs and blurted that her father had cornered Charlotte, the rage he'd felt had almost overwhelmed him. If he had any doubts earlier about his feelings for his paramour, he didn't any longer.

"You should never have told Glenmoore we were affianced!" Charlotte groaned. "He will mention our engagement to someone just to embarrass you. This is a disaster."

Hugh stepped closer to offer comfort. She was frighteningly pale, her mouth and eyes rimmed with lines of tension.

Trying for levity, he placed a hand over his heart and gave an exaggerated sigh. "You know, a man could be irreparably damaged by such a response to his proposal."

She flinched. "We must go down and correct this mistake. Whatever will your family say when they hear of this?"

Hugh tapped a finger to his chin. "Congratulations?" he suggested.

"You are impossible. Lady Julienne warned me that you were known for being irresponsible and jumping into situations headfirst. I had no notion what she was talking about until now." She attempted to pass him, and he sidestepped into her path. "Hugh, the guests will gossip if we hold up the meal."

"Perhaps, but it won't be too untoward in this company." At her raised brow, he explained. "Julienne and Remington have been relegated to the fringes of Society for years. Only the most daring and licentious of guests will deign to associate with them. Glenmoore attended only because he wishes to enter into a partnership with Remington, who has the devil's own luck when it comes to making money."

She tilted her head back to look at him, her entire body tense and expectant, like a bird prepared to take flight. Hugh's heart sank to his stomach. She didn't look even remotely like a woman pleased with an offer of marriage.

A sick feeling of dread pooled and then hardened in his gut. "Don't you think we should discuss my proposal?"

Charlotte stumbled backward, her eyes wide and stricken. "Good heavens, you weren't serious!"

Hugh moved toward her, his heart racing in near-panic. "You were afraid my affections would be temporary. You worried I would cast you aside and leave you and your menagerie destitute. I've resolved that. As my wife, your comfort will be assured."

She shook her head. "We hardly know one another."

"I think we know each other very well." He stepped closer and reached for her hand, which she didn't raise to meet his. "Don't you care for me, Charlotte?" he asked softly. "Even a little?"

Her fingers tightened on his. "Of course I care for you, Hugh, very much. But…"

"I searched for you all afternoon."

"You did?" She began to tremble.

"I did." Lifting her hand, he held it to his cheek, despising the glove that separated his skin from her touch. "I needed to find you, to warn you about Glenmoore, but you kept moving, and I could never catch you. I was quite desperate for you, actually."

"Hugh…"

He nuzzled into her palm. "I waited in your room for nearly an hour. Where did you go after you left the stables?"

"I-I was in Julienne's room."

"Ahh… I was sick with worry. I couldn't bear to think of you facing Glenmoore alone."

"Oh, Hugh…" Her fingers curled, cupping his cheek. "I am accustomed to caring for myself."

He leaned into her touch, the warmth of which burned through her glove and heated his blood. No other woman had ever affected him as Charlotte did. "There is no weakness in relying on someone to assist you and care for you. The only weakness is in allowing yourself to suffer when support is at hand."

Beloved green eyes swam with tears. "But I cannot rely on you, Hugh. I do not know you well enough. Just in the last half hour, I've learned things about you that have shocked and disturbed me, not just from Glenmoore, but from your sister as well."

Raw pain, piercing and wounding, cut him to the quick. His eyes slid closed. "Please don't say that," he murmured hoarsely, pulling her against him, needing the physical closeness, because he felt her withdrawing. "Don't judge me by my past."

"There is more at stake here than just you and me, Hugh. You'll regret this rash proposal later. I am not a suitable wife for you. The burden of those I bring with me will begin to weigh on you. You will come to resent me and then hate me. I lack the breeding to be a proper countess. You would-"

Hugh covered her mouth with a kiss, cutting off her words. Her lips melted into his, and he groaned, pressing his advantage, his hands stroking her back until she opened with a whimper. She returned his ardor in equal measure, kissing him as if it were the last time, as if they never would again. Her arms lifted, her small hands cupping the nape of his neck, holding him close. The lush, ripe mouth that he loved so much moved feverishly under his, forcing his desire to rise up to match his anger and fear, then far surpassing both.

Pulling away, he rested his damp forehead against hers. "What are you afraid of?" he asked softly. "Being abandoned or discarded? I'm not Glenmoore. I won't take all that you are or all that you have, and leave you with nothing."

"M'm not afraid."

"You are. Afraid to trust. Afraid to hope. Afraid to love."

"Hugh-"

"Have I disappointed you, Charlotte? Have I promised you something and then not delivered?"

"Not yet, but-"

"Not ever. You either trust me to support you, trust me to be a good husband, to love you and care for you… You either trust me, or you don't."

She melted against him, her slight weight necessary and welcome. He hugged her close, squeezing her, until there was no space between them. He held his breath, waiting.

"Please understand," she begged. "I am responsible for the care of Gwen and the others. My decisions must be made with my head, not my heart."

He recoiled as the import of her words struck home. "You refuse me." His voice was a pained whisper, his heart aching as he stepped away. Her touch, which he had been longing for, was suddenly painful.

Hugh struggled to control his breathing, unsure of what he could do or say to erase the tormented look he saw in Charlotte's eyes. There was sadness there, a deep well of it. Her gaze said good-bye as surely as her kiss had.

It was then he realized there was nothing he could say. Her fear was too powerful. Even with an offer of marriage, she still couldn't trust him. Shaking his head, he turned away, his throat clenched tight. He strode down the hall, suddenly anxious to be away from her and the cloying agony that twisted inside him.

"Wait!" she cried after him. "Please don't go. Not like this."

He knew she would chase him down as she had before, so he lengthened his stride. Hugh left her and the wondrous dream of happiness far behind him. He didn't look back. He couldn't.

He loved her too much.

Chapter Nine

"I miss Lord Montrose." Gwen dropped her cards on the table.

"Pick those up," Charlotte scolded. "I can see your hand."

"I'm no longer in the mood to play. Where is he? I haven't seen him in two days. I inquired after him with Lady Julienne, and she said only that he was 'about.' What does that mean?" Releasing a deep sigh, Charlotte set down her cards and leaned back in her chair. Tired and abjectly miserable, she hadn't been interested in playing anyway. She'd suggested the game in an attempt to cheer Gwen, who was taking Hugh's absence almost as hard as she was. "It means he doesn't wish to be found, Gwen."

Blue eyes narrowed. "What did you do, Charlotte?"

"What did I do? Why is his behavior my fault?"

"I may be young and naive, but I'm not stupid. The duke is strolling about, puffed up like a rooster, and you glance away whenever Lord Montrose is mentioned."

Charlotte swallowed hard. Part of her hoped every moment that Hugh would walk into the room just so she could see him with her own eyes and assure herself that he was well. The other part of her dreaded such an event, knowing how badly she had wounded him. Her heart ached every moment. "Mrs. Riddleton."

Glancing up, Charlotte's eyes widened at the sight of Lord Merrick. Tall and radiating savagery barely restrained, he was intimidating, with his long, black hair and intense blue gaze. Standing in the parlor full of women, his presence was overwhelming.

"Lord Merrick." Her heart leapt into a faster rhythm, knowing the only reason the earl would seek her out would be related to Hugh.

Gesturing to one of the two empty chairs, he asked, "May I? I won't take up too much of your time."

"Certainly, my lord."

He settled his powerful frame into the seat and clasped his hands in his lap. "Lord Montrose has shared your map and other items with me, Mrs. Riddleton."

Charlotte's hand went to her throat. "He did?"

"Yes, he did. Lady Merrick and I travel to the West Indies at the end of every Season to visit with her father. Lord Montrose has asked that I take you with us on the journey next year, and he has provided enough funds to retain a large expedition for the search. He's also spoken with Lord Glenmoore and made arrangements for you to continue to have use of the residence here in Derbyshire."

Swallowing hard, she glanced at Gwen, whose pursed lips and narrowed eyes condemned her. She was condemning herself, knowing how difficult it must have been for Hugh to speak with Jared and reveal her negative reply to his proposal.

Lord Merrick cleared his throat, and she returned her gaze to his. His handsome face was impassive, betraying none of his thoughts. "I will relate to you what I told Montrose. A great many adventurers have searched for that treasure over the years, Mrs. Riddleton. I doubt your chances of locating it are any better than theirs, even with Montrose's substantial largesse. However, he insisted this be done, and because I consider him a friend, I have agreed to assist you." He stood. "I have your direction, and I will contact you to make arrangements as the date of departure nears."

She grabbed his arm and blurted, "How is he?"

Merrick arched a brow and studied her carefully. "As well as any man can be when he's disheartened."

"Oh." Her hand fell away. The tone of Merrick's voice told her much. "You don't like me, do you, Lord Merrick?"

"I don't like that you have wounded my friend, but I very much appreciate your rejection of his suit. I was fortunate to find true happiness in my marriage. I wish nothing less for him. He's heartbroken now, but he'll recover. I hope one day he will love again, as unfashionable as that is, and next time I hope the lucky woman loves him as well."

Charlotte looked away quickly, biting back a sob. The picture evoked by Merrick's words cut her deeply, clenching a fist around her heart. "I love him," she said, her voice wavering but clear.

"Mrs. Riddleton," he said, sighing, "I am not privy to the state of your affairs, but I can assure you, for you to remain seated here while a man who loves you suffers is not love by any means."

She looked at him. "My decision was made for his benefit as well as mine. I have reasons. I-"

"I'm certain you do. But love requires a leap of faith, and often it has no reason. It simply exists." He bowed. "Montrose has made arrangements for you to depart tomorrow. Is that acceptable to you?"

She gave a jerky nod, and Merrick walked away, his departure drawing the appreciative gaze of every woman in the room.

Gwen stood. "You coward," she accused, in a sharp whisper. "You want to run back to the manse and allow the best thing that ever happened to us go without argument!"

Charlotte blinked, never having witnessed Gwen saying an unkind word to anyone. "That's not true. I'm doing what is best for all of us. We hardly know him and his history-"

"'Tis not his history that is the problem, but yours. You are afraid to rely on anyone. You have fended for yourself and all of us for so long, you don't know how to allow someone else to lighten your load."

"You are too young to understand, Gwen."

"How could living with Montrose possibly be any worse than the way we are living now? Even if he were to become destitute, which I doubt, from what I've managed to overhear, we would live no less in poverty than we do at this moment, and we would have him!"

Standing, Charlotte lifted her chin, fighting off the tears that threatened. She had managed hardly a wink of sleep in the last two nights, and the conversation with Lord Merrick had her thoughts in chaos. Looking around, she saw the curious glances. "I refuse to discuss this any further while we have an audience." She swept out of the room with Guinevere fast on her heels.

"Think on it, Charlotte. Think how happy we have all been. Tom and Henry carry themselves with a pride they never had before, because Lord Montrose has never condescended to them or made them feel inferior for their handicaps. Katie adores him. Even Artemis has a grudging like of him." Gwen's voice became breathless as she chased Charlotte up the stairs. "It wasn't an accident that I went to his room that night. I wanted him to find the secret door. I wanted him to know to look deeper."

Charlotte halted on the upper landing, her breath coming in heaving gasps. She spun around. "Beg your pardon?"

Gwen held out a hand and leaned against the railing, catching her breath. "When Tom and Henry told me about the earl, I thought he might be the one. When Katie told me the story about the pitchers, I began to think of how I could be certain. And when I saw your face with its rosy glow and bright eyes, I knew he was the one, and Artemis did, too. Why you cannot see it is beyond me!"

Shocked, Charlotte could say nothing.

"I have admired you for as long as I've known you, Charlotte. Please don't take that away from me." Gwen moved past her and disappeared around the corner, leaving Charlotte with a tear-ravaged face and far too much to consider.

Charlotte pushed aside the sheer curtain that covered the window and looked out upon the winter scene below. Her heart thrummed a restless rhythm as she watched Hugh and Lucien Remington walk their mounts back to the stables, the horses' hooves leaving clear tracks in the snow.

As Hugh disappeared from her view, she turned and gazed at the room around her, a room in which she'd spent most of the last twenty-four hours deciding what it was she wished to do with her life. Her trunks were packed and waited by the door. She was leaving today, and once she departed she knew there would be no turning back. However, before that happened, she was willing to make one last, desperate bid.

She'd discovered something about herself over the last sleepless night, something she should have acknowledged long ago-she was a coward, just as Guinevere had said. A coward who was afraid to believe that someone would care for her, worry about her, and wish the best for her. To give control of anything into the keeping of another was difficult for her, a woman who had cared for herself with no assistance almost since birth. But she was a coward who was more afraid of losing Hugh La Coeur forever than she was of placing her fate and the fate of her dependents in his hands.

The hands of the clock on the mantle moved with torturous leisure. It seemed forever before a half hour passed. Once it had, she left her room and traversed the winding hallways until she came to the wing where Hugh's suite was located. She paused at the door to his room, her hands shaking, her breath coming in unsteady pants. Before she lost her courage, Charlotte reached for the handle and walked right in.

"Go away," Hugh said curtly. "I didn't send for anything."

Her eyes filled with tears at the sound of his voice. She'd missed it, missed the way it spoke to her in the darkness, embracing her as surely as he did. Soft and encouraging, or husky and raw, it had offered her a lifetime of joy, and she'd thrown it away like a fool.

He stood by the window, looking out at the rear lawn. He'd removed his coat and waistcoat, his broad shoulders covered in a white linen shirt, his powerful legs encased in breeches and boots. For a moment she simply absorbed the sight of him-the firm curve of his ass, his wind-tousled hair, the graceful arc of his arm as it held the curtains back. She'd missed him so much, she thought she would die of it. Even now her throat was so tight, she doubted she could speak.

He glanced over his shoulder and froze. For an instant, she glimpsed raw pain in his dark eyes, but it was quickly masked with the studious impassivity of a seasoned gambler. "What do you want?" He looked away.

Charlotte stepped into the room and shut the door behind her. "Lord Merrick has informed me that you've arranged for me to travel with him to the West Indies."

Hugh said nothing.

"He says you've paid for my journey and financed an expedition."

"I told you I would help you without any obligation on your part." He snorted. "But I suppose with your lack of faith in me, your surprise is to be expected."

She bit her lower lip and took a moment before she could reply. "I deserved that."

"Aren't you departing today?" he asked gruffly.

"Yes. Gwen and I shall be leaving in just a few hours."

"Godspeed." He waved his hand over his shoulder in a gesture of dismissal.

Charlotte's chin lifted. His anger was her due, and she would bear it. She would pay whatever penance he required if he would find it in his heart to love her again.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped closer. "Don't you wish to say good-bye to me, Hugh?"

"We've already done that."

"'Tis apparent you've said farewell, but I haven't. Not properly."

That spun him about. He'd removed his cravat, leaving his throat bare and revealing a light dusting of golden hair in the slender opening of his shirt. His gaze raked from the top of her head to her slippered feet. She made no attempt to hide her longing or desire.

He gave a bitter laugh. "Ah, I'm untrustworthy and have no self-restraint, but I can fuck well. What a relief to know I'm good for something."

Charlotte winced. "You are good for a great many things, Hugh La Coeur. And I am a thousand kinds of fool for making you doubt that."

His jaw tensed. "I'm not in the mood for your games."

She stepped close enough to smell him, a rich combination of the scent of his skin, horses, and the wild outdoors. His nostrils flared as she neared; his gaze narrowed.

"I've missed you," she whispered. She reached for his hand, but he backed away quickly, an action she took as a positive sign. He couldn't be as indifferent as he appeared, or he wouldn't fear her touch. "I didn't believe Glenmoore. Not even for a moment. He simply provided the excuse to be a craven I was looking for."

"Get out," he snarled.

"I can't." She smiled sadly. "I need you, Hugh."

Shaking his head, he moved away. "No, you don't. You can care for yourself; you don't need anyone to rescue you. I, however, have discovered I require being needed. And for more than just my cock."

She stepped up to him and placed her hand against his back, flexing her fingers to absorb the feel of muscle and sinew beneath the billowing linen of his shirt. He tensed, and she rested her head against him, trusting him silently not to move away, for if he did she would stumble. "I do need you and want you. You've no notion of the torment I've suffered these last three nights without you. It's not merely your body I missed. I've missed your voice, your laughter, your smile. I cannot go another day without those things in my life."

"Charlotte." His voice was a harsh rasp. "Don't say any more. Just go."

She wrapped her arms around his lean waist, loving the feel of him. Splaying her hands across his abdomen, she felt the ridges of muscles shift as he groaned. Burying her face in his back, she breathed him in. "I want to link my future with yours, Hugh. I trust you to be the type of man I can depend upon."

His fingers laced with hers, and then he pulled her hands away, stepping out of her embrace. He turned to face her, his expression cold. "Why are you doing this?"

There was no room left for pride or fear, not any longer. "Because I love you."

"Your feelings will pass."

"I don't want them to pass."

"I'm sorry, I don't know what more I can say to you."

Charlotte held out her hands to him. "Tell me you have no tender feelings for me and I'll leave. I won't trouble you again."

There was no hesitation. "I wish you well in your future endeavors, but that is the extent of my interest."

She winced as his words cut deep. "You're lying."

Resolved, Hugh moved around Charlotte, then through the open doorway to the sitting room. His entire being ached for her and cried out for her touch, but he forced himself to leave her and kept his face impassive. There was too much at stake. She'd abandoned him so easily due to just a few cutting words from a man she despised. Before he risked himself further, he had to know she was sincere. He had to know it wasn't simply gratitude for his largesse that brought her here, but her love.

He poured himself a drink. And then another. A moment later he felt Charlotte's tiny hands caressing his back. He closed his eyes as he savored her touch. When her hands cupped his buttocks and squeezed, he reached down and tore open the placket of his breeches, freeing his swollen cock. He took himself in hand and began to stroke, needing to ease his lust before he reached for her.

Three nights he'd spent alone in this suite, knowing she was close, wanting her with a biting, penetrating need. To have her here, just as he'd imagined, was excruciating. His hunger was too powerful, his desire too great. Goaded any further, he couldn't say if he was capable of even a modicum of control.

"Allow me," she murmured, her hands reaching around his waist, her pert breasts with their erect nipples pressing into his back. When she circled his cock with both hands and began to pump, his breath hissed out between his teeth, the pleasure searing in its intensity. She rested her cheek against his back. "I've missed touching you, holding you."

"I am the same man I was three days ago," he growled, his head falling back, his eyes drifting closed.

"Yes," she whispered. "The man I love."

His hips began to thrust rhythmically into her talented hands. Charlotte knew just how to hold him, how tightly to grip him, how fast to take him to the ecstasy only she could bestow. He began to pant, the heat of his lust washing over him, bringing him to the edge of reason. His cock swelled, his balls drew up, a tortured groan escaped as he prepared to come…

Her movements stilled, and she stepped away just as he was on the verge of release.

"Damn you." He slammed his glass on the sideboard. Clenching his fists, he couldn't stop the tremors that shook his frame. "Is your goal in life merely to torment me?"

Charlotte stepped around to face him, her eyes shining like emeralds and burning with desire. "My aim is to comfort you, Hugh, to please and satisfy you, so that I may prove my love and win you back."

Her hands cupped the edge of the sideboard, and she jumped to sit upon it. Above the scoop of her bodice, the ripe swell of her breasts was flushed and covered with a spattering of reddish freckles he knew intimately, because he'd licked and worshipped every one.

Gripping fistfuls of her skirt, she yanked the hem of her gown upward, the fevered haste of her movements betraying how desperately she desired him. The length of her lithe, stocking-clad legs was revealed to him first, and then she spread her thighs, displaying the deep red curls that sheltered the plump lips of her sex.

Drawn to her, Hugh closed the distance between them, until her soft floral fragrance swirled through his senses with potent familiarity. Charlotte leaned back carefully until her shoulders rested against the wall, angling her hips to give him greater access. Watching his own movements with ravenous hunger and deep adoration, Hugh parted her lips with one hand while rubbing the tiny nub of her clit with the blunt fingertip of the other.

She gasped, and arched her back, thrusting her breasts toward him. Unable to resist, he bent and licked along her slender neck. "Yes…" she breathed. "I've hungered for the feel of your hands, the warmth of your mouth…"

His skin was burning hot and covered with sweat. Hugh could barely think, could hardly breathe. Shifting his hips, he was there, the broad head of his cock covered in her cream. She was so ready, he slipped the first inch inside her without any effort. The tight clasp of her body welcomed him and was nearly the end of him. His breathing harsh and ragged, his fingers digging into her thighs with bruising force, he paused and locked his eyes with hers.

And waited. Even though it was killing him.

Charlotte's hands moved to his shoulders and then around his neck, her calloused fingers entwining in the hair at his nape. "I belong to you, Hugh. In whatever way you'll have me."

His heart stilled before resuming its near-frantic beat, his thighs quivering with the need to fuck her, to claim her, his arms aching to hold her. "Any way?"

"Wife or mistress-I care not. Just don't send me away. I love you, Hugh." She pressed her lips to his, and he groaned. "I love you," she whispered against his mouth, her tears wetting his face and salting her kiss. "I'm so sorry I hurt you. This is so hard for me, to trust someone… but I do. I do trust you… and I love you so much."

Covering her mouth with his, he cradled her spine and slid her hips to the edge of the sideboard, dragging the creamy heat of her body over his cock until he was buried inside her. "Damn it," he breathed, crushing her to him. "I almost thought you wouldn't come to me. I feared you would go, and I would lose you."

"Never. Oh, Hugh…" Her cunt tightened around him. "Please…"

He lifted her and stumbled to the settee, every step nudging him deeper into the wet, clenching heart of her. By the time he sank into the cushions, he was certain he would expire. "Ride me," he ordered, his hands at her thighs urging her to move.

"Remove your shirt," she said.

He tore the garment in his haste to be rid of it, and his reward was sweet. Charlotte lifted until he was barely within her and then lowered, encasing him in her silk, her soft whimper of need spurring his ardor. He felt maddened, wild. He wanted to grip her hips and lead the way, plunging into her, until the desperate hunger he felt was thoroughly sated. Instead, he spread his arms and held onto the settee, knowing he was mere moments away from a magnificent orgasm. An orgasm made all the richer by the love of the woman who held him so intimately.

Gripping his shoulders for leverage, Charlotte set a hard, fast rhythm, pounding her lush body onto his cock as if she couldn't get enough of him. His eyelids grew heavy, the drugging ecstasy tightening every muscle in his body, his fingers holding the wooden rim of the sofa so tightly, he feared it would snap.

"I love you," he said, his voice hoarse with emotion.

Charlotte faltered.

He didn't.

Moving quickly, he had her on the rug, her thighs over his, his cock driving deep. His strokes were strong and steady, his gaze locked with rapt attention on her face. Her skin was flushed, her full lips parted, her emerald eyes bright with love. She came on a gasp, her back arching upward, her shivers tightening around his shaft until it became difficult to withdraw, difficult to return, the soft sucking sounds of their lovemaking filling the room along with her cries.

Hugh followed directly, pouring into her, flooding her with his joy and his love in a release so devastating, he knew he would never be the same again.

"You shall marry me, Charlotte."

"Are you certain? I'm not suitable."

He snorted. "You are entirely suitable. And marriage has decided benefits you're failing to consider."

Charlotte curled into him where they lay on the floor and stroked her hand across his chest. "Such as?"

"The marital bed, for one."

"Ah, yes, a bed. That would be lovely. Perhaps with marriage, we will make it there more often…"

Epilogue

London, August 1815

Sebastian Blake, Earl of Merrick, took the steps of Montrose Hall two at a time. He rapped with the knocker and waited. A moment later the door swung open, and he was faced with a stooped butler sporting the largest eye he'd ever seen in his life. He blinked, quickly comprehending the reason his footman had returned to the carriage in a fright.

"Aye?" the old man queried, in a gravelly voice.

He held out his card. "I've come to collect Lord and Lady Montrose. They are expecting me."

The butler lifted the card to his oddly protruding eye, squinted at the lettering, and then dropped his hand with a grunt. The servant stepped aside. "Come in, gov'na, and I'll inform 'is lordship yer 'ere." He shuffled off, leaving Sebastian to carry his own hat and shut the door himself.

Pausing by an open doorway, the servant gestured wildly and said, "Wait in'ere."

Moving into a well-appointed parlor, Sebastian frowned. The Earl and Countess of Montrose never held social functions in their home, which he'd not thought untoward, considering their newly wedded status. The rest of the ton, however, found them mysterious, and their aloofness only fueled the rumors that they ran a bizarre household. The butler was an oddity, to be sure, but…

An odd noise caught his ear, and Sebastian cocked a brow as it drew closer and increased in volume.

The next moment a young serving girl appeared in the doorway, her slim arms weighted with a beautiful china tea service that wobbled horrendously. He'd never seen such a spectacle in his life. Every item was jumping and rattling-spoons clinking against each other, cups dancing in their saucers.

Sebastian gaped for a moment and then moved to assist her, shaking his head in wonder. He would remember to speak to Montrose about this later.

He definitely wanted an invitation to dinner.

"The Merrick carriage has arrived," Charlotte noted, looking down at the front drive from the upper-floor window. A moment later warm arms encircled her waist, and then her husband's deep voice was purring in her ear.

"Are you still excited?"

"Are you jesting?" She spun in Hugh's embrace and stared up into his handsome face. "Of course I'm excited."

"You seem pensive."

"I miss Gwen," she said with a sigh. "I know she's having a wonderful time at the finishing academy, but still…"

Hugh kissed the tip of her nose. "I miss her, too."

Wrapping her arms around his lean waist, Charlotte squeezed tight. "Thank you so much."

"For what, love?"

"For arranging this treasure hunt. I know you believe it to be nonsense."

His mouth curved in a smile that stole her breath. "And you don't?"

"I'd like to think it exists."

"You'd like to believe in the romantic version of the tale as well." Hugh's large hands smoothed the length of her spine and cupped her derriere. "What happened to my pragmatist?"

Charlotte laughed, her heart light and filled with love. "I've never been a pragmatist where you are concerned." Hopelessly addicted, she wondered how she ever considered living without him.

He squeezed her close before turning away, moving to the trunks that had yet to be taken downstairs. He was preparing to close one, then paused. Picking up a brown-paper parcel, he shot her an inquiring glance before untying the twine. A moment later his laughter, warm and rich, filled the air and warmed her heart.

"What do we have here?" He held up an eye patch.

"The journey is long I've been told."

Hugh's mouth twitched. "So it is."

"It could become tedious."

"You and I alone in a cabin? Never."

"I have a fantasy," she confessed, moving toward him with salacious intent.

"Umm… I like the sound of that." Hugh tossed the pirate costume in the trunk and caught her about the waist.

She winked. "You'll like the doing of it much better."

"Fetch your pelisse," he growled. "I want to get to that ship."