Now it was Charlotte who was admiring his lips. He had given her the idea and it was starting to sound like a tempting one. She exhaled, melting against him. He leaned towards her. In the most hesitant of ways, his nose brushed against hers. She parted her lips, and together they moved, as if wanting nothing more than to meet, but realizing with every part of their minds that they shouldn’t.
While they hesitated, their hands moved, roving over the other’s body. Exploring his muscles and the curve of his waist, the rigidness of his hips and the strength in his shoulders was thrilling. Charlotte bit her lip, feeling frustrated. She wanted him in a way that she wasn’t supposed to. She wanted him in a way that was strictly forbidden and yet that only made her more hungry.
The pull was too much. Once William’s lips met with hers, their kiss was intense, pulling every last bit of reservation under the surface and drowning it. His lips were hungry, his tongue searching, his hands pulling at her shoulders as if he couldn’t get her close enough. She ran her hands down his chest, wishing that she could rip apart the fabric and take what she could before she was forced to move on.
His lips were soft, yet strong at the same time. Guiding her, drinking her in like she was sugar water. She pushed up against him, until he was leaning on the not-so-sturdy branch of the topiary. His hands ran down her back-across the valley in between her shoulder blades, over her spine, across the small of her back before stopping. She wouldn’t have objected if he had gone further, but she had surely made it sound as if she would.
She shivered, whispering his name back into his mouth. She dragged her fingernails down the back of his neck, causing him to lean back and exhale softly. She pressed her lips once more to his and thrilled in the taste of his mouth. It was impossible to describe, as indelible as the scent of someone. She stilled, savoring in the moment while he continued to kiss her lips and jaw. She gasped, closing her eyes, parting her lips, and savoring the moment as if it was only designed to end.
He pulled away, hesitantly. Their eyes were closed, both afraid to look at the other. Their hands released each other and drew back, almost in a gesture of surrender. They both knew what they had done was wrong, but it had felt impossible to avoid. Coming to, Charlotte stepped back, nearly tripping over the concrete bench and falling into the topiary on the other side. She caught herself before hiking up her skirts. She looked back at William sheepishly and he appeared to take a deep breath.
“And you are definitively not a rake?”
He rubbed his face with his palm, likely internally shaming himself for having lost his control. “Not…not typically, no.”
“Oh my, Lord Holdford. With such saccharine words, I am sure you will sweep me off my feet in no time,” she mocked him.
“I will, um,” he cleared his throat, still cloaked in the shadows. “I will call on you in the morning to mark my intent to start a courtship.”
Charlotte wrinkled her nose, surprised at how easy it was to resume their back and forth even after a passionate moment. “Maybe…” she paused. “You do not have to do that. Maybe we are better off just…” she swatted at the air. “Moving onward. I am afraid you may lose if I am being honest.” She was not being honest. Something in her chest was starting to act up and the miserable realization that it might have been that easy to develop an interest in someone. The feeling was bearing down heavily on her.
“Oh no, no,” he replied, straightening his cravat. “We are just getting started and I am not even close to forfeiting. Are you?”
“No,” she interjected quickly. “Not at all.”
“Perfect,” he said. “Then I will see you tomorrow.”
“Absolutely perfect,” she whispered, gritting her teeth. She lifted her skirts and ran off back into the night in search of the specific bush she foolishly left her shoes in. Her brain was so addled at this point, she’d be lucky to so much as remember her own name.
She shouldn’t have done it, but it sounded so cathartic when William had cursed under his breath earlier, so she took the liberty and indulged herself. It sounded quite crass coming from her lips, but it felt good.
This was bound to be a night she would relive for a very long time, but she wasn’t sure if it was simply because it made her heart race and her skin prickle or if it was because she was already too deep to let go, but too stubborn to forfeit.
ChapterFour
“These men are really no good, Arabella.” Charlotte poured a splash of cream into her tea. Her hand shook, splashing some on the tablecloth when she remembered the way William held her. “They are all rakes. You mustn’t waste your time with them.”
He kissed her like she was the only woman on earth, as if his lips belonged to her and her alone. His lips were so soft. They felt like relief, like water on a hot day or salty tears running down your face during your most miserable. It had occurred to her that perhaps she was being melodramatic. Kisses couldn’t truly rattle the earth like they said. It was just the rush of doing something that was forbidden. That made everything taste a little sweeter.
“How was your dance with the Marquess of Holdford?” Arabella asked.
Charlotte shrugged, hoping that she looked as relaxed as she wished she felt. “He was fine company, but a rake nonetheless.”
Benedict groaned. “Not every man is a rake. Holdford is many things, but the man is no rake.”
“Mama, what’s a rake?” Timothy asked, sipping at his warm milk. He sat, impatiently, fidgeting like he was about to burst with energy.
Mary Ann sighed. “Shh, dear.”
Charlotte stared at the piece of bread on her plate. “Yes, well, I think I know better than you. I have a sense for it,” she said. “Very keen sense. Bit like a bloodhound, actually.” Another lie. She didn’t have so much as a sense, but generally a very good idea when he ran his tongue across hers and bit her lip.
He was so good at that. So good. He had to have a bounty of experience.
“Are you blushing?” Arabella was discreet, whispering her question in her sister’s ear. Charlotte was desperate to share the tales of her garden tryst with her sister, but they hadn’t found a moment that afforded any privacy.
“Of course not,” she replied. “I feel ill,” she declared to the whole table, pushing her food away.
“Oh yes, dear,” Regina, her mother, cooed. She rose from her seat and pressed a cool hand against Charlotte’s forehead. “You do feel a bit warm.”