Regency: Innocents & Intrigues: Marrying Miss Monkton / Beauty in Breeches

His lips brushed back and forth across her lips, and Maria shivered with the waves of tension shooting through her. The instant he felt her trembling response, Charles’s arm tightened, supporting her. She did not struggle or utter one word of protest. Perhaps she knew it would do little good to do either. She stood entirely still. His hand curved round her nape, sensually stroking it. He began trailing scorching kisses down her neck and back to her lips.

‘Don’t be afraid. I’ll stop whenever you tell me to.’

Imprisoned by his protective embrace and seduced by his mouth and caressing hands, being totally ignorant of such matters and not knowing what to expect, Maria helplessly raised her head to fully receive his kiss.

The sweet offering of her mouth wrung a groan from Charles and his lips seized hers in a kiss of melting hunger. His tongue traced a hot line between her lips, coaxing, urging them to part, and then insisting. Even though she was braced for it, the shock of his parted lips on hers was indescribable sweetness. She touched her tongue to his lips, and when she felt him shudder, instinct told her she was doing something right. The moment she yielded he deepened his kiss.

Too naïve and inexperienced to hide her feelings, her body jerked convulsively with the primitive sensations jarring through her entire body, and she surrendered mindlessly to the splendour of the pagan kiss. It was deep and, when Charles finally pulled his mouth from hers an eternity later, feeling almost bereft, Maria surfaced slightly from the sensual place where he had sent her. She forced her eyelids open and looked at him, the confusion she felt and her sudden awakening to the desires of her body in their soft depths.

But with the cold onrush of reality the passionate spell was broken and Maria pulled back in his arms. ‘No, Charles, I cannot.’

He pulled her back and looked down at her, letting his eyes sweep the flushed cheeks and the roundness of her breasts rising and falling beneath her dress. ‘Then speak a lie, Maria, and say you want no part of me.’

Though her mouth opened, no words formed, and she could only stare up at him, helplessly caught in the web of her own desire. Again he placed his lips on hers to possess their softness leisurely and languidly. He met no resistance and, with a low moan, Maria let him gather her to him, their mouths melded in warm communion, turning and devouring, until their needs became a greedy search for more. His hand slipped to her breast, caressing and kneading its swelling firmness, and the white-hot heat that shot through her was a sudden shock that made her catch her breath and drag her mouth from his.

‘Charles, we cannot do this,’ she whispered in desperation, tearing herself from his arms, shaken to the core of her being. ‘You haven’t enough honour and decency to stop yourself kissing another man’s future wife.’

Charles’s jaw tightened. ‘So much the worse for you,’ he said grimly. ‘At all events, when the two of you finally meet up, he will see that he has lost you.’

‘That will be for me to decide, not you, although I am touched by your concern—if that is what it is. If the chivalrous feelings you possess towards me are indeed genuine, then you may prove it simply by not taking advantage of my vulnerable and defenceless state by kissing me again. What am I to think—only that you are soliciting me for my favours?’

Seeing a deep hurt underlying the anger in her flashing eyes, his anger melted. Lifting his hand, he tenderly brushed a dark lock of hair off her cheek. ‘I am not trying to pry into what your feelings might be, and I am not soliciting you for your favours, Maria. It’s just that after being alone with you for two days now and getting to know you better—you’re like a potent wine that has gone to my head. I just cannot bear to see you in the thrall of a man who is unworthy of you—a man who aspires to be your husband.’

‘I am not in Henry’s thrall, Charles—never that. To the man I marry I shall gladly yield all I have to give—as well as all the love and devotion and passion I am capable of feeling. In return I shall want from my husband love, honour—and fidelity. But whatever happens, I will make up my own mind in the end.’

‘I know you will, and I hope your decision will be the right one. And now I think you should go to bed. And don’t forget to lock your door.’ He turned in the open doorway and looked back, a smile curving his lips. ‘Sweet dreams, Maria.’

Walking away from Maria’s room the smile remained on Charles’s lips. The kiss had proved what he suspected, that she had not the least idea of the mechanics of sexual intimacy between men and women. The suffocating prudery of her life at Chateau Feroc under the stern, autocratic eye of the Countess had kept her in complete ignorance of such matters. He had seen it reflected in the shocked and appalled expression on her face when he told her he was going to kiss her, and he had sensed it in her body’s lack of response when he had.

But he was encouraged by the fact that her lips had answered his kiss. They had been soft and sweet and pliable beneath his own, and he would have liked to stay and educate her further, but seducing Maria Monkton was not in his immediate plans. For the time being, somehow he would have to cool the lust gnawing at his very being and try to forget how soft and sweet she had felt in his arms, to ignore the fact that she had set her hooks into him, and to control the strong attraction that seemed to bind his heart and mind to Maria.

Maria stared at the closed door in a waking dream. How was it possible that after just two days Charles Osbourne could stir feelings she had never felt before? She was fearful of what might happen if he came to her again and seeked to finish what he had started. She had escaped this moment—not entirely unscathed, but nevertheless with her virtue still intact. That state, however, was most tenuous and would not withstand another persuasive, unrelenting assault.

His kiss, his forceful persuasiveness, had been her downfall. He had known full well what he was doing to her, and the memory of what she had experienced in his arms made her plight all the more unbearable and she feared she was destined to remember his embrace for the rest of her life.

And Henry? She had given no thought to him while allowing her mind to dwell on romantic thoughts about another man. Her emotions were torn asunder, and she could find no peace in the depths of her thoughts. What her heart yearned for went against everything she deemed honourable, and yet she had no control over it.

Maria awoke to the sound of someone knocking on the door. Still drowsy with slumber, it took her a moment to remember where she was. When the knocking came again, startled, immediately she was out of bed, her heart slamming into her ribs, her knees turning to jelly. Pushing back her hair, she padded across the room.

‘Who is it?’

‘Charles.’

Maria stared at the door, reluctant to open it, reluctant to look Charles in the eyes after what had happened last night.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, hearing the tiredness in her voice.

‘You—you startled me. I didn’t expect you …’

‘Really,’ he mocked from the other side of the door. ‘Whom did you expect? It’s late, Maria. If you remember, I told you I wanted to make an early start.’

‘I’ll get dressed. I’ll be down in a moment.’

Charles was already doing full justice to his breakfast when she arrived downstairs. He raised his brows when she slipped into the chair across from him, his expression oddly impassive.

‘You slept well?’ he enquired coolly.

‘Eventually,’ Maria answered quietly, focusing her attention on the food the innkeeper’s wife placed in front of her and pouring coffee into a mug. She took a sip of the steaming beverage gratefully. ‘I’m sorry I’m late. I was more tired than I thought.’

Charles wished he could have let her rest a little longer. But there was no help for it. They must press on if they were to reach Calais that day.

‘You can sleep in the coach. I promise not to wake you,’ he teased gently.

Maria trembled at the gentle confidence she heard in his smiling voice.

As she climbed into the coach for the final stage of their journey, she found herself alone once more with this man who was beginning to have such a powerful effect on her. She had become a bewildered young woman with an added problem and an upbringing that convinced her that what she had let happen and enjoyed with Charles was unforgivable.

‘Maria,’ Charles said, dragging her from her thoughts. ‘Is something wrong?’

Her eyes flew open and his unfathomable light blue eyes locked on to hers. ‘Wrong? I …’

‘Perhaps you’d like to talk about it?’ he asked calmly. She shook her head. ‘You’re afraid. Is it me you fear, Maria? Or something else?’

The way he spoke her name in his rich deep voice had the same stirring effect on her as the touch of his lips. ‘It—it’s about last night when—when you …’

‘When I kissed you.’

‘Yes, that’s it.’

‘And?’

‘I’m afraid of the things you made me feel,’ she admitted desperately. ‘I don’t understand them. I—realise that to you this is merely a—a dalliance …’

‘Is that so?’ he teased, a lazy, seductive grin sweeping across his handsome face. ‘And you know that, do you, Maria?’

She swallowed nervously. ‘Do you mean it isn’t?’ Visions of being kissed whenever he felt like it rose to alarming prominence in her mind. Hoping that by speaking in a calm, reasonable voice, rather than heatedly protesting his intentions, she said, ‘It’s not that I’m afraid, it’s just that you shouldn’t have done it. It was quite wrong of you, and I would appreciate it if you refrained from—from doing anything like that in the future.’

With a mixture of amusement and admiration, Charles noted her request. With any other woman, such a request would only add to his determination to taste her response to him again—and Maria was no exception. Of that there was no doubt. Maria hadn’t any notion how much control he had to maintain over himself to keep his hands off her, and if the situation arose again his actions would be exactly the same—and Henry Winston be damned.

‘The kiss was harmless, wasn’t it?’

‘I think so.’

‘Neither of us was hurt, were we?’

‘No.’

‘Well, then, there is no reason why we should mention it again, is there?’