She repeated the kissing of his lips and cock for what seemed like hours before finally straddling him and taking the head of his penis in her hands. She licked him profusely before seating the tip at the entrance to her quim. The rubbing continued until she finally took him inside. She rode his cock, surging up and down, until he could feel the spasms of her pleasure. He silently thanked St. James when she quickly lifted herself away before he could spend inside her. It had taken a Herculean effort as it was to wait as long as he did.
She quickly untied his hands and pulled the counterpane over both of them. She rolled to her side without a word, facing away from him. The moon was at a different angle now, but still provided enough light to reveal the silent tears on the side of her face that she’d shed and what giving herself to him must have cost.
No matter how long he lived, he would never forget this woman, or this night, and protecting her would be his life’s work.
* * *
Takingher pleasure from this man had been bittersweet. Now Charlotte knew she could love and feel pleasure without fear. She still didn’t fully trust Col, but he felt so good with his arm wrapped loosely around her, their bare skin touching and still moist from the love she’d made to him. The act had been her choice, not one foisted upon her by the rough hands of men who had paid for access to her body for the night.
She had to enjoy this one last night with Col, because he was not going to like what she’d have to say in the morning. She still couldn’t bring herself to give up the journal pages. Now, she needed them even more, because tonight was all she’d ever have of tasting and possessing his beloved body.
* * *
The headache buildingat the base of Col’s skull had begun to inch its way to the top of his head. The rare London environs sunshine streaming through Charlotte’s bedchamber window was not helping.
He could not believe what he’d just heard. After a night of the most incredible love-making he’d ever experienced, Charlotte still insisted on clinging to his damned journal pages. Anger filled his soul and engulfed his voice. “How dare you keep my personal writings and possibly endanger someone who is so dear to me?” He could tell by the frightened look on Charlotte’s face that he’d lost control.
She laid a gentle hand on his arm. “All right. Why don’t we lay all the pages out on top of the bed and if you can show me where the dangerous pages lie, we’ll take them out and burn them…over there.” She pointed to her bedchamber fireplace.
An hour later, they’d pored over every page in Charlotte’s possession…and he could find no trace of the entries where he’d bared his most private emotions about the birth of Dee and the death of Maria. Who the hell had them now?
14
Col set down his purchases and flowers before bending over at the doorway to his rooms in the Great Queen Street boarding house to retrieve a vellum square sealed with a dark red blob of wax. The mystery of the symbol stamped into the wax soon was revealed when he noticed the stamp consisted of an ornate, curling “W,” no doubt the damned, interfering Marquess of Wisenberry.
Col had stopped by the food stalls at Covent Garden Market on the way home after his exhausting night and morning with Charlotte. He’d bought some early cherries, cheeses and a crusty loaf of bread. Col’s secret pleasure was flowers, and he’d splurged on a bundle of cheerful daisies from a tiny flower cart where a woman and her daughter sold fresh blooms.
After turning the key in his ownsecurelock, the silence beyond could mean only one thing. George and Madame Nouvelle were out on their daily walk to a nearby park with Dee.
After putting away his purchases, he built up the fire in their cookstove and put on a kettle for tea. George and their landlady would sorely need a cuppa after a challenging walk with Dee, who managed to pepper anyone within hearing distance with endless questions, even strangers she encountered in the park. The child required constant surveillance.
When he opened the missive from the dratted marquess, the message was simple.
Meet me at Goodrum’s in the chess room tomorrow night. Your entrance fee is taken care of. I have something you’ll want to hear about your recent encounter with a secret, underground chess game. Please join me and do not disappoint our mutual friend. She needs you.
Just as the kettle whistled, the sounds of Dee’s mad chattering and George’s patient answers drifted up from the staircase. He stuffed the message into an inside pocket in his waistcoat before quickly setting out cups and plates for their tea on his battered kitchen table.
* * *
Charlotte blewa small puff of air across the surface of the hot tea in her cup and took the chance to furtively study the Marquess of Wisenberry. She did not trust him one bit, but he’d gone through Captain El to get himself invited to tea at her villa. She’d give anything to know what was going on behind those sharp, mischievous blue eyes of his.
“You probably wonder why I invited myself here today,” he offered precipitously before snatching two more lavender biscuits from the generous pile Lilith had provided.
“I didn’t want to seem rude and ask, but yes…what are you up to?”
“I wanted to make sure you comprehend who Archer Colwyn, the man, truly is.”
Her blood ran cold, and she set down her fragile china cup hard, clattering it against the saucer. “What makes you think I have any interest in who this man might be? Do I know him?”
“Yes. He’s wasted three nights of chess play at Goodrum’s trying to win something you have that apparently he desperately wants back.”
“Oh, you mean Mr. Colwyn?” She reclaimed her calm and retrieved her cup of tea. “Of course. I didn’t know his first name, so I was a bit confused at first.”
“I don’t know what you have that he wants so badly, but I think you need to know a bit more about the man.”
“Go on,” she encouraged and tried to seem disinterested in what he might have to say.
“I knew his father quite well. Although the man’s ancestral seat was outside Edinburgh and he spent a lot of time in Jamaica managing the family plantations, we did manage to kick up our heels a bit in the St. James clubs back in the day.”
