Who hethoughtshe was.
There was only this—the unbearable sweetness of his mouth, the heat rising in her limbs, the certainty blooming in her chest that no man would ever make her feel like this again.
There will never be another man in my life to compare to him. Never be another who makes my nerves sing and my bodyquiver with desire. I want him to be my first and my only. I will live the rest of my life a spinster if he is the one to claim my maidenhead.
At those times, she fought for self-control, knowing that it would be a disaster—for her and for Amelia when she eventually returned. The gentleness of the river contrasted with the savage war that Charlotte fought inside herself.
She wondered if Seth felt the same conflict.
His desire was self-evident from the hardness of his body, from the groans as her lips and tongue tasted him and her hands explored him. She delighted herself with private thoughts that he was on the verge of losing himself and that it was she who had driven him to it.
Not Amelia, buther.
Seth lifted Charlotte’s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles before helping her into the cab. The door shut with a softthunk, but she leaned out through the open window.
“When will we see each other again, do you think?” she asked.
In the early morning light, her smile was radiant, and her eyes sparkled. Her cheeks had a rosy hue that made her glow.
He leaned in, stealing one more kiss. It was meant to be brief—a chaste goodbye. But her lips lingered, and his resolve wavered. They had drifted in and out of sleep wrapped in each other’s arms, her body pressed to his in the quiet dark of the river. He had woken to her touch more than once, and each time it had felt like something sacred. Not conquest. Not diversion. Connection...
And she had listened. He had told her about Hillcrest, the dream of his mother, stories of his past. She had cradled his head, running fingers through his hair while he spoke. No woman had ever held him like that—without expectation, without guile. Just... held him.
He cleared his throat, masking the sudden tightness there. “The Regent hosts a monthly contest at Hampton Court—archery, pistols, all manner of manly pursuits,” he said with a boyish grin. “I rarely miss it. Perhaps you'd like to come see me dazzle the cream of London with my prowess?”
Lord, I am not sure I need to be so bullish any longer. Being a bore has become such a habit after driving these three women away from me that I cannot stop.
For some reason, though, Amelia’s eyes sparkled at his words.
“Perhaps it will bemyprowess that will impress you,” she giggled.
Seth gaped for a moment, and Amelia suddenly slapped the side of the carriage.
“Prescott Estate, please, driver!” she called out.
Seth leaped down as the cab rumbled away through the streets of Limehouse, where they had eventually come to rest on a mudbank. Amelia leaned out to look back at him, and he watched her until London hid her from his view.
He began to stroll the river behind him and the Commercial Road in front. He didn’t know this part of the East End well but could see what he took to be Stepney Church in the distance. With the sun rising to his right and the river at his back, he knew the way was west.
It would be a brisk, invigorating walk through the city to Fleet Street. Blythe would have had his correspondence delivered, something he did on a weekly basis, and Seth would have the rest of the day and the next to puzzle out what he intended to do about Amelia before the Regent’s tourney.
I do not even know how long until the marriage clause ends. How long do I have to drive her away?
The sun was well above the horizon by the time he was climbing the stairs of the building atop which he had his garret. He fished in his coat for the long, iron key to the door, but upon inserting it, found the lock already unlatched. He pushed the door open tentatively.
Inside, Tharpe Monkton sat on a chair, hands folded over a silver-topped cane.
“You are a housebreaker now?” Seth muttered, walking in and slamming the door.
“I am a man of many skills. I expected to find you incapable of answering my knock, given that you spent the evening at Catesby’s,” Monkton murmured in an oily voice.
“A spy, too, eh? Who do you have reporting on me?”
“A reliable source.”
“Who? I shall have to pay him double whatever you are,” Seth yawned.
“You could not bribe him, Your Grace. He stands to gain your entire estate, you see,” Monkton finished smoothly.
