He moved then—not abruptly, but with slow, assured ease—until she felt the whisper of his presence in every inch of her skin. His arm braced beside her head, the metal of his vambrace cool against the door. She realised she’d retreated, step by step, until the wood was at her back and he was everywhere else.
“No. There—there would be whispers,” she started, though her breath caught halfway through the sentence.
“Undoubtedly,” he smirked. “Your aunt will require smelling salts.”
“And the rest of London?”
“They will assume what they always do. That we are young. And very much in love. As I said, auseful fiction.”
“Then… there is no danger,” she murmured, trying to convince herself.
“None. Only pleasure.”
And then his mouth was on hers.
It wasn’t sudden—it had been building, moment by unbearable moment, until the kiss felt inevitable. Charlotte melted into him, the taste of him dizzying, the weight of his presence stealing breath and thought alike. She curled her arms around his shoulders, pulling him close, only to hiss at the jolt of cold steel pressing into her ribs.
He groaned, broke the kiss, and stepped back. “Hell’s teeth, this armor—”
In one motion, he yanked off the ceremonial robe and began wrestling with the chainmail hauberk. “The Regent is a preening lunatic. Who requires a man to dress like a knight at a diplomatic function?”
He got the thing halfway over his head and immediately became entangled, with arms trapped and vision gone. He staggered blindly into a chair, then ricocheted into a sideboard. A vase wobbled on the edge, but Charlotte lunged and caught it just in time.
She burst into a fit of laughter. “You are a veritable menace.”
“Help me or mourn me!” he barked, still half-swallowed by chainmail. “I may die like this.”
She tried to help, but he stumbled again, tripped on a rug, and the world pitched sideways.
With a crash, they landed on the floor in a tangle of limbs and overturned furniture. The chaise they'd fallen onto teetered, then toppled after them, landing askew and forming a canopy of silk upholstery above their heads.
Charlotte was utterly winded from laughing, her body pinned beneath his. He braced his hands on either side of her, his face flushed, his chest heaving, hair a golden mess.
She caught her breath. “Well. That was dignified.”
“Wasn’t it just?”
The door burst open. “What was all that noise? It sounded like a bloody bull in a ballroom—” A pause. “Look at that! The chaise is overturned!”
Charlotte’s eyes widened. Seth clapped a hand over her mouth, stifling the helpless giggle threatening to escape. She shook with silent laughter beneath him, her shoulders trembling.
Another voice spoke. “Leave it. His Lordship is starting the reception. This can wait.”
Footsteps retreated. The door clicked shut.
CHAPTER 18
Silence closed in around them, broken only by the distant ticking of a clock.
Beneath the overturned chaise, Charlotte found herself beneath Seth—his body braced above hers, his weight pressing through the ridiculous layers of cold armor and silk. Her stays constricted her breath, but it wasn’t panic. It was anticipation. His eyes held hers, the space between them shrinking with every heartbeat.
She didn’t wait. She tilted her head and kissed him.
The contact was soft, at first. A brush. A test. But it ignited something in both of them. His mouth claimed hers with growing hunger, his grip tightening around her wrists as he pinned her arms above her head. There was strength in the hold—real, unrelenting strength—and she felt it everywhere.
She pulled against it once and found herself locked in place.
Itthrilledher.
