He glided a finger into her sheath, then two, and she jolted, covering her keening cry of release with the back of her hand as he licked her through the crisis, pumping his fingers in and out of her as she bore down on him with every ripple of her sex.
When her tremors had finally subsided, he gently slid her drawers back into place. He did the same with her skirt and helped her sit up properly on the carriage seat. She tucked herself against his chest with a shuddering sigh and he wrapped his arms around her, smoothing her hair as they drove the last mile up the long drive.
“If that ismyBoxing Day gift,” she murmured as she leaned up to press a kiss along his jawline, “I approve.”
He turned his mouth toward hers and she lifted into him, her tongue tangling with his. He knew she could taste the sweet flavor of her release and she sighed as she took it. The carriage came to a stop far too soon, and he moved to the other side of the vehicle as the servants rushed to open doors and help them down.
For the first time in a long time, he felt perfectly right, perfectly free. For the first time in forever, he was ready to face his future.
She stepped out of the carriage first and he followed. As he did so, he found her looking past their carriage, further up the circular drive. “Were you expecting visitors?” she asked.
He followed her gaze and his heart all but stopped. There, parked on the drive ahead of his rig, was a carriage. It had a crest on the door, one he knew far too well. And in that moment his good humor faded, his hopes for the future forgotten as a wave of pain from the past washed over him.
That was his mother’s carriage. Which meant his family was here.
Chapter Sixteen
Charlotte watched as all the color drained from Ewan’s face. His eyes lit with emotion, but there was no warmth to it. There was pain, there was heartbreak, there was even fear. His whole expression grew long and drawn and tight. Gone was the man with the rakish smile who had lifted her skirts in the carriage. Now he was that little boy again, the one she’d met all those years ago whose heart had been crushed by his family.
She had seen that same look he had now, always in association with his father, a man long dead and incapable of doing any more harm. Or so she’d thought. Hoped. Prayed.
She moved around to look more closely at the carriage Ewan stared at with such horror, and she gasped. The crest on the door matched Ewan’s own: a lion and a griffin holding up a flag decorated with fans.
“Ewan,” she breathed. “Who—”
“Mother.” He slashed out the word with his fingers without looking at her, a harsh motion that cut the air like a whip. His eyes remained focused on the crest and all it represented in his heart.
Her throat closed. She had only met Ewan’s mother once, at a Society party years ago. The woman was cold as ice, hard as stone. Charlotte had looked at her and seen exactly the kind of person who would allow her child to be abused and abandoned without once raising a ruckus or asking to see the boy she’d born. Charlotte had avoided her ever since, along with Ewan’s bastard brothers who had taken so much pleasure in being the accomplices to their father.
“Why is she here?” she whispered. “She wasn’t invited, was she?”
He shook his head with almost painful slowness and she understood without him having to say a word. Understood and felt for him, empathy that came from the very depths of her soul. She reached for him, closing her fingers over his bicep as she willed all her strength and love to pass to him. He needed them now.
He glanced down at her.
“I’m here,” she said softly as he led them up the stairs to where Smith had just opened the door to greet them. The butler looked drawn as they came into the foyer.
“Your Grace, Lady Portsmith,” he said as he took the overcoats and gloves. “I assume you have noticed we have visitors?”
“My mother?” Ewan signed, this time with less pain. Charlotte translated.
“And Lord Josiah and Lord Roger,” Smith said with a pinched expression that said volumes about his displeasure in sharing this news. “They are being entertained in the parlor by yourinvitedguests.”
Ewan nodded slowly, his gaze distant as he looked off toward the parlor where Charlotte could hear indistinct voices murmuring.
“Did they say how long they planned to stay?” Charlotte asked.
Smith shot her a look. They were partners in that moment, both wanting to protect Ewan, neither able to do so. Not this time. “No, my lady. They did not.”
She nodded and squeezed Ewan’s arm. “I know you’ve already done everything in your power to make everyone comfortable, Smith. Stand by for more instruction, will you? I’ll let you know if they are…staying for a meal.”
Smith seemed horrified at the idea for a moment and his gaze slipped to Ewan with all the same empathy that Charlotte, herself, felt. Then the emotion was gone, wiped away by decades of training, and he inclined his head with disinterest.
“Of course, my lady. It being Boxing Day, there is much left over.”
“Oh, gracious, you were brought out of your rest by this unexpected visit, weren’t you?” Charlotte said with an apologetic look for him. “Go back to your day, Smith. I promise we can take care of this.”
He lifted his chin. “Certainly not, my lady. I stand at the ready for instruction.” She reached out to touch his arm briefly, and he leaned forward and handed her a folded note. “You also received a message from Mr. Griffin, of the emporium in town.”
