“My God,” Alex breathed. The smile had gone from his face; he frowned as if deep in sacred contemplation. Charlotte had not realized he was such a devout man. Mind you, she felt rather prayerful herself at that moment. “You’re so sensitive,” he whispered.
Her stomach swooped.
She’d heard those words over and again throughout her childhood, words that felt like a rap on the knuckles or a prod against the heart.You’re so sensitive, Charlotte. You feel too much, you are too much. It’s messy. A witch must be more restrained. She’d built a hundred layers of calm and coolness over the years in response. She’d worked hard to become something other than her altogether wrong self. Now she shrank.
Alex sensed it, and paused, brushing the hair away from her face, lifting her chin so she had to look at him. His bright, fierce gaze pierced the shame. “So responsive,” he said, and the words sounded like a smile. “Like a bird in the singing winds.”
Charlotte frowned, not quite understanding. But he kissed her again, murmuring against her skin, and she finally comprehended that he was actually voicing approval. The realization jolted through her, shattering a thousand blocks and barbs around her soul, filling her with the pieces like hot, glimmering stars. The emotional release felt as incredible as the physical one she had just experienced. Clinging to him, she was grateful and frustrated all in one beautiful, messy tumult. He gave her such pleasure with his body, his words, even just the expression in his eyes—
Blast it, the man was besting her! She wanted to make him feel the same way—morethe same way, more ecstatic, more electrified than her. But she didn’t know how to achieve it.
“You seem to be rather good at this,” she said, trying a compliment.
He smiled, a sweet, charmed smile, suggesting she had got it right. “Thank you, darling,” he said. “But let’s see if I can do it well enough that you’re too breathless to tell me so.”
He lowered himself farther upon her, and all the sensations shifted, sparking anew. Charlotte gasped in astonishment. Alex’s smile became an altogether wicked grin. She tried to speak, to query this newdevelopment, but instinct elbowed reason out of the way, rolled up its sleeves, and took charge. Wrapping her legs around the pirate, she lifted her hips to better meet him. The murmur in his throat encouraged her, so she moved again, and again, and his rhythm quickened, and his breath too. She was pleasing him. This was excellent! There was only one problem.
It was pleasing her all the more also.
Electricity began building again within her body. Every muscle clenched in anticipation. She could not breathe, just as he had planned—could not think—she moaned indecorously as the pirate filled her so deep, every proper word dissolved and tumbled right out of her. She clung to him even as he wrecked her; she inhaled his hot, ragged breath as her only hope for survival. It felt as devastating and exhilarating as being tossed from a roof high above the ground.
Abruptly the fire erupted, fiercer than before. Her very soul seemed to go up in flames. At the same moment, Alex’s entire body clenched. Charlotte pulled him close, just as she had when they’d fallen through the rain. They began to shiver as they came down together into softness, heaviness, peace. His mouth kissed across her face, searching desperately for her mouth. She turned it toward him, and they met in a long, deep, mutual kiss.
And closing her eyes, Charlotte felt for the first time in her life the experience of sharing a perfect moment with someone else.
12
sleepless in dagenham—breakfast is delivered—news—housework interrupted—the only way left is up—déjà vu—alex regrets his choices—charlotte knows where she stands—thieves do not stop—hanging by a thread
Charlotte had to declare after all there was no enjoyment like lovemaking! How much sooner one tired of anything than of sex. When she had a husband of her own, she should be miserable if he did not have an excellent skill in the bedroom. Captain O’Riley had quite altered her expectations on that account.
They repeated variations of the activity several times throughout the evening and night, since after all there had been a great deal of tension between them that needed clearing. They were only being efficient, dealing with it all at once. Granted, Charlotte now felt so tension-free she was unsure she could actually walk, but mobility seemed a small sacrifice to make for such pleasure.
Somewhere in the midst of this, Alex had organized dinner to be brought to the room, and they’d eaten while still tucked up on the floor between the beds, wrapped in sheets and with an eiderdown beneath them for added comfort. The food had been bland, and they’d argued pleasantly over that while twining their feet and ankles together andagreeing at least that the wine was nice. For a while they’d slept, only for Charlotte to wake to find Alex already roused, his tongue drawing her out of vague dreams, his hands disturbing her peace in the most criminally delightful manner.
The man possessed remarkable stamina, which was fine with Charlotte as she seemed to have a remarkable tolerance for it. She even discarded the chemise (in other words, folded it neatly and set it aside) since allowing him to see what his hands had already comprehensively explored was only rational, despite how her body trembled at the choice. But he did not look. He drew the sheet around them, holding her close until she eased within his arms, nakedness forgotten. It proved he was altogether too clever at this whole business, and had Charlotte not been reaping the benefits of it, she would have found a way to bring him down a size or two. Instead, she insulted him as often as she could, and he retaliated by making her cry out with some new and fascinating delight.
Finally, the morning upon them, they agreed it was necessary to rise and go on to Clacton-on-Sea. Charlotte consulted leaves from the evening’s leftover tea and prophesized a good day for flying. The amulet really needed be removed from Lady Armitage’s insane clutches (and Tom Eames rescued, time permitting).
This agreement was promptly followed by a disagreement about how to locate Alex’s missing house, which they enjoyed while dressing in their now-dried clothes. They became so heated in their opinions, they were on the verge of throwing each other to the floor and undoing all their good work with buttons and tuckings-in, when a knock sounded on the door.
Alex drew his gun instantly. He waved for Charlotte to get out of sight, rolled his eyes with exasperation when she ignored him, and then carefully opened the door.
“Good morning, sir,” Bixby said, standing in the corridor in a suitand bowler hat, a silver tray of folded newspapers set on his hand. “Miss,” he added, nodding past Alex’s shoulder to Charlotte.
She blushed and hurriedly pulled on her coat as if that could hide all her sins. While it had occurred to her that people might learn of what she’d done, which would be bad, she had not appreciated until this moment that they mightimaginewhat she’d done, which was exceedingly worse. And although Bixby’s expression was inscrutable, this offered little comfort. Charlotte was only too aware of the interesting thoughts that could take place behind a blank countenance.
Alex, on the other hand, seemed entirely nonchalant about what his butler might be thinking. He holstered his gun and opened the door wider. “Newspapers, really?” he said tetchily. “Why didn’t you bring breakfast?”
Bixby laid the tray on a sideboard then returned to the corridor. Seconds later he returned, pushing a food-laden trolley ahead of him into the room.
“Hmph,” Alex said.
“Thank you,” Charlotte added, smiling at the butler. He nodded brusquely, as if she had said something offensive but he was too well-trained to comment.
They ate breakfast at a small table beside the window while Bixby stood nearby to attention, his eyes politely unfocused. Charlotte dared not offer him food. She did glance at him occasionally, however, still fretting about what he might be thinking. (Considering the state of the beds, it was actually not too hard to imagine what he was thinking about: sheet thread counts and the best laundry detergents.) He had explained that he’d landed safely after the collision with Miss Fairweather’s house, and having seen Charlotte and Alex descending gently under the power of the incantation, had felt unworried enough to spend the evening washing dishes and sweeping floors—or in other, more accurate words, drinking brandy and reading a George Eliotnovel. Dawn had routed him to Rothbury House, where he made inquiries with the butler, Hooper, and exchanged packets of information according to secret household service protocol. Hooper informed him as to the whereabouts of a gentleman and oddly dressed lady.
“I swear,” Alex said over a cup of hot black coffee, “you butlers rule the world behind our backs.”
