“I wouldn’t know sir.”
***
Wells was bedeviled by her response. “Charles,” he pressed, “explain your hesitation, woman.”
“I cannot, sir. I know only that it pains me when you speak too tenderly.”
He was confounded by her manner, though perhaps Cuthbert was right. Perhaps shewasoverly clever.
“Well I’ll not apologize for that,” he said a little gruffly.
“Oh I didn’t . . .” She looked visibly upset. “I didn’t mean it, sir. I am abysmal at this.” She hid her face in his chest.
His frown deepened though he held her to him. “Charles you are far from abysmal at this.” He stroked her hair. “In fact you’re quite good.Verygood I should say.” He shifted himself away from her body out of sheer necessity.
“It is not the act I am referring to, my lord,” she mumbled into his chest. “It is the . . .” The words rushed out. “It is the fact that emotion appears attached to this act which I neither anticipated nor wanted, and so I would beg you, sir, to refrain from tenderness lest I?—”
At last he understood. “Lest you develop feelings you would rather not have, I see.” He peeled her face from his chest to notice she’d blushed pink; she was more innocent than he thought.
“Charles, it is natural to feel something in return, especially for a woman as, well, passionate as yourself.” He’d indulge her this much. “Words of endearment are normal between lovers, and you may in good faith call us lovers. A mistress is not awhore, I’ve told you this before. You are allowed to feel and enjoy yourself. But neither is a mistress more; no position is, after all, permanent.” He chose his next words carefully. “Nor am I inclined to attach myself to the fairer sex, though I will no doubt be forced to attach myself in marriage one day.” He grimaced. “Which is not to say a married man might not keep a mistress too,” he amended, “or even his wife take a lover, should she be discreet.” His hands began to rove about her body.
***
Charles mulled over his words. “I see, my lord. You will marry one day but not for love, and you will take a mistress again after marriage, but also not for love.” She met his eyes. “It is surely as much burden as gift, to be born a peer, in service to both crown and family title. You are duty bound in ways we common folk might only dream of, yet duty commands you just as surely as you command us.”
He simply looked at her, seeming stunned.
“You are not free, my lord, to live life as you wish.” Charles felt as if she saw him for the first time. “You appear to have great freedom, and in most ways you do, yet all this time I thought myself the one imprisoned here, but you, too, are chained.” She furrowed her brow. “More gilded chains by far, but chains no less.” Charles lowered her eyes. “I mean no disrespect, my lord, I only just remark.” She’d noticed his expression turn, realizing she’d perhaps said too much. “I shall keep my thoughts to myself, in future, please forget all I just said.”
He tipped her chin up to look at him. “We are none of us free, Fox. We only pretend to be.” He kissed her harder this time, urgent enough to prick in her a similar need. His eyes searched her face for recognition, demanding, “Will you run from me still,woman? Or have I tamed you at last? Answer me honestly now: Do you still long for escape?”
Her breath caught, for his eyes pooled like storm-tossed oceans, depths she felt herself pulled into, drowning. “No, my lord.” Charles surprised herself, her voice a bare whisper. “I’ll not run now, but I will leave you one day, as surely as you will leave me.”
His face shifted almost imperceptibly. “Yes, it is the way of things, though some days, Fox, I’d give anything to take a different path.” He buried his face at her neck, inhaling her before he kissed her madly almost, making her gasp with real feeling, until she’d loudly cried, “My lord!”
His head snapped back. “I’ve a name, you know.” He let that sink in. “It’s time you learned to use it.”
She was stunned again by his change of mood yet wagered it safe enough to be bold. “Then tell me your name, Lord Wellesley.” She looked him straight on. “Your name and age. A lover ought to know such things.”
His eyes flashed. “Yes, a lover ought, Charles Merrinan, five and twenty. I am nine and twenty, and my name is Roland Rutherford Wellesley.”
She laughed; she couldn’t help it.
“And might I ask what is so funny, miss?”
“Nothing, sir, nothing at all,Roland Rutherford.” She bit her lip. “It is only you have finally become real, you see.” She continued to inwardly laugh. “Until this moment you have been but a nameless lord and master, and now, sir, you are flesh and blood.”
“I daresay I’vebeenflesh and blood, girl.” He arched an eyebrow.
“Yes.” She kissed him softly. “Yes but now there is anamefor that flesh and blood, a name I might invoke and taste”—shelicked the bob of his Adam’s apple with a flick of her tongue—“and ponder and swallow and think on and?—”
“Swallow, eh?” His grin was almost impish. “I like it when you swallow, miss.”
“I like how you taste, sir,” she answered, coy.
He laughed outright. “You’re a minx, not a fox, woman! And I will taste you now, this very minute, before I take you again. If you will have me, mistress. Say you will, Charles. Do but say it.”
She watched his eyes for the first time waver.
