“Allow me,” she murmured, her hands reaching around his waist, her pert breasts with their erect nipples pressing into his back. When she circled his cock with both hands and began to pump, his breath hissed out between his teeth, the pleasure searing in its intensity. She rested her cheek against his back. “I’ve missed touching you, holding you.”

“I am the same man I was three days ago,” he growled, his head falling back, his eyes drifting closed.

“Yes,” she whispered. “The man I love.”

His hips began to thrust rhythmically into her talented hands. Charlotte knew just how to hold him, how tightly to grip him, how fast to take him to the ecstasy only she could bestow. He began to pant, the heat of his lust washing over him, bringing him to the edge of reason. His cock swelled, his balls drew up, a tortured groan escaped as he prepared to come . . .

Her movements stilled, and she stepped away just as he was on the verge of release.

“Damn you.” He slammed his glass on the sideboard. Clenching his fists, he couldn’t stop the tremors that shook his frame. “Is your goal in life merely to torment me?”

Charlotte stepped around to face him, her eyes shining like emeralds and burning with desire. “My aim is to comfort you, Hugh, to please and satisfy you, so that I may prove my love and win you back.”

Her hands cupped the edge of the sideboard, and she jumped to sit upon it. Above the scoop of her bodice, the ripe swell of her breasts was flushed and covered with a spattering of reddish freckles he knew intimately, because he’d licked and worshipped every one.

Gripping fistfuls of her skirt, she yanked the hem of her gown upward, the fevered haste of her movements betraying how desperately she desired him. The length of her lithe, stocking-clad legs was revealed to him first, and then she spread her thighs, displaying the deep red curls that sheltered the plump lips of her sex.

Drawn to her, Hugh closed the distance between them, until her soft floral fragrance swirled through his senses with potent familiarity. Charlotte leaned back carefully until her shoulders rested against the wall, angling her hips to give him greater access. Watching his own movements with ravenous hunger and deep adoration, Hugh parted her lips with one hand while rubbing the tiny nub of her clit with the blunt fingertip of the other.

She gasped, and arched her back, thrusting her breasts toward him. Unable to resist, he bent and licked along her slender neck. “Yes . . .” she breathed. “I’ve hungered for the feel of your hands, the warmth of your mouth . . .”

His skin was burning hot and covered with sweat. Hugh could barely think, could hardly breathe. Shifting his hips, he was there, the broad head of his cock covered in her cream. She was so ready, he slipped the first inch inside her without any effort. The tight clasp of her body welcomed him and was nearly the end of him. His breathing harsh and ragged, his fingers digging into her thighs with bruising force, he paused and locked his eyes with hers.

And waited. Even though it was killing him.

Charlotte’s hands moved to his shoulders and then around his neck, her calloused fingers entwining in the hair at his nape. “I belong to you, Hugh. In whatever way you’ll have me.”

His heart stilled before resuming its near-frantic beat, his thighs quivering with the need to fuck her, to claim her, his arms aching to hold her. “Any way?”

“Wife or mistress—I care not. Just don’t send me away. I love you, Hugh.” She pressed her lips to his, and he groaned. “I love you,” she whispered against his mouth, her tears wetting his face and salting her kiss. “I’m so sorry I hurt you. This is so hard for me, to trust someone . . . but I do. I do trust you . . . and I love you so much.”

Covering her mouth with his, he cradled her spine and slid her hips to the edge of the sideboard, dragging the creamy heat of her body over his cock until he was buried inside her. “Damn it,” he breathed, crushing her to him. “I almost thought you wouldn’t come to me. I feared you would go, and I would lose you.”

“Never. Oh, Hugh . . .” Her cunt tightened around him. “Please . . .”

He lifted her and stumbled to the settee, every step nudging him deeper into the wet, clenching heart of her. By the time he sank into the cushions, he was certain he would expire. “Ride me,” he ordered, his hands at her thighs urging her to move.

“Remove your shirt,” she said.

He tore the garment in his haste to be rid of it, and his reward was sweet. Charlotte lifted until he was barely within her and then lowered, encasing him in her silk, her soft whimper of need spurring his ardor. He felt maddened, wild. He wanted to grip her hips and lead the way, plunging into her, until the desperate hunger he felt was thoroughly sated. Instead, he spread his arms and held onto the settee, knowing he was mere moments away from a magnificent orgasm. An orgasm made all the richer by the love of the woman who held him so intimately.

Gripping his shoulders for leverage, Charlotte set a hard, fast rhythm, pounding her lush body onto his cock as if she couldn’t get enough of him. His eyelids grew heavy, the drugging ecstasy tightening every muscle in his body, his fingers holding the wooden rim of the sofa so tightly, he feared it would snap.

“I love you,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion.

Charlotte faltered.

He didn’t.

Moving quickly, he had her on the rug, her thighs over his, his cock driving deep. His strokes were strong and steady, his gaze locked with rapt attention on her face. Her skin was flushed, her full lips parted, her emerald eyes bright with love. She came on a gasp, her back arching upward, her shivers tightening around his shaft until it became difficult to withdraw, difficult to return, the soft sucking sounds of their lovemaking filling the room along with her cries.

Hugh followed directly, pouring into her, flooding her with his joy and his love in a release so devastating, he knew he would never be the same again.

“You shall marry me, Charlotte.”

“Are you certain? I’m not suitable.”

He snorted. “You are entirely suitable. And marriage has decided benefits you’re failing to consider.”

Charlotte curled into him where they lay on the floor and stroked her hand across his chest. “Such as?”

“The marital bed, for one.”

“Ah, yes, a bed. That would be lovely. Perhaps with marriage, we will make it there more often . . .”

Epilogue

London, August 1815

Sebastian Blake, Earl of Merrick, took the steps of Montrose Hall two at a time. He rapped with the knocker and waited. A moment later the door swung open, and he was faced with a stooped butler sporting the largest eye he’d ever seen in his life. He blinked, quickly comprehending the reason his footman had returned to the carriage in a fright.

“Aye?” the old man queried, in a gravelly voice.

He held out his card. “I’ve come to collect Lord and Lady Montrose. They are expecting me.”

The butler lifted the card to his oddly protruding eye, squinted at the lettering, and then dropped his hand with a grunt. The servant stepped aside. “Come in, gov’na, and I’ll inform ’is lordship yer ’ere.” He shuffled off, leaving Sebastian to carry his own hat and shut the door himself.

Pausing by an open doorway, the servant gestured wildly and said, “Wait in ’ere.”

Moving into a well-appointed parlor, Sebastian frowned. The Earl and Countess of Montrose never held social functions in their home, which he’d not thought untoward, considering their newly wedded status. The rest of the ton, however, found them mysterious, and their aloofness only fueled the rumors that they ran a bizarre household. The butler was an oddity, to be sure, but . . .

An odd noise caught his ear, and Sebastian cocked a brow as it drew closer and increased in volume.

The next moment a young serving girl appeared in the doorway, her slim arms weighted with a beautiful china tea service that wobbled horrendously. He’d never seen such a spectacle in his life. Every item was jumping and rattling—spoons clinking against each other, cups dancing in their saucers.

Sebastian gaped for a moment and then moved to assist her, shaking his head in wonder. He would remember to speak to Montrose about this later.

He definitely wanted an invitation to dinner.

“The Merrick carriage has arrived,” Charlotte noted, looking down at the front drive from the upper-floor window. A moment later warm arms encircled her waist, and then her husband’s deep voice was purring in her ear.

“Are you still excited?”

“Are you jesting?” She spun in Hugh’s embrace and stared up into his handsome face. “Of course I’m excited.”

“You seem pensive.”

“I miss Gwen,” she said with a sigh. “I know she’s having a wonderful time at the finishing academy, but still . . .”

Hugh kissed the tip of her nose. “I miss her, too.”

Wrapping her arms around his lean waist, Charlotte squeezed tight. “Thank you so much.”

“For what, love?”

“For arranging this treasure hunt. I know you believe it to be nonsense.”

His mouth curved in a smile that stole her breath. “And you don’t?”

“I’d like to think it exists.”

“You’d like to believe in the romantic version of the tale as well.” Hugh’s large hands smoothed the length of her spine and cupped her derriere. “What happened to my pragmatist?”

Charlotte laughed, her heart light and filled with love. “I’ve never been a pragmatist where you are concerned.” Hopelessly addicted, she wondered how she ever considered living without him.

He squeezed her close before turning away, moving to the trunks that had yet to be taken downstairs. He was preparing to close one, then paused. Picking up a brown-paper parcel, he shot her an inquiring glance before untying the twine. A moment later his laughter, warm and rich, filled the air and warmed her heart.

“What do we have here?” He held up an eye patch.

“The journey is long I’ve been told.”

Hugh’s mouth twitched. “So it is.”

“It could become tedious.”

“You and I alone in a cabin? Never.”

“I have a fantasy,” she confessed, moving toward him with salacious intent.

“Umm . . . I like the sound of that.” Hugh tossed the pirate costume in the trunk and caught her about the waist.

She winked. “You’ll like the doing of it much better.”

“Fetch your pelisse,” he growled. “I want to get to that ship.”