11 ONLY ONE BEDROOM—INCORRECT UNDRESSING—MANHANDLED—CHARLOTTE WISHES FOR SOME BEDTIME READING—ALEX IS UNHYGIENIC—JANE WHO?—THIRD TIME, LUCKY—MUTUAL DEFEAT Give a girl an education and introduce her properly to the world, and ten to one but she will find herself alone in an inn bedroom with a gentleman rogue. Charlotte (who really should have been allowed to see the interesting pages of biology textbooks after all, and therefore had her curiosity safely assuaged) stood beside the bed with her arms crossed sternly over the simple dress the innkeeper’s wife had given her, and glared at Alex. And he, looking dangerous in borrowed trousers and shirt that strained against his muscles, shrugged in insouciant reply. That they had landed less than a quarter mile from a public house was coincidental only if you forget this was England, where many thousands of pubs thrive around the country. That it had just one bedroom still available will not be surprising to connoisseurs of romance. The sole astonishment was it contained two beds. Alex and Charlotte had quickly fixed that. And now, the beds having been pushed together, the hot whiskey toddies having been drunk, they stood waiting to see who would make the first move. “I don’t know why you insisted on getting dressed, since I’m only going to undress you again,” Alex said. “I don’t know why you are so confident of that,” Charlotte replied. She swayed a little, for there had been just enough whiskey in the toddy to loosen her muscles along with several of her dearest inhibitions. Somewhere at the back of her mind, Jane Austen’s heroines were shouting, waving volumes of Mansfield Park, and trying to remind her of the fate awaiting unchaste women. But they were drowned out by the echoing memory of Alex calling her strong, fierce, gorgeous, brave. Her heart sighed. Something about the man—his laughing eyes, perhaps, or wicked mouth, or dear lord his boots—caused her entire being to thrum. She felt as if she had been sleepwalking through life and had woken finally on that day in St. James’s when one conversation with him had literally flung her skyward. But there was no call to let him know this. “It goes to show your male arrogance,” she said, “that you assume you can simply undress me on your own authority.” “Fair enough,” Alex said languidly. “So shall I just leave?” “By all means, if you are a lily-livered, trembling—” She stopped, blinking in surprise, as he stepped forward and began tugging at the buttons on her bodice. “No,” she said, smacking at his hands. “Not like that. You have to push them more care—” He caught her chin, lifted it, and kissed her until words dissolved and her knowledge of correct button removal procedures was utterly lost from memory. The bodice managed to get open despite his rough method, and after some struggle with sleeves, during which both parties lambasted each other (and kissed each other with increasingly urgent frustration), the entire dress fell in a heap to her feet. All that remained was a plain cotton chemise the innkeeper’s wife had also provided. Charlotte stared down at the dress, rather dazed, and unsure what to do next. She’d just allowed a man to disrobe her. Jane Austen would be weeping into her inkwell. Alex had the situation in hand, however. Literally. Taking hold of her by the waist, he simply lifted her up, kicked the dress aside, and set her down again. “Oh,” she breathed. “Goodness gracious.” Her stomach filled with a dozen fans flapping urgently in an effort to cool her. Alex smiled, biting his lower lip in an expression of endearing wickedness. Reaching for the chemise straps, he began to slide them off. Charlotte grasped his wrists, and although she had nowhere near enough strength to actually stop him, nevertheless he stopped. “I am not convinced that is wise,” she said. He smiled. “What, are you hiding a rifle and three attack dogs under there?” “Of course not. You may check if you want.” His eyebrow raised at the invitation. Using one finger to gently draw back the chemise’s neckline, he peered beneath. Charlotte held her breath. He did not touch her, but his gaze seemed to stroke every nerve ending. After a long, wordless moment, he looked into her eyes again. He had seen her—and now apparently wanted to see her. Charlotte lowered her own gaze, for he could have her body, but no one was trusted with her heart. And her body, hearing that thought, tossed aside the fans and installed a steam turbine instead. Certain parts ached for the pirate to not just look, but to touch with his strong, calloused fingers. But her mind, already aghast at the turn of events, and composing a lecture it suspected the body would completely ignore, was determined. She might well be strong, fierce, gorgeous, brave, but adding naked to that list surely crossed the line of Proper Femininity. Charlotte had spent her entire life trying to balance on that line, pulled one way by the dictates of society, and the other by her own sensitivities and intelligence. She could usually approximate nice behavior by watching people and reading books. But the etiquette of trysting in a country inn with a pirate was not something easily guessed at. If only Jane Austen, Elizabeth Gaskell, or even Charles Dickens, had written on the subject of copulation so she knew what to do, and in what correct sequence. Were there particular words one ought to say? An action one always must take? No doubt Captain O’Riley had an encyclopedic knowledge of the subject, but Charlotte could hardly quiz him without revealing her own ignorance. And never must she do that. A witch was nothing if not superior in all understanding. “So,” Alex said musingly. “I can look but I can’t take the thing off?” “You can do anything you want,” she said, and he made a noise in the back of his throat. “But according to how I was raised, a woman does not disrobe under any circumstance.” “What, not even in the bath?” “Absolutely not!” She was shocked at the very thought. “God, and I thought my upbringing was awful.” He looked at her for a long, steady while, assessing her courage for what lay ahead. She waited, heart pounding, for him to call a halt to the whole endeavor. But at last he shrugged. “Your choice, darling. It stays on.” Relief washed through her. “You, however, may disrobe as you wish,” she added. “Or retain whatever items of clothing you choose. I suppose you’ll take off the trousers so as to freely access your—um—gentleman’s small tumescent limb.” His eyes flashed. “I beg your pardon?” “Is that not used in this activity?” “Yes,” he said in a rather strained voice. (Oh dear, Charlotte thought—perhaps he’d got pneumonia in the rain after all.) “Let me give you two pieces of advice, Miss Pettifer. First, never use the word ‘small’ in relation to a man’s—er, that.” She sighed testily. “I meant small compared to an arm or a leg.” “Never. Ever.” Apparently, this was a firm rule. “Very well,” she relented. “And second—just lie down on the goddamn bed, will you?” She glanced over her shoulder at the furniture in question. “Do you think it’s clean?” His expression tightened, and she got the sense he was only just holding on. “Unless you want me to take you against the wall, you’ll just have to risk it.” Charlotte gasped—but after a moment’s hesitation, decided on no, and pulled back the eiderdown.
Alex watched as Charlotte lay on the bed. There followed an endless minute in which her chemise twisted around her hips and she had to raise them to rearrange it, and then do the same with her hair, and then shuffle over to avoid what must have been a loose spring in the mattress. Alex waited with an exasperation that bordered on intense, pulsing arousal. The woman was going to annoy him into an orgasm before he even placed a hand on her. Finally she lay still, almost rigid, her gaze fixed on the ceiling. He hesitated, not wanting to go ahead if she was as anxious as she seemed— “Tsk,” she said, clicking her tongue impatiently, and he yanked off his shirt and trousers, first taking out the item of protection he always carried with him (not necessarily because he was an incorrigible rake—after all, the item had many handy uses, such as tying up bank workers and holding stolen coins). (He was, however, also an incorrigible rake.) As he fitted the item, Charlotte did not shift her gaze from the ceiling. Looking at her, Alex frowned. If she wasn’t anxious, why did she lie there as if the world was a great scratchy weight on her body? The question flipped itself into its own answer. And with it, Alex felt something loosen around his heart. He lay down on his side next to her and pulled the eiderdown over them. “Come here,” he whispered, tipping her to face him. She swallowed a breath, her eyes huge and dark but, thank God, not frightened. The same could not be said so surely for him. Bloody hell, he’d done this often enough—there was no need to be nervous. Then she blinked her long, thick lashes over her stormy eyes, and his heart trembled. “You’ve taken more of the blanket on your side,” she grumbled, laying a hand against his tattooed chest. Her touch, soft as rose petals, was so gentle Alex thought he might break apart beneath it. “You’re a she-devil,” he answered, brushing damp strands of hair from her face. They stared at each other for a long, intense moment. Breathe, Alex reminded himself. Do what now? his lungs replied. “This is merely to clear the air between us, you understand,” Charlotte said. Alex grinned. “Darling, I assure you there will be no merely about it,” he countered, and Charlotte rolled her eyes. “However, you are essentially right. We are just releasing the tension.” “It is not a commitment.” “Agreed.” “Furthermore—” He kissed her. And all her words turned to chaff, leaving her with a more honest silence. The kiss turned slow, explorative. The stroking hands over bare skin set them both shivering despite the cloistered heat. Charlotte’s bracelet tinkling against him reminded Alex she was a witch to whom he should not even be speaking—but he did not care. In this moment, in this bed, she was Charlotte Pettifer, nothing more, and if he could not get inside her soon, he would likely perish from wanting. But he tried to be patient, because piracy only went so far, and he’d never take from a woman if it would hurt her. Charlotte’s body was as tight as her attitudes, and no matter how she muttered that they needed to get on with things so they could resume the chase for her amulet, Alex was determined to be gentle. Using first one finger and then two, he offered a preview of what he planned to do to her. At first, her astonishment was extreme. “Are you sure?” she said, squirming against his hand. “This doesn’t seem very proper to me.” “It’s entirely improper, darling,” he agreed, moving the fingers slowly, delighting at her adorably censorious frown. But her body was beginning to ease as he drew her with long, stroking movements toward a state of warm, wet disarray. “I don’t under— Oh!” She went abruptly taut again. He paused. “What?” “Do that. Again. With your thumb.” He rubbed again. “That?” For the first time since he’d known her, the sounds emerging from her throat were not complaints. In broken syllables and shuddering gasps, she related how he was finally doing something perfectly, and he smiled with the particular triumph of knowing he had pleased her. Continuing as instructed, he watched pleasure swell in her eyes, felt it clench around his fingers as she climaxed. The sensation in her body seemed to spark through his own, and he had to take a deep breath to calm himself. “Goodness me,” she said at last. “That was—remarkable.” “I’m glad.” He kissed her, as if he might taste the rare compliment on her lips. “How do I reciprocate?” she asked, businesslike. At the question, an unfamiliar emotion tangled up inside him, but he could not identify it and did not dare try. Far safer to just get on with being a rakish pirate and let the murky depths of his psyche deal with themselves. He smiled down at her. Damn, she was beautiful, all flushed and softened by pleasure. He had a sudden fierce urge to protect her from himself, even knowing that turning away now would be physical torment. But she scowled at him, wanting an answer, and the protective urge was overwhelmed by more desperate urges that her own impatience seemed to encourage. “You are giving me all I want just by being here,” he said. And surprised himself with the truth of it. Alex did not like surprising himself. He wasn’t particularly fond of truth either, for that matter. He did, however, like kissing Miss Pettifer, so he went back to doing that.
Charlotte had a talent for certainty, and one thing she was very sure about was that she didn’t approve of what they were doing. She liked it—in fact she would happily continue doing it for the rest of the evening if required, and furthermore take it up the next morning should the opportunity arise—but approval was a different matter entirely. Captain O’Riley had touched her in a way that was certainly unhygienic. And goodness only knows what kind of nervous damage she had acquired when that strange, powerful sensation of bliss overtook her. There was also still the fact of the amulet being unsecured. Then Alex stroked a hand over her breast, causing all thought of the amulet to explode in a golden blaze. And now the blasted man was kissing her again. Worse, his gentleness completely ruined the happy image she had of him as a cur. She had been expecting a brief, furious event, such as their arguments had been. But instead he gave her this tenderness, this inexplicable consideration. Thankfully, she had at last cobbled together somewhat of a script for response. Mr. Darcy also had proved himself a considerate fellow beneath his aloof exterior, and Elizabeth Bennet had reacted with sincerity and love. Charlotte thought this rather extreme, but she could at least kiss the pirate’s jaw, enjoying the texture of stubble against her tingling lips, following the hard curve up to his earlobe. That she bit gently, his earring clattering against her chin. “Hhnngh,” he said, which was possibly an Irish word; it seemed to express approval. “You’re welcome,” she whispered into his ear. He shivered. “Wicked witch,” he said, and Charlotte remembered yes, that’s what she was. Casting aside her nice script, she drew a fingernail along the tattoo of barbed knots that swooped across his chest then down, over his heart, around his navel, into the dark hair at the base of his, er, fifth and definitely not small limb. His breath hitched, and Charlotte smirked with satisfaction. She had a fair idea now of what he intended to do with that particular part of his anatomy, and she stroked a cautious finger along the blushed, velvety skin . . . Within seconds, he had her flipped onto her back, legs pushed open, knees up, breath gone. He lay over her, and his eyes blazed with a feral heat. Charlotte grinned. “I dare you.” “Are you sure?” “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.” “Very well then.” His hand moved down to where it had been so effective before, and she gasped as sensation rampaged through her. She tried to think of a response but suddenly something else was there, pressing hard, and her body tensed, sensing a moment from which there would be no going back. Her heart thundered in trepidation. Then the world literally caved in.
Alex blinked with confusion as they dropped a depth of two feet to an abrupt, although rather soft, landing. Moments later he realized the beds had slid apart and they’d fallen through the gap to the carpet below. A tangled sheet lay beneath them. The eiderdown stretched across the gap above like a tent. “Are you hurt?” he asked Charlotte—but she was already laughing. It sounded wild and delighted, like a woman surprised by life and surprising herself that she didn’t mind it. All of a sudden, Alex found his heart fill with sincere affection. This woman drove him absolutely mad, both mentally and sexually, and yet he really did like her despite it. Perhaps even because of it. There was something so invigorating about her, and at the same time so reassuring—certainly different from the women who approached him with caution or used him for a thrill. Charlotte was neither afraid of him nor seeking mere titillation. She made him feel safe enough to be himself—not the dread pirate, the impious rake. Just Alex, wanting her. God, wanting her so much he could not wait another moment. He’d only known her a few days, but his body swore it had suffered an eternity of desire for this woman. With a warm smile, he looked into her beautiful, lavish eyes. “Hurry up,” she demanded. His smile blazed into a grin. Well then, damn it if he had any choice left but to prove in one long, unrelenting movement exactly how a man used that most interesting part of him.
Her thoughts shattered. She grasped mentally at wise pages, good quotes, but it was of no use. She could barely recall the name of any author, let alone something they might have written. Alex dominated her, body and mind. She could feel nothing but him, think of nothing but him. Overwhelmed, she clutched the tumbled sheet in a kind of despair. It was too much; it was unbearable. Then he moved back, and she grabbed his hips, pulling her toward him again. “Don’t stop,” she grumbled. He laughed. “No fear of that.” He began a gentle pace, inching deeper, all the while keeping his thumb occupied in a way that made Charlotte breathe jaggedly. He kissed her throat, as if trying to ease her airway. “Are you doing all right, darling?” “Fine,” she gasped. “Does it hurt?” “No.” “Are you—” “Is conversation usually standard at this time?” He laughed again. “I beg your pardon, Charlotte.” It was the first time he’d said her name, and she spun into bliss at the sound of it wrapped warm and sensuous around his accent. Oh dear, this was proof—her nerves were completely in disorder. And her toes might break from curling so hard. Not that she minded, considering how splendid it felt. “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—more the 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 new development, 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.