Page 25 of Her Temporary Duke (Rakes and Roses #2)

S ilence closed in around them, broken only by the distant ticking of a clock.

Beneath the overturned chaise, Charlotte found herself beneath Seth—his body braced above hers, his weight pressing through the ridiculous layers of cold armor and silk.

Her stays constricted her breath, but it wasn’t panic.

It was anticipation. His eyes held hers, the space between them shrinking with every heartbeat.

She didn’t wait. She tilted her head and kissed him.

The contact was soft, at first. A brush. A test. But it ignited something in both of them. His mouth claimed hers with growing hunger, his grip tightening around her wrists as he pinned her arms above her head. There was strength in the hold—real, unrelenting strength—and she felt it everywhere.

She pulled against it once and found herself locked in place.

It thrilled her.

The kiss deepened. His tongue stroked hers, coaxing, then demanding, until her thoughts scattered into a million fractals.

He shifted, and suddenly his thigh was between hers, pushing up through the fall of her skirts.

A shocked sound escaped her throat—low, needy—and he swallowed it with another kiss.

The pressure was maddening, just shy of enough, and she arched into it without shame.

The kiss shifted, the heat between them building with the unspoken certainty that this had been coming for some time. The tension, the glances, the fights, the ridiculous masquerade—everything had led here.

“Charlotte,” he murmured against her skin. Her name, low and wrecked, was like a prayer pulled from his chest.

She gasped when his lips dragged down her neck. He licked a path along her collarbone, then bit gently just above the swell of her stays. Her hips lifted in response, chasing him. Wanting more.

One of his hands slipped down, trailing over the curve of her waist, then her thigh, until it found the hem of her gown. He paused, just a breath of hesitation—then slid his hand beneath it, fingers climbing with maddening patience.

Up, over silk stockings. Bare skin. Higher.

She shivered, caught somewhere between surrender and demand. He reached the garter and kept going.

No one had ever touched her like this. No one had ever dared.

And God help her, she didn’t want him to stop.

Charlotte tugged his shirt free of his breeches, fingers desperate now and greedy for skin. His warmth hit her palms as she pushed the linen aside and dragged her hands beneath the armor, and over the firm planes of his back. He groaned when her nails scraped lightly down his spine.

“You’ll mark me,” he chuckled breathily against her mouth.

“Good,” she whispered. “Then you’ll remember who did this to you.”

His hand slid down, curling around her bottom, pulling her flush against him. The heat of him, thick and hard beneath his breeches, pressed perfectly between her thighs. It made her gasp in pleasure.

The barrier of armor was unbearable. But the barrier of that fabric was utterly tantalizing .

Her skirts had ridden high, exposing her thigh to the coarse rug. She reached between them and hiked the gown higher still, baring herself. Now, there was nothing between them but his breeches. She rocked up into him, craving friction. Craving him.

Seth gritted his teeth. “If I don't stop now, I won’t...”

“Then don’t,” she breathed. “I don’t want you to. A useful fiction , you said.”

But instead of surrendering to it, he shifted, drawing his hips back. She could almost cry out in frustration. The absence was brutal. She barely had time to register the disappointment before he drew back slightly, just enough to slide his hand between them.

His fingers delved between her thighs. She cried out before she could stop herself. He stroked her slowly at first, then circled and pressed, teasing until her hips bucked and her breath came in harsh gasps.

“You’re soaked for me,” he murmured against her ear. “Devil, I could spend hours here.”

She whimpered. His fingers moved faster, firmer, stroking over that aching point of pleasure with unerring precision. She clung to him, panting, her nails digging deeper into his back as tension coiled hard and fast in her belly.

One stroke. Then another.

His mouth found hers again, kissed her until her thoughts dissolved, then traveled lower—across her throat, her shoulder, the sensitive curve just beneath her ear.

He set her ablaze with every touch, each change of pace pushing her higher and higher.

She gasped his name, over and over, her body writhing beneath him, desperate for release.

“I want to hear you,” he growled heavily. “ All of it . Don’t be quiet for me.”

She wasn’t. Couldn’t be. Every touch made her breath hitch, made her hips chase his hand. Then everything snapped. The edge came fast—too fast—and she shattered around him, clinging to his shoulders in a state of agonizing bliss, crying his name against his throat.

She trembled beneath him. Her breath came in gasps. Her limbs felt heavy, boneless, like she’d been undone from the inside out.

He rested his forehead against her collarbone for a moment, his chest rising and falling against hers. Neither of them spoke.

There was no need.

When she could finally move, she ran her fingers through his damp hair, then touched her own cheeks, feeling the heat blooming there.

Slowly, reluctantly, she shifted beneath him and reached for her skirts, smoothing the crumpled silk with shaking hands.

Her stays were skewed. Her bodice twisted.

There was no disguising what had happened between them—least of all from themselves.

Seth stood and straightened his clothes, too, though his shirt still hung loose, half untucked. He raked a hand through his hair, not bothering to neaten it.

He looked entirely unrepentant.

And entirely dashing.

Charlotte rose a moment later, legs still unsteady. She pulled her skirts down and tried to compose herself. It was a lost cause. Especially when she glanced at him and caught the way he was looking at her.

Finally, she gathered the courage to murmur, “With… with my limited knowledge, I am conscious that what I have just experienced should be reciprocated. I am not aware of having done anything for you.”

Seth grinned, taking her hand and kissing it.

“Don’t you worry, there shall be plenty of time for that.”

Charlotte laughed softly, her voice still husky with the remnants of her pleasure. He watched her closely—her mussed hair, her flushed skin, the little satisfied curve tugging at her lips—and felt something deeper settle low in his chest.

Not lust.

That was still very much alive, yes, but it was more than that.

She’d undone him with nothing more than a touch, a look, and a breathless moan. And she hadn’t even realized it. He was hard, aching, and unspent—but oddly, he didn’t mind. Not yet. The real satisfaction came from the way she peeked at him beneath her lashes like an errant goddess.

Yes. There would be time.

“You are very confident,” she giggled.

“I saw the look in your eyes, just then. Yes, I am confident.”

“Then I should take care. I do not think it sensible to be too easy a...”

“ Conquest ?”

“Hardly. I do not believe I will ever allow myself to be so.”

“No, you are right. Perhaps it is I who is the conquest this time. I was trying to drive you away, after all,” he reminded.

“Amelia. You were trying to drive Amelia away,” she corrected softly.

Seth stepped closer, stealing a quick kiss and rewarded with a pleased intake of breath that left a blooming smile in its wake.

“We should be careful what we say. Walls have ears, and it would not do for your identity to become public,” he whispered conspiratorially.

“Whyever not?”

She put her arms about his neck with a sense of proprietorship. She toyed with the hair at the back of his head, curling it through her fingers.

“Because I am committed to marry Amelia Nightingale, and until I can prove that she does not wish to marry me, any liaison with you would be classed as adultery,” he explained.

“And Monkton would take the smallest opportunity to strip me of my inheritance, lands, and even title, and give it to his chosen heir.”

Charlotte frowned. She seemed to be studying his face, and he reveled in the scrutiny. It made him feel that she was interested in or even mesmerized by him, wanting to take in every line and mark.

“So, we must continue to present the world with the illusion of a courting couple…” she put in slowly.

“We must. No, wait a moment, I will not put it in such terms,” he swiftly amended.

I must be completely honest with her. She will not be pushed or manipulated, and I would not do either to her. She must be won over.

“Then what are your preferred terms?” She curled a brow.

“Until Amelia provides proof that she does not wish to marry me and it satisfies Monkton, I must appear to be on the path to marriage. And the world must believe that it is to Amelia.”

She moved closer, lips inches from his. Her nose rubbed against his, and her eyes closed.

“You ask me to continue pretending to be in love with you, ready to marry you. I imagine that to carry off such a facade, there will need to be much contact between us,” she said in a husky whisper.

“ Much ,” he agreed, gliding his hands down to her hips.

“I will need to be in your company continuously.”

“ Continuously .”

“There will need to be holding of hands.”

“I suppose.”

“Kissing?”

“ Mandatory .”

“Touching...”

There was a catch in her voice as she said this.

“A lot of touching,” he chuckled lowly.

Her lips brushed his so softly it was as though he had imagined it. He pushed for a longer kiss, and she grazed his lips with her fingertip instead. His mouth promptly enclosed it. He sucked it, and she giggled.

“It is an arduous assignment, but I will undertake it. For Amelia’s sake,” she emphasized.

She removed her finger from his mouth and kissed him thoroughly. When they broke apart, both breathless, he grinned.

“I admire your self-sacrifice, milady.”

She put her forehead to his, arms going about him and holding tightly. “We should make our appearance, Sir Knight. The Regent may be expecting to see us.”

They left the room and began making their way back through the palace towards the sounds of revelry and merry-making.

“I take it you have attempted to contact your sister since you and she began your little game,” he began.

“I have, and received no reply. If you take my meaning, I have now considered writing to my Aunt and Uncle Nightingale as her, seeking news of myself... of Charlotte. They may tell me where my ultimate destination lies if she has indeed moved on from Scarborough. Well, Amelia’s…”

She trailed off and looked at Seth. He appeared as confused as she herself was.

“I think I follow,” he laughed.

“That is well. Could you explain it to me?” she asked.

His laugh deepened. His hand found hers, fingers intertwining. He supposed that anyone who saw them would take them to be young lovers. Controversial to be unaccompanied, but not so much in this place, given who its royal master was.

Rounding a corner, they found themselves looking out through a colonnade onto a quadrangle of neat grass. Targets had been set up at one end, and gentlemen lined up with longbows. It was an anachronistic sight for the nineteenth century.

“Ah, our missing Duke makes an appearance. I hope you are not spent, Bellmonte. There is an afternoon of sport ahead of you!” called out a man dressed in an ornate military uniform. His large nose and haughty disposition contrasted sharply with his loud, bombastic voice.

Seth bowed to him.

“Your Royal Highness. Forgive me, this is my first time here at Hampton Court, and I found it quite the labyrinth.”

“You became lost, did you?” the Regent bellowed, approaching. “I can see what you were lost in… a pretty pair of eyes, eh?”

Charlotte dropped into a curtsy, seeming somewhat awkward as the Regent directed a ribald grin at her.

A woman had followed him. She had curling dark hair that was shorter than Charlotte’s.

Her dress revealed milk-white shoulders and a full bosom, barely decent in its degree of exposure.

She was grinning broadly at the Regent’s comments.

“May I introduce the Marchioness Conyngham,” the Regent started.

“Elizabeth, please,” the Marchioness smiled, “we are all friends here. I have so looked forward to meeting you, Lady Nightingale. While the men enjoy their games, I must make use of your expertise in matters of etiquette.”

Charlotte nodded gracefully and glanced at Seth. Her eyes spoke of panic, and he wondered if she did not share her sister’s expertise.

“Excellent. The ladies can talk of etiquette while we men enjoy some sport. Come along, Bellmonte,” the Regent ushered, turning away, “I should like to see your skill with a bow. I’ve heard it’s unparalleled. It is a lost art indeed, but one I value immensely.”

Elizabeth had also turned away, clearly expecting Charlotte to follow. She walked towards the collection of chairs and tables where the women were gathered.