Page 31 of Her Temporary Duke (Rakes and Roses #2)

Charlotte lifted her head to kiss him. It was long, deep, and wet.

That contact made his loins surge and sent waves of lust coursing through his veins.

With the pressure of his body against hers, Charlotte moaned against his mouth.

Then she whispered his name as he kissed her neck, bit, and sucked at the delicate, pale flesh.

“That will leave a bruise,” he told her presently.

“Good,” she breathed, then silenced him for several more moments with another kiss.

At some point, she managed to wriggle out from beneath him and rolled him onto his back. She leaped atop him, pinning his hands above his head before fastening upon his neck.

“I do not know how this is done, but I can guess,” she whispered breathlessly against his ear as she caught his skin between her teeth and drew in her breath.

Seth gasped involuntarily, letting her know she had done it right.

“Now we have marked each other. You belong to me, and I to you,” she purred sensually.

She sat back atop his loins, letting her legs spread and twisting her hips.

Her skirt and undergarments lay between his manhood and her most intimate part, as did his own breeches.

But it felt as though they were held apart by a flimsy film that could be torn aside with ease. Nothing more substantial than cobwebs.

Charlotte dragged her hands through her hair, throwing back her head and biting her lip as she moved.

Seth was speechless, lost in the sensations that she was drawing from him.

He took hold of her waist, controlling her movements, driving her onto the hardness that was reaching unbearable proportions.

“Who’s there!” came a rough voice from the darkness of the park.

A lantern appeared in the gloom, held aloft. A stocky figure, visible in the glow, was wearing a stovepipe hat and a long overcoat. A stout cudgel was belted to his waist.

“I can hear someone in the shadows over there. Come out where I can see you!”

Seth jolted up, thrusting a hand over Charlotte’s mouth.

“It is the Watch! Do you want to know what it’s like to be truly notorious? Try a night in the cells at Bow Street for disturbing the peace and lewd behavior…”

Charlotte’s eyes shot wide.

“Come on. We will make our escape in the shadows like footpads,” he whispered.

Together, they rose hand in hand and began to make their stealthy way along the wall. The lantern was lifted higher.

“I see you, the pair of you. Stand still for the Watch!”

“Run!” Seth hissed.

He broke into a sprint, Charlotte following, still clutching his hand.

The watchman pursued with heavy, booted footfalls.

The lantern bobbed behind them, growing smaller.

A gate appeared before them and they ran through, out onto Piccadilly where they wove between a pair of carriages, through a narrow road and onto Curzon Street.

“I know an excellent coffee shop that keeps late hours on Mount Street, not far from Grosvenor Square,” Seth said, panting.

“Prescott Estate is not far from there,” Charlotte noted.

“You wish to go home already?” he asked, taken aback.

They still held hands, walking past the impressive facade of Chesterfield House towards Hyde Park. The hue and cry from the watchman appeared to have been left behind. Charlotte was red-faced, and the fringe of her dark hair was matted by sweat. Seth swept his own sweat-darkened hair from his face.

“No, not particularly,” she eventually admitted.

“Coffee and cake, it is then,” Seth smirked, leading the way.

A few minutes later, they were shown to a window table at Hollister’s Coffee House on the western end of Mount Street, which had a view over the dark expanse of Hyde Park. Both had steaming mugs in front of them and a plate of cream cakes.

“I must say, I feel scandalously rebellious,” Charlotte said, grinning wholesomely. “Evicted from the Assembly Rooms, dancing under the stars, and pursued by a watchman—I shall never live it down.”

Seth shrugged. “A typical evening for me,”

She laughed, eyeing the desserts.

“I do love cakes, but they do not look as though they can be eaten neatly. I think I should ask for a fork.”

Seth scoffed. “One does not eat a cream bun with a fork.”

He picked up a particularly fat chunk of cake and bit into it, squirting cream and jam onto his fingers.

“In this part of London, I would say they do,” Charlotte replied, eyeing the mess he was making.

He grinned around his mouthful of pastry and cream.

She peeked around surreptitiously and then took his hand, sucking the cream from his fingers one by one.

Then she took up a cake of her own and took a big bite.

Sugar dusted her nose and lips from the confection.

Seth leaned over and kissed her face clean.

“I think we will get thrown out of another establishment soon if we keep this up,” Charlotte burst into quiet giggles.

Seth sat back with a rogue’s grin. “I would be insulted if we were not.”

She took another, neater bite, closing her eyes as she did so to savor the sweetness. The look of ecstasy on her face was intensely erotic. Seth watched her intently.

“Do you doubt me still?” he asked suddenly.

Charlotte opened her eyes, regarding him solemnly before slowly shaking her head around her mouthful.

Swallowing down her piece, she added, “There is something else that I should mention. When Tewkesbury and his solicitor met with me, they were almost frightened away by the presence of that red-headed man you said wrote for one of the scandal sheets. Why would they be so afraid of a gossipmonger?”

Seth finished his own cake in silence, considering. “Because… Tewkesbury must be trying his best to conserve his reputation,” he pieced together aloud. “Hmm. And what did the solicitor look like, incidentally?”

Charlotte described him, and Seth laughed bitterly.

“It is the funniest thing, but that sounds just like my father’s old solicitor, Tharpe Monkton.”

“Yes!” she answered back instantly, slamming her small palms on the table. “That was his name!”

Seth would have been lying if he claimed to be entirely surprised. In truth, he had begun suspecting something along those lines after the incident at Catesby’s and the former solicitor’s intent to run with an erroneous story told from a very hyper-specific perspective.

“So, it is Tewkesbury who is the heir to the Bellmonte estate. That… makes a strange sense.”

“What are we going to do?” Charlotte whispered, leaning in with gravity.

“I am beginning to think that waiting for a letter from your sister is a luxury we can no longer afford,” Seth ruminated aloud. “Perhaps we ought to take more precipitate action to get the proof we need. There are only three weeks left.”

“What do you suggest?”

“We find her ourselves.”