Page 67 of Rogue of My Heart

She frowned, but she walked towards him.

“I have no other woman. No mistress. As long as you are my wife, I will not. Come closer,” he said.

Again she moved, until finally she stood directly in front of him. He was eye level with her navel. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him. His cheek pressed to the soft skin of her belly. She smelled of roses and lavender. The plump parts of her bottom rested on his forearm.

He kneaded her bottom while he placed tiny kisses along the soft skin of her stomach. His tongue dipped into her navel and he swirled it around.

Her fingers thread through his hair. “Edmond,” she whispered.

Edmond. Not Jack. She knew who was touching her.

He fell to his knees and buried his nose in the apex of her thighs. He breathed in deeply, letting himself close his eyes and inhale her rich, musky scent. How had he thought he could resist her?

She sucked in a breath and then made a strange squeaking noise, but she made no move to walk away.

“Open your legs, sweetheart.”

She did as he bade, and he slid his thumb through her folds, finding her hot, slick, and wet. The scent of her arousal was an aphrodisiac to his senses. He dove in, sucking her little pearl of nerves straight into his mouth.

“Oh God,” she breathed. Her nails raked across his scalp and he growled into her sensitive flesh

He opened her up more to him, put one of her legs over her shoulder and he gripped her other ankle to stabilize her. From here he could lick all of her. He tongued at her opening, tasting her, teasing her.

She continued to release a myriad of nonsensical noises and words, punctuated with the occasional “Edmond” tossed in. He’d never tire of hearing her breathe or moan his name. Her fingers tightened in his hair, and he quit teasing. He wanted to taste her climax on his tongue, wanted her essence all over his face.

He licked up her seam, until he reached that little nub, and he swirled his tongue around it in slow circles. With his free hand, he slid one finger into her heated channel. Again she cried out some utterance of consonances. She rocked against his face and chanted “Yes, yes, yes.”

He curled that finger inside her to rub at the front of her inner walls, and he kept his rhythm. God, she tasted good. So sweet, so tangy, so damned perfect.

She moved as if she was trying to pull away, but he held her firm and a second later, she shattered. A fresh wave of wetness hit his tongue as she shook and quaked in his arms, all the while repeating his name over and over again.

When her climax subsided, he placed a single kiss above her mound, then rose to his feet. She met his gaze, her blue eyes darker with their blown pupils. She gave him a woozy smile.

“The next time you want me to see to your needs, let me know. Goodnight, Charlotte.” Then he turned and left the study.

He took the stairs to his bedchamber two at a time, and had barely closed the door before he ripped the front of his trousers open. His hand circled his hard, aching cock and he pulled up, twisting when he reached the tip. It wouldn’t take him long. He’d been on the damned edge just by having his mouth on her. He couldn’t lose himself inside her, not yet. Two more tugs and he released all over his cupped hand, whispering his wife’s name.

What the devil had just happened?

Shame, hot and embarrassing crept over her, surging through her body and replacing the euphoria she’d just experienced. He’d taken that away from her. Made her feel cheap and discarded. As if she was nothing more than a two-pence whore.

She quickly draped her dressing gown back on her body and tied it closed. Tightly.

That was not a seduction. That had been something tossed to her out of obligation. Or duty. Why had he even offered to marry her if he so obviously disliked her? How was it possible that she, Charlotte Reed, who had acquired a ridiculous number of proposals, had ended up married to the one man in London immune to her physical beauty?

She hated the tears that fell. Hated the way her body had reacted to him. Hated everything about her life in that moment.

And ask him the next time she had needs? That would never happen. She’d never ask him for anything. Ever. Again.

Twelve

“We must get started immediately,” Amelia said as Meg finally took her seat.

Willow set the newspaper down.

“It would seem that our Jack interrupted Lord Asterville’s poetry reading two nights ago,” Amelia said.

Charlotte looked up with a gasp. “We were there. Edmond and I.” Why she felt the need to add that, she didn’t understand. Perhaps it was still a bit strange that she was married. “Jack arrived shortly after the performance began.” How had she neglected to tell Amelia this very thing when she was here yesterday? She’d sought out her friend to seek martial advice, and it hadn’t even occurred to her that she’d seen the notorious thief the night before. Was she so preoccupied with her marriage and Edmond’s lack of interest that the longstanding investigation of Jack’s identity had simply slipped her mind?