To Seduce a Stranger

Soft morning light filled the earl’s bedchamber, bringing with it birdsong and the first stirrings of wakefulness. Clinging to sleep, Charlotte burrowed deeper under the covers, closer to Edward. He pulled her into his arms with a drowsy murmur, and she rested one cheek against his chest. When his hand began inscribing lazy circles on her back, a sigh escaped her lips. As the hand slid lower, its touch grew more focused, and the lingering desire for sleep gave way to the desire for something else entirely.

“Bonjour, madame. Fancy finding you in my bed.” With a low laugh, he hitched her higher against his hard body. She lifted her lips to his face, and—

“Mama! Jamie won’t let me play with Nana’s soldiers.”

Reluctantly, Charlotte shifted back into a sitting position, half propped against Edward, and faced their younger son. “Kit,” she admonished. “I’ve told you a dozen times that you boys must work it out between yourselves.” The basketful of toy soldiers, found and preserved so many years ago by Edward’s mother—who had been happy to give up her renewed claim to the title of Countess of Beckley in favor of Charlotte’s assumption of it, and now much preferred her new title of Nana—had long been a source of conflict between the boys. But she hadn’t the heart to punish them for it.

“And did he give a reason?” asked Edward, scrubbing the dark stubble on his jaw and mustering a yawn Charlotte knew must be false. Positioned as she was, she could tell very well he was wide-awake.

“He says I’m too old,” Kit sobbed.

Edward cast off all pretense of drowsiness. “He said what?”

“Now, now,” she began, recognizing the reason for her husband’s sharp reaction and trying to soothe both of them at once.

But Edward spoke first, and his voice was gentle. “Too old, eh? Well, you might remind him about that battle I saw him waging with Grandpapa just yesterday.”

The boy pushed his unruly mop of dark curls out of his damp eyes. “Really?”

“Really,” his father confirmed. “Now, back to the nursery with you.”

“Aww . . . Can’t I climb in bed with you?”

Tilting her head in what she hoped was a show of sternness, Charlotte pointed toward the door. “You heard your papa.” With a huff and a scowl that made her want to gather the boy into her arms, Kit turned to go. “Oh, and Kit?” she added. “You’ll never be too old for those soldiers. But Letty is still too young. Make sure to keep them out of your sister’s hands, or they’ll find their way into her mouth.”

“Yes, Mama.”

When the door closed behind him, Edward wrapped his arms around her. “Now, my dear. Where were we?” His kisses down her neck and along the top of her shoulder worked their magic, as they always had, but as if unsatisfied with mere magic, he shifted away from the head of the bed, allowing her body to slide down into the mountain of pillows as he transferred his kisses to her lips, her jaw, the turn of her throat. Lower . . . lower. Her breast, the curve of her waist, her—

“Ow!”

Tail fluffed and eyes bright, Noir prepared to pounce on her feet once more. Beyond the end of the bed, she could see that the heavy oak door had been pushed open just enough to allow the cat to slip into the room. Kit must not have closed it tightly behind him.

“Ignore him,” Edward advised, sliding lower still, until he was entirely lost beneath the blankets and quilts which he insisted were necessary in all but the warmest months—for he was still inclined to find England a bit chilly, even after all these years.

“Really, though . . . Noir and Kit have the right of it. I should get up. I’ve a million things to do. The Corrvans will be here this afternoon, and . . . oh, I do hope Thomasina has outgrown that terrible phase she was in at Christmas. I don’t think Noir ever forgave her for that tug on his tail.”

Studiously ignoring her, Edward traced one fingertip along the curve of her belly, then followed its movements with his lips.

“And Lord and Lady Fairfax, and their children . . . Oh, why did I ever think an Easter house party was a good idea? I haven’t had a moment to look at those illustrations Jack sent for my latest book of stories . . .”

“Charlotte.”

She glanced down at him. “Oui?”

“That’s more like it.” When he began idly stroking the soft skin of her inner thigh she forgot to mind the cat nipping at her curling toes. And when his kisses followed his fingers, she forgot everything else. Until—

“Milady?”

Peg Eakins’s head poked around the edge of the door that Noir had opened. Startled, Charlotte shuffled more upright, propping herself against the bolster. But Edward did not follow suit. He stayed nestled between her spread legs. The shadows cast by the bed hangings and the mountain of coverings on the enormous bed perfectly hid him from Peg’s view.

“Sorry, ma’am. But the door was open. Nurse sent me to look for the boys,” she explained. Though she had never quite got the knack of knocking, she had turned out to be a fine housemaid in all other respects.

“Ah. Well, they’re not here, I’m afraid. Kit popped in a moment ago, but he’s gone again.”

“All right, then.” Just as Peg turned to go, Edward’s fingers struck a ticklish spot, and Charlotte could not contain a giggle. Peg’s head twisted around. “Was there something else you wanted, milady?”

Charlotte managed a quick shake of her head.

“Oh,” said Peg. Struck by some recollection, she paused on the threshold. “Would you happen to know where Lord Beckley is, ma’am?”

“I—ah—”

“Because Mr. Markham’s below. Said he hoped t’ meet with his lordship before his comp’ny arrived. Somethin’ about the wheat field on the Westons’ farm.”

Naming Matthew Markham as steward of Ravenswood had been one of Edward’s first official acts as Earl of Beckley. She had never doubted it was the right decision. But right now, the state of crops was the last thing on her mind. “I will—ah—let him know, when I see him. First thing.”

Peg tilted her head to one side. “You feelin’ yourself, ma’am? You look a bit flushed.”

“Oh. I’m fine. Just . . . oh. A bit tired, yet, I suppose. Perhaps I’ll close my eyes for a moment more.”

“As you wish, ma’am.” She hesitated. “But you should know Mrs. Markham came along wit’ her husband. Went right into the kitchen and made herself t’ home.” The Rookery had long since been repaired to accommodate the Markhams’ little family, which more than occupied Mari’s time—whatever was not taken up by her duties as midwife to the rapidly growing village, that is. But none of those changes had altered her sense of possessiveness where Ravenswood’s kitchen was concerned. “You know how Cook feels about—”

“I’ll take care of it, Peg. Momentarily.” She could not keep the note of impatience from her voice—or perhaps it was just the familiar tension Edward’s caresses were building in every part of her body.

“Very good, milady.” With a curtsy, she slipped out the door, and this time, Charlotte waited until she heard the click of the latch.

“Edward Cary,” she gasped, twitching the covers away, “just what do you think you’re doing?”

He looked up at her with those summery blue eyes and a wicked grin. “If you don’t know, we haven’t done it often enough.”

“After four children, I think I have some idea of how it works.”

Her words seemed to take a moment to penetrate. Suddenly scrambling free of the coverings, he rose up until they were face-to-face. “Charlotte?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you say . . . four children?”

“I did.” At his wide-eyed expression, she laughed. “Come, come, my lord. I have heard Mr. Markham claim that he’s never known a man so skilled at tallying figures in his head.”

When she held up four fingers and waggled them, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to each one in turn. “Four. Well. If we’re going to have another mouth to feed, perhaps I’d best go meet with Markham about that wheat field right away,” he teased. “No time to waste.”

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she wriggled her hips until their bodies were perfectly aligned and pulled him closer.

“Maybe a little time,” he murmured, lowering his mouth to hers. “But first, I’m going to lock that door.”