A Properly Conducted Sham (Most Imprudent Matches #5)

Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

BENNET HALL, SURREY - JULY 24, 1816

LEE

She was trying to kill me with the damn gowns. Why had I thought it was a good idea to have a modiste brought in from London? The woman was clearly well versed in torture.

Charlotte fussed over her barely existent belly for weeks before the curve was obvious. What was obvious was her bosom. Every morning it was more magnificent than the last.

It was entirely possible that I was merely so desperate for the sight of a woman’s curves that my mind was running away from me. But this gown… another of her favored golden, buttery silks, plunged low on her breasts for the sole purpose of sending me to the asylum.

My wife sat primly across from me at the supper table as usual. Her nausea entirely dissipated, she dipped her spoon into the white soup with more frequency and enthusiasm than in weeks passed.

Much as it thrilled me to see her eating more, I would miss the peppermints. The first few weeks, she had asked for them politely. By the third week of marriage, she merely held out an expectant hand, waiting for me to deposit one or two. It was nice. Intimate. I still carried more than usual each day, just in case.

“How is the cloud cover tonight? Do we have any hopes of a Uranus sighting?”

And then there was that. The interest she had taken in my hobby. It was likely feigned, I knew that. I couldn't help but love it anyway. She had taken to listening to me babble with a bemused smile—my absolute favorite expression. It was accompanied by the littlest roll of the eyes before one side of her lips quirked up in an indulgent curl.

“Doubtful, I’m afraid. It’s muggy out. I expect we’ll get rain later. Though I’m beginning to suspect it is my scope and not the weather preventing us from finding her. I will probably need to upgrade my equipment if we’re to have any hope.”

“But you said it should be low on the horizon. Perhaps it’s the terrain?”

She was acting, I knew. Truly I did. But she was so skilled I could almost believe she was interested.

“Shall I purchase another estate then?”

“Oh, certainly. Though perhaps you should wait until you receive the bill from the modiste.” It was not the first time she’d delicately hinted at the coming expense. I couldn’t see how she could bankrupt me with the bit of frippery she wore tonight—there was hardly enough fabric for that—but I did wonder who left her so concerned over funds. Whether it was her late husband or her father’s doing was anyone’s guess. If forced to put money on it, I would have leaned toward her father. Her behavior spoke of old habits, older than her first marriage.

“Worth every shilling.”

Her answering laugh was bright and bold, and I caught my lip between my teeth to keep from grinning like a fool.

“Do you have need of me in the observatory tonight?”

She had proved a quick hand with the sketchbook, conquering in half the time what took me hours to accomplish, and with twice the detail I could have managed.

I shook my head. “I closed everything up before supper.” With a nod, she turned back to her plate. The expression that crossed her face was a mystery to me, her brow furrowed just the tiniest bit. “How is the harp coming along?”

That brought a return to the mirth. She grinned, shaking her head simultaneously. “Precisely as poorly as the last time you asked. I thought my experience with the piano would be of more use than it has been.”

“When will you allow me the privilege of hearing you play?”

“Never.” She laughed.

“I’m certain you’re quite good. You simply expect too much of yourself. Perfection in all things.”

“Hardly.”

“You do.” I nudged her knee with my own.

The first time had been an accident. But she hadn’t shuddered away, hadn’t dressed me down. Now, at least once a meal, I brushed my knee with hers. But only once a meal—I limited the intimate gesture lest it become noticeable. Occasionally, if I was very lucky, her knee brushed mine. Those were my favorites.

Her teeth caught her lower lip, her eyes meeting mine. “I have been up to something while you’ve been visiting tenants and fussing with your mirrors—vain man that you are. Would you like to see?”

“Yes.” The answer escaped automatically and a little more desperately than I would have preferred. Her teeth dug just a little harder into her lip before her eyes dropped from mine. “When?”

“After supper?” Her knee accidentally knocked into mine before darting away almost immediately. My stomach flipped as I fought back the instinct to chase it with my own.

If I began shoveling the chicken into my maw a bit faster than before, who was to comment?

“Where are we going?”

After the food was cleared, she sidled up to me and slipped her arm in mine without a word.

“It’s a surprise.” She led me down the hall toward the staircase. At the base, she hesitated. She pulled her hand away, and my heart gave a disgruntled jolt.

Then, with no warning, her little hand dipped into the pocket of my waistcoat. Several heartbeats were forgotten as she rustled around before her hand emerged grasping a peppermint. She unwrapped it and popped it into her mouth with a self-satisfied grin before depositing the wrapper back into my pocket.

My swallow was ragged and likely accompanied by a desperate sound I couldn’t hear over the rushing in my ears. She settled back at my side and resumed leading me up the steps, my knees wobbly.

“Thank you,” she whispered in a falsely demure tone. My wife was pleased with that little display.

“You—” my voice cracked pathetically and I cleared it desperately. “You’re welcome.”

At the top of the steps, she turned down the family wing, toward our chambers. The door to my bedroom was framed at the end of the long hall, making its presence felt.

Had she decided to continue the torture here? My breeches tightened uncomfortably at the thoughts of what we could do behind that door. What we could do if I were a different man, anyway.

Instead, while my thoughts had taken a lascivious turn, Charlotte stopped us a few rooms away, outside the room designated as a nursery.

Oh, I was a letch, brimming with lusty thoughts when she had done something for the babe.

She broke away from me and turned the handle before seeming to consider otherwise.

“Cover your eyes.” Catching one of my arms in her hand, she guided it up to press against my eyelids. The other joined of its own volition with a laugh.

“Really?”

“Yes! Can you see? No peeking.”

I pressed my palms to my lids more thoroughly, just to be sure. “I can see my palms.”

A hot hand found my shoulder and I caught the grind of metal as she turned the handle. The door brushed against the floor inside with a swish. She pulled me into the room. A scent lingered in the air but I couldn’t name it. It wasn’t unpleasant, just… present.

“Can I open my eyes?”

Objectively, I knew I couldn’t hear an eye roll, but I heard one out of her. Still, she granted me a, “Yes.”

And so I did.

Charlotte

What was I doing? This was a horrid idea.

I’d made mistakes, a lot of them, but I learned from every single one. Yet my damn husband had lulled me into complacency.

Now that I had brought him in here, I knew this would be the moment he revealed himself to be exactly like all the others.

And like the fool I was proving myself to be, when he asked to open his eyes, I said yes.

I fought desperately to steel myself against what was sure to be derision at best, fury at worst.

Lee’s gaze instantly found the mural. I could not bring myself to look away from his expression, entirely unreadable.

Objectively, I was pleased with my work—both design and execution. I had taken the grounds of the estate—the wooded area, the garden, the lake—and transposed them onto the wall. Above it all was the night sky. I had written a copy of his notes from that first night, and everything was placed more or less correctly. The constellations, the stars, Jupiter, and the other planets all had a home on the wall and up the angled ceiling on the inky blue sky of my mural. I had added a few clouds where his notes were unclear and hoped he would not notice.

Now that I was left to observe his struck face, I realized precisely how difficult this would be to correct. The midnight sky would require innumerable coats to cover.

Why had I not asked?

It felt an eternity while he stared at my wall, though it was more likely a minute, perhaps two. He stepped quietly up to the plaster without a word. His large, masculine hand brushed over Virgo and Jupiter. His touch was gentle, the barest whisper of his middle and ring fingers.

I only noticed that I had begun gnawing on my lip when my mouth flooded with the tang of copper. The urge to fidget warred with my well-rehearsed manners.

“When?” He asked without turning from the wall. His tone was unlike any I’d heard from him before, thick and tangled in his throat.

“The last few weeks.”

“How?”

“I used your notes.”

“Late June?”

I merely nodded, and when presented with no auditory answer, he turned to me. If I had to name his expression, I probably would have said incredulous, but there was an undercurrent.

And then he went and said precisely the thing I most needed to hear at precisely the right moment. “This is incredible.”

The knot in my chest loosened and the smile came forth without guile or guise. “You are not displeased?”

“Why on earth would I be displeased? This is astonishing.”

Relaying my history with murals was beyond my capabilities at the moment, not when his grin was boyish and charming and he looked so damn impressed.

“Did I get it right? I can make corrections.”

“Perfect.” This time he made no effort to turn his gaze to the wall. In fact, his eyes never left mine. They were a cloudy, stormy blue gray tonight, the color belying the carefree delight in the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and the quirked side of his mouth.

And then, just like that night in the observatory, his eyes dropped to my lips before flicking back up to meet mine. The knot in his throat bobbed and my lips parted involuntarily in answer.

“Charlotte?” The question—my name—escaped in a graveled whisper.

My body knew the answer, even though my head did not and my “yes” was higher, more tensile than any syllable I’d ever uttered.

It was enough for him though.

His massive hand, the one that had traced my painting, found my jaw with less delicacy. Less delicacy but more passion, infinitely more passion. He cupped my cheek, jaw, the back of my neck, his hand spanning all of it with ease, pinning me in place. And then he descended from his great height towering over me and his lips found mine.

The comforting scent of peppermint was entirely at odds with the thoroughly overwhelming experience of being kissed by this man. His hand directed me to the angle he liked, and his other arm wrapped all the way around my back, catching my hip, dragging me onto my toes. Soft lips threatened to consume me. Lee kissed like he was drowning and I was air. He kissed like he was desperate for me.

Fighting to regain some sort of stability, I caught his cheeks in my hands. Bristles caught against one hand as the other caressed the strangely smooth, rippled flesh of his scarred cheek. He tensed when my thumb brushed the tangled skin there, freezing for precisely as long as it took to drag my tongue along impossibly smooth lips. And then he was breathing me in again.

I dropped back down to the floor on flat feet, and his lips chased mine. He took everything, gave everything, and I never, ever wanted to stop kissing him.

His hands were restless, flitting from shoulder to hip to thigh, back to shoulder. The other fisted in my hair before finding my cheek again and repeating the cycle. When one dragged higher up to my ribcage and hovered just shy of my breast, I stifled a smile—a man like any other. Somehow, on him, the desire was endearing rather than lecherous.

He poured delicious groans into my lips with every breath and at some point, my own moans had joined in the chorus.

I wrested my lips away from his—only a desperation for air could have forced the action. Lee felt no such need, dropping to kiss my jaw with nothing but a pleased hum.

“Lee—” Words escaped me when he found the particularly sensitive divot where my jaw and neck met.

His only response was a vaguely interested “Hmm?”

“Bed.”

He broke away slowly, his eyes finding mine as he breathed heavily. I was gasping in great lungfuls as well, my chest rising and falling in time with his. What, precisely, he was looking for, I had no idea, but I realized that for the first time I needed a man to take me to bed. I thought I had wanted Wesley, but not one of his kisses had felt like this .

Lee’s lips, tongue, teeth, hands all left me tangled in an intoxicating combination of tetchy and sluggish with pleasure. I needed to know what else he could do to me.

Apparently, he found whatever he was looking for, because he replied with a simple, “All right.”