Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
M atilda returned to the house, her mood unnervingly sour after leaving Lord Charteris and Lady Delphine alone, only to find that Charlotte had not asked for her at all and was currently not to be disturbed in her suite of rooms.
"Are you certain Charlotte's not asked for me?" Matilda questioned her friend's maid, amending her tone when it came out more clipped than was necessary. "I've just returned from my ride because Lady Delphine said Charlotte requested my assistance."
The maid frowned, a faint crease marring her otherwise smooth brow. "No, my lady. I'm sorry, but Lady Lacy has not left her room this morning, and I know for certain Lady Delphine has not seen her ladyship since last evening. I think there must be some kind of oversight."
"Of course. Thank you," Matilda replied with forced politeness, though her blood simmered beneath her calm exterior. Turning toward her room, she reminded herself that she needed to change out of her riding habit before anything else could be done about the lie Lady Delphine had spoken to her just a short time before.
Once inside, her maid helped her into a comfortable day dress of pale lavender muslin with delicate white trim at the cuffs and hem. The light fabric was soft against her skin, but it did little to soothe her irritation. Crossing to the window, she pulled back the sheer curtain and looked out onto the sprawling grounds of the D'Estel estate.
From her vantage point, she spotted Lord Charteris and Lady Delphine still some distance from the house. Their horses walked docilely beside each other, their heads low and steps unhurried, while the riders engaged in what appeared to be a congenial conversation.
A pang of jealousy and annoyance shot through her, sharp and unwelcome. To be called away from her ride for a summons that proved false was not the act of a lady. Such trickery spoke of a lack of decorum and breeding, a violation of the very etiquette they had all been raised to uphold.
Matilda narrowed her eyes, her gaze fixed on Lady Delphine. The woman was undeniably beautiful, her red hair a glossy cascade beneath her riding hat, her figure graceful atop her mount. She was as eligible as Matilda for any lord or gentleman with sufficient wealth to satisfy their ambitious fathers. Yet Matilda couldn’t shake the feeling that this was more than a simple misunderstanding.
Lady Delphine's intent seemed clear. She had her cap set on Lord Charteris and saw Matilda as an obstacle to be removed. The thought burned in Matilda’s chest, though she told herself it was the deception—not the man in question—that stung.
Turning abruptly from the window, Matilda left her room, her steps brisk as she headed downstairs to the billiards room. It was a place she could be sure no one else would frequent at this hour. The thought of striking a few balls around the table seemed an ideal way to channel her frustration without confronting Lady Delphine outright.
The faint scent of beeswax polish mingled inside the room with the earthy aroma of aged wood. Dust motes swirled in the sunlight streaming through the tall windows, their golden glow softening the dark green baize of the billiard table. Matilda selected a cue and began lining up multiple shots, telling herself her disrupted ride and love of the outdoors had soured her mood.
But she knew that wasn’t the truth.
She had been enjoying Lord Charteris's company more than she had expected. Their shaky start had given way to an unexpected camaraderie, and after two astonishing kisses, she found herself longing for more—not just of his kisses but of his presence and conversation.
She did not want him as a husband. No, of course, she did not.
Yet the idea of him marrying Lady Delphine grated on her. Not after such blatant trickery.
The door creaked open behind her, and she struck the ball harder than necessary, sending it clattering into the pocket. She turned to see the very man who occupied too much of her thoughts entering the room, his broad shoulders framed by the light spilling in from the hallway. He shut the door behind him and froze when he realized he was not alone.
Surprise flickered across his handsome features. He stood there for several heartbeats, his gaze dipping to her lips.
Without warning, a reckless impulse seized her, and she set down her cue stick and strode toward him. Without giving herself time to reconsider, she clasped his jaw, rose onto her tiptoes, and kissed him.
His response was immediate and all that she could hope for. He pulled her into his arms, his grip firm yet achingly gentle. The passion in his kiss stole her breath, scattering her senses like leaves in a tempest.
"Matilda…" Her name a plea against her lips, as he guided her back toward the billiard table.
Her bottom hit the edge, and before she could draw another breath, Christopher lifted her onto the table, settling himself between her legs.
She had never been in such a position before. No man had ever stood so boldly between her thighs, nor had she allowed anyone such liberties.
But she couldn’t summon the will to push him away. She didn’t want to.
At three and twenty, she knew this moment might be her only opportunity to experience such passion. If no man ever captured her heart and offered her marriage, then at least she would have this.
This one memory in his arms.
Her hands clutched his riding coat, pulling him closer. His scent—earthy leather mingled with the faint scent of their afternoon ride—enveloped her, heightening her senses.
"Christopher," she moaned as his warm, calloused hand slipped under her dress along her calf, lifting her knee against his hip. The roughness of his palm against her skin sent heat pooling deep within her core.
"You’re driving me to distraction." He vibrated with barely held restraint as he pressed against her. The friction stole her breath, obliterating all sense of propriety.
His other hand moved to her bodice, his fingers grazing the soft swell of her breast as he exposed her to his gaze. Heat flushed her cheeks, but she did not dare to stop him. When his mouth covered her nipple, the shock of the sensation left her gasping.
"Christopher." Her voice trembled with pleasure as he lavished upon her.
"You’re so damn beautiful." His words, a low growl that teased her flesh. His eyes met hers, the intensity in his gaze made her heart stutter. "I envy the man who wins your heart."
His words struck something deep within her, but she would only dwell on their meaning later. For now, she was lost in the feel of his hands and the fervent press of his lips.
When he finally pulled away, setting her gown to rights and helping her down from the table, she noted the faint marks of his stubble against her flushed skin. She would have to wear a fichu at dinner to avoid any awkward questions.
"I should not be kissing you or touching you so." He ran a hand through his hair, regret shadowing his eyes. "I ought to be horsewhipped for wanting you as I do."
"You’ve been honest with me, Christopher." Matilda slipped off the table and attempted to gain her wits. "I know you do not want marriage at this time. And I do not wish to marry a man who does not love me. But I also enjoy these interludes and hope they can continue while I remain at your parents’ estate."
"But they cannot." He sighed, clearly pained.
Matilda met his eyes and tipped up her chin in defense. She did not wish for him to feel guilty. They were only having a little fun together. No one would get hurt by their arrangement, least of all her. "Let me decide for myself when we've taken our interludes too far, my lord. Surely, you know by now that I am the last woman in England who wishes to be told what is best for her, both in love and life. I enjoy my freedom and how you make me feel when we kiss. An innocent kiss does not mean that I will demand marriage from you. I promise you that."
His lips twitched into a faint smile. "That I do know. But it doesn’t make this any less erroneous."
"And yet," she murmured, leaning up to press one last kiss to his lips, "never has it felt more right."