Eight Hunting Lyons (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

Chapter Sixteen

Riding in a Shared Coach

Meanwhile, in the Sinclair coach, a few miles from Havenhurst

S itting in the blue velvet squabs of the seat facing the direction of travel, Amy Sinclair wished she had moved all the way to one side to allow room for the captain to sit next to her.

Instead, Charles Audley had dutifully taken a seat in the opposite bench, struggling with his cane and lame leg to get his body turned around in the cramped coach. At least that bench was deeper—her father had ordered it be made that way to accommodate his longer legs. Once he was in it, Captain Audley seemed comfortable.

Now, as they made small talk about the funeral and those in attendance, she found her mind replaying what she had done to the captain that one night in the field hospital. For the entire day, Captain Audley had acted as if he didn’t remember the intimate act, and now she wondered if he didn’t. Or, if he did, she wondered if he thought it was merely a dream.

So, when he said, “I want to thank you again for what you did for me. When I was in so much pain,” Amy blinked.

Saying something like, “you’re welcome” seemed inadequate. “I’ve never done anything like that before,” she replied, glad for the dim light and the opportunity to explain herself. She hadn’t opened the curtains on the coach windows, preferring the semi-darkness for a conversation such as this. “Tell me. Did you think me fast? Or…or think of me as a harl—”

“I have only ever thought of you as an angel,” he interrupted. “You arrived at the very moment I thought I would be better off dead.”

Giving a start at hearing his claim, Amy stared at him. “Surely, you wouldn’t have—”

“Committed suicide?” he finished for her. He shook his head. “No. But I do think if I had simply given up, I would have died that night. I owe you my life, my lady.”

She inhaled softly. “Hardly,” she whispered. “Oh, if only mother had never followed the drum.”

“What do you mean?”

“She told the matchmaker that I was ruined.”

Charles’s eyes rounded. “ She knows what you did?”

Amy quickly shook her head. “No. I told no one about that night,” she claimed. “But she seems to think someone took my virtue.”

Charles asked, “ Has someone?”

“Oh, no,” she replied as she quickly shook her head. “Of course not. Everyone knew I was under my father’s protection. They wouldn’t have dared to try anything with me.”

Charles nodded his understanding. “And now that he’s unable to provide it?”

Amy dipped her head. “I was hoping… well, I overheard what Major Culkins said to you. About providing protection for me. For this trip.”

Giving his head a shake, Charles swallowed. “Of course, I agreed. But now who will protect you from me?”

Amy inhaled sharply. “You?” she whispered.

“I’ve wanted nothing more than to do for you what you did for me,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “To make you feel that same euphoria. I know you’re an innocent, Miss Sinclair—”

“Call me Amy, please.”

“I knew it that night,” he claimed, barely acknowledging her comment. “But that doesn’t stop me from wanting to do my worst with you. I’ve imagined entire nights with you in my bed. Atop me, under me—”

He was prevented from saying more when her lips were suddenly on his, an urgent kiss sending his head backward and onto the soft velvet and his cock thickening behind the placket of his breeches.

There was a moment while the two struggled to position their lips in exactly the right spot. While they struggled to breathe and determine where best to place their hands. But once they had settled into the rhythm of the kiss, they both moaned in unison. Their tongues tangled and then tentative, as they explored one another’s teeth and tongue.

Why had he not done this before?

Kissing certainly wasn’t like sexual intercourse, but it was definitely more intimate. Pleasurable in a completely different way.

An awareness unlike anything he had ever experienced had him embracing Amy so close, he could feel her beating heart as if it were in his chest.

When she finally pulled away, mostly to take a breath, she said, “Tell me what to do.”

Charles stared at her a moment, disbelief evident in his eyes. His vision soon cleared, though, and he surveyed the area around him.

Amy was perched on the front edge of the bench, her body angled toward him. He lifted the hat from her head and tossed it onto the opposite bench, which sent several hairpins scattering about as her glorious golden curls bounced around her head. He reached for the top closure of her redingote and undid it as Amy removed her gloves. She quickly unfastened the three remaining frogs and removed the coat.

Doffing his gloves, Charles reached down to the hem of her gown and lifted it and the several petticoats beneath it until his hand nearly reached her knee. Following his lead, Amy leaned down and caught the other side of the gown, pulling it up.

“Can you sit atop me? Astride?” Charles whispered.

Amy did so, inhaling softly as one of his hands slid up her bare thigh. She settled her bent knees into the velvet bench on either side of his thighs. She gasped again as his other hand slid up her other thigh until the fabric of her gown was bunched up between them.

Inhaling sharply when his hands moved to cup the globes of her bottom, Amy gazed at him. “Now what?”

“Put your hands on my shoulders,” Charles whispered as he held onto her bottom with one hand while he moved his other arm so his right hand was between her thighs, “and try to relax.” He skimmed his hand down her inner thigh as far as he could reach.

Amy let out a sound of surprise. Not only did her thighs seem to tremble at his touch, but her tender skin was almost scorching hot. His hand slid back up her thigh before moving to cup her mound. A single finger slid between her swollen folds, parting them so a flood of her ambrosia coated his hand.

She nearly cried out, and would have, but she was forced to inhale again when that finger touched something that set off a dart of pleasure he could feel slice through her body as she shivered.

Mewling at the sensation, Amy felt her breasts grow heavy, her nipples tighten. She wished she could remove her corset. Wished she could put a voice to her need, but every time she tried to speak, her breath caught on another dart of pleasure.

Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the sensation of Charles’s hand where it pressed against her quim. On how slick it was, wet with the evidence of her desire. On how it rubbed harder and harder, faster and faster, much as her hand had done when she had his manhood gripped in it.

The memory of when he had seized his movements and held his breath had her doing the same, for that moment of euphoria was upon her, bringing with it waves of pleasure and warmth and surcease.

She wasn’t sure she had said anything to make him slow his movements. Lessen the pressure of his hand on her most private place. Wrap one arm behind her waist to steady her against the front of his body. But as she gripped his shoulders to pull herself upright, she realized she had arched her back at some point. Thrown her head back when the pleasure became almost too much.

Slumping onto him as if she was a rag doll, her head ending up on the top of one of his shoulders, Amy sobbed quietly until her breathing evened and the darts of pleasure ceased their hold on her body.

For a time, the slight sway of the coach as it made its way toward London was the only sensation she could feel.

A kiss on her cheek had her giving a start. “Oh,” she managed, thinking she should get off of Charles. Set her skirts to rights. Return to her seat on the opposite bench.

“Shh,” she heard. “Relax. Sleep if you wish. I’ve got you.”

Amy inhaled slowly. Sleep? Every nerve ending on her entire body seemed to have come alive. How ever could she sleep? She could relax into his hold, though, and she did, marveling at how he held her, how the hand that had been betwixt her legs was now cradling her bottom while the other rested at the nape of her neck. She felt warm and protected.

“I hope I didn’t hurt you,” he whispered. “I think in my enthusiasm to see to your pleasure, I might have been rubbing you too hard.”

A giggle bubbled up as Amy hugged him closer. “I assure you, sir, there was…there was no pain,” she whispered before her tongue traced the whorl of his ear.

His slight hiss was accompanied by a sigh, and he tightened his hold on her. “Are you comfortable?”

“I think I must be,” she said as she moved her knees so they gripped his thighs. “Although I must look terribly wanton.”

He chuckled softly. “Even if you did, there’s no one to see,” he reminded her.

She hummed a sound of contentment. “Would you be more comfortable if I were to—?”

“Only if you stay right here, next to me,” he murmured. He helped steady her as she carefully moved to stand and shake out her skirts. He helped her with her redingote and then slid over to make room for her to sit next to him, angling his body so he could wrap an arm behind her back. Her head ended up in the small of his shoulder.

“Was it like that for you?” she asked after a moment. “Was the pleasure that…sharp? That intense?”

Charles kissed the top of her head. Although he couldn’t know for sure, he was fairly certain a woman’s orgasm was at least as pleasurable as that of a man’s. “It was,” he replied. “So intense, it made me sleep for an entire night.” He kissed her head again and inhaled the citrus and floral scent of her hair.

“How often…?”

“As often as you’re able, I suppose,” he replied, understanding her query almost immediately. He might have grinned at hearing her curiosity spoken aloud, but he didn’t want her discovering any more about sexual relations if it meant she’d be doing it with someone else, so he quickly sobered. “It does depend on your lover, of course. Not every man cares if his lady feels pleasure.”

She suddenly stiffened in his hold. “I suppose I’m thoroughly ruined now.”

Charles wrapped his other arm around her front. “You still have your virtue, so no, you are not thoroughly ruined,” he replied. He gave a start when he realized he wouldn’t be the one taking her virtue. He couldn’t expect to take her to wife. Not without a decent income and certainly not without a working leg. “Your betrothed will see to that, whether on your wedding night or before.”

Amy jerked in his hold. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance…?” She paused and allowed a sigh of disappointment.

“Any chance of what?”

“Will you ever marry?”

He shook his head. “I’m a cripple, Amy. I rather doubt the British Army is going to continue paying me now that the war is over. Besides, I’m certainly of no use to them any longer. Not in my condition.”

“Nonsense,” she replied, raising her head from his shoulder. “There’s probably a position at Whitehall. Father was due to take one there after the war,” she argued.

“He was a colonel. I’m only a captain,” Charles replied.

“I don’t care about your leg.” She inhaled softly and then added, “Well, I mean, I do, but I don’t care that you have to walk with a cane.”

“You say that now, but—”

“It makes you look rather distinguished,” she said.

“I’m not even sure I can…”

“What?” His delay in responding had her straightening on the bench. “Charles, tell me.”

He scoffed as color suffused his face. “I don’t even know if I can make love.”

It was Amy’s turn to scoff. “You just proved to me you could.”

“That wasn’t the same as sexual intercourse,” Charles said. He swallowed and didn’t know why he was arguing with her. He should be happy there was a woman who might consider him for marriage, and did feel affection for her. She seemed determined to convince him he was worthy.

He had a house, but no income.

“My mother is paying Mrs. Dove-Lyon a lot of money to see to a husband for me.”

“I was shocked to hear it from your mother earlier,” he said. “When are you expected…”

Tears collected in the corners of her eyes.

“We paid a call there yesterday morning,” she said. “Mother had obviously met with her before—”

“Yesterday?” he interrupted. “ I was there yesterday.”

A myriad of emotions seemed to cross Amy’s face before she turned her body to sit up straight. “I wasn’t aware you were a gambling man.” The sound of disappointment in her voice could not be missed.

“I’m not,” he replied. “I was there to collect an old debt. One owed to my father.”

Amy seemed to relax. “So you spoke with Mrs. Dove-Lyon?”

Charles paused before he finally nodded. “I did. I don’t understand why your mother would employ her as your matchmaker, though,” he said. “She’s only employed by women who are in want of a title, or who are…” He clamped his mouth shut when understanding dawned.

“Ruined,” Amy finished for him.

“Your mother thought you ruined.” He exhaled loudly. “Well, we both know that’s not true,” he stated. “Did you set Mrs. Dove-Lyon straight?”

“I tried. I… I think she believed me.” Amy paused, wondering if she should mention the note she’d had sent by way of the young boy. The one with Charles’s name on it. “Perhaps she’ll wish to meet with you. About me,” she finally added.

The pained expression Charles displayed then had her dipping her head, especially when she heard his response.

“My brother is the Earl of Leicester. In the short time I was on the Continent, he managed to run the earldom into debt from which there will not be an easy way out,” he explained. “Granted, some of it is due to the weather. Crop losses and such. But some of the debt is from gambling. At the Lyon’s Den, I discovered,” he explained. “Although I have some funds, I have no income, Amy. No means to support a wife and—”

“I come with a dowry,” she interrupted.

He shook his head. “Dowries aren’t meant to be lived on,” he argued. “They’re meant to see to your welfare—and those of the children—after your husband dies.”

Amy winced. “It’s a rather large dowry,” she whispered.

Charles grinned despite the seriousness of their discussion. He tipped his head back, prepared to knock it against the front wall of the coach several times, but he discovered the padding of the squabs extended well beyond his head. Turning in her direction, he gave her a wan grin. “Am I to understand that you would agree to be my wife if I were to ask for your hand?”

An impish grin appeared on Amy’s face even as tears rolled down her cheeks. “Probably.”

He chuckled before once again wrapping his arm around her shoulders to pull her close. “It sounds as if I need to pay a call on a certain matchmaker on the morrow,” he said with a sigh. “Make sure she hasn’t already arranged someone for you.”

“Oh, dear, I hope not.”

“Not even if she’s found you a prince? Or a duke?” he countered in a tease.

“Not even then,” she replied. “I want you.”

Charles inhaled softly and then leaned down to kiss her.

They might have continued to do so, but the coach slowed and stopped with a jerk.