Chapter 14
Chapter
Fourteen
S everal hours later, Matilda stumbled into the carriage, her gown catching on the step. A loud tearing sound followed, and she winced. Her maid would undoubtedly be furious with her in the morning with whatever damage she had done to her attire.
Lord Charteris laughed, leaning down to help her gather the gown before he climbed into the carriage and settled across from her.
The sight of him blurred, possibly a result of far-too-many ales she had consumed. Matilda had discovered, much to her dismay, that the more she drank, the less offensive the brew tasted. Now, as the carriage lurched forward and they began the journey back to the ducal estate, regret settled heavily in her stomach alongside the liquor.
"Oh dear." She pressed a hand to her forehead. She would never survive the ride home if the carriage continued to spin around her.
Lord Charteris leaned toward the carriage door and slid the window open, allowing a cooling breeze to flow inside. The night air carried the scent of rain-soaked earth and the distant aroma of smoke from the village chimneys.
"Thank you." Matilda closed her eyes as the fresh air kissed her flushed cheeks. "I feel I may need this to survive the journey home."
"I thought as much," he replied. He turned to look out the window, a faint frown creasing his brow. "I shouldn’t have kept you out so late. I imagine there will be words exchanged when we return."
Matilda cringed at the thought of a scolding and hoped it wouldn’t come to that. The night had been so delightful, filled with laughter and a sense of freedom she rarely experienced. She didn’t want it marred by reproach.
"Well," she said with a small, lopsided smile, "we shall face such consequences when they come. I’m far too foxed to care what anyone might say."
His warm and rich laughter filled the carriage, making her heart flutter, and her stomach tighten. She’d been uncharacteristically tactile with him tonight, leaning on him, touching his arm, basking in his presence. She couldn’t help it—he was a safer haven in the bustling tavern than anyone else, yet she hadn’t been able to ignore the hardened muscles beneath his clothes or how his laughter seemed to vibrate through her.
He was a handsome man, and she could no longer deny how much she liked him.
Wanted him.
For herself…
Why couldn’t she make the man sitting across from her fall in love with her? He didn’t seem to mind her stepping outside the strictures of her sex or the rigid expectations of society. If anything, he seemed to admire her boldness, her unwillingness to let others clip her wings.
He had become one of her favorite people—outside Charlotte and Genevieve. How could she not fall for a man of such quality?
"That’s certainly true." He ran a hand through his disheveled hair. "And I must admit, I’m just as foxed as you are. At this point, I cannot bring myself to care about the setdowns we’re about to face."
The motion of his arm caught her attention, and her gaze lingered on the way his shirt stretched over the muscles of his forearm. Her breath hitched, and when their eyes met, the air in the carriage seemed to change—thicken with unspoken tension.
"You shouldn’t look at me like that, Lady Matilda," he warned, his voice low and rough. "You’ll make me act in an ungentlemanly-like manner, and then we’ll both regret it."
Her lips twitched into a teasing smile. "Sounds intriguing, my lord. Perhaps you could explain what this ungentlemanly-like behavior entails?"
He closed his eyes briefly, a soft groan escaping him. Then, wagging a finger before him, he replied, "Behave, my lady, for God knows I will not if you do not want me to."
She raised her brow, her skin prickling with awareness. "Who is to know if we misbehave in the carriage?" she countered, a mischievous fire simmering inside her. "You haven’t kissed me in days, and I find myself in need of such indulgences. What lady doesn’t enjoy such treats?"
"You want me to kiss you?" His brows lifted in mock surprise. "Here, in the carriage?"
"Why not?" She glanced around the dimly lit interior. "No one is here to see us. And besides, I’ve never kissed a man while foxed. It might be…enlightening."
"Unlikely." He chuckled, his tone edged with humor. "But I am more than happy to oblige a friend."
He moved to sit beside her, and Matilda wasted no time slipping her arms around his neck. She tilted her face up to his, her gaze softening as she drank in the details of his features—the sharp line of his jaw, the slight curve of his lips, the way his eyes darkened with intent.
"Then kiss me, friend ..." she murmured in a sultry whisper she hoped was alluring.
He closed the distance between them. His lips captured hers in a kiss that was both possessive and tender.
His arms encircled her waist, drawing her closer until her chest pressed firmly against his. The heat of his body, the strength in his embrace, and the rhythmic thrum of his heart sent a shiver of longing through her.
Matilda kissed him back, parting her lips to deepen the connection. His low moan vibrated against her, and the sound only spurred her on. Her hands tangled in his hair, her fingers threading through the damp curls as their kiss grew more fervent.
She wanted more—so much more.
Without thinking, she shifted, kneeling on the seat to straddle his lap. He made no move to stop her. Instead, his hands slid down her back, cupping her bottom to press her closer.
She gasped, breaking the kiss for only a moment before capturing his lips once again. Even through the voluminous fabric of her skirts, she could feel his arousal teasing her into a fever.
Her hips moved instinctively, rolling against him in a rhythm that made her dizzy with pleasure. The ache building within her was unlike anything she had ever felt—intense, consuming, and utterly irresistible.
"Matilda," he groaned, as his hands gripped her hips, guiding her movements. "I need to feel you."
She helped him push aside her gown, their hands fumbling in desperation. When the fabric no longer separated them, the warmth of his hands on her thighs sent a jolt of bliss through her.
The sensations grew sharper, more intoxicating with each roll of her hips and teasing of his hands. She was on the precipice of something incredible, something she had only ever experienced in the privacy of her room.
A wave of pleasure crashed over her, and she trembled in the aftermath, her breath coming in soft, ragged gasps. "Christopher," she moaned, her lips brushing against his as she murmured his name.
He shuddered beneath her, his grip tightening as he buried his face in her neck. "Matilda," he rasped, the words thick with emotion. "I’ve never… That is to say…" He trailed off, catching his breath before continuing. "That was very pleasant indeed."
She chuckled, running her fingers through his hair as she kissed his forehead. "Indeed," she echoed his response.
"I fear I’ll desire more carriage interludes now," he admitted, a wry smile tugging at his lips.
She grinned, leaning in to kiss him again—quick and sweet. "I fear I shall as well."