Chapter 6
By Robyn DeHart
“We’ll work something out? Is this what you meant? This is working it out?” Felicia’s voice crested even louder inside the carriage.
“It will be well, if only you would cease your shrieking,” Charles said.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and wished yet again that they were back in the hayloft, free of worry and free of clothing.
But alas, they were on their way to secure a special license for marriage.
“I did not think becoming my bride would be such an ordeal. One might think you were being punished.”
“I am being punished. My father will never forgive me. Loxley is further entrenched in my family’s business and my reputation…” She waved her arms about. “Tatters. Shambles. Whatever you want to call it. I’ve sold my soul to the enemy.” She sniffed.
“My darling, I had no idea you had such a flair for the dramatic. Perhaps once we’re good and married, I shall take you to the theatre.”
She narrowed her pretty eyes in his direction.
“Do not try to soften this, Charles.” She carefully enunciated his proper name.
“You tricked me. Seduced me. And now everything is ruined. I had the perfect plan. I was going to be a woman of means. I was going to prove to my father that I could not only care for myself, but his legacy as well. But now I will be like every other woman in London. Someone’s wife. ”
He blew out a breath and stared at the voluptuous creature that, not twenty-four hours before, he’d been seated inside. Gloriously hot and wet and tight. Best to not mentally relive that event else he’d likely finish this ride with a steel pipe for a cock.
“Might I remind you, sweeting, that as my wife, you will have access to the property in question?”
Judging by the glare she shot him, it was quite obviously the wrong thing to say.
“While we’re making accusations then, and pointing fingers, as it were, I will add that you are the one who seduced me.”
Felicia’s scoff was likely heard all the way up to Hadrian’s Wall. “How can you possibly suggest that? It was you who came creeping to my window in the middle of the night. You who kissed me. You who pulled me up into the hayloft.”
“Ahh, but it was you who met me outside wearing next to nothing. There is not a man in all of London who could resist a woman in that state of undress.”
“You did not give me any time to dress.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Just as you did not give me any say as to whether I actually wanted to marry you.”
“Is that why you are pouting? Because I didn’t give you a proper proposal?”
“I am rather cross with you,” she said.
He chuckled. “I have gathered that much. Just a few more minutes and we’ll arrive. Then I can speak to the Archbishop. Once we have our license, we can marry.”
“So you keep saying. I know it might come to a surprise, Charles, but as desirable as you are, not every woman wants to be just a wife.”
Charles pulled his would-be bride into his lap.
“What do you think you are doing?”
He ran one hand up her skirt until he found the slit in her drawers. “I should think it would be obvious, but if you need me to explain things, I shall. At the moment, I have my hand in your drawers, and I’m going to make you climax on my fingers.”
Felicia sucked in a breath, the sound full of outrage. “In the carriage?”
“Precisely. I find you are far more pliable and, dare I say, not cross with me, when I am bringing you pleasure.”
“You are a cad.”
His fingers threaded through the hair on her mound and parted her folds. “You’re already wet, sweeting. I think you might not be as disappointed in becoming my wife as you claim to be.”
She opened her mouth—no doubt to fire another verbal barb at him—but instead released a soft moan of pleasure. He continued to circle her tight bundle of nerves until her spine relaxed and her eyes darkened.
“Such fire you have, Felicia. I’ve always seen it in you. It made looking away quite challenging.” He dipped his finger inside her tight channel as he spoke. “I never dared think that you could be mine, but it turns out that Loxley walking in on us was the perfect solution.”
Her brows furrowed, and she shook her head, trying to pull herself out of his arms. “No, that is not—”
So Charles did what any man with half a brain would do, he kissed her. Her lips, already parted, gave him the perfect opportunity to dip his tongue inside her mouth. She made a noise, then her nails dug into his shoulders. She swiped her tongue against his, and fire spread through his veins.
Damnation, how he wanted this woman. Craved her in a way he’d never allowed himself to admit.
But now, she was to be his. She might not be happy about that fact, but he would ply her with orgasms until his heir was in her belly.
He would show her how good they could be together.
His fingers continued to work her. She made mewling noises as she rocked on his hand.
Then she pulled back from their kiss and cried out his name.
“So damned beautiful when you fall apart for me.”
She stared at him. “That does not change the fact that you made this decision without first consulting me.”
It occurred to Charles then that perhaps she was cross because he had not wooed her and not because she did not want to marry him. He would have to remedy that after they were married. The carriage rocked to a stop.
Charles slid his fingers into his mouth, cleaning her essence from his digits.
Then he withdrew a handkerchief from his coat pocket and wiped off his hand.
“It won’t do me good to meet His Excellency with the smell of your cunny on my fingers.
Do you wish to go inside with me, or shall you wait out here planning my demise? ”
“I will wait here. But do tell me, do you think you would prefer to be run through with a blade or poisoned from some tainted potatoes?”
The laugh that surged from Charles was honest and real and a reminder that marrying Felicia Montclair was most assuredly the right thing to do.