Chapter 17
Charlotte curtsied automatically, though her pulse still fluttered wildly beneath her ribs. Victor took her hand at once and began escorting her from the dance floor before another gentleman could approach. Charlotte glanced sideways at him as they moved through the crowded ballroom.
“You appear displeased, Your Grace.”
Victor’s gaze flicked toward her coolly. “I find it interesting that ever since your sisters became fashionable prospects, you suddenly permit gentlemen to court your attention.”
Charlotte blinked. “Court my attention?”
“Morgan Harding was practically composing sonnets to your lashes.”
She nearly laughed. “That is hardly my fault.”
Victor gave a low hum that suggested he disagreed entirely. “You seem very eager to encourage admirers tonight.”
Charlotte stopped walking so abruptly that Victor was forced to halt beside her. “I did no such thing.”
Several guests brushed around them with curious glances while Victor folded his hands behind his back. “Did you not?”
“No.” Charlotte lifted her chin stubbornly. “But now that we are here, why should I not consider my own future and happiness?”
Victor’s expression shifted slightly.
Charlotte pressed on before she lost courage. “Should I never have a husband?”
Victor went completely still. For one unsettling moment, the noise of the ballroom seemed to fade around them.
Charlotte suddenly wished she could read whatever dark thought crossed his face, but his expression shuttered too quickly.
The warmth and irritation vanished from him entirely, replaced by something colder and distant.
Finally, he spoke quietly. “You are right.”
Charlotte frowned faintly.
“Excuse me for being so callous,” he continued in an unreadably calm voice. “Of course you deserve happiness, and I should not stand in the way of that.”
Before Charlotte could answer, Victor bowed his head sharply and turned away. Then he simply walked off.
Charlotte stood frozen amidst the ballroom while dancers and guests drifted around her in glittering waves of silk and candlelight. Her chest pounded strangely as she watched Victor disappear into the crowd without another glance behind him.
What on earth just happened?
A moment ago, he had been jealous enough to interrupt her dance with Morgan. Now he sounded almost… wounded. Charlotte pressed her fingers lightly against her stomach, unsettled by how deeply Victor’s abrupt departure affected her.
“He is impossible,” she muttered under her breath.
Yet despite the irritation swirling inside her, worry crept alongside it. Victor had looked angry before, but this had felt different somehow. Colder. Sharper.
And for reasons she could not explain, Charlotte hated it.
Before she could reconsider the foolishness of it, she gathered her skirts and quietly followed him through the ballroom.
She searched several corridors before finally spotting him disappearing into a smaller side room near the library.
Charlotte hesitated outside the door only briefly before slipping inside after him.
The chamber was empty save for Victor standing near the window with one hand braced against the mantelpiece.
He looked up immediately.
“Miss Brown,” he drawled softly. “Have you taken up spying?”
Charlotte shut the door behind herself. “You stormed off dramatically enough to invite pursuit.”
Victor snorted quietly. “I did not storm.”
“You very much stormed,” she said.
“I walked briskly,” he said with a smirk. One corner of his mouth twitched despite himself, though the humour faded quickly. “Should you not be entertaining your admirers?”
Charlotte folded her arms. “Should you not be terrifying them?”
Victor huffed a laugh under his breath and looked away toward the darkened window. Charlotte watched him carefully in the candlelight. Without the polished mask he wore in society, he suddenly looked exhausted.
The sight tugged unexpectedly at her heart. “You are upset,” she said softly.
“I am irritated,” he said with a sigh.
“With me?” Her voice dropped to a whisper as she moved closer to him.
Victor looked back at her then. “Do you truly wish to marry?”
The question startled her. Charlotte blinked slowly. “Most ladies do.”
“You avoided answering,” he said.
Her fingers tightened slightly against her sleeves. “I suppose I stopped thinking about it long ago.”
Victor remained silent.
“When my father died,” Charlotte continued quietly, “everything became about survival. There were debts and responsibilities and three younger sisters who needed someone sensible.” She gave a small shrug. “Marriage stopped being something I expected for myself.”
Victor’s gaze softened almost imperceptibly.
Charlotte laughed faintly to ease the sudden heaviness in the room. “Though apparently my mother believes I ought to begin immediately.”
“She said that?”
“She practically shoved Lord Whitemore into my path.”
Victor’s mouth flattened. “I shall speak with her.”
Charlotte burst into startled laughter. “Good heavens, do not duel my mother as well.”
A reluctant smile finally tugged at his lips.
“There,” Charlotte said softly. “That expression suits you far better.”
Victor’s smile faded slower this time. His eyes lingered on her face in the quiet room, and suddenly Charlotte became painfully aware that they were alone together once again. The air between them shifted into something warmer, heavier.
Dangerous.
“You should return to the ballroom,” Victor murmured.
Charlotte swallowed lightly. “Perhaps you should too.”
Neither of them moved. Victor stepped closer first. Charlotte’s breath caught immediately.
“You deserve happiness,” he said quietly, his gaze fixed upon her mouth now instead of her eyes. “I meant that.”
Something fluttered painfully inside her chest.
“And yet,” Charlotte whispered, “you do not sound pleased by it.”
Victor gave a low, humourless laugh. “No,” he admitted softly. “I do not.”
Charlotte stared at him in confusion as the words left his mouth, her breath still uneven from the way he had cornered her between the shelves.
The library was dimly lit by a pair of lamps, their golden glow reflecting against the polished mahogany and leather-bound books, making the room feel smaller than it truly was.
Victor’s green eyes held hers with unnerving intensity, and she could not look away no matter how much sense begged her to do so. Her pulse fluttered wildly as she whispered, “Why in heaven’s name would it displease you for me to find happiness?”
He stepped closer until the scent of brandy surrounded her completely.
“Your… your happiness can not be found with me. That's why it displeases me,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “You throw yourself into everyone’s suffering as though it belongs to you, and a person like you would be wounded with someone like me.”
Charlotte swallowed hard as his fingers brushed a loose curl from beside her cheek, his touch far gentler than a man like him ought to possess. “One day,” he said softly, “someone will ruin you or make you happy, but it will not be me.”
Charlotte opened her mouth to protest, but the words never came.
His lips crashed against hers before she could form a single thought, and every sensible notion fled her mind at once.
The kiss was deep and consuming, stealing the breath from her lungs as though he meant to devour every objection she had ever held against him.
Her fingers instinctively clutched the front of his coat, and to her horror, she melted against him immediately.
Victor groaned quietly against her mouth, one hand sliding firmly to her waist.
“Charlotte,” he breathed between kisses, as though tasting her name.
This kiss was heat and hunger and danger wrapped into one devastatingly handsome duke.
Her knees weakened beneath her, and Victor seemed to notice at once.
He gave a smug little smile against her lips that made her want to strike him and kiss him again simultaneously. “There she is,” he murmured. “I was beginning to think you only existed to argue with me.”
Charlotte glared weakly at him despite the way her heart thundered. “You are insufferable,” she whispered.
“And yet you continue letting me kiss you.” His hand slid upward along her spine, slow and possessive.
“Call me by my name.”
Charlotte blinked up at him in confusion, her lips swollen and tingling.
Victor lowered his forehead to hers and whispered, “I want to taste my name on your lips.”
The intimacy of the request sent heat rushing through her entire body. His thumb brushed her lower lip as he watched her with maddening patience.
“Victor,” she whispered shakily.
A dark look of satisfaction crossed his face. “Again.”
“Victor,” she repeated, softer this time, and he captured his name as he pressed his lips against hers.
He kissed her harder than before, as though her voice had undone the last thread of restraint holding him together.
Charlotte gasped softly against his mouth when he suddenly lifted her clean off the floor. “Victor!” she squeaked in surprise, clutching his shoulders as he carried her toward one of the large tables near the center of the library.
“You sound lovely saying my name,” he said lazily.
“You are impossible,” she breathed.
“And you are trembling.” His smirk deepened as he sat her carefully upon the polished table. “Now tell me, Miss Brown, are you frightened?”
Charlotte wanted desperately to say yes, for she had never been alone with a man at a ball in such a manner. Yet the truth was infinitely worse. “No,” she admitted quietly.
Victor’s expression darkened with satisfaction. “Good.”
His hands slid slowly to the back of her neck, and Charlotte shivered when his fingers began touching her bare skin.
She let out the smallest startled breath at the sensation. “What are you doing?” she whispered. “Touching you, the way you ought to be touched,” he replied simply.
Charlotte nearly expired from mortification at the compliment alone. He kissed her neck and shoulders, pressing firmly enough to make warmth spread through her entire body.
“Is this too much?” he asked quietly near her ear.
“N-no.”
“No?” he teased softly. “You sound unconvinced.”
“It is fine,” she insisted, though her voice came out breathless.
Victor chuckled low in his throat. “You are adorable when flustered.”
Charlotte would have retorted if his hands had not moved lower, easing along her chest with maddening slowness. The warmth of his touch seeped through the fabric of her gown and made her skin feel feverish beneath it as his thumbs brushed against her rosy peaks.
She became acutely aware of every place his fingers touched her, every shift of his body between her knees as he stood before the table. Her thoughts tangled helplessly together until all she could focus on was him.
“There,” he murmured as his thumbs pressed against a particularly sensitive spot between her thighs
Charlotte gasped softly before she could stop herself.
Victor’s eyes immediately lifted to hers with dangerous amusement. “You liked that, do you not?”
She glared at him weakly. “Do not sound so smug about it.”
“I cannot help it.” He smiled lazily. “You make the most delightful sounds.”
Charlotte’s cheeks burned hot enough to set the library ablaze. “You are behaving abominably.”
“And yet you have not told me to stop.” His fingers continued their slow path in circles.
“Tell me if you dislike something.” Charlotte’s throat tightened unexpectedly at the gentleness beneath his teasing tone. It unsettled her more than his arrogance ever had.
What is wrong with me? Why have I not told him to stop? If we were found I would be ruined forever….
But she said nothing as he hiked her skirts up to her waist. Instead, she placed her palms on the table and leaned back as he tore off the fine fabric of her pantelets, exposing her sweet center to him.
He moaned. “You are beautiful.”
“And you...” Charlotte began but did not finish as Victor plunged his head between her thighs.
“Oh!” She jolted up as his tongue feverishly licked her folds.
I must stop this madness.
But it was too late; she was lost in the exquisite sensations of his lips pressing against her.
His hands moved carefully over her hips, pulling her against him. Every brush of his tongue against her rosebud left sparks racing on her skin. She felt alive in a way she never had before, every nerve sharpened and aching beneath his touch.
“Victor,” she whispered helplessly.
“There it is again, my name,” he groaned as he continued pleasuring her.
His hands slid lower, carefully massaging along her legs.
“I know I should stop, but you are enjoying this far too much for me to feel guilty,” he said.
Charlotte bit her lip as warmth flooded her body again. His tongue flicked back and forth over her sensitive spot. Her moans became louder and louder, and she could only hope the music of the ball masked her voice.
“Oh, oh dear, I'm going to release,” she moaned loudly as she felt the building pressure inside her.
When his hands reached up to her breasts, her breath caught entirely. He paused then, watching her carefully as though giving her time to stop him.
“Tell me to move away,” he said quietly.
Yes, I should tell him to stop. Every lesson of propriety screams to do so, to push him aside and flee this room at once.
Yet she could barely think when he looked at her like that, all restrained hunger and dark intensity.
“I cannot seem to think properly,” she admitted softly.
Victor gave a rough exhale that almost sounded tortured. “God help me, neither can I.”
His hands kneaded gently at her thighs, firm enough to send heat curling low in her stomach. Then he went back to work, skillfully using his tongue to bring her to the brink.
“Oh! Oh!” Charlotte’s fingers gripped the edge of the table as her skin burned beneath his touch.
Every movement seemed to draw another soft gasp from her lips.
Charlotte breathlessly released despite herself. A tremor tore through her body. She allowed the pleasure to erupt from her. She shivered as the throbbing took hold.
“Oh…oh Victor,” she whispered.
He groaned in response. Victor’s expression softened for the briefest moment at the sound. The tension between them changed then, becoming quieter and somehow more delicate.
He stepped back and lowered her skirts. “You are trouble,” he murmured.
“You are far worse.”
“Yes,” he agreed shamelessly. “But you keep letting me get away with it.”
And heaven help me, he is right.
Then, a sudden sound outside the door grabbed her attention, and she jumped off the table in alarm.