Katie Rose (10 page)

It took all his self-restraint to go slowly, to cool the fierce ardor that arose within him, reminding himself that he wanted everything to be perfect for her.

“Charles!” she gasped. “It is so odd, I feel quite faint! I never knew—why is it each kiss feels like the first?”

“Because it’s right,” he said, smoothing his hands down the sumptuous folds of her dress. “It’s good that you feel that way. Let’s get you out of these clothes before we have to find the smelling salts.”

Winifred smiled uncertainly, as he untied the bow at her neckline and began undoing the buttons. Lifting her arms in breathless anticipation, she allowed the gold dress to slip to the floor in a molten puddle.

“You are so sweet,” Charles said in awe, pausing to place a tender kiss on her exposed neckline. “Let me help you with the laces.”

It was wonderfully pleasurable, having a man do this for her. Accustomed as she was to the tight tugging of her housemaid, Charles’s undressing was seduction itself. Every inch of skin that he bared he kissed, and through each peeling layer, he softly caressed her. She ached with longing.

“Oh, Charles, that feels so good.…”

“I know, sweetheart. I want you to feel good.”

The silky material of her chemise slid to the floor, leaving her clad only in her earrings, silk stockings, and garters. To his appreciative gaze, she looked like Venus. Bathed in firelight, her body trembling, she was perfection itself. Below her waist, a dark gold triangle gleamed enticingly above her thighs. Charles’s mouth went dry.

“Winnie,” he said reverently, taking in the sight of her, “you are so beautiful.” He kissed her, a soft, teasing, tantalizing kiss, very unlike the passionate one he had given her previously. This time he sought to arouse her to the point of begging for him, to make her forget everything except how badly she wanted
him. His hand slid down her soft white skin and cupped her breast.

Winifred gasped but offered no protest as his lips followed. She leaned into him, encouraging him, feeling the warm flood of desire spread through her like a golden pool of heat. Her breast ached, her nipple throbbed enticingly as his tongue teased her, making her arch involuntarily against him. She cried out as his tongue flicked her hard puckered nipple, sending delicious rivers of pleasure pulsing through her, even as his hand swept softly to caress the golden curls below.

“Charles!” she cried in wonder, amazed at the sensations speeding through her. Her skin seemed amazingly sensitive. Each brush of his lips or touch of his fingers made her feel vibrantly alive. A throbbing ache grew deep inside her woman’s core. Moaning, seeking more, she lifted her arms to his shoulders, giving herself up to him entirely, wanting him, needing everything his hard muscled body promised.…

“Charles, please—” Her eyes lifted to his and nearly took his breath away. Never had he seen such desire in a woman. Her eyes were smoky, filled with passion and need. Her lips were parted, soft and moist from his kiss. She was irresistible, a wanton and an innocent rolled into one.

“All right, darling,” he whispered, barely able to speak. “Let me take you to bed.”

His heart pounding, he slipped his arm beneath her knees and carried her to the bed. Placing her on top of the bedclothes, he tossed his jacket aside, then quickly rid himself of his clothing.

“Charles,” Winifred breathed in awe, “why, you’re … beautiful.”

Her words stunned him. Never had a woman told him he was beautiful. Among his class, such phrases
were reserved strictly for women. Men were considered rough breasts, crude and overwhelming, while women were delicate creatures to be handled carefully and put on a pedestal. Yet Winifred was hardly delicate. Even now, she did not modestly avert her eyes from him but seemed to appreciate him in the same way one would admire a sculpture or a painting.

“Do you think so?” he asked, his heart melting.

“Why, yes,” she said without inhibition. “Your muscles are so hard.…” She let her hand run over his chest, and he groaned out loud.

Slipping into the bed beside her, he smiled warmly, entranced by her. “My God, Winnie, I don’t know if I can wait—”

“Don’t,” she said earnestly. “Truly Charles, we’ve waited long enough. I want to know, to understand …”

The passion inside him throbbed violently at her words. Fires long repressed came roaring to the surface, with the reality of Winifred, ready and willing, in his bed. Taking her into his arms, he kissed her ardently, wrapping himself over her body. His hardness pressed against her hot, moist opening, and instinctively she arched against him, feeling the divine pressure against her most sensitive place. “Yes, Charles,” she panted. “Yes …” He entered her, feeling the tight resistance, even as she moved restlessly beneath him, encouraging him to go on. Blindly he thrust into her. When he reached the silken obstruction to paradise, he forced himself to stop. “This might hurt for a minute,” he said softly, his voice filled with regret. “I am sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, touched by his concern. “Please, Charles.”

He groaned, then forced past the barrier and was deep inside her. He felt her stiffen, then relax as her
body expanded to accommodate him. Instinctively he thrust forward, sinking deeply into her, feeling the almost unbearable heat of her body.

It was the purest pleasure he had ever known. It was as if she were made for him. Her body expanded, swelling around him, her warmth nearly driving him wild. She was so wet, so ready and slick, her hot sheath encasing him, raising the pounding within him to maddening intensity. He withdrew once, then thrust again deeply within her, feeling her rise up against him, her breath coming in quick little cries. Her face looked like that of a ravished angel. It took every ounce of his self-control, but he held back, pleasuring her, until he heard her break—

Her cry made him shudder, and he thrust deeply inside her, feeling the pulsing completion of her ecstasy. Never before had he experienced such profound and honest surrender in a woman, and never had his body enjoyed such an earth-shattering climax.

Her beautiful eyes fluttered open several minutes later, and he saw the same astonished pleasure there. “Charles! I did not believe it could ever be so wonderful!”

“I’m glad you feel that way,” he said, kissing the tip of her nose. “It’s supposed to be pleasurable. Especially when a man and woman … mean something to each other.”

He watched her digest that thought, then she frowned. “Why don’t they tell us this? Most women seem to consider lovemaking a marital duty.”

“There are a lot of careless men out there,” he said, “and a lot of fearful women. The consequences of making love unfairly usually fall to the fairer sex. Stop looking at me like that—I do not make the rules!” He smiled as he spoke, kissing her fingertips.

“Well, now that I know how astonishing it truly is, I will demand my share,” she said, rising up to meet his kiss. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Charles smiled, then showed her how little he minded at all.

W
inifred awoke to the sun pouring into her room. Birds sang outside, and the winter seemed to be finally fading into a fresh spring. Tossing the covers aside, she stretched, yawning like a contented kitten.

Charles. Last night. Their lovemaking had truly been wonderful. She had been reluctant to leave the hotel, but Charles had insisted on escorting her safely home, leaving her with a kiss that, after the evening they had spent, was achingly sweet. Nothing could have prepared her for the sensual, erotic pleasure at the hotel, the feel of fingertips brushing across heated skin, the touch of a hot tongue on a throbbing pulse point, the emotional satisfaction of being really loved.…

Her eyes flew open as she mentally formed the word. She could not love Charles—she could not love anyone! Her mission in life was crystal clear and always had been. Love led to one thing: marriage, at least among women of her class. And once married, a woman became the property of her husband. Everything she owned, everything she was, became his.
When children arrived, becoming a lawyer would be impossible. As Mrs. Stanton once said, it is the unmarried women among us who must free us. Winifred knew exactly which camp she was in.

Her nerves calmed when she reminded herself that that was why she had agreed to make love with Charles to begin with. Now they could put all that behind them. Her curiosity satisfied, the physical part of the relationship out of the way, they could both fully concentrate on their work. She was certain Charles would see it exactly the same way.

Relieved, she bathed and dressed, her body aching in unaccustomed places after Charles’s vigorous love-making. Fastening her hair up in a severe bun, she put on her most prim and proper gown—a stark gray dress that looked something like a male uniform. She decided it was important to send Charles the right message, just in case he was entertaining any other thoughts. As she marched down the stairs and stepped into the carriage, she saw Egbert’s curious glance.

It was time to get back to the law.

C
HARLES SPLASHED LIME WATER
on his face, welcoming the cold sting. Nothing could trouble him this morning.

Winifred. For the hundredth time, he replayed that scene where she had propositioned him, then all the scenes that followed, right up until she cried out his name in the ultimate pleasure. She had been so hot, so tight, so erotic and yet so innocent at the same time. His blood boiled just at the thought of her. He could still see her now, her clothes falling from her, her body gleaming gold and white in the firelight, her face gently ravished and filled with bliss.…

His arousal throbbed achingly, and he realized
that after having her once, he only wanted her more. Surely she was experiencing the same thing this morning. He smiled, adjusting his tie, thinking of how exciting work had suddenly become. Why, they could enjoy little trysts in the library, he could tease her ruthlessly over lunch, they could play footsie under the table. Soon she would be begging him to love her, wide-eyed with desire, just as she had last night.

His conscience nagged at him as he recalled his previous resolution. Winifred was a lady. He could not continue to treat her like a mistress. But the thought did not trouble him unduly. He would simply ask her to marry him. That way, he could have the maddening hoyden all to himself and could enjoy her without consequence. His family would never approve, but Charles did not care. He wanted Winifred more than he’d ever wanted any woman. He would never be bored with her, would never have to endure conversations on the latest hair or dress styles. No, she would continue to enchant him, frustrate him, and confuse him, and after last night, he did not want it any other way. Winifred, he was certain, would feel exactly the same.

“M
ISS
A
PPLETON
, Mr. Howe would like to see you in his office,” Miles Witherspoon said, his voice sounding ominous.

Winifred glanced up from the morning paper. There was a story in the
Times
about Mrs. Black, the woman who was accused of poisoning her husband and whose case she had researched. According to the paper, the tests had come back positive—arsenic had been found in the husband’s tea. The case would now go to court, and it seemed almost certain the woman would be convicted.…

“Miss Appleton?” Miles questioned. “Did you hear me?”

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Witherspoon,” she said, forcing a smile and putting the paper aside. She ignored the tension pooling in her stomach and started down the hall.

“Miss Appleton.” Miles stopped her, his expression worried. Something about Charles’s summons must have been daunting. “If there is any way I can provide assistance, you have only to mention it.”

Winifred stared at him, then smiled more genuinely. “I appreciate the offer, but I am sure there is nothing to be concerned about. Thank you.”

Walking past the clerk, she shook her head in wonder. Miles Witherspoon offering to help her. It was an odd world, indeed.

But why did Charles want to see her? Uneasy doubt swept through her as she pictured them entwined together the previous night. What if he wanted to continue the new state of affairs between them? What if he got angry? What if he felt she had used him …?

She could not think of all that now. She would just have to try and explain her feelings to him, calmly and logically. After all, he was a gentleman and, as such, would have to respect her wishes. He might even be relieved.

When she got within a few yards of his office, she heard shouting. The door was open, and she could hear heated words from Jared Marton. Knocking timidly on the door, she waited for Charles’s gruff, “Come in!” then entered with considerable trepidation.

“You called for me, Mr. Howe?”

His face was flushed with annoyance, but upon seeing her, he calmed somewhat. He started to respond to Jared, then his face turned quickly back to
her, as if suddenly seeing her dour outfit and prim hairstyle. “Mr. Marton and I are just finishing up,” Charles said, his brows coming together in disapproval at her appearance. He turned back to his colleague. “Jared, I do not want this case. Find the time.”