Wearily, Fortuna sank into a rickety straight-back chair. Somehow, this wasn’t what she’d imagined when Charles announced they’d be spending the night. The idea had smacked of tantalizing impropriety and had conjured notions of a romantic interlude. As it was turning out, however, the situation had developed a distinctly domestic flavor.
Not that she minded. There was something soothing about this kind of intimacy. It made her think of a pair of well-worn slippers. And to have one’s unspoken needs attended to was deeply gratifying. Like Charles taking it upon himself to lay a fire instead of waiting for the servant as Fortuna would have been forced to do.
Not that there was anything unique in his behavior. After all, he was a man, accustomed to making decisions and taking charge. Yet the idea of ceding complete control to him, of putting her welfare entirely in his hands, appealed to Fortuna at some fundamental, slightly erotic, level.
Tilting her head back against the chair’s wooden slats, she closed her eyes and sighed with contentment.
This was how it would be if they were married.
A gentle shake of one shoulder jolted her out of this delightful reverie.
“You’re falling asleep, love.” Charles pressed warm lips against her temple. “Perhaps you should retire.”
She tried to marshal her muzzy thoughts but failed.
Gathering her in his arms, he lifted her from the chair and strode toward the bedchamber.
The maid met them at the threshold. “Let’s get ye outta that dress, milady,” she fussed as Charles lowered Fortuna onto the edge of the bed.
His steps retreated back toward the door. “I’m going down to the taproom for a nightcap. There might be news of Adrian by now.”
Still half-asleep, Fortuna wiggled the fingers of one hand at him and collapsed backward onto the bed with a muttered “mmph.”
In this position, the maid managed to strip her of everything but her lawn chemise. Fortuna then crawled beneath the covers and dropped face-down into a musty smelling pillow. Her last conscious thought was of the feather bed’s enveloping softness.
Some time later, she awoke with a start. Raising up on both elbows, she blinked in confusion. It took a moment to recall where she was and how she’d come to be there and for it to register that something had disturbed her slumber. But what? Senses stretching, she probed the silence for a clue.
A muffled thud sounded beyond her bedchamber door.
Alarmed, Fortuna scooted to the edge of the bed where she fisted the quilt against her chemise bodice. Someone had broken in and was moving around the sitting room! Panic clogged her throat as she recalled that Charles was still downstairs in the taproom. No doubt a scream would bring him hammering up the stairs but would he be in time to prevent the thief from doing her bodily harm? Fortuna struggled to control her escalating fear.
She’d never felt so alone, or so vulnerable.
Another thump reverberated in the sitting room, followed by a muttered curse. Fortuna sucked her breath. She recognized that voice. It belonged to Charles. An overwhelming sense of relief left her limp and giddy. Lurching off the bed, she wound the thin quilt around her shoulders and shuffled toward the door on unsteady legs. She had a sudden, powerful need for the safety of his arms.
At the threshold she stumbled to a halt, unsure how to proceed.
“Forti!” he exclaimed. She heard a protesting creak as he rose from his chair. “What’s wrong? You’re as pale as a ghost.”
Curling her bare toes against the floorboards, she drew the thin quilt tight across her breasts. That she’d been frightened nearly out of her wits now struck Fortuna as childish. But then, she’d spent a lifetime in fear of the unknown and unseen, pretending courage she didn’t feel. Her childhood had been filled with reckless attempts to conquer that terror.
Charles would understand. He too was plagued by invisible demons. Yet to admit this deeply rooted flaw in her character was to bare her soul in a way she hadn’t done with anyone, not even Letty.
“I heard a noise,” she offered instead, “and thought a thief had broken in.”
When Charles didn’t immediately respond, hope leaped behind the fistful of quilt she clutched to her heart. Perhaps he was learning to hear the truths left unsaid as well.
“My fault entirely.” He sighed. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
Fortuna gave a dismissive shrug as she moved toward his voice. “Was there any word from Adrian ?”
“Unfortunately, no.” Then, “Have a care!” he barked, making her jump. “You’re too close to the hearth.”
A dizzy moment later, she was yanked off her feet and crushed against his chest. Beneath her cheek his shirt lay open, unbuttoned to the waistband of his pantaloons. The heat radiating off his skin burned straight to Fortuna’s core.
“Devil take me, woman but you’re afire!” Bending, Charles slapped the tail of her quilt. When he straightened, his hands roamed up her body, as if seeking reassurance there were no more smoldering brands. “We’d best remove you from harm’s way.”
In the blink of an eye, he swung Fortuna off her feet and into his arms.
“What are you doing?” she squeaked. Wrapped in the quilt, she couldn’t move.
“Returning you to your bed,” Charles growled, “before we both regret it.”
Something inside Fortuna melted, something that had been frozen for as long as she could remember.
How she loved this man, with every ounce of her being. Behind that arrogant façade he worked so hard to project there lurked a caring, compassionate soul. Her future was going to be bleak without him. Fortuna’s chest ached just thinking about it. Yet, no matter how wretched her own existence was fated to be, Charles faced an even more desolate life married to her shallow, self-centered cousin.
He deserved so much more.
As Charles strode toward her bedchamber, Fortuna closed her eyes and tried to keep the misery at bay. There was nothing she could do. To confess her love for him now would only cause further heartache, especially since neither of them could act upon it.
But she wasn’t completely without recourse. Her eyes flew wide at the notion. Although unable to articulate her love, she was free to express it in the age-old way.
She could gift herself to him and create enough wonderful memories to last what promised to be a dismal life. How to go about seducing him was the dilemma. With only a vague notion of what to do, she decided to follow her inclinations. They couldn’t lead her too far wrong. A secret part of Fortuna wanted to make it impossible for him ever to forget her.
“Your bower, my lady.”
He juggled her in his arms, then swung Fortuna over the bed and let go. Gasping with shock, she clung to his neck, pulling him down onto the mussed sheets after her.
“Make love to me,” she whispered against his cheek. Excitement built in the pit of her stomach.
Stunned, Charles tried to disengage from the tangle of her arms.
Fortuna only tightened her grip.
“We can’t…” He floundered. His hands shot out to brace against the bed. She felt the huff of his labored breath stir her eyelashes.
“Make love to me,” she said more firmly, rising up to brush his lips with her own. The quilt fell away from her shoulders.
He drew back as if stung. “Have pity, Forti. There’s only so much a man can take.”
His voice sounded raspy, she noted with smug satisfaction. And when he shifted his weight, more of his body came in contact with hers, pressing Fortuna deeper into the featherbed.
“I need you,” she whispered.
In fact that need was so intense, it took her breath away. Dimly it occurred that, until she’d met him, her physical life had been a sterile landscape. Oh, there had been the occasional peck on the cheek from her family. A squeeze of the hand, a perfunctory hug. Charles had introduced her to a sensate world filled with so much more. The prospect of making love to him, of touching and being touched more intimately, intoxicated like wine. Fortuna itched to run her hands over his body, to explore every mysterious, masculine inch of him.
As if reading her thoughts, he lowered his forehead to hers and groaned. “I can’t fight you, my love. Do what you will. I’m yours.”
Elation flared in Fortuna, setting every nerve afire. Tugging his shirttail clear of his waistband, she flattened her palms against his heaving chest. With a contented sigh, she then drew them slowly outward, smoothing his skin in a light caress. The muscles beneath her hands twitched. She heard the jagged intake of his breath.
“And I belong to you,” she murmured.
