Page 53 of Always the Chaperone
William laughed. “And tonight has not been encouragement enough?”
“A woman of five and thirty…”
“Oh, hang five and thirty,” said William with a touch of annoyance. She looked at him with surprise. “Yes, blast it, I say. I do not care how old you are, what does it matter to me? If I had met you before now, years ago, I would not have the title, and our lives would have been completely different. I doubt we would have met at all.”
“I would have at least looked once.”
Overwhelmed by affection, William kissed her on the nose and said more seriously, “I mean it, Charlotte. I want to marry you, and if you are not careful, I will go to your brother and ask his permission.”
She scrunched her nose in that endearing way that said she had heard something she did not quite like. “Richard would never be fool enough to give his permission unless I gave mine.”
“I would wait. I would wait and win you both over.”
He had never expected to make such a declaration to a woman, and what’s more, he meant it. There was something intensely fragile about Charlotte St. Maur. No one else seemed to have noticed.
Charlotte smiled. “I will bear that in mind. But right now, all I want to do is sleep.”
She tucked her head into his neck and sighed deeply.
“I should go,” he said wearily, not wishing to leave her, but knowing honor demanded it. “The last thing your reputation needs is for a gentleman to be found here when your lady’s maid comes in tomorrow morning.”
Charlotte’s eyes were closed, and her arms tightened around him. “You are right. You should go.”
William chuckled. “Charlotte, you are not making this easy for me.”
“I don’t intend to,” came the sleepy reply.
She had become everything to him, and they had shared everything together. He was determined to have her accept his proposal before the week was out.
So, what did it matter? William nestled into her welcoming arms and allowed sleep to overtake him.
Chapter Fifteen
When Charlotte openedher eyes, there was a smile on her face.
She was also completely naked.
The memories of the previous night came flooding back. Such pleasure. Such closeness. Intimacy she could never have hoped for, never imagined.
As the soft morning light found its way around the thick curtains, those memories seemed a dream. Almost too good to be true. But they were true, and he was her duke, William Lennox, the Duke of Mercia.
Charlotte shifted and luxuriated in being completely naked in her bed. There was nothing quite like the feeling of linen sheets against her skin. How would she ever wear a nightgown in bed again?
I mean it, Charlotte. I want to marry you, and if you are not careful, I will go to your brother and ask his permission.
It was difficult to believe her daring, but she would never regret it. It had been her chance, her one opportunity to experience making love. She may never marry, but she would always have that knowledge.
The other side of the bed was empty. William must have left in the early hours, allowing her to sleep and giving him the chance to sneak out without prying eyes. What would the gossips of Bath have said if they had seen the dashing new duke—only recently entering polite society—leaving the house of a known spinster?
After several minutes of thinking, she pulled herself out of bed. Her nightgown and dressing gown looked forlorn lying there on the floor abandoned.
It had been glorious when she had allowed them to fall to the floor. Charlotte laughed aloud at the memory of William’s face. His jaw had tightened, and his eyes had drunk her in. Exactly the reaction she had hoped for.
“Hours ago,” she whispered to the empty room. “And everything has changed.”
She glanced into her looking glass. There was no difference in her looks. Fine lines around her eyes and a few hairs silvery rather than chestnut.
But there was something different. Was it the way she held herself? Something felt different, as though she had crossed a bridge previously barred. She had joined that exclusive group of women who had experienced the loving touch of a man.
