Page 13 of Charlotte's Kisses

Her smile was bittersweet. “I have.” Dare she mention she had not yet slept? “The doctor was not much help, and I was unsure how injured you were.”

He touched the bruise on his cheek and winced. “Ah, this is nothing. I’ve suffered far worse beatings.”

Charlotte gasped.

“Of course, I’ve dished out my fair share of arse kickings.” He ran his finger over his swollen nose and groaned. “Do not look so sad, Firefly. I’ve doled out far more than I have received, so I suppose this evens the score.”

Even after the trauma of the evening, he appealed to her so much that she tingled all the way to her toes. He was beyond beautiful and so dangerous. A woman like her could never keep him satisfied. But might she be able to if she embraced the new spirited Charlotte?

Who was she kidding? She was boring, and he was exceedingly exciting.Could the daughter of a marquess spend time with a duke’s cousin if said cousin had no title and was a scoundrel who once tupped Beatrice?Pfftandyuck. She’d neverfavored Beatrice.

“Firefly, if you continue to brood, your face might get stuck like that.” Hugh grinned and pointed at her forehead. “All squashed and wrinkled.”

The adorable man was teasing her. A dying man would hardly be taunting and grinning, more proof that he truly was fine.

She beamed at him. “Would you care for a drink? I thought you might want something when you awoke.”

“You know me so well, Charlotte.”

It did not take much to realize he would want potent libations after having the tarnation beat out of him. She had a brother, after all. Still, she was pleased he had acknowledged their connection. She reluctantly left his side to retrieve his drink. All the while, his gaze scorched through layers of fabric, skin, and blood to heat her bones.

She handed him his brandy. He gulped three times and passed her back an empty cup. She placed it on the small bedside table and plopped beside him, her feet dangling over the edge of the mattress.

“Come here,” he said, his voice deep and seductive.

“I am already here.” And sitting so close, their shoulders almost touched. If only she could scrape her fingers through his masculine chest hair. Swallowing desire, she licked her lips.

“I mean here.” He pointed to his swollen lips.

As much as she wanted to, she shouldn’t. “The doctor said you are to rest.”

“To hell with that. I’ve suffered terrible indignities to my pride. Do not tell me you will deny me one little kiss.”

The silly man could not see how bruised his lips were. “But I will hurt you,” she insisted.

He brushed a tendril of her wayward hair behind her ear. Heavens, she must look a mess.

“Nay. Your kisses will make the pain go away,” he cooed in that irresistible baritone.

Just moments ago, she thought he might be dying, and now she was leaning toward him, brushing her lips over his.

“Ouch.” He winced.

Slightly disappointed and not wanting to back away, she let her whisper blow across his mouth. “See. I told you it would hurt. You are quite a mess. Bruises and scratches everywhere.”

He shrugged. “I suppose we must find another way to pass the time.” His finger slid into the front of her bodice.

“Oh,” she moaned as tendrils of pleasure skittered down her torso to tickle her core.

“So responsive,” he said. “My favorite quality in a woman.”

Perchance she was his match.

The door flew open.

She leaped off the bed. “Papa, at last.”

“Hell’s teeth. What is your father doing here?” Hugh asked, his jaw clenched.