Wildwood Flower (Desperate And Daring Book 8) Page 20

  He had no control and it terrified him.

  This couldn’t go on. She had to make a choice. He’d accept it either way if she was safe.

  If this was love… He didn’t like it. It felt like a vice around his chest, not the pleasant words used by poets. It was hot, dangerous. It felt like an illness. Only when she was in his arms did he feel sane.

  She was the antidote for this sickness, and if she didn’t want him, then he was going to be ill for the rest of his life.

  He stepped into the sun, his heart aching, his lungs burning. His throat was tight. Every step was torture, but he had to know. He had to put an end to this. There was nothing else left for him here if she wasn’t going to be his.

  His feet felt heavier under him.

  His.

  He’d never used such a possessive term for a woman before. His passing conquests had never lasted longer than a few interludes. As he closed the distance between them, the future stretched out, and without her, it was empty and dark. But if he imagined her with him, it was bright, filled with joy and laughter.

  His mother and sister would like her, his father, too. The look on their faces if he brought home a wife… His mind froze.

  Wife.

  He finally reached her, the grass crunching under his feet, the dew feathering the blades like shining little gems. He kneeled before her, his heart in his throat, prepared to beg that she end this torment. Either love him or leave him.

  He swallowed.

  He’d never asked for anyone’s love, but if he had Charlotte’s, he’d be a king. He’d never want for anything ever again. Her love would heal him, drive out every last bit of darkness. Bitter shame, doubts. Everything. Her love would be his miracle cure.

  “No more running, Charlotte.” His voice sounded gruff and far angrier than he felt. He wasn’t angry at all. He was scared. He felt like a boy again, asking the doctor to save his brother. His hands shook, and he cleared his throat.

  “I know,” she said. “I…I have to choose what I want. No more dreaming.”

  He reached out to her. She set her hand in his and looked up at him. Her eyes were sweet and lovely. Hope flared in him, bright, hot, and white. Brighter than the sun, brighter than all the stars in the sky.

  An image of his brother, a mere boy, twelve and smiling. It struck Thorn like a blow. He couldn’t breathe for a moment. He could see Charlotte looking up at him, but he could feel his brother, hear his laughter in his head. He squeezed Charlotte’s hand.

  “Thorn?” She frowned. “You look a bit pale.”

  “I…” He shook himself, mentally and physically. He pulled his hand back, both were shaking. He fisted them and dropped them in his lap.

  “I have to tell you about my brother.”

  She looked adorably befuddled. “Your brother?”

  He nodded once. He hadn’t spoken of his brother for years. It was a deep wound that seemed to stretch and tear when he did, so he chose not to.

  “When I was fourteen, my brother Mathew caught ill. We didn’t have money for the doctor, and he refused to treat him.”

  She gasped, her hand coming to her mouth, the horror in her eyes almost comical. He might laugh, if he wasn’t fighting back the urge to cry. He remembered that day clearly. His father had dropped to his knees and begged for the doctor to look at his boy. Doctor Snider required payment first. He wouldn’t enter the house without payment. He’d looked down his nose at his father, his lip curling with disgust.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Her words broke through the memory. He refocused on her. “We offered him everything we had, but he refused.”

  Her horror turned to outrage. “Refused? What kind of doctor refuses to help a child?”

  Thorn slowly blinked, fighting back the swell of terror and rage that had claimed him as a boy. “The kind that only sees to wealthy families.”

  “He’s a monster, not a doctor.” She took his hand.

  The vice around his chest lessened, and he took a steadying breath. Why was he telling her this?

  “That was the day I finally understood how little my life was worth.”

  “Don’t say that.” She squeezed his hand.

  “Please. I need to tell you this, to make you understand.”

  She bit her lip and nodded for him to continue.

  “I’m big and strong now, but back then I was just a gangly boy. I was popular with the girls, had many friends, but it was that doctor who made it clear that without money and status, I was little more than a mangy dog.”

  Her mouth popped open, her bottom lip trembling. He knew she wanted to say something to soothe him. Something warm and peaceful settled in his chest. She did not see him as a dog. His hope grew stronger. He must love her, sitting here now and opening his heart to her, his deepest wound. He felt lighter, braver. He’d never spoken of this to anyone. Only Christine, his younger sister, had seen him get the gun, and it was a secret she carried to this day.

  “I’ll never forgive that doctor. I wanted to kill him. I’d never felt so helpless in my life. I wanted to take his life in exchange for my brother’s. I went to get my father’s gun. If he wasn’t going to save my brother because of money, he’d do it to save his own life. If I hanged, it wouldn’t matter. I just wanted my brother to live.”

  He brought her tiny fist to his mouth and kissed it. “I have money, but I will never have status. People will always look down on me.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I want you to know that the man before you, the one who exudes strength and confidence, was born a dirt-poor farmer’s son deemed too low to live. I’ve built everything in my life despite that. I’m immune to it now, but you won’t be.”

  She sucked in a breath.

  He could hardly breathe himself. His heart was pounding in his chest like a blacksmith’s hammer.

  “If you would have me Charlotte, you would be giving up more than you know. You would have to move to America, but I will give my life to ensure your happiness.”

  She frowned. “Is that a proposal?”

  “I…I thought it was.” He panted, all the air rushing from his lungs.

  “It sounded more like a dire warning.” She tugged her hand out of his and folded her arms over her chest.

  “Can’t it be both? I don’t know what you want, Charlotte.” He stood and raked his hands through his hair, yanking out the tie holding it back. “I’m trying to help you. You don’t want to go to your uncle, you don’t want to be my business partner, you don’t want to be my wife. I’m trying to bare my soul to you. What more do you want from me? What do you want?” he shouted to the sky.

  * * *

  Charlotte covered her mouth. This was the worst time to giggle, but she couldn’t help it. This was the worst proposal, her only proposal, posed by the man she desperately wanted to marry.

  “Are you laughing?”

  She couldn’t stop it. He looked so frustrated. He put his hands on his hips and glared down at her indignantly.

  “What do you want, Charlotte. I’ll give you anything you ask.” He stood before her, the sun high behind his head and casting his face in shadow. But just as he’d said, he bared his soul, and she was ready to bear hers.

  “I want you. That is all. I want to love you, and I want you to love me.”

  His entire demeanour changed. The next moment, he dropped to his knees in front of her and pulled her into his arms. He took her mouth in a savage kiss, his arms nearly crushing her against him. Charlotte held his face, absorbing his relief, his need. Her heart soared, flying free and wild.

  He broke the kiss, panting as he looked deeply into her eyes, his smile warm and happier than she’d ever seen.

  “Your proposal was better than mine.”

  Charlotte grinned. “Does that mean yes?”

  He pressed his forehead to hers. “It means more than yes. It means I can’t stand to live without you.”

  She took a deep breath, her words and
courage shaky at best. “Does that mean you love me?”

  He nuzzled her cheek, his beard tickling her neck. “I love you, I need you, I want you.”

  She let out a breathy laugh, overwhelmed by the joy inside her, bursting like fireworks. She couldn’t contain it. She kissed him, but he quickly pulled away.

  “I need to hear you say it. I’ve never had those words said to me.”

  His confession made her heart ache. “I love you, Christopher. I love you, and I don’t care where we live or who looks down on us. Being with you is all I care about.”

  His eyes were intense, a blue so sharp it rivalled the sky. He kissed her again, and their fate was sealed. She would be his wife, and she would go wherever his business took them. He was her hero, her heart, and her home.

  Chapter 23

  October 4th, 1823

  Dear Rose,

  I’ve been very busy. I got married today. If you can believe it, I fell in love with an American, and tomorrow morning we set sail for America. I’m beginning a new life there. I will miss England, but I am excited to finally have a life of my own. His name is Christopher Thorn. He is a brewer. I wish there was time to visit, but we must leave before the winter sets in and makes passage too dangerous. I will write frequently. I’m sending letters to all the Ivy Society. I’m sure you are worried but don’t be. I will give you our address in New York so we can stay connected….

  A hand smoothly glided up her thigh to her derriere under her thin silk shift.

  “How many more letters do you have to write?” Christopher murmured against her ear, his breath hot, sending goose bumps over her flesh.

  “Five.” She grinned down at her letter. The gentle sway of the ocean rocked them, reminding Charlotte of the adventure she was about to embark on.

  He groaned. “Five?”

  “You said I had to get them done before sundown, so we could row them into town. I’m looking forward to watching your arms as you row. You promised, Christopher.” She pouted prettily.

  He sighed. “Did you not have enough time to do this before we left Wildwood?”

  A pang of sadness stole her joy but only for a moment. Wildwood was her childhood home, but it would live on as part of Thorn Brewing. “I was distracted.” She smiled coyly.

  “That I understand. I’ve been distracted as well.” He urged her onto her back. Pushing her travel writing desk to the side and taking hold of each wrist. He gave her a scalding kiss on her breastbone, her legs instantly going soft and parting for him.

  “It’s almost dusk. I’ll finish quickly.” She didn’t want him to stop, but she’d procrastinated far too long as it was. She owed her friends answers.

  He groaned again. “So will I.”

  “I’ll write quickly.”

  He pushed off the bed and stood, adjusting his trousers. “You’re right, of course. I will see that everything is prepared and let you finish.”

  “Don’t go. Stay with me.”

  “You’re too tempting. I’ll be back to collect your letters shortly.”

  He winked at her and left their cabin.

  Charlotte forced herself to return to her task at hand. She finished her letter to Rose, briefly detailing some of the more exciting events of the past months and promising to write as soon as they reached New York. She did the same for five more letters, and finally put her quill and ink away.

  Christopher arrived, bearing a tray of supper. “I have some news you won’t like.”

  “What is it?” She stretched as she got off the bed, liking the way his eyes followed the length of her body.

  She’d been inducted into a whole new sensual world since meeting Christopher, but there was still one more bridge to cross.

  “It’s raining.”

  She turned to the large window. How had she not noticed? “It’s not.” But it soon would be. Clouds blanketed the sky, hiding the sinking sun, churning and undulating like simmering water. Her heart sunk. There would be no final trip to land. “What shall I do with my letters?”

  “I will still take them, but I want you to stay here.”

  Rumbling filled the cabin, an ominous knell. Now that she had her own Thor, thunderstorms no longer captivated her. “It’s too dangerous to go. I’ll write when we reach New York.”

  “That will be a month from now or longer. I’ll take one of the crew with me. Together we can row quickly and be back before the worst hits.” He took her hand and kissed her knuckles.

  “Wait for me?”

  Her stomach tied in knots just thinking of him out in open water. “Always.”

  He stole a kiss and left her there. She went back to the window, watching the clouds. She rubbed the chill from her hands and tried to focus on something else. She uncovered the food, simple fare, but it smelled enticing.

  She tried to eat but only managed a few bites before giving up. She went back to the window, her fingers twisting together as she sat and watched the clouds swirl. Curtains of rain rippled out over the open water. The cabin was comfortable. Lanterns fixed to the walls gave off a soft glow as the last of the daylight died. There was very little to the room: a desk, two chairs, and a wide bed.

  The bed was her favorite feature. Low to the floor, stacked with pillows and blankets, framed by the diamond pane and mullioned windows that spanned the rear of the ship. The grand cabin was split in two to accommodate the ship’s captain, Captain Pruitt, and Thorn, the ship owner. She sat on the bed, elbow perched on the sill of the window and watched the black clouds roll closer, the waves growing steadily bigger, but still gentle enough to be lulling. Her eyes drifted close.

  The splatter of rain on glass woke her. It was full dark. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, looking frantically for Christopher, but she was still alone. The bed pitched her to the side as the ship was rocked by a large wave. Charlotte caught her balance, fear gripping her as she thought of Christopher rowing back in such weather. She stumbled to the cabin door, but just before she reached it, it opened, and a ghastly figure stepped through, features hidden by a dripping black tricorn and oil-rubbed great coat.

  Charlotte staggered back, hand coming to her throat.

  He raised his hand and removed his hat. Piercing blue eyes and a wicked grin.

  Charlotte nearly melted in relief. She leapt into his arms and melted against him instead.

  “You made it back.”

  “I did. Did you ever doubt me?”

  “Never.” She pulled back so he could remove his coat. His hair was wet, and his clothing soaked through, clinging tightly to his muscular body.

  He pulled his shirt over his head, and Charlotte found herself several degrees warmer. She wondered if the water on her dress would turn to steam. She turned away, not wanting to openly ogle him, but unable to stop herself from peeking. She went to the untouched tray of food and picked at a piece of bread.

  “Your letters have been posted.” He towelled his hair off near the armoire and fetched a dry shirt, prompting Charlotte into action. She crossed the small cabin and took the shirt from his hands.

  “Don’t bother.” She placed it back in the drawer.

  He raised a brow. “But I’m cold.”

  “I’ll warm you.” She reached behind her neck and undid the three hooks. She shrugged her dress down, watching him as he watched her, his eyes warmer than flames. Next came her stays and her shift, all piled at her feet. She kicked them aside, rubbing the goose bumps on her arms as a fevered blush climbed her body. She saw him swallow.

  She sucked in a breath. Courage, Charlotte. “Now it’s your turn.”

  He never took his eyes off her as he toed off his boots, water squishing in his stockings as he stepped out of his breeches and removed the rest of his sodden clothes. No goose bumps, no blush evident on his skin. He was confident in his skin, all golden and tautly spread over lean muscle.

  Charlotte licked her lips to moisten her mouth. They stepped toward each other, arms coming around, bodies rejoicing as skin touched and mout
hs tasted.

  Ready and waiting. Her body was alive, aching and wanting. Needing, always needing him. She couldn’t wait a moment longer. She stepped back to the bed, bringing him with her. They slowly descended, neither willing to let even a splinter of air come between their desperate bodies. Charlotte shivered as her back reached the rabbit fur blanket, decadently soft against her skin. His weight pinned her, delicious and hot. She brushed her toes along his calves, their tongues tangling, their breathing mixed. He tasted like salt and sea air. She hitched her legs higher, his erection probing her softness. She pushed back, feeling the give of her body, craving the completeness that she instinctively knew she would feel when they finally joined.

  But like always, he withdrew, just enough to look down at her, his breathing labored, the brush of his chest teasing her hypersensitive nipples.

  “Don’t stop,” she pleaded. She kissed him, gently biting his lower lip. She’d learned a few tricks of her own during the past weeks. Christopher was insistent they wait until their wedding night and here they were, wedded, and she was more than ready to be bedded.

  “I’m not stopping, but I am slowing. The first time can be painful. I want to be sure you’re ready for me.”

  “I’ve been ready for weeks. Don’t make me wait a second longer.”

  He moved down, taking her pert breast in his mouth and sucking gently. “I want to worship you.” His lips moved against her skin.

  “Worship me after. I want to be yours in every way possible. Please Christopher.” She was melting, her bones turning to heavy syrup as he took her breast again, sucking and licking, teasing and then soothing. He moved to the other. Charlotte tried to find more words of protest, but her thoughts had scattered. Perhaps a little bit of worshiping could be tolerated. She bucked her hips against him, riding the firm length of him, coating him with her slickness, and taunting herself. She ached with need, her core throbbing.