The Fifth Wife Page 6

  “Such as?”

  “Oh you know. Being Lady of the Manor. Doing charitable deeds. Going to church in a fancy hat on Sundays. Hosting parties where everyone is a bit nasty and says unpleasant things with a smile. Looking down on people…”

  “Whoa.” Charles held up his hand. “Where did all this come from?”

  She blinked. “My sisters. They were Lady Penvale. That’s exactly what they did. I loved them all, of course, but I can’t say I really liked what happened to them after they got that ring on their fingers.” She looked away. “They changed, Charles. In ways I didn’t like.”

  He turned toward her a little, leaned over, and took her hand in his. It was the first time he’d really touched her and he was moved by the way she turned her palm to his and let him curl his fingers around hers.

  “Hannah, people shouldn’t change just because they have a title. They are still the same people they were before they became Lord or Lady whatever. All of a sudden I’ve become Lord Penvale. Have you seen me look down at anyone? Said something nasty and masked it with a smile?”

  She shook her head.

  “Do you think herding sheep in a snowstorm would be normal behavior for Lord Penvale?”

  She shook her head again.

  “It was quite normal for Charles Fontaine.” He paused. “Well, it would have been if I made a habit of being outside near farms in the middle of blizzards, which I don’t. But I think you understand the point I’m trying to make here.”

  “Yes.” A small response in a small voice.

  “I’m the same person I was before this whole Penvale business. And if we wed, I should expect you to be exactly the same person you are right this minute.”

  “You would?”

  “Yes. I would.”

  “I could still be myself?”

  “I would be very upset if you were anyone else.” Charles made sure he said that with as much emphasis he could manage.

  “No fancy hats or church on Sundays?”

  “Well, we do have our own pew at the church near Fontaine House. We hold the living, so it’s a mark of respect to the vicar—who happens to be a distant cousin of mine—that we show up now and again. But I’ve never worn a fancy hat.”

  She gave way to a giggle. “Not you, silly. Me.”

  “Hmm.” He thought for a moment. “Would you object to a simple bonnet? With perhaps one rose?”

  “Now you’re teasing me.” She grinned, delighting him.

  “Hannah, my worry is that you cannot imagine yourself married to me. I don’t care about the Penvale title as much as I do your happiness. I know it sounds stupid, but if you truly cannot countenance the thought of being my wife, then I’ll put the Fontaine lawyers to work to see if there’s some way out of it.”

  She bit her lip. “That’s a very unselfish attitude. I’m not sure what to say.”

  “Then be honest with me, as you promised.” He pulled her a little closer to him and made sure he could see her face. “Could you entertain the idea of becoming my wife?”

  She took a breath as her gaze roamed over his face. “I don’t know, Charles. We’ve only just met. This isn’t an easy question.”

  “You do realize…” he cradled both her hands in his, “that our marriage will, with luck, produce an heir to the Fontaine and Penvale heritage.”

  Her cheeks colored a little in the firelight, but she met his gaze squarely. “Yes, I realize that.”

  “So you don’t find the idea of…of creating that heir with me distasteful?”

  There was a silence that couldn’t have been longer than half a minute. But to Charles it was an eternity.

  “I don’t find you at all distasteful, Charles. In fact, you are quite attractive. Especially if one favors height, blond hair and really wide shoulders…”

  He took advantage of the seat and slid her even closer to him, pulling her gently to his side.

  “And do you—could you—favor height and blond hair and a solid pair of shoulders that would be at your disposal for whatever purpose you might have in mind?”

  He kept his voice low, teasing, letting her guide the pace. She wasn’t skittish, that was certain, although she might be a little hesitant.

  Then she surprised him by freeing one hand, placing it on his shoulder and tugging him close. “This would probably be easier if you would care to kiss me and then I could find out how much I might favor you…”

  Her eyes fell to his lips and she licked her own. He was lost at the sight of her pink tongue sweeping over the luscious fullness.

  “I’d be delighted.”

  Blessing his “solid shoulders”, he swept her off the seat and onto his lap, praying she couldn’t detect his rigid cock beneath all the warm night clothing they wore.

  She fit into his arms perfectly and it must have been instinct that drove her to loop her arms around his neck. When she smiled at him, he nearly lost all control right there.

  “I like this so far, Charles. I feel protected here. Safe.”

  “Of course you are.” He cuddled her into his body a little. She was a warm and lovely bundle of flannel and woolly socks and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this aroused.

  “Are you going to kiss me now?” She raised her face in silent invitation.

  “In a moment.” He ran a finger down over her nose. “I’d like to learn your features first.”

  She looked puzzled. “I don’t understand.”

  He smiled. Now it was his turn to do what he believed he did quite well. He was going to seduce her and arouse her. He would not touch her other than kisses, but he wanted to know if he could awaken her sensuality.

  He was pretty sure she had, as yet, to experience passion. Of course she was a virgin, but he’d bet anything she’d been kissed before. She was twenty-three, after all.

  However, she’d never been kissed by an expert. So it was definitely time to take care of that deficiency in her sexual education.

  And he couldn’t wait to experience it himself.

  With infinite care he lowered his head to hers and tenderly kissed her eyebrows.

  He could feel her shiver and she made a surprised sound.

  “Sssh.”

  “But…”

  He moved his finger to her lips and held it against them. “Sssh.”

  This time he dropped a feather-light kiss on her nose, and followed it with a brush of his fingers beneath her chin. She shivered again and he smiled.

  Her cheeks were next in line for his attentions, sweet touches of his lips here and there, moving her face as he willed with that finger beneath her chin.

  Her eyelids drooped as she fell into the heat of the moment and he let his lips brush them, feeling the silk of her eyelashes against his flesh.

  The fire crackled and the snow hissed against the windows, but still Charles heard the tiny sound of pleasure she made. He was…delighted.

  He was also hard as nails, with the strongest case of male desire he could recall in quite some time. She would be an excellent choice for a wife, he decided. However, exactly who was making the decision—him or his cock—he wasn’t quite sure. And at this moment, he didn’t care.

  Finally, after stroking her ears, running his tongue around her chin and driving himself half mad, he pulled her into position.

  “Now, Hannah. Now.”

  And he kissed her.

  *~~*~~*

  She felt the warmth of his breath brush over her face and the heat travelled down across the rest of her as well.

  And when he tugged at her, holding her snug against his chest, she knew it would be now. And it was.

  His lips were firm, warm, gentle at first. A pressing together of sensitive flesh—his and hers.

  It was an amazingly wonderful kiss, and not nearly enough for Hannah.

  He’d spent so long arousing her, teasing her with light touches and soft caresses, that she was hungry now, with a need building inside for…something.

  She wasn’t
quite sure what, but this lovely kiss wasn’t it.

  Slipping her arms around his neck, she pressed herself even closer to him, encouraging him without words to continue with their embrace.

  And his lips parted, his tongue urged its way between hers and he slipped inside her mouth with practiced ease.

  Once there, he lit a flame inside her. His tongue learned her, even as she tasted him, and learned him back.

  Warm wet silk, a teasing touch of ale and something spicy—his own flavor perhaps?

  All she knew was that he was delicious and something hot was beginning to burn her body, making her fidget and ache a little down low in her belly.

  She moaned, a sound that shocked her but seemed to inspire Charles.

  His hands were on her now, stroking her body through her robe, squeezing, probing, making her sigh and kiss him as deeply as she could.

  He pulled back, sucking in a breath. “God, Hannah.”

  “Yes.” She couldn’t think, couldn’t form a coherent sentence. All she wanted was him, so she grabbed his head and kissed him again, passionately and with a fierce yearning.

  He groaned and shifted her again, finding his way inside her robe. His hands seared her through her nightgown, burning the skin of her waist and her back as he stroked her, and learned her body as well as her mouth.

  “Charles,” she sobbed, her head falling back on his arm. “Touch me. Do something. I’m on fire. God…”

  His body tensed and for the first time she could feel something rigid beneath her buttocks. She squirmed, knowing well exactly what it was.

  “Stop that,” he whispered, “I will not take your virginity, Hannah. I cannot.”

  She let out a muted whimper, but still moved against the hardness pressing into her. “Then just touch me. Please. I don’t know what to do…”

  He lifted her close to his chest and buried his face in her neck, biting gently. It was astounding how her body responded to his caresses. She was shivering but not with cold and she was burning up but not from the heat of the fire.

  She realized that this was desire. This was the need that drove men and women into each other’s arms. She knew she would have to wait for the ultimate revelation. But she was desperate to know if there was more…

  So she demanded it. “Show me more, Charles. Show me.”

  “I shouldn’t.” His hand went to her waist and she felt him untie the belt of her robe.

  “Please.” She asked again, hoping that he would not refuse her desperate request.

  “Hush, then.”

  His clever fingers pulled her robe apart and found the ribbon at her neck. It was rapidly untied and she felt the cool air on her heated flesh. She sighed as he pushed the fabric aside and bared her breasts. Somehow it seemed perfect.

  She should have been shocked, or horrified, or screaming, but she wasn’t. She was poised on the edge of a cliff, waiting for something incredible, waiting for him.

  The man she’d been waiting for all her life.

  Now she knew why she’d never managed to come close to any of her would-be suitors. Why none of them had inspired more than a polite smile and a nod as they passed.

  Not one of them, even those who had stolen a few kisses, none had ever made her feel like this.

  Mad for him.

  She was mad for Charles.

  And when he cupped her breast and rubbed his thumb over the taut nipple—she exploded.

  She couldn’t stop the scream that erupted in her lungs any more than she could stop the spasms that rattled her from toes to scalp. She heard him gasp, but all she could do was claw at his shoulders, hanging on for dear life as everything in her universe turned upside down.

  He was squeezing her tightly, his arms anchoring her to him. It was a good thing because she knew if he hadn’t been holding her, she would have flown around the room like a trapped sparrow.

  Finally, the spasms eased and she collapsed, confused, limp and weak everywhere.

  Opening her eyes, she met the vivid blue gaze—and blinked.

  “That’s it,” he said. “You will marry me.”

  She managed to raise one hand to his face and cradled his cheek. “All right.”

  Chapter Seven

  The storm continued unabated for the next few days, isolating the Sow’s Ear from most of the rest of the world.

  It was a chance for Martin to make a few repairs around the place, and he gladly accepted Charles’s help. First with skepticism and then with surprised enthusiasm when the younger man proved himself adept with hammer and saw.

  Hannah smiled and sang her way through the early spring cleaning she decided to start, and in spite of the ever growing mounds of snow outside, the inside was a warm and happy place.

  They had announced their engagement to Martin the morning after their shepherding adventures. He had declared himself pleased, gave Charles a sharp look and then boldly asked Hannah if she was sure about this.

  She lifted her chin and smiled at him. “I couldn’t be happier, Martin. He’s the one, you see. Not the Penvale one, my one.”

  At that, Martin relaxed and hugged her with a rib-cracking display of emotion. Then he looked at Charles. “Yer better take care of her, all right? I hear one thing, just one, and I’m a’comin’ for yer.”

  “I protect what is mine, old man. And you know that.” He met Martin’s gaze squarely. “She’ll never need for anything.”

  “Best you mean it, lad.” Then he extended his gnarled hand and the two men shook. “Now. Let’s have a wee drop to celebrate, then back to work.”

  They did just that, and it was several days before they saw the outside world once more.

  Charles, for his part, was ready to change his wardrobe. He’d worn this set quite long enough. Especially when he’d dug his way around to the stable and ensured his horse was surviving well.

  The horse was fine but Charles worked up a sweat and Hannah demanded his shirt as soon as he walked into the inn. “I will wash it, Charles. Forgive me, but it smells of horse and you. Not a horrid combination, but I think you’d prefer a fresher scent?”

  He rolled his eyes, removed his shirt—noting her interested gaze as he did so—and slipping into an old and itchy tunic that Martin probably bought at least twenty years ago.

  It was an idyllic time. No demands other than the basics, no need to be anyone but himself. He felt as if he’d stepped into another world, one where he had found a friend in Martin and a future bride in Hannah.

  He found himself dreading the day when reality would encroach on his private little paradise, snow and smelly shirts notwithstanding.

  And there were the nights.

  Brazen in her wants, Hannah spent them beside him, cuddled up and talking about anything and everything.

  He grew to know her likes, her dreams and also her character. Sometimes it was what she said and other times what she didn’t. She spoke very little about her childhood, mentioning her sisters and her mother sometimes, but not often. About her father she said almost nothing, but Charles received the impression that he was not one of those doting men when it came to his daughters.

  For her part, she was delightfully curious about him, his life, his experiences—and his body.

  This last was a subject that tried his patience and stretched his control to the limit. Once “engaged”, Hannah made it clear that Charles was now exclusively hers to investigate.

  She told him of the few kisses she’d received in the past. She dismissed them with a brief flick of her wrist. She spoke of the minimal education she’d received from her sisters and asked his opinion on the joining of husband and wife. Did it hurt? Would it fit? Could he take his nightshirt off so she could see what would be waiting for her on her wedding night?

  His replies grew shorter. “I don’t know”, “yes, of course,” and “no.”

  His cock was painfully rigid and her innocently lustful inquisition wasn’t helping matters.

  “Hannah…” He gulped in a breath
of air and fought for control. “You are asking questions better saved for our wedding night.”

  She sighed and cuddled even closer, molding her soft breasts to his side. “I can’t help it, Charles. Ever since you touched me and I felt that amazing…what did you call it? Release?” She groaned a little. “It was so wonderful. I want that feeling again. Perhaps it won’t happen again.” She sat up. “Oh no…”

  He rolled his eyes. “It will happen, love. I’ll make sure of it.”

  “Now?” She fluttered her eyelashes at him.

  He couldn’t help laughing. “No, not now. Not the way you mean.”

  She picked up on that. “There’s another way?”

  “You are…” He shook his head. “I don’t know what to say. Other than I think we’d best get ourselves married at the earliest possible opportunity.”

  “I’d like that Charles.” She made a happy murmur. “Shall I like being your wife?”

  “I hope so.”

  She tucked her toes against his leg. “The bigger question is whether I shall like being Lady Penvale.” The toes stilled. “I won’t be a very good Lady, I’m afraid.”

  “Don’t worry. I will probably be an even worse Lord.”

  “I don’t know how to be a Lady, Charles. I’ll embarrass you.”

  The note of worry in her voice was clear and his heart went out to her. She was being plunged into a life she never anticipated, or prepared for. It must be quite terrifying on some levels, and he sought the right words to reassure her.

  He spoke the first ones that came into his head. “I’ll be there with you, sweetheart. Always.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise. Word of a Fontaine.”

  “And you’ll let me sleep like this with you every night? I won’t have to have a fancy set of rooms to myself? The sort of rooms that a husband only visits every other Saturday?”

  Charles chuckled. “Where on earth you got that silly notion from, I can’t begin to imagine. Yes, you may sleep with me every night. In fact I shall be quite upset if you don’t. But you will have your own rooms as well. You’ll need them for the thousands of gowns and massive amounts of jewelry you will have to wear every day because you are Lady Penvale and must impress everyone with your consequence.”