In the Arms of the Heiress (A LADIES UNLACED NOVEL) by Maggie Robinson Page A

so close, so close—
    And then she heard a crash. A low, agonized groan. She snatched her hand away and listened to the real world around her. The wind was blowing outside as usual, rattling the mullioned windows. Her bedside clock was ticking, the fire rumbling down. And two rooms away, Charles Cooper was shouting, barking out orders to phantom soldiers.
    He had warned her. She covered her ears with her blankets, but it was no use. His agitation was rising, his voice ragged. Someone besides herself was bound to hear him, even though they had privacy at the end of this wing of the house.
    Louisa would have to wake him. Perhaps offer him a spot of medicinal brandy to soothe his nerves. He had nerves, no matter what he thought. There was brandy in the sitting room cabinet. They could build up the fire in there and talk till his night fevers passed.
    She plucked her satin robe from the foot of the bed and hurried into it, not pausing to put her discarded nightgown back on. Louisa flushed, thinking of her fantasy. It had been very diverting inserting Captain Cooper into her little ritual. Which was only fitting, as he was taking mythical Maximillian’s place. When she’d conjured up her “husband” as she sought her pleasure in the past, his physical details had been sketchy.
    She knew what he would look like now.
    She lit a taper from the fire and swept through her dressing room and bath. The shouts were muted now but somehow more desperate. Louisa rapped once on the thick oak door and turned the handle.
    The little room was a shambles. The bedside table had tipped over and her father’s books were scattered half open on the floor, along with all the bedclothes. The fire had gone cold, but she could see the captain thrashing on his narrow bed. She swallowed hard. He was as naked as she had been a few minutes ago.
    She straightened the table and closed its empty drawer, then set the candle into a brass holder she found on the carpet. “Captain Cooper. Charles. Wake up.”
    He gave no indication that he heard her, and how could he? Her words wavered between a croak and a whisper. Louisa took a step forward and placed a hand on his muscled arm. “Charles—”
    Oh Lord, a mistake. He pulled her down on top of him in a swift, violent embrace. Before she could gather her wits, Charles Cooper had flipped her on her back and rolled over on top of her, one of his broad hands perilously close to pressing all the air from her throat. Louisa’s fists flailed at his back. His body was hot and heavy against her, his manhood pressing against the bare skin her disarranged robe had exposed. She had never been in such a position of intimacy before—her previous encounters had lacked finesse. And a bed as well.
    “Captain Cooper! Wake up now! You are hurting me!” She didn’t dare to scream, couldn’t have, really.
    His eyes opened and he stared down at her without any recognition, not relaxing his hold an inch.
    “It’s all r-right. You were dreaming.”
    He was still. Hard and still, like a slab of granite that had toppled upon her. She couldn’t mistake the prod of his penis against her belly—it was becoming more granitelike as the seconds ticked by.
    “Charles?”
    He shook his head, like a spaniel emerging from the water. “Who are you?” His voice was rough, but there was fear behind those three words.
    “Louisa Stratton. We are at Rosemont, my home.”
    “Good Christ.” He released her and scrambled off the bed. My goodness but the man was beautiful, long and very lean, although there were red marks and divots on his skin. Battle wounds, she guessed. He bent to pick up a sheet to cover himself. It was a shame Louisa could not tell Kathleen about the very perfection of the man’s arse.
    He didn’t meet her eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said, gruff. His fingers were clumsily fastening the sheet low on his hips. It was all Louisa could do to ask him to leave it and come back to bed.
    “That’s quite all right. You