conceived with his seed, what a strong beautiful infant she would bear. These imaginings charged him with even greater desire, as though he'd swallowed the most powerful love potion.
Twice he released her mouth only to surge back, covering her lips again. A small whimper escaped her but she did not try to break away. And he couldn't possibly get enough of her lips. Her kiss was honeyed torment, her scent heated his blood. Whether she understood what she did or not, she called to him and he longed to drink great draughts of her nectar.
"Enough—no more—” she pleaded, flushed against him.
"Ah, Charity. I could make you my wife now, so easily."
"How? We haven't even exchanged vows."
Even in the deepening dusk he saw her perplexity. Groaning at her ignorance, he forced himself to stay his hand. “So tempted I am to take you."
"But you will not?"
"Not without your consent to wed. I give you my word."
"I cannot give you mine."
She would drive him mad. There was only one immediate solution. “I will return you to your cousin."
Still, she held to him in all her alluring sweetness. “Must I go from you?"
Despite being nearly wild with frustration, he smiled. “You will not agree to wed me, yet you wish to remain in my arms?"
"What will happen if I stay?"
"Do you really want to know?” he whispered.
"Better take me to Emma."
"Hide by her while you may."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Eight
Charity gazed around her in amazement. How had she come to be in this grand room? Never had she beheld such luxury.
Candelabras on the blue walls shone over an immense sideboard that held sprigged-floral platters heaped with pastries, steamed puddings, fish in sauce, roast beef, and a whole cooked goose. Red and yellow apples and nuts of all sorts spilled from the polished silver bowls. A magnificent table ran the length of the room, laden with china plates, soup bowls, silver spoons, forks, pearl-handled knives and sparkling goblets filled with red wine. Ornate chairs carved of fine wood with seats of gold cloth lined the table.
Servants waited to serve the merry party of ladies and gentlemen entering through the double doors. The elegant assembly was dressed as she'd always imagined the wealthy would be. Men wore tailored coats and breeches of rich fabric. Ruffled shirts showed above their waistcoats.
What a contrast the ladies’ glowing gowns made to her plain homespun. Flowered fabric or stunning solids in blue and crimson draped their shapely figures. Conserving precious cloth wasn't a concern given the abundance used, and they displayed a great deal more bosom than she was accustomed to.
Powdered wigs covered many heads, though some men wore their own hair pulled back and tied at the neck with black ribbons as Colin had when Charity first met him. Ladies piled their tresses high on their heads, tendrils at their cheeks. Jewels winked at their white throats. Rings shone on the men's fingers as they assisted the women to their seats.
An impressive figure stood at the head of the table, his muscular build evident beneath his stylish clothes. A smile creased his weathered features and crinkled the corners of his blue eyes. Still in his prime, he would be about the same age as her father if he'd lived and bore some resemblance to him, including red hair. But so many years had passed since her father's death that she couldn't be certain of his appearance.
"A toast!” the man called out.
The glad assembly raised their glasses.
She sidled nearer the jovial host, but he continued as if he hadn't seen her. No one at the table took any more notice of her than if she were a ghost. She lifted a pastry from the sideboard and bit into the meat filling. Savoring the delicacy, she eyed the fir boughs and holly decorating the wide mantle. Was it Christmas? Their servant, Hannah, had spoken of lavish parties given in the great homes at Yuletide.
Lilting music summoned Charity from the fireside. She glimpsed a
Twice he released her mouth only to surge back, covering her lips again. A small whimper escaped her but she did not try to break away. And he couldn't possibly get enough of her lips. Her kiss was honeyed torment, her scent heated his blood. Whether she understood what she did or not, she called to him and he longed to drink great draughts of her nectar.
"Enough—no more—” she pleaded, flushed against him.
"Ah, Charity. I could make you my wife now, so easily."
"How? We haven't even exchanged vows."
Even in the deepening dusk he saw her perplexity. Groaning at her ignorance, he forced himself to stay his hand. “So tempted I am to take you."
"But you will not?"
"Not without your consent to wed. I give you my word."
"I cannot give you mine."
She would drive him mad. There was only one immediate solution. “I will return you to your cousin."
Still, she held to him in all her alluring sweetness. “Must I go from you?"
Despite being nearly wild with frustration, he smiled. “You will not agree to wed me, yet you wish to remain in my arms?"
"What will happen if I stay?"
"Do you really want to know?” he whispered.
"Better take me to Emma."
"Hide by her while you may."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Eight
Charity gazed around her in amazement. How had she come to be in this grand room? Never had she beheld such luxury.
Candelabras on the blue walls shone over an immense sideboard that held sprigged-floral platters heaped with pastries, steamed puddings, fish in sauce, roast beef, and a whole cooked goose. Red and yellow apples and nuts of all sorts spilled from the polished silver bowls. A magnificent table ran the length of the room, laden with china plates, soup bowls, silver spoons, forks, pearl-handled knives and sparkling goblets filled with red wine. Ornate chairs carved of fine wood with seats of gold cloth lined the table.
Servants waited to serve the merry party of ladies and gentlemen entering through the double doors. The elegant assembly was dressed as she'd always imagined the wealthy would be. Men wore tailored coats and breeches of rich fabric. Ruffled shirts showed above their waistcoats.
What a contrast the ladies’ glowing gowns made to her plain homespun. Flowered fabric or stunning solids in blue and crimson draped their shapely figures. Conserving precious cloth wasn't a concern given the abundance used, and they displayed a great deal more bosom than she was accustomed to.
Powdered wigs covered many heads, though some men wore their own hair pulled back and tied at the neck with black ribbons as Colin had when Charity first met him. Ladies piled their tresses high on their heads, tendrils at their cheeks. Jewels winked at their white throats. Rings shone on the men's fingers as they assisted the women to their seats.
An impressive figure stood at the head of the table, his muscular build evident beneath his stylish clothes. A smile creased his weathered features and crinkled the corners of his blue eyes. Still in his prime, he would be about the same age as her father if he'd lived and bore some resemblance to him, including red hair. But so many years had passed since her father's death that she couldn't be certain of his appearance.
"A toast!” the man called out.
The glad assembly raised their glasses.
She sidled nearer the jovial host, but he continued as if he hadn't seen her. No one at the table took any more notice of her than if she were a ghost. She lifted a pastry from the sideboard and bit into the meat filling. Savoring the delicacy, she eyed the fir boughs and holly decorating the wide mantle. Was it Christmas? Their servant, Hannah, had spoken of lavish parties given in the great homes at Yuletide.
Lilting music summoned Charity from the fireside. She glimpsed a
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