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Man of Her Affairs

By: lepetiterose



1816

Early Morning.

Hyde Park lay shrouded in mist, the ghost-like vapor hanging undisturbed as the first streaks of dawn began to paint the trees a luscious pink. Not a soul, or rather, not a human soul, stirred the quiet scene. 

One would think that this landscape lay in the deepest recess of the countryside, and not in the middle of a bustling capital; a metropolis that plays host to all the depravity and ecstasy committed and received by members of the ton, a community that delights in the social whirl and scandal almost as much as they enjoyed a good Hunt. 

Yes, thought Miss Charlotte Grey with a wry twist of her full lips, one would definitely be forgiven for such...tame thoughts. But not she, oh no, not Miss Grey. The only reason she was even contemplating this tranquil scene was entirely due to a simple fact: 

She was lost.

All right, she admitted to herself, she wasn't lost, but the groomsman she'd been forced to take with her didn't know that. Presuming he ever caught up with her, that is. 

She'd lost him within only five minutes of arriving in the park. Only stopping to shift to sit astride, Charlotte kept a careful eye out for the groom. 

Pure silence greeted her, the tranquil scene of the park helping to soothe the ire that had built within her over the past week. This was one of the first times she had been alone. Truly and wonderfully alone. 

With a strange sense of glee, Charlotte kicked her horse Saber into a gallop, delighting in the way he surged below her and how the biting wind snatched at her hair. Urging Saber on, she exalted in her freedom. 

'At last! If I had to spend even another minute pretending to embroider...' she muttered as the park whipped by her. 

As she galloped over low hills and meadows of yellowing grass, trees clothed in deep reds and burning oranges turned into streaks of colour. Some times she rejoined the formal paths, but preferred to choose her own way. She came across no one, the lack of traffic testament to the ridiculous hours kept by the ton. She was under no disillusions. Soon those of the lower classes would begin to occupy the pathways, and her short bout of freedom would come to an end.

But not now. With fresh determination to enjoy her few minutes alone, she kicked Saber to charge up a hill, rising from her seat as he crested the rise and plummeted into the meadow bellow. A spontaneous laugh burst from her lips, only to be cut short by a resounding CRACK! 

Abruptly, she found herself struggling to hold on to a violently rearing horse.

*

Lord James William Arthur Rochester, Marques of Earlsford, coldly surveyed the meadow before him. The light was only beginning to touch the treetops, a false promise of the day's warmth to come. The brightening sky helped to reveal the two men beside him, as well as the small group that stood huddled across the field. 

James exhaled irritably, the breath clouding inches from his tense face. This was not the way he had planned to spend his morning. In fact, the entire preceding eight hours had not been spent in any manner that he had enjoyed, which left him in a very bad mood. A very, very bad mood. 

He was broken from his contemplation by a strong slap on the back. 'Oh cheer up, Earlsford. It looks like you're about to murder someone!' Richard Darnsford, Earl of Burnsdale, was grinning from ear to ear, obviously finding his cheery comment highly amusing. 'It's not everyday you get to trounce one of the most irritating men in society.' 

James did not deign to reply.

'I think, Darnsford,' whispered Michael Trent Ridgley, Earl of Dentworth, sotto voice, 'our dear friend the Marquess here does not share in your enthusiasm.' He raised a brow in mock seriousness, his face held remarkably straight.

'Oh, perish the thought! Why, I just know that under that hardened exterior there is a bit of him just loving every moment of this.'

'You mean to say, behind those golden eyes that smoulder like coals in dark, as the ladies say, and beneath those luscious dark locks that are softer than all the silks of India, as the ladies say, there lies a secret spot of mushy feeling?' Ridgley gaped in comical horror. 'Are you sure? This is the Marques of Earlsford you speak of, the Marques of Midnight, Rigid Rochester, Earlsford the -'

'Ridgley, Darnsford, shut up. This is no laughing matter.' James continued to stare straight ahead towards the group across the field, having shown no reaction to his friends ribbing. 'Besides from honour, a man's life is a stake today.'

The two Earls looked at each other, then back at James, identical expressions of disbelief on their faces.

Michael sighed, a hand raking through his sandy hair. 'James, we both know we're only here as a formality, the only thing we're actually here for is to hold your bloody gun.'

'Michael's right, James. You don't need us to tell you that you've got the best shot in London, perhaps the best in England! Sure, you could kill the man. But then again, we're the only two people who know that you won't.' Richard draped his arm around James' shoulders and continued in a voice far removed from his former, jovial tone. 'You've done all the killing you'll ever need to do. Now, I know Sidwell Barnsby is just about soiling himself over there. Do what you came here to do and what you've been planning to do from the start. Walk your paces, shoot faster than he can blink, graze his arm so you can claim first blood, retain your honour and give Barnsby a good reason to piss himself.'

Gripping his friend by the shoulder, Richard gave him a little shake. 'Now, stop with all the glowering. It's nearly time. Besides, Ridgley and I want to get to bed.'

Finally, James allowed a slight smile to grace his lips. 'What would all the Meddling Mamas say if they knew you two rakes needed as much beauty sleep as any fop?

'What would all the lying scumbags say if they knew the Marques of Earlsford wouldn't kill them if they cheated at cards?'

The slight smile turned into a rueful grin. 'I'll keep your secret if you keep mine.'

Richard chuckled in reply. 

'James, I think Barnsby is ready,' said Michael, who had been looking towards the opposing group. The other two turned to watch Barnsby and his second walk towards the middle of the field. Nodding silently, James went to join them. Richard, acting as his second, joined him while Michael walked a few paces behind. He would serve as the official for the duel.

As they approached, Barnsby turned to face them. 

'Earlsford.' The man seemed nervous, his eyes shifting from side to side. James noted how he surreptitiously wiped his hands on his breeches. Frowning, he gave the man one last chance. 'We don't have to do this Barnsby. Just admit and apologize so we can all go on our way, and nobody has to get hurt.'

The idiot just shook his head. 'I didn't cheat with that hand, Earlsford. It is you who has behaved dishonorably. I would never, ever cheat at cards. To even suggest-'

'I think the lady doth protest too much.' Richard interrupted quietly, his eyes never leaving the now sweating man's face. Barnsby flushed red. 'How dare you-!'

'Enough!' James barked, his bad mood coming back with force. The ton was made up of idiots like this one, and it seemed his fate to deal with any which one decided to try his luck. This was the third time he'd been on this field in the past month! 'Michael, if you would care to instruct us in the proceedings.' 

Not that he needed to be instructed. Dispassionately, he allowed routine to take over. Internally, he forced his mind into a numb calmness, a void into which he fed all his focus. It had helped him aim true in the war; it would help him now. He hardly heard Michael's instructions, mutely taking the gun he was proffered and began walking the required paces to the rhythm of his friends voice.

Approaching the end of the required distance, he was broken slightly from his concentration by a slight rumbling that seemed to be coming from beyond the hill he was facing. Determined to ignore the distraction at such a crucial moment, he pushed the noise from his mind. He took his final step.

CRACK!

He had a split second to see Barnsby drop to the ground, clutching his arm, before the terrified whinny of a very large horse forced him to spin around. What he saw struck him dumb. 

The aforementioned horse was truly a superb beast, gleaming midnight black in the strengthening light. Eyes wide, nostrils flared, it towered above him as it reared, obviously frightened by the gunshot. But it was its rider who caught James' attention. 

A woman sat astride the animal, riding boots and calves bared beneath a deep blue velvet riding habit. Clearly caught unawares, she struggled to maintain her seat, tendrils of her copper hair wrapping around her face as her unbound locks swung with her movements. 

For a terrifying moment, James thought the horse would fall backwards. A bolt of fear shot through him as an image of the woman's broken body flashed through his mind. Suddenly, however, the rider threw herself forward, towards her horse's neck, forcing 

it back down to the ground. The beast hit it with a resounding thud. 

For a few more moments it moved nervously around, one hoof pawing the ground as it whickered softly, its huge head lowering and rising slowly, looking for any threat. James could now see it was at least sixteen hands tall. 

The woman remained in her seat, petting and whispering softly to the horse, slowly helping it to calm down. James couldn't see her face as the curtain of her hair shrouded it. Unexpectedly, anger washed over him in a crashing wave. Yes, this was not the way he had planned to spend his morning at all. But he was no longer in a bad mood. He was in a rage.

*

Charlotte took a deep, steadying breath as she patted Saber. He was beginning to calm down, the small tremors that had shivered across his body starting to slow.

'Shhh, Saber. It's okay, my dear. Shhhh, everything is alright.' This was not the first time he'd reared with her on his back, but it had never been so unexpected. That exploding sound had been right in front of them. She straightened immediately. That sound! Swiping her hair out of the way, she searched for what had frightened her horse. What met her gaze made her pale. 

She was at the end of a long field, which was currently occupied by two groups of very surprised men, looking at her in open amazement. All of them were still in their evening clothes, except for two who had removed their coats. 

And those two were carrying guns. 

Well, in all truth, one was carrying a gun and one was on the ground, clutching his arm, his weapon lying useless by his side. Charlotte felt her eyes widen. She had obviously just stumbled across a duel and had come very close to being shot. 

'Just what do you think you're doing?!'

Jerking her gaze away from the injured man, Charlotte looked down to see an extremely elegant man walking furiously towards her. From her position astride Saber, she couldn't judge his height but he stood proudly and walked with an air of power. His features were striking, high cheekbones and strong jaw adding to the harsh planes of his face. His hair was black and cut short, closer to the scalp on the sides than on the top, adding to his air of quiet austerity. He exuded power and he looked as if he knew how to wield it. 

As he came closer, she could clearly see anger written across his face. It was only when she looked into his eyes did she become truly worried. 

They were smouldering; smouldering with rage. 

In a blink of eye he was beside Saber. 

Looking up at the woman, he was surprised by her unexpectedly beautiful countenance. Her hair was in a wind swept mess, wisps of hair ghosting whimsically across her face in a fiery halo. The cold morning had brought a sharp contrast to her complexion, her cheeks and lips the rosy pink of sensual womanhood. But her eyes...her eyes were a stormy blue that caught his gaze with a confidence and power he had never seen in a woman before. 

Unexpectedly, he felt heat swamp his body as his muscles clenched. An errant thought crossed his mind as he took in her straight-backed posture astride the sweating horse. I wonder if she'd ride me just as hard. He banished the thought with some difficulty. This mysterious woman was clearly a lady of the ton, and he did not dabble with those. 

Incensed, not just with the woman but his lapse in control, he jerked the reins from her surprised hands. 'Madam, this is not the place for one such as yourself!' He turned to sweep his gaze across the field. 'Where is your chaperone?' 

The soft staccato of a gun being cocked caught his attention. 

Instinctively, he whipped back round and brought his gun up. The sight of a small pistol being leveled at his head stopped him cold, however. 

A pistol that was held by a suddenly very determined and very dangerous woman. Where the hell did that come from? James didn't know much about women's clothes, except on how to take them off, but he was sure there weren't many places one could hide such a weapon. 

The woman regarded him frostily. 'I order you to let go of my horse's reigns, sir.' Her eyes flicked to his own gun. 'And to drop your weapon. I dislike having guns pointed at me even if they have just discharged their last shot.'

For a moment he retained his position, staring hard into those stormy eyes. Finally he stepped back, making a big show of putting down his gun and dropping the reigns. She relaxed her hold on the pistol. He struck.

Charlotte's lips parted in surprise as her gun was expertly twisted from her grasp. She had a split second to gasp before she found herself being forcibly removed from her saddle, strong hands grasping her waist to hoist her through the air and onto the ground. She landed with a bit of a thump. 

Affronted, she looked up at the man, noting somewhat reluctantly that her eyes only met his shoulder. 'How dare you!' 

'I dare quite easily. You see, I don't like guns pointing at me, neither.'

'It was a natural response to your actions!' The stranger didn't reply, except to stare down at her stonily. Raising an eyebrow, she gave him her haughtiest look. 'Kindly remove your hands from my person, sir.' She felt the heat from those hands seeping into her skin through her clothes, his strong fingers still gripping her waist in a strangely intimate manner. From somewhere in her chest, an unexpected, warm tingling began to fizzle. Yes, his hands definitely had to be removed. Now.

'First answer me this, milady,' his voice was deep but forceful. 'What the hell do you think you're doing galloping around Hyde Park at this godforsaken hour and without a bloody chaperone?' 

Charlotte felt her temper rising at his tone. 'That is none of your business, sir. I don't answer to you or any man. Now, I asked you once and I won't ask again: let me GO!' 

She wrenched herself away and managed to take a couple of steps towards Saber before she was jerked to a stop and hauled backwards. With a soft thump she found her back pressed up against a solid wall of muscle. Strangely, she heard a soft groan from behind her.

Dear God, why did she fell so soft. He had just meant to restrain her, but holding her close to his body like this had not proved to be the best idea. He stifled a second groan as she shifted against him, trying to wriggle from his grasp. Instead, she did a better job of grinding her bottom against his hardening arousal. 

Breathing deeply to control his growing desire, he grasped her shoulders and spun her around, giving her a quick shake. 'Stop it. Do you not understand the danger you put yourself in? Not to mention the lives of others.' James went cold. Cursing, he realized what could have happened. 'Because of you, I could have killed a man!' 

He looked back to where Barnsby and the others had been standing. The men that had accompanied Sidwell were helping him onto his horse, and as James watched, the small group began to depart into the dissipating mist. Ridgley and Darnsford had collected their own mounts and were starting to make their way towards him. His horse, Duke, followed them silently.

A delicate snort drew his attention back to the woman. She did not seem to appreciate the gravity of the moment. 'And here I was, thinking that the actual purpose of a duel was to shoot one's opponent dead before he did the same to you.'

'That's not the way I do things,' he snapped back.

'Clearly.' Was she smirking?

James felt his jaw tense in irritation. When had he begun to feel the need to explain himself? 'Madam, whether or not I planned to kill the man is not the point. The point is that you are clearly far from where you should be, and even further away from where you should ever be allowed to be.'

Both her brows shot up at that. 'And by that you mean...?'

'Public places, milady. You are a danger to society.'

'Strange words, indeed, sir, considering that this little dawn meeting of yours is outlawed through out Britain.' Her eyes narrowed dangerously. 'Besides, I was not the one planning to kill a man.'

James exhaled angrily. 'I was not-'

'Why, James, who do we have here?' Michael and Richard were standing not two meters away and, James suspected, had been enjoying watching their friend being riled up by a yet unknown woman. He could see by their amused and somewhat bemused smiles that he was not acting according to his usual behaviour. 

And he wasn't. James found himself surprisingly on edge, the conflicting emotions of anger and desire causing his breath to come out in sharp bursts of irritation, while his body thrummed with adrenaline. 

To top it off, he had lost count of how many times he had sworn in front of this woman. Looking at her, he realized he was still holding onto her shoulders. Abruptly, he let go.

Stepping away, Charlotte began to straighten out her skirts. The two men who had approached seemed to be good friends with the man she'd been arguing with. The three of them were all quite tall, their builds lean and athletic. The one who had just spoken had light brown hair, which he habitually ran through with his fingers now and then. His face was lit by an easy smile that reached his warm blue eyes that where framed by long eyelashes.

If he seemed to be a woman's perfect dream of a romantic poet, his companion would be that woman's secret and unchaste fantasy of the sultry seducer. Dark brown hair fell past his face only to be caught up in a roguish cue at the base of his neck as large, brown eyes ringed in green twinkled with a mischief that was already present in his half smile. The tallest of the three, he also seemed to be the one with the most effervescent personality. 

His friends, however, did not overshadow her stranger. Though she'd only laid eyes on him several minutes ago, and those minutes had been some of the most ire filled of her life, when she looked back at his hard face she felt he stood out from his friends. There was strength in him that was missing from the others, a strength that went beyond muscle and bone. It was in the way he walked, how he stood and how he looked at a person. She had a feeling that with that strength came a great deal of control. 

I wonder, she thought as she watched him scowl at his friends, what would happen if he lost control. A shiver ran through her, and she felt herself tighten down there. She couldn't stop the irrational hope that she would somehow be there when it happened. 

Unfortunately, that stern face was now turned to her and looked a fair bit more than annoyed. Charlotte blinked. He had the look of someone waiting for an answer. Oh dear. 'Excuse me?'

'I was just explaining to my companions that you had yet to grace me with your name.'

Really, he was quite imperious. Looking up at his austere face, something came over her then, and all the anger she had felt at this stranger's high handedness melted into mirth. Suddenly, she was fighting to keep a smile off her face.


Man of Her Affairs Ch. 02



Glossary:

ton - a colloquial french term used in the 1800s to describe high society, or the aristocracy.

*****

James strode into his club later that same day, refreshed after a few hours sleep, a piping hot bath and a change of clothes. He would have been perfectly happy to have stayed in his bed, completely naked beneath the soft white sheets whilst day dreaming of the surprisingly lovely Miss Grey, but he wanted information: and there was nowhere better to get it than his club. 

As he stepped across the threshold, he remembered an observation his mother had made after watching his father with a bunch of his friends. 'Men like to gossip just as much as women, dear, the only difference is that women are unafraid to admit to it.' 

His mother had always been wise, he reflected, as he allowed his gaze to sweep across the crowded room.

Immediately, Michael and Richard waved him over to where they lounged, ensconced in deep, leather chairs beside a roaring fireside. They, too, had changed and refreshed themselves, both looking the part of bored lords of the realm. Something, however, told him that they had been more active in the past hours than he. 

He was not disappointed.

As he sat down, Richard gave him a toothy grin. 'So,' he drawled, eyes bright with mischief, 'that was quite a performance this morning.' 

'Good afternoon to you, too.' 

'I have never seen you put so out of joint,' Richard continued, ignoring James' sarcasm. 'But then again, I have never seen a female stand up to you either.' He leant back in his chair with a smirk of satisfaction, and slowly took a sip of his drink. 'And now, if I know you, you are looking for information on your mysterious Miss Grey.' 

James stayed silent for a moment, watching his friend. 'Are you done?'

'Yes.' Richard nodded, sagely.

'Right. Well, first off, I hate you.'

'I love you, too.'

'And secondly, if I know you, you have already obtained information on Miss Grey. So, save me the trouble of having to beat it out of you and tell me.'

Even Michael raised his brows at that, thought he hid his amused smile behind his glass. James was probably the only man in England who could beat Richard in an out and out pugilist match.

Richard put on a look of mock disappointment. 'You are no fun when you are determined, you know that?'

James answered with a sickly sweet grin.

Finally, Michael could not stand it anymore. With a dramatic sigh and a role of the eyes, he leaned forward with a very purposeful air. 'If you two are done, perhaps it would interest you, James, to know that Miss Grey is actually the daughter of Lord Henry Grey, and the granddaughter of Lord Archibald Gainsbourgh.'

James nodded thoughtfully, settling into the deep chair. So she was a lady of the ton, except in even higher circles than he had thought. Her connections jarred slightly with her very independent behavior, however. 'Lord Henry Grey. I do not believe I am acquainted with him. Has he traveled over the last few years?'

Richard continued nonchalantly, before Michael could carry on. 'More than a few years. Six to be more precise. He set off from these shores after the death of his wife, taking Miss Grey with him. He was so distraught, poor man, that he signed up as a royal merchant and traveled to places I haven't even heard of. A bit unorthodox, but he seemed to become quite successful.' Placing his empty glass down, Richard signaled for another. 'Only recently did he realize he had a yet unmarried daughter still in tow.' 

James did not mistake his friend's act for a moment. 'So, Miss Grey has arrived for the Season, to look for a husband?' He shook his head in disbelief. 'Somehow, that just does not fit with what I deducted from our...encounter.'

'You mean the gun totting, astride riding, female horse acrobat who looked as if she would rather kill you than court you?' Michael remarked dryly.

Unbidden, the image of Miss Grey's desire dazed face as she ground against him floated through James' mind. 'Amongst other things, yes.'

'It may not be what she wants, but her grandmother, Lady Gainsbourgh, is set on marrying her off by the end of the Season.'

'I think it will take a bit more than mere will power to get her paired up.'

'That is why Lord Grey has put a very generous dowry on his only daughter. Besides which, though unusual, she will inherit his business upon his death. She is every fortune hunter's wish come true, and it helps that she is very beautiful.' Michael paused for effect, a sly smile stealing across his face, 'I'm sure you noticed.'

James grunted in reply. He knew his friends were waiting for the reason for his interest in this uncommon female. Never before had he even hinted at interest in any woman from the ton, preferring to keep his affairs firmly entrenched in the demi mode. He himself did not know why he craved to learn more about his innocent wanton, besides from his obvious and undeniable physical attraction to her. 

He sighed. Even now, hours after their encounter, he still had to control his thoughts, otherwise he found himself painfully aroused in a matter of moments. Even innocent thoughts over how her hair draped down the column of her neck led to less safe thoughts over her soft skin and the taste of it, which led to thoughts on how she would taste if he could have lifted her skirts, knelt down and-

James felt his jaw tense. He was going to go mad.

'Something the matter?' Michael asked.

'Nothing at all,' he bit out.

'Oh, temper, temper.'

'So, if she's such a catch, why has she not been properly introduced into Society?' he asked quickly. He did not really care about the answer; he just wanted to distract his friends away from any uncomfortable questions.

They looked at each other, identical smug expressions dawning across their features. That did not bode well.

'Well,' Michael mused, affecting an air of thought.

'Her coming out ball is...tonight!' Richard said in false realization, continuing the act.

'And what a coincidence, I believe we have been invited.'

'Oh, then we must attend.'

'Quite.'

James looked in disbelief at his two companions. Together, they could have run the country's secret service and ended the War years in advance. Sometimes, even he underestimated the skill through which they obtained their information. 

'I believe your talents have been wasted in peerage. Either the stage or the War Office would have been better suited,' he muttered irritably, finally signaling for a drink. Double. Neat. He would need it.

Richard smirked at the comment, but it slid slowly from his face as his eyes were caught by something behind James. Curios, James turned slowly in his seat, just in time to watch the retreating back of a tall, blonde haired gentleman. Twisting back to his companions, he noted that Michael had also watched the gentleman leave, his mouth pressed tight in distaste.

'What?' James demanded.

'I know a gentleman who would also like to attend the ball tonight,' Michael commented softly, his eyes still trained on the space where the man had exited. 'Lucian Farnshill, the Viscount Thorsby. He was eavesdropping on our conversation the entire time. If anyone is in the market for a wealthy heiress, its him.' 

'Do you know him?'

Michael shrugged. 'He arrived in town a few months ago. Society mamas love him, and on the surface he is all things charming and complimentary.'

'But you do not trust him.' James had learnt long ago to heed Michael's opinions on people. His friend had a gut instinct that had never been proven wrong.

'Indeed. He has gained a reputation for ruthlessness in the gambling hells, often playing against drunk, young men who have nothing to gamble with but their inheritance. There have also been reports that he beats his mistress.' Michael tapped his glass softly against a side table, creating a steady beat as he thought. 'He is smart, though. He indulges his vices - women, horses, betting and such - through funds generated by businesses, which he first invests in and then sucks dry, leaving his ancestral estates untouched.

Richard's expression was grim. 'If he is looking for a rich wife, it is not so he can save himself from financial ruin, but so he can use all his spouse's money to fuel his activities.'

It was a situation that occurred in most Society marriages, but somehow imagining Thorsby setting his sights on Miss Grey as his next meal ticket filled James with dread. The woman would not be prepared for such an attack: she was too stubborn and headstrong, unaware of the dangers London held. He had a feeling that it would take a while for her to understand the subtle politics and maneuverings of the ton, and by then it might be too late.

She was nothing to him. He had no responsibility towards her and she should be left to her fate. He should leave her care to her guardians like most young women were. She did not need his protection.

James tried to convince himself not to get involved in her life. But it burnt like acid in his stomach. However skilled she was at wielding a gun and however confident she was in her ability to predict danger, he knew she would be vulnerable in a crowded ballroom. There would be no bullets, no muggings, no kidnappings, but men and women alike would wish to use her for their own gains. Especially Viscount Thorsby.

James conveniently forgot that he would like to use the delectable Miss Grey for his own, pleasurable gains.

He would have to attend the ball, just to make sure she was not in any danger, he assured himself. Looking up from the fire that he had been staring into unconsciously, he met the eyes of his two friends.

'We best get ready for tonight, then.'

*

'Ow!'

'Hold still if you do not want it to hurt.'

'My hair was perfectly alright the way it was.'

'No, it was not. It was too simple!'

'Elegant. The word you are looking for is elegant.'

'Charlotte, let Anne do her job,' commanded Lady Gainsbourgh, as she glided into Charlotte's bedroom, adorned in ice blue silk. 'She knows what she is doing and has been a lady's maid for over ten years. Now stop fidgeting!'

Charlotte calmed down reluctantly, not wishing to anger her grandmother further. The woman ran her household with an iron fist and often refused to soften her touch when it came to dealing with her outspoken granddaughter. 

'Now,' the older woman sighed, moving across the lavish room to peer into the looking glass beside Charlotte, 'how are you doing, dear? Nervous, excited?' She preened slightly, touching her flawless hair and straightening her wrinkleless skirts. 'Perhaps tonight is the night you meet your future husband, hmm?'

Charlotte kept silent. Her wish to stay unmarried was an ongoing tension between them. After her father dumped her unceremoniously in London, she had cried for hours, something she had never done in her life. She had never wanted to marry, never wanted to leave her life of traveling, and had never wanted to give up her independence. And after a few weeks in the metropolis, she felt her reluctance validated.

But on that first night in London, her grandmother had entered the room, looking as regal as royalty, to lay down the law. After a half an hour lecture on what was acceptable and what was risqué as well as the duties expected of her, Charlotte was nearing the end of her patience.

What her grandmother said next nearly drove her through the wall.

'Now, my dear, I know your father has been rather lenient with you over allowing you do your own thing, but you must come to the realization that independent women do not fare well in Society. They are scorned, suspected of the most salacious scandal and spurned by most of the ton. You cannot hope to lead a respectable life without the guidance of a husband.'

'Then I will have to leave and continue my life outside Britain,' she stated matter-of-factly, trying to keep her composure.

Ice blue eyes narrowed in disbelief. 'And how will you do that, Charlotte? Your dowry is not your own to use and it will be ages until you inherit your father's business.'

That was enough. What did her grandmother think she was? A vegetable? 'I have my own finances.'

Lady Gainsbourgh stopped cold at that. 'Your own...finances? My girl, how is that possible?' 

'Grandmama, father was and is a successful royal merchant. I did not spend my time traveling with him embroidering!' She tried to tone down her exasperation, but her voice still held an edge.

Shocked, Lady Gainsbourgh had held still for a full minute. Charlotte counted. Eventually, the tension left her body and she relaxed. With a heart felt sigh she had sunk into the nearest chair and put her head in her hands. Her shoulders began to shake.

Worried, Charlotte had rushed to her side. 'Oh, please do not cry.' But her eyes widened in shock as her indomitable grandmother burst into laughter.

'Oh, my dear, I am so sorry. It is just, you are so like your mother. Always determined and never ending in her surprises.' She continued chuckling as she gently patted Charlotte's hand. 

Finally, she had lent back in her chair and regarded her granddaughter with a mixture of worried indulgence and trepidation. 'I want the best for you, Char. I have seen the loveliest women fall into disgrace because they could not stand the scorn of the ton. But then again, you have proved, even to me, that perhaps you will not allow Society to manipulate you. Instead, I have begun to fear for them.'

But her expression became stern again almost immediately. 'I have a duty to your father, Charlotte. To look after you and give you the best chance at happiness as possible: and I will do my duty as I see fit.' 

After that, they had come to some sort of unspoken truce.

Charlotte winced as she remembered the incident. She had not meant to divulge her secret finances. Besides, it had only been two weeks since their conversation: she did not want to know what her grandmother would say to her secret morning ride.

The woman in question finished off her perusal. Her sharp eyes caught the flicker of emotion on Charlotte's face and narrowed. She straightened up sharply but did not comment.

'I expect you downstairs in precisely one hour,' she said, crossing to the door, where she paused to look back. Her features softened. 'You look beautiful, dear.'

And before Charlotte could reply, she disappeared into the hallway with barely a rustle of silk.

'Done!'

Charlotte's teary-eyed attention was drawn back to the mirror, where she was met with Anne's beaming face and her own reflection. 

'And, the piece de resistance!' With a flourish, and a really bad French accent, her maid clipped a pair of drop diamond earrings to Charlotte's ears, stepping back to enjoy the finished look.

Twin images of the copper-haired woman stared at each other. 

In awe, Charlotte touched one earring lightly, watching as it caught the light and shimmered. Catching her own gaze, she saw her eyes sparkle, in tune with the diamonds. They were framed by whimsical wisps of hair Anne had allowed to elude the hairpins, providing a contrast to her dark blue eyes.

Glancing at the controversial hairstyle, she had to admit it looked lovely. The complicated up do laid bare the long, graceful column of her throat, its elegant line leading down to her shoulders, where the cut of her dress allowed the skin to lie exposed. The material dipped to expose the expanse of her chest, her breasts pushed up to swell enticingly.

The dress itself was made up of a material that she had carefully brought back from India. When she had seen the meters of ivory silk shot through with gold and edged in an eye-catching design of interlocking leaves, she could not resist buying it. And, now, as she stroked the golden design, she was so happy that she had indulged in the impulse.

She was the most beautiful she had ever felt, and looked, in her life.

Standing up slowly, she stepped away from the dressing table and pulled Anne into a warm embrace. 'Thank you,' she whispered, her voice breaking slightly.

'It's a pleasure, Miss.' Anne answered softly, hugging her back.

Before she could get too emotional, Charlotte broke their contact and swept to the door, much like her grandmother had done a quarter of an hour before. 'Wish me luck!' she called over her shoulder, before disappearing into the dim hallway.

'Miss!' Anne called out, but was too late. 'You still have forty five minutes to go...' 

*

Where was she?

James was not a patient man. And normally his friends were patient with his impatience, especially when he conceded into attending a ball. However, when he sent yet another group of debutants scuttling away from them with an icy stare, they were obviously coming to the end of their good humour.

'Good God man, I think you actually growled that time!' Richard was staring moodily after a pretty debutante, whom he had been making seductive eyes at.

James shot him a glare. 

'My, we are in a fine mood tonight.'

' 'We' are in no mood, whatsoever,' he snapped

'James, you cannot be in no mood, that is ridiculous.' Richard began sternly. 'You have to be in a good mood, or a bad mood, because in the absence of one there has to be another, as without the other there can never be the one and--'

'Richard?'

'Yes, James?'

'Shut up!'

His friend bit back a smile. A muscle in James' jaw began to twitch. He glanced at Michael in hope of respite, but one look at his knowing smile arrested all hope of that avenue of escape. 

Glancing around the crowded ballroom, he looked for some sort of salvation away from his two, far too perceptive friends.

Instead, he found his damnation.

From across the room his eyes found Miss Grey. She stood like a pearl amongst rocks, shimmering from the top of her burnished copper head to her gold-brushed toes. She was the perfect dream on English womanhood. 

She was his most seductive nightmare.

Suddenly, James felt it hard not to cross the room, jerk her to him, and kiss her senseless: she was that alluring. And after having tasted her, after knowing what sensual power and need lay behind those blue eyes...

James gritted his teeth as his body tightened. He had not even known the chit for a day and already he felt a strong, make that overwhelmingly strong, desire to see her in his bed.

She was the cruelest seduction. From across the room, she seemed to call to him with every swish of her wrist, every movement of her hips and every smile that twisted her full mouth. His eyes burned as they followed the gentle line of her throat...neck...shoulder, swooping down to caress the enticing swell of her breasts. Her skin looked so delectable in the low light, not a blemish. Untouched.

Except by him. 

Before he knew it, he was crossing the room towards her, leaving his friends behind and ignoring the openly curious stares of the other guests. 

'This is becoming a habit,' Michael observed.

*

'May I beg an introduction?' said a deep voice from behind her. Low, and sensual, it licked a hot shiver up her spine. She knew that voice, had yearned to hear it these past hours even as she feared her next meeting with Mr Rochester.

Slowly, she turned around and found herself staring up into dark, golden eyes.

Her heart quickened with desire.

'Lord Earlsford!' The surprisingly tremulous voice of her grandmother cut through the air like a rusty knife. Bustling up to Charlotte, she took her grandchild's arm in a claw like hand, subtly trying to draw her away from the man next to her. 'What a surprise. The last time I saw you at a ball was at least five years ago.'

'Always so direct, Lady Gainsbourgh.' 

'Always so evasive, Lord Earlsford,' she shot back pertly and raising a brow. 'The War is over, my dear, and you were not always on the battlefield. What brings you here tonight, when you have been absent from our parties for nearly half a decade?'




Man of Her Affairs Ch. 02



'An introduction to your granddaughter.'

Lady Gainsbourgh went white. 'Why?' 

'Why not?'

'What do you want with her?'

'I fail to understand why you--'

'Lord Earlsford, you may have declined to partake of ton life, but do not think me ignorant of your detestable reputation!'

'Grandmother!' Charlotte was stunned as she watched the scene unfold before her.

But the older woman could not be stopped. 'My Lord, I cannot and will not introduce you to my granddaughter.'

'I never knew you to willingly create scandal, Elena. And at your granddaughter's own coming out ball, no less.'

Lady Gainsbourgh looked as if she had just sucked a lemon. 'I know you well enough that I rather weather the gossips than allow you to know her, James.'

'War changes a man.'

'Sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse.'

At that, the increasingly enigmatic man just smiled. Slight, humourless, it was more a cold twist of the lips. 'So be it.' He executed a smart bow and began to move away.

For a moment, Lady Gainsbourgh held still, seeming to deal with an inner struggle. Then, with an irritated press of the lips, she called him back to them. 'Do not make me regret this, James.' With a sigh she pulled Charlotte forward. 'James, I introduce to you Miss Charlotte Grey. Charlotte, this is James Rochester, the Marquess of Earlsford.'

Charlotte sank into a curtsey, hiding her amusement. She had gathered her stranger's full name by then, but even so, she could not help but be a bit surprised at it. She wondered why he had never told her his complete title. Her grandmother's reaction to him made her all the more curious.

When she had risen, she found James' eyes on her. It was the first time he had looked at her in the last few minutes, and she felt herself grow warm under its intensity.

'May I have this dance, Miss Grey?' 

Charlotte glanced at her grandmother for confirmation, even though it galled her to do so. It was one of those things about London society she could not reconcile with: to wait for a man to choose to dance with her went against every independent bone in her body.

Her guardian inclined her head in consent, but frowned as she concentrated on the strains of music. 'It is a waltz.' 

James kept silent, but the way he stood screamed 'of course.' 

'Fine. The quicker you go, the quicker you can bring her back.'

And so, a minute later Charlotte found herself gliding across the dance floor in the embrace of, she was fast coming to realize, a very experienced dancer.

The waltz was a relatively new dance in Britain, leaving most of the guests content to sashay across the hall in a set routine of simple steps and turns. However, as soon as he pulled her into his arms, the Marquess led her into a myriad of turns, swirls, gentle about turns and swooping stops. He flowed around her, directing her every move, making her feel each step to be the natural continuation of the last

'Stop that,' she gasped as they came out of another perfect spin. His hand at her back tightened to stabilize her and in doing so drew her closer. They were now scant inches away from each other, and fast approaching the line of public indecency.

James, who had been silent till then, looked down at her, feigning innocence. 'Stop what?'

'Stop¬--' Charlotte inhaled sharply as they turned suddenly, the move allowing James to step between her legs. For a brief moment, she felt his thigh press intimately against her own. She gritted her teeth as heat shot to her core.

'Do you not like it? This morning you did.' He smiled knowingly, his eyes burning into hers. 'You were quite disappointed when I stopped.'

She blushed in humiliation. He was right. Even after he had ridden away, she had felt the unsatisfied need clawing inside of her, and she had wanted more, so much more. 

It was only later, once her flesh had stopped aching for his touch, did she fully comprehend her disgraceful behaviour. 

She was ashamed of herself, but she would not let him see that. 'Why are you here, Lord Earlsford? To make a spectacle of me?' 

He seemed to hesitate. 'No, to warn you.'

That deserved at least one raised brow. 'To warn me? How intriguing.'

'I suggest you do not treat this flippantly, Miss Grey, even ballrooms have their dangers.'

'Dangers? Now I really am curious. So, what is it?' She could not help herself. Her lips picked up into a sly grin. 'Is it the lemonade? Is it poisoned? Or perhaps one of the chandeliers is loose? But I can see by your expression it must be far worse.' She clapped a hand to her cheek in mock realization. 'I know! A lion from the local zoo has escaped and is hiding under the banquet table!'

James could not take much more. 'Fortune hunters,' he bit out, finally.

Charlotte was silent for a few beats as they danced, her eyes wide and lips parted in shock. Then she burst out laughing.

In the blink of an eye, James felt his annoyance at her flippancy transform into anger. Why did this woman insist on being so stubbornly averse to his authority? He was older, more experienced and a man to boot, yet she continued to treat him like nothing but an amusing fly.

'This is no laughing matter, Miss Grey.'

'Oh, but it is. You should have seen your face. So serious.' She removed her hand from his shoulder to wipe away a tear. 'Really, Lord Earlsford, you must stop being so paranoid.'

'And you must stop being so childish in your opinion of people.' He did not know why he said it, but he knew it was the wrong thing as soon as the words flew from his mouth.

Charlotte's face lost all sign of mirth. 'I have faced greater threats than a mere fortune hunter, Lord Earlsford, and so have many women, I dare say! I think that out of the two of us, you are the one in danger of looking like the child,' she snapped, her eyes crackling an electric blue in anger.

To his dismay, she looked even more beautiful when angry. 'I am doing you a favour, Miss Grey.' The music drew to a close and they executed their respective bows and curtsies, but before Charlotte could move away, James took a hold of her arm and firmly drew it through his. He leant down to talk softly into her ear as he led her off the dance floor. 'Viscount Thorsby. Just remember the name if nothing else. He has his eye on you and not for your golden heart.'

She glanced sharply at him. 'I have already been introduced to the Viscount and he is a perfect gentleman. I also know that he has his own finances, therefore is in no need of mine.' They had reached the main crowd of guests. 'The next time we meet, Lord Earlsford, I hope to find you more agreeable.'

James stood for a moment, staring after the shimmering woman as she made her way regally though the crowd. Disbelief, incredulity, and finally, anger, began to well up inside of him. She hoped to find him more agreeable? He, who had gone out of his way to warn her! She had not even thought to thank him, the ungrateful woman.

The dark place that had opened within him that morning reemerged without warning. It was fed by all the frustration and desire he had felt rack is body over the last day, during the encounters with the infuriating Miss Grey and through the long hours as he thought of her.

He wanted her to thank him on her knees. He wanted her to admit that she was wrong. He wanted her to beg for his forgiveness.

Damn it, he just plain wanted her. 

Dark, erotic images followed these thoughts. Charlotte, clothes ripped from her lithe form, hair tumbling down her back as she knelt before him, hands tied tightly behind her. Charlotte bent over his desk, pert white bottom arching in the air as he punished her. Charlotte, beneath him, begging for release.

Before he became too aroused in the middle of the ballroom, James followed his innocent seductress through a door way and into the shadowy hall beyond.

He would find her. Then, he would make her realize just what she got herself into.

*

Charlotte made her way to a washroom she knew to be a few corridors down from the main ballroom. The hallways here were dim, candles alight at distant intervals to discourage any wayward guests. She was thankful for the lack of illumination as she struggled to hold on to her last scrap of composure.

That man! How dare he presume her to be so feeble? What made him think that she would appreciate such an intervention! And in such a manner.

As she had escaped the ballroom, she had caught sight of her grandmother: she looked far from pleased. 

Many of the other guests who had witnessed her dance with the Marquess watched her go with sharp, probing eyes, probably wondering what about her had drawn Earlsford back into society; and why there seemed to be so much animosity between them. 

Finally, Charlotte found the washroom, and entered with a sigh of relief. Her argument with the Marquess had shaken her, and she had to admit, she did not feel strong enough to go back and face the displeasure of her grandmother just yet.

Looking into the mirror, her face highlighted by a single candle, Charlotte stared at her reflection. The woman there looked composed, sure of herself, confident: she was who Charlotte had always believed herself to be, before she had met Lord Earlsford. But now, her heart thrummed in her breast, her body tense with emotion while her mind reeled with the memories of how she had felt in his strong arms; the alluring scent of him, the sight of his austere face staring down at her. A white-hot curl of desire swirled low in her stomach.

She splashed cold water onto her face to dispel these thoughts and the emotions with them. 'Stop it. He is just an overbearing, arrogant, egotistical male. You have dealt with his type before.'

Mentally reinforced, she dried her face and squared her shoulders. Her reflection smiled confidently back at her. With a last tug at her skirts, she exited the washroom and made her way back towards the ballroom.

Before she had gone a couple of steps, however, a large shadow moved away from a pool of darkness and pinned her violently against the wall. Abruptly, she felt a wall of muscle press hard against her, her breasts pressed flat as she was crushed against the wall. 

Not again! Charlotte began to struggle as teeth grazed her exposed shoulder, interspersed with scalding licks of a tongue as they followed the line of her neck to her ear. Large, powerful hands caught hold of her hips, then swooped up to the curve of her waist. They were there barely a second before cupping her full breasts. The hands squeezed roughly, and Charlotte heard a low moan breathe into her ear. 

Charlotte arched as pleasure laced with pain raced through her. Against her will, her body remembered the pleasurable state of that morning and moisture rushed to between her thighs. Her intimate flesh began to throb and she could not help remembering the feel of his finger as it was thrust into her.

But she could not let this happen. She did not want him to have this power over her. Not after the way he had treated her.

She brought her hands up and tried to tear herself away. Her sharp nails bit into exposed flesh, and her elbow connected with something solid. She was satisfied to hear a hiss of pain.

Her satisfaction did not last long, however. Abruptly, her wrists were caught and pinned above her head. Her captor's hips pressed intimately against her own to hold her.

She looked up defiantly into the dark, predatory gaze of the Marquess of Earlsford.

'When will you learn, Miss Grey, that you cannot fight me?' He said softly, warning lacing his voice. His eyes dropped to her parted lips. 'Nor can you resist me.'

He bent to kiss her.

Desperately, Charlotte turned her head to the side to evade his kiss. Hot lips met her cheek instead. 

He chuckled. 'Your resistance increases my desire, my dear.' His lips ghosted to her exposed ear, letting his whispered words burn into her soul. 'And when you finally give in,' a hand slid down to fondle her firm bottom, 'I will take great enjoyment in making you beg for me to take you.' He pulled her into him and she gasped a she felt the hard ridge of his manhood press into her soft flesh.

'Over.' He pulsed his hips into hers. 

'And over.' Harder this time. Oh dear god.

'Again.' He sucked and nibbled at her ear as his hips thrust slowly against her, unrelenting in their rhythm and sinister in their promise.

The wet heat of his mouth and tongue heightened the growing inferno within her. Her breath was coming in uneven gasps and she found it difficult to think straight. 

'You can not do this to me,' she managed to get out. The words seemed to reinforce her will and she renewed her struggle. Charlotte was stronger than most women due to her years of traveling, where she was expected to help with chores and such duties along with everyone else. She managed to free one arm and swung out wildly. 

Her hand connected perfectly with James' cheek, the sharp slap loud in the hallway.

Slowly, he pulled back. Fingers clutched her chin in an inescapable grasp, forcing her to look at him. 'If you were a man, I would strike you.' He looked at her dispassionately, as if he hadn't just cornered her in a darkened hallway and tried to seduce her. It scared the hell out of her. 'But, seeing as that hardly stung, and you are a woman.' He leaned forward once again, so that his mouth was a mere whisper from hers. 'Which you undoubtedly are: I should know, I felt you.' 

Charlotte blushed angrily.

'I think the best punishment would be to take something from you instead: I could take your innocence, or your dignity. But first I think,' she felt him smile against her lips, 'I will take a kiss.' 

With that he covered her soft lips with his, his anger robbing the kiss of any and all gentleness. Instead, he concentrated on forcing her to submit to him though her desire. He could see it in her eyes, even as she fought. She felt the same hungry need to take and be taken, to touch and be touched. But he knew she hated it: hated feeling her body become responsive to his touch, hated feeling pleasure at the hands of her dominator. It meant submission, weakness. Even now as he kissed her relentlessly, she tried to pull away. 

His hands came up to sink deep into her hair, the pins holding up its style falling out like rain. Holding her immobile, James forced her lips apart with his tongue, and then slid its scalding length into her delicious depths. She moaned in dismay as he claimed her mouth, his lips painfully hard against her own whilst his teeth and tongue nipped and licked her mind into sultry submission

Then, suddenly, she was kissing him back. Her tongue tangled with his, her teeth nipping and biting at his lips. At one point, pleasure shot to his groin as she inadvertently sucked his tongue into her mouth. Her hands were in his hair, tugging him to her as she sought to give back what he gave. She was fighting with what she had left. It drove him wild.

Rucking up her skirts with one hand, James felt Charlotte stiffen. She had not yet lost her mind completely to passion. He would have to change that.

He squeezed the soft, delicate flesh of her thigh possessively, his thumb drawing circles on the sensitive area of her inner thigh. He hardened unbearably against his already straining breeches as Charlotte gave a hoarse moan that turned into a breathy plea.

'Oh god, please, no. I do not want this!'

'Your body wants it, my dear, and that is all that matters.' His fingers followed a dribble of wetness up her quivering flesh.

'No, that's no true.' But her confidence was wavering. Her head fell back against the wall as she cried out. He had found her core and thrust not one, but two fingers deep inside her.

'You cannot deny it. You are already dripping for me.' He made her take as much of him as possible before slowly withdrawing. He had to take a steadying breath as he felt the velvet tightness of her virgin channel constrict around him. Soon, he promised himself. 

He drew his fingers lazily through her folds, watching her face as he did. Her eyes were shut and her teeth gritted as she tried to deny him. 

He smiled darkly. 'Charlotte?'

'What?' she snapped.

'Scream for me.'

'Nev--! Aaahhh!' Desperately, she tried to wiggle away from his naughty fingers, which were now languorously, but firmly, stroking her clit. 

'That's it.' He pushed back into her lush body, wrapping his free arm around her to hold her still as he forced her to take her pleasure. He thrust his fingers back into her snug entrance.

'Ah!'

His fingers skated up to her clit and pressed hard.

Charlotte hands clutched desperately at his shoulders.

James burned with victory as he alternated between thrusting his fingers into her and leisurely playing with her clit. He wanted her to understand that she had given in, that she had submitted and needed him for her pleasure. By going slowly, he would make her a slave to her desire, and soon she would realize she would need to surrender to reach her climax.

With every push into her body, Charlotte moaned in reluctant pleasure. The feel of his fingers as they filled her, along with the tight sting of his invasion brought to her a heady pleasure that soothed the deep longing she had felt since that morning. That spot above her entrance was so exquisitely sensitive, and each time he playfully brushed it or fleeting pinched it, she jumped as if shocked.

She ached for more and grew frustrated at his steady but slow rhythm. He knew what to do, knew where this divine pleasure led. She was at his mercy and she knew it.

She began to move with his hand, hesitantly at first but then with increasing vigor as his thrusting and stroking quickened. She was heedless of the ecstatic sighs that fell from her lips as she bucked urgently against him, only that the quest for fulfillment urged her on.

James encouraged her with harder and rougher strokes. He listened in wonder as her breathy sighs quickly turned into soft, staccato cries as she neared her climax. His own need, still a painful throbbing in his groin, did not diminish but rather withdrew into his consciousness as she surged against him.

Finally, Charlotte, a woman he had only known a day and was more attracted to than any other, stilled in his arms, her kiss plumped lips parted in a silent cry as her body stiffened in ecstasy. His fingers were still embedded in her slick channel and as it rippled around him, he continued stroked her lightly to help prolong her climax. 

Slowly, she relaxed. Her eyes fluttered open, and for one, heart-stopping moment, she gazed up at him, blue eyes unfocused. Then, she allowed her head to rest against his chest. 'Oh, James,' she breathed.

At her soft words, James felt about nine feet tall. Unbidden, a wash of warmth enveloped his body, and the victory at her surrender changed into a need to--

He froze. He did not, no, would not, go into that realm of his feelings.

The sudden tension in his body brought Charlotte crashing down from her floaty cloud of contentment and back to reality. Embarrassment overcame her as she realized James's fingers still filled her.

With that understanding, she became excruciatingly aware of what she had just done. She had let a man she had barely known a day, less if one only counted the hours they had been in each other's presence, handle her in the most intrusive and intimate way. And she enjoyed it. No, she had loved it.

Charlotte closed her eyes in self-recrimination and became conscious of James lightly stroking her back. Tears began to well up in her eyes.

She had to escape. Distraught, she wrenched herself away from him and fled back towards the ballroom. She did not dare look back.

After a few minutes, however, she realized that the washroom had been farther away than she thought. Or, perhaps, she was so upset that she got the corridors mixed up.




Man of Her Affairs Ch. 02



Finally, she turned into a hallway and was met with a surge of noise and light. The ballroom was a mere fifteen feet away.

'Miss Grey?' 

Charlotte turned with a start. 'James!'

'I am afraid not.' A figure moved towards her from further down the hall. It was a tall, blonde haired man dressed impeccably in shades of beige and green, which picked out his light, moss coloured eyes. 'My Christian name is Lucian.'

Charlotte sighed with relief and gave the man a tremulous smile. Viscount Thorsby. 

'Are you alright, Miss Grey?' The Viscount stopped beside her and looked down in concern.

'Yes. I, uh, just needed a moment away from the crowds. I was about to make my way back to the ballroom, in fact.' She knew she was blushing. Charlotte tried not to look into Thorsby's eyes, as she was sure the truth was stark in her own, tear rimmed ones.

Those eyes were watching her shrewdly, even though his mouth tilted in an engaging half smile. 'With your hair unbound?' he asked softly, his hand stretching out to capture a fiery lock and twist it around his fingers.

'Excuse me?' When had he gotten so close?

'Your hair. It is no longer in the style it was half an hour ago.' He brought the lock to his mouth and brushed it gently against his lips. 'I like it this way.' His eyes caught and held hers and Charlotte felt frozen to the spot. 

When she did not reply, Thorsby moved closer, the inches between them disappearing in a whisper of cloth. His eyes darkened seductively, flicking down to her breasts and then back to her mouth. He licked his lips.

'Lord Thorsby, I think we should return to the ballroom.' Charlotte tried to infuse her words with confidence and authority, but the waver in her voice gave her away. James' warning rang in her ears.

'I think not, Miss Grey.' A cold finger slid down her cheek, catching her lower lip before reaching her jaw. Tilting her chin up, he smiled in satisfaction as she glared up at him. 'I will enjoy training you, little minx.'

Roughly, he pulled her to him, a hand painfully entangling in her loose mane as the other found her bottom and jerked her closer to his arousal. Like James', it was large, hard and hot and ground insistently against her.

Charlotte tried to scream but it was swallowed by Thorsby's kiss. Desperate and hard, it lacked the finesse with which James had teased pleasure from her even as he sought to dominate. 

She struggled to think of a way to escape and Thorsby's grip on her was strong. As her mind worked, she felt her assailant's hand slither to her front and delve unceremoniously between her thighs, the material of her dress stretching tightly across her hips. 

She was still sensitive after her encounter with James, so when Thorsby's fingers prodded against her core, she could not help but let out a whimper of pain.

Of course, Thorsby mistook it for pleasure and began to stroke her vigorously. 'Mmm, you like that? I knew you would.' He bit down on her shoulder and pressed harder into her. 'There is more to come. You are mine, now.'

'No, she is mine.' 

Charlotte's heart missed a beat.

Abruptly, the Viscount was yanked violently away from her, only to be thrown to the ground. James was on him in an instant, and proceeded to deliver blows of such ferocity that Thorsby's head was snapped left to right as each one landed.

All Charlotte could do was sink against the wall in relief. Dumbly, she watched James deliver the blows to the horrid Viscount. Inside, however, two words repeated like a mantra in her mind: Thankgoodnessthankgoodnessthankgoodnessthankgoodness!

Suddenly, James stopped. Breathing heavily, he stood and dragged the Viscount up by his shirtfront. His hands were red with blood.

'If you ever come near Miss Grey again, I will kill you.' Soft with menace, his voice was ice. 'Do you understand?'

Viscount Thorsby did not reply. Instead, he yanked himself away and took off towards the back of the manor. He would probably leave via the servants' entrance.

For several moments it was silent in the hallway. Sounds of laughter and music drifted down from the ballroom. Charlotte glanced towards it. No one had seen the incident.

'Did he hurt you?' 

Charlotte's gaze snapped back to James. He had his back to her. 'Excuse me?'

'Did. He. Hurt. You?' His voice was rough and broke on the last word. He cleared his throat

'James¬--'

'DID HE?' A split second and he was beside her, hands clutching her shoulders as he looked into her eyes desperately.

'No.'

'Thank God.' He pulled her into a warm embrace, his chin coming to rest on the top of her head. 'Thank God,' he sighed again.

To Charlotte, James' reaction was shocking. Where was the indomitable man of a mere fifteen minutes before? Who was that avenging god who had so violently protected her? And now, having known her for only a day, why did he care so much for her safety?

And why did she feel so content in his arms?

Disconcerted, she pulled away. 'I must go fix my hair if I am to reenter the ballroom without suspicion,' she mumbled. And because it could not go unsaid: 'Thank you. Thank you for rescuing me.'

When he did not reply, she finally looked up at him. He was staring at her, amber eyes fixed and intense. His expression was odd, as if he was about to be sick.

'Are you okay?' She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder

'Peachy.' He bit off sarcastically

She jerked her hand away. 'Well, then, will you return to the ball?'

He gave a noncommittal shrug. Obviously, his quota of words had been used up for the evening.

Charlotte waited in case he would reply. After a few seconds of him staring stonily at her, she shook her head irritably and, with a swish of skirts, glided into the depths of the manor and up a flight of stairs. Anne had probably fallen asleep on her bed. It would only take a few minutes for her to restyle Charlotte's loose locks.

* 

'Where have you been?!' 

As expected, Lady Gainsbourgh was in a near rage. Charlotte cringed at the shrill note in her voice. As she had reentered the crowd, hair once again perfect, her grandmother had dragged her to a hidden alcove out of the way of the main ballroom, and was now scolding her like a child.

'First, you allowed Lord Earlsford to dance with you in an unseemly manner.' 

Charlotte opened her mouth to try defend herself. 

Her grandmother shot her a glare. 'Anyone who saw could see that all he wants is to be beneath your skirts!' She was beginning to go white as she worked herself into a froth. 'Secondly, you two looked as if you were ready to tear out each other's throats, AND THEN,' Charlotte wondered how long the much older woman was going to last, 'you disappear for nearly an hour afterwards! Charlotte, if you do not behave with the proper decorum I--' Lady Gainsbourgh froze, her eyes fixed on her granddaughter's shoulder. 'What is that?' she asked in a horrified whisper.

Charlotte began to feel uneasy. 'What is what, my lady?'

'I cannot believe it. My dear, is that a bite mark?!'

Paling, Charlotte lifted her hand to feel her shoulder. Against the smoothness of her skin were indeed the indentation marks of teeth. Viscount Thorsby's.

'Grandmama, it is not what you think--' she said quickly, but was interrupted. 

'Charlotte Grey, I know it is exactly what I think! And I tell you I will not allow it! Do you hear me! You may think you are above the laws of Society and may do what you like, including carrying on with men in dark corners, but you are not.'

'I do not think--!'

'I gave you the benefit of the doubt when you entered my home. I believed your breeding would come through as soon as you reentered society, but I see I was wrong. All that traveling and independence have ruined you. You are practically a heathen! I can only hope that no one else has noticed yet. If so, we still have time.'

Through her growing incredulity and anger, Charlotte still managed to detect the oddness of that statement. 'What do you mean?'

Lady Gainsbourgh drew herself up to her full, not quite considerable, height. 'It means, my dear, that I have decided that you will marry in the next fortnight. And to a man of my choosing.'

Charlotte froze in shock. 'You can not make me.'

'I assure you I can and I will.'

'I am not some pawn to be played at will. I am full grown woman with a mind and will of my own!'

'You are a foolish child who will find herself ruined if not locked into the safety of marriage soon!

'I do not need marriage, nor do I want it. Why should I be shackled to a man, probably old enough to be my grandfather or has a lower intelligence than a sheep, to satisfy you and the ton?'

'Because that is the way things are, Charlotte, and only an idiot girl thinks otherwise!' She grabbed her granddaughter's wrist. 'Come, girl. Think! What humiliation will you bring down on your father through your behaviour?'

'Do not dare presume what my father may think of me!'

'If I am ashamed of you, then what will he be?' her grandmother hissed.

The words cut Charlotte like daggers of glass. Jerking herself from the bony grasp, she stumbled away, trying to breath through the sudden pain in her chest. Tears began to burn at the edge of her vision, as she stared blankly into space.

'I will tell the guests of your sudden illness that has forced you to retire. I do not expect to see you for the rest of the evening.' The dead voice of Lady Gainsbourgh floated to her, barely breaking through the storm of emotions reeling in her mind.

Then, she was alone.

*

James clenched his hands into fists slowly, opened them up till they stretched to their full extent, and then squeezed back into fists. He heard a few bones pop.

The night had definitely not gone the way he had planned.

When he had come across Thorsby pinning Charlotte to the wall, his hand between her thighs and his tongue down her throat, James saw red. The following few moments were a blur, and the next thing he knew he was beating the man within an inch of his life. He had been fury incarnate . Everything in him screamed to kill the Viscount. How dare this low life try to ruin Charlotte? How dare he force himself upon her and--

James had stopped cold and abruptly felt extremely ill. 

Because that is what he had done. He had forced himself on her, heartlessly ignored her pleas to stop and made her surrender to him in one of the most elemental ways possible. He was just like Thorsby.

Disgusted with himself, James leant against the stone balustrade of the large balcony on which he stood, and looked out over the shadow-cloaked gardens.

He was mad in the head. He had to be. It was the only explanation for each and every action he had taken over the past hours. If he was not, that opened up a very deep and dark kettle of fish that he did not particularly want to explore.

First, the waltz with Charlotte. He had acted out of character, taking advantage of the dance and forcing her with each step and spin to move closer into his arms. She had felt exquisite. The only excuse he could muster was that, every time his thigh had brushed against hers, every occasion momentum pushed her against his chest, the fire of his desire had urged him to do it again.

And then there was the moment when he had decided to follow her into the depths of the manor. Reckless. Thoughtless. Callous. If anyone had come across them...but the feel of her! And the sight and sound of her as she had climaxed... He allowed himself to relive the memory for a brief moment. She had been so wet, so ready. If she had not run away... Instantly, he grew heavy and thick.

Teeth gritted, he inhaled deeply, trying to keep control of himself. No, never again. Or at least, he admitted to himself, not with her. She deserved better.

The rattling shudder of a door ricocheting off a wall broke his train of thought. Surprised, James spun around in time to see an ivory clad woman burst onto the balcony and make her way to the flight of stairs leading into the garden. She was about to descend before he realized that it was Charlotte. No other woman shimmered like her that evening.

'Miss Grey!' he called out before he could stop himself. 'Charlotte,' he tried again when she showed no signs of stopping.

She hesitated on the stairs, but then glanced back. In the moonlight, silver trails of tears traced a path down her face.

He strode towards her, concerned by her obviously distressed state. But when he neared her, he saw that she was not crying because she was afraid or hurt.

No, Charlotte's tears were tears of anger. 

Her eyes glimmered in fury as she watched him approach. 'I am to have an arranged marriage,' she said without preamble.

James stopped dead. He felt as if he had been punched. 'What?'

'Unless I do something. Which I am, of course I am.' She seemed to be talking to herself more than him. Her voice shook with emotion. 'Besides, I have the finances to support myself.' Her gaze snapped back to his. 'What would you do?'

James was still trying to come to terms with her first shocking statement, never mind those that followed. 'Charlotte, wait a minute. Why are you to have an arranged marriage?'

Looking exasperated, Charlotte exhaled irritably. Climbing two steps to his side, she jabbed at her shoulder, which had started to sport a light bruise in the form of a half moon. 'Because of this, James. Viscount Thorsby bit me as he was... accosting me. My grandmother saw it and to cut a long story short, she fears I shall become a harlot and disgrace the family. I am to be married off to guard against this apparently inevitable event.' And with that, she descended the rest of the stairs into the garden.

James followed quickly after staring dumbly at her receding back for a moment, trying to come to terms with the news. 'Charlotte, where are you going?' he called out as he caught up to her. She moved surprisingly fast in that dress.

'To think.' She did not bother to look at him.

'About what? Good God woman, just stop for a moment.' He reached out and grabbed her wrist, swinging her around to face him.

'Is it not obvious?' she cried out angrily. 'About how I am supposed to get out of this!' 

His heart leapt. He was surprised at how hard it was to think of her promised to another man.

She began pacing. 'I need to access my finances. They are stored in foreign banks but are located mainly in Europe.' She ran a hand though her hair in concentration. It was loose again. She grunted in frustration. 

'But that could take months. Do you have that much time?' he asked quietly. His stomach twisted as he waited for her answer.

'No. I have two weeks.' She collapsed onto a bench. 'But I can still try.' She looked up at him defiantly. 'If I flee to my father, I know he will send me back. Therefore, I need to locate and purchase lands immediately.' 

'You are not untouchable on your estates, Charlotte.'

'I know, but I can make it a damn sight harder for my family to marry me off. I have dealt with pirates, I can deal with a bunch of measly aristocrats.' She had risen from the bench, nervous energy making it impossible for her to keep still. 

James' brows raised at her profanity. Charlotte was more distraught than she looked.

A hand was in her hair again and she stared into the shadows. 'But time! I do not have enough time!'

Suddenly, her head snapped up and she looked at him with a hopeful expression, though there was an edge of trepidation. 'Lord Earlsford. James.' 

He jumped as he heard his name on her lips. In the night, it sounded so seductive. Concentrate! he reminded himself.

'Will you help me?' she asked, then continued quickly, 'I mean, I have not been in London long and you have connections and,' she licked her dry lips, 'I...I would appreciate it, even on such a slight acquaintance, if you might aid me in contacting... that is to say...could you aid me by being my man-of-affairs, so to speak?' The last bit was said in a rush. 

Her question was met with silence. 'Just till I am established, of course,' she assured him weakly.

Why was he remaining silent? Charlotte's small ray of hope began to diminish slightly as James just stared at her, expressionless, for over a minute. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Of course he would refuse. She had hardly known what she was saying when the idea burst into her mind. What made her think he would agree to such a plan? The relationship she was proposing, platonic though it was, would be considered by anyone else as outrageous! It was daring, and could probably ruin them both but--

'I will help you.' His voice was strangely hoarse, but to her it sounded like a choir of angels.

Before she knew it, and to his obvious surprise, she had flung herself at him, hugging him for all she was worth. 'Really? Oh, James, I promise you it will not be long. I will be off your hands in no time.' Suddenly, Charlotte felt her tears return, but this time in relief. 'How do I ever thank you, James?

'Please, do not think of it.'

'But just ask for anything and--'

He shifted uncomfortably and his voice sounded strained. 'Charlotte. Stop.'

But she could not help herself. Filled with a sudden, giddy euphoria, she stretched up and gave him a peck on the lips. 

And then, surprised at their softness, she kissed him again, her lips lingering gently against his. Her breath caught, and quivering shiver shot through her. Oh my goodness.

She felt James jerk away slightly in surprise. Unbidden, her hand shot up to sink into his hair to hold him firmly to her. Pressing up against him, she deepened the kiss, letting out a small moan as her tongue flicked out to hesitantly taste his lips. Salty.

Her other hand joined the first and, heady with the suddenly irresistible temptation of his lips, she was about to test their plumpness with her teeth when she was jerked away. Suddenly, she found herself held at arms length, James' large hands at her shoulders. 

She let out a small whimper of disappointment, but then her desire dazed eyes focused on James. Staring at her as if he had never seen her before, his nostrils flared, jaw tense, he seemed to be struggling with himself.

'What are you doing?' he snapped

'Kissing you,' she replied innocently, 'What is the matter?'

He let out a tense sigh. 'We cannot do this, Charlotte.'

She frowned at that. 'You were very eager earlier.'

'That should not have happened.'

'And this mourning?'

'That. Is. Enough.'

'But you forced me!'

'Exactly! And I will not do it again. I will not be like Thorsby!' His expression was pained.

'You are nothing like him!'

'Oh God, Charlotte, please.'

'But you want me.' 

'Maybe. But that does not mean I can have you. Please do not make this harder for me.'

'It already is hard,' she whispered seductively, and daringly reached out to draw her finger along the clear outline of his arousal.

'Charlotte!' Sharply, he sucked in his breath as the ridge of her nail rasped against him. His grip on her loosened.

Immediately she was against him, hands sliding up to his neck as her mouth found his.

'Stop it!' He caught her wrists in his hands and held them captive against his chest. 'You do not know what you are doing.' His voice was hoarse, eyes wild..

'Yes, I do. I know exactly what I am doing.' And suddenly she did. Heat suffused her insides, her intimate flesh tingling as she said the words. She wanted him. She ached to have him. Stepping closer, she brought her thighs to brush suggestively against his. 

His eyes burned into hers as a muscle began to pulse in his jaw. 'You could not possibly understand what you want.'

In answer, she began to sway gently against him, feeling his thick shaft twitch against her stomach. 'Because I am a virgin? Inexperience does not mean ignorance, James.' She smiled a womanly smile as he gave a low groan of need. 'I am no longer a naïve girl. I have seen enough to understand the way the world works.'




Man of Her Affairs



Completely unaware of her change of mood, James's patience was wearing thin. Had a bit of her sanity dislodged when he shook her? The woman seemed to be struggling to form words all at a sudden, her lips tensing and tugging as if she were trying not to smile. She cleared her throat delicately.

'I am Miss Grey,' she said, finally.

'There we are, Ridgley. Miss Grey, as I'm sure you both witnessed, nearly got herself shot. We were just discussing her need for a chaperone.'

'A discussion is not how I would describe it,' he heard her mutter. Louder, she addressed his friends. 'Perhaps, sirs, you will be more polite than your companion and deem me worthy of an introduction.' The twinkle in her eye drew out twin smiles from both men. 

Stepping forward, Richard executed a smart bow. 'Richard Darnsford at your service, Miss. And Mr. Sunshine here,' he smirked, 'is actually Mr. James Rochester.'

Michael followed smoothly. 'Michael Ridgley.' Rising from his bow, he gave her an appraising look. From behind his back appeared her pistol, which he rotated in his hands slowly. He didn't make to hand it back. 'I couldn't help but notice your skill with a gun, Miss Grey. May I ask what would a young lady need a gun for in London?'

James fancied he saw a shift in Miss Grey's expression. 'Mr. Ridgley, I have not always lived in such a safe place as London, and old habits are hard to break.' 

She gave James an arch look. 'It is why I feel that a chaperone is unnecessary, but as I am in such a place where appearances are everything, I must allow myself to be followed by a bumbling fool who would fail to be of any assistance if anything untoward did indeed happen to my person.' She glanced up at the sky. 'Now, if you will excuse me, gentlemen, I must be on my way.' She held out her hand for her pistol.

Collecting his coat, James stepped forwards. 'I will escort you, Miss Grey'

A look of exasperation flicked across her face before she covered it with a bland smile. 'Mr. Rochester, thank you, but I don't need an escort. I can look after myself perfectly well.'

'It is not for your safety I offer my services.' 

She looked at him, expressionless. 

He looked back, equally blasé. 

After a few moments of this stalemate, she began to look thoughtful, and then a smile started to creep across her face till it was a full-fledged grin. James felt himself respond in a flush of heat and a torturous tightening of his loins, yet he didn't miss the mischievous glint in her eye.

'As you wish, Mr. Rochester. However,' and here, her smile turned devilish, 'I shan't wait for you if you fall behind.' 

Then, before James could make another move to retain her, Miss Grey flitted away and swung swiftly onto her horse. Immediately, it surged forward into a gallop, clearing the field in moments.

Without a word, James snatched the woman's gun from his companion's hand and stuffed it into his coat pocket, then mounted Duke and swung him round to follow the infuriating woman, leaving his friends to look after him in amazement.

*

Charlotte couldn't help grinning as she rode away from the men. The look of surprise on their faces as she'd swung up onto Saber, a trick she'd learnt from a Bedouin tribesman in Morocco, was priceless. Especially that of Mr. Rochester. She shook her head, her copper locks whipping behind her in the wind. Something about that man just put her back up, more so than any other. 

Traveling with her father through out the colonies, and lands that England wished to be her colonies, Charlotte had dealt with many males who had thought to control her over the years, ever since she was sixteen. Many just couldn't reconcile with the fact that she was an independent woman. Both financially and...well, personally. And usually, with just a few choice comments and scathing looks, they all feel into line, left her alone or just admitted defeat. 

But this stranger, all stern features and hazel eyes so light they were golden -- a warm blush ran through her body as she remembered his hands at her waist - somehow made her want to stand up even taller and make him stand at attention. 

After six years of traveling abroad, her father had suddenly come to the realization that his daughter needed to take her place in society, so had brought her back to London to stay with her grandparents. 

But by then it was too late. She was already set in her ways, her behavior released from the confining society rules too long. 

She knew she couldn't change, but out of respect for her family, Charlotte tried to tone down her autonomous streak. She knew she could never hope to find a husband, at least not one in England. Yet, she was becoming tired of pretending to be gracious and patient and dutiful and she found that each day required her to focus harder.

Except now, in one conversation, all that focus had dissipated in an instant. Staring into that angry gaze, Charlotte had found her real self come to the fore. 

It had frightened her.

It had delighted her.

With an odd sense of anticipation, Charlotte bent low over Saber, thrilling in the way he surged beneath her, the sound of his hooves beating against the ground and how the bright park swept past her. She was so lost in the moment that it took a few minutes for her to realize that a second set of hooves was coming up behind her. 

Glancing back, Charlotte saw Mr. Rochester had, indeed, followed her. And he was catching up.

Without warning she swung down a path and cut across a clearing, before bursting through a low bank of bush. Determined to out maneuver the man, she then steered Saber to gallop along one of the bordering fences, which after a few minutes was intercepted by a copse of trees. Instead of passing right through, Charlotte allowed Saber to slow down and stop. Together, they stood beneath the protection of the umbrella of branches and waited. First one, then three, then five minutes passed.

Silence.

It seemed that she had managed to get rid of Mr. Rochester.

Slowly, Charlotte directed Saber out from beneath the trees, keeping a wary eye out, just incase. The man was not waiting out side the border of trees, and she felt herself relax. Strangely enough, though she felt a certain smugness at managing to defy Mr. Rochester, she felt a bit disappointed that he hadn't managed to keep up. 

With an internal shake of the head, Charlotte cursed herself a fool and decided to make her way towards the edge of the park where she had left her chaperone. Surely, if the groomsman was smart enough, he would have waited for her there.

Standing up in her saddle, she looked around to find her bearings. She grimaced. She was on the other side of the park from the gate through which she had entered. It was the least fashionable area thus the least frequented, but she did not relish the thought of having to ride sidesaddle back through the fast filling park.

'You took your time, Miss Grey.'

Charlotte stilled in shock. How did he-?

Mr. Rochester moved out slowly from behind an ancient oak, leading his horse out from the tree's deep shadows. Its branches nearly touched the ground, making it the perfect hiding place.

She watched silently as he approached, fighting the urge to kick Saber into a gallop once again. She would not run from this man.

'You're quite an accomplished rider, Miss Grey. Ordinarily, I think you would have been able to outmaneuver most men. However,' he said, halting beside Saber, 'I am not most men.' His eyes locked with hers and held, his gaze intense and direct and - Charlotte had to remember how to breathe - hot.

James was silent for a moment, then whispered: 'Dismount from your horse.'

She didn't obey immediately, just stared down at him with wide, unblinking eyes. 

A shade of a smile touched his mouth. She would obey. 'Dismount from you horse, or I shall remove you myself.' He allowed his eyes, not his tone, to convey his warning.

Slowly, as if in a trance, she dismounted and turned to face him, but as he looked down into her face, he saw she was a lot more composed than he'd thought. Frowning slightly, she seemed to come to a decision. 

'Mr. Rochester, what is this about?'

'This, milady, is about your blatant lack of common sense, your disregard for propriety and your naivety of the danger that surrounds you.'

'You do not strike me as one to care much about propriety.'

'Is that so? And what, pray tell, gives you that impression?'

'I have seen and known many men like yourself, Mr. Rochester. I know a seducer when I see one!' she clapped her hand over her mouth, obviously surprised at her outburst. 

His pulse leapt at her bold statement, even as his brows rose at its audacity. Without warning, an insatiable curiosity overcame him as he wondered in what way had she 'known' these men. 

He let her squirm in the silence that followed before speaking. 'Putting aside your experience, Miss Grey, I require a promise from you. A promise that you will never enter public without a chaperone again.'

'And who are you to me, sir, to demand this of me?' Her frustration was beginning to show, making her pace away from him towards one of the old oaks.

Strolling after her casually, he found himself beneath the tree's canopy. 'Just a concerned member of society, and one that obviously knows more about the dangers of the city than you do.'

At that, she whipped around and gave him one of the fiercest glares he had ever seen. Mi-ow.

'Mr. Rochester, I admit that I do not know all the rules of London society, but that does not mean I am a dimwit, nor will I be treated as such. I have been in cities far more squalid and volatile than this one, and I hardly think my short ride in the park constituted the level of danger you believe it has.'

If only she knew. This hunter had his arrow aimed right at her.

'And I think you underestimate your situation.'

'Oh please, I am in no danger whatsoever.'

'You are wrong, Miss Grey.' Why wouldn't she listen to him? She defied him at every turn, boldly standing her ground, stubbornly refusing to accept his authority. 

Damn, it turned him on. 

No woman had ever presumed to know more than him. Had ever stood up to him with such determination. Well, except his mother, but bloody hell, that was his mother! Miss Grey stood straight, eyes unwavering, head held high, a look of complete confidence on her face. Her refusal to submit to him perversely increased his desire. 

He couldn't believe how much he wanted her, the feeling was so violent. He realized that this need went beyond merely wanting to be inside of her: it was primal, animalistic. 

He wanted to mount her, rut her like a beast, each thrust proclaiming his dominance over her. 

He was appalled at himself. He was turned on all the more. 

He wouldn't be able to stop himself. His body was straining towards her and all he could think about was punishing her, making her see what she refused to see. She was in danger. In danger of him.

He was so conceited! Charlotte had to focus hard on counting down from ten so she wouldn't completely loose her temper. Ten. And it didn't help that she was attracted to the man.

Yes, she admitted it. Besides, it was the only explanation for the tight, rapid beating of her heart and the slowly coiling heat in her abdomen. 

Every time she allowed her gaze to be caught by his, a jolt of awareness flashed through her, ending in an odd tingle between her thighs. She glanced up. His chin rose arrogantly. Nine. He crossed his arms, and tilted his head to the side, as if surveying an errant child. Eight. A half smile twisted his lips. Seven. Perhaps the count down would help control her desire as well. Unwillingly, her eyes were drawn back to his. Si-

And all thoughts flew from her mind. 

Because he was staring at her, and in a way she had never been stared at before. That gaze could only described as...hungry. 

His eyes didn't waver as she gazed back, but instead seemed to turn to molten hot amber. Then they darkened, and she knew. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that they darkened with desire.

Because she felt her own do the same.

She took a step back without a thought. Leisurely, he followed her, like a hunter who knew his prey was ensnared. Taking two steps, he was suddenly, achingly close.

Her breath began to quicken as she felt that coiling heat intensify. Suddenly, the area she had only ever thought of as her nether regions became sensitive and started to throb. Nervously, she licked her lips.

The next moment, he pushed her roughly up against a tree, effectively trapping her. He seemed to loom over her and his body was hard against hers, his heat seeping through the thin material of her dress.

Dear God, she could feel his thighs pressing up against her own.

Placing his palms against the tree on either side of her head, he leaned in close. 'There are wolves in these woods, Miss Grey. And I don't mean the canine kind.' She gasped as he thrust his knee roughly between her thighs, the hard length of his muscle jolting a wave of pleasure through her as it bumped against her throbbing parts. 

He caught her dazed expression and, if possible, his eyes darkened further. 'If you won't heed my warnings, I can think of only one way to make you understand,' he said huskily, catching her chin between his long fingers. 

Her lips parted as she felt his warm breath brush against her mouth, then her heart leaped abruptly as his lips pressed hard against her own. She didn't have a moment to think, not that she could as all ability to think was lost to her the moment their mouths touched, before his lips possessed hers in a brutal kiss. Hands sinking into her windswept hair, he pulled her closer as he nibbled, licked, nipped and, for one heart stopping moment, sucked on her lips. He was unyielding, hard and determined. Heat engulfed her as her body tightened in anticipation...for what, she didn't know. 

Suddenly, she gave a breathy moan. This stranger, this arrogant, frustrating, devilishly handsome stranger, had begun to grind himself against the apex of her soft thighs, his muscled leg causing, with each stroke, a sinful shock of pleasure to shoot into her core. 

Without hesitation he took advantage of her open mouth, his nimble tongue swooping into her warmth to taste her. With his lips, tongue and teeth, he proceeded to ring every ounce of sense and logic from her mind.

Before long, their breaths had turned ragged and they were gasping for air. All the while, James had been working his thigh between her own, delighting in each and every moan emitted deep from within Miss Grey's throat.

Then, he stopped.

He held back a smile as he felt her hips bear down on him before she realized what she was doing.

'What's the matter, you were enjoying it weren't you? Do it again,' he commanded softly, his voice searing her soul.

She looked away in embarrassment as the reality of her situation began to dawn, and tried to pull away. Quick as a flash, his hands grasped the cheeks of her bottom, 

holding her in place. Holding still, he ground her against his thigh.

'Uh!' her head fell back, reality shut away as a pleasure she had never experienced roared through her.

He lent down so that his words dropped hotly against her ear. 'I'm not done with you yet, Miss Grey. Only once you do everything I say will I let you go. The quicker you obey, the quicker that will be. Now, again.'

'No, please. I-'

'Again!'

Her hips jerked against his thigh, the sweet friction of the material between them causing her to groan inwardly in frustration. What was he doing to her?

'Again...' his soft, burning whisper forcing her to moan in despair. She knew she couldn't escape unless he stepped away from her body. Her hands grasped his shoulders desperately, his body the only thing holding her up. 

She felt her control slipping.

'Again.' He pushed harder into her as his tongue flicked against her earlobe. The pressure against her apex was almost painful, yet every little movement chased a flock of delicious tingles through her stomach and quivering thighs. 

After a tense moment, she closed her eyes in shame and she rocked herself against him in a shallow scooping motion, subtly trying to rub that extra sensitive spot that he had rubbed so perfectly. She gritted her teeth in frustration. Her skirts were in the way. 

As if reading her thoughts, he picked her up, hiked up her skirts and resettled her seat on his leg all in the space of a moment. Charlotte's eyes widened in shock. His rough breeches chafed against her intimate flesh.

He groaned. 'No unmentionables, milady? You naughty, naughty, girl.' He sucked in a shuddering breath. 'Dear God, I can feel you seeping onto my thigh.'

Charlotte whimpered as humiliation and desire warred within her. Never had she ever thought that she would be in such a situation with a man, and every bit of her rational mind urged her to fight and flee, preferably to another country. She felt so out of control, so vulnerable. And such feelings that she normally avoided at all costs.

But she must secretly be the most base and wanton woman, because she had a sinking feeling that this stranger could command her to do anything and she would do it, here, against this tree, in a public park.

Mr. Rochester trailed his lips from her ear down the line of her neck, where he stopped to nuzzle the sensitive skin. His tongue flicked out to taste her as his hands tightened on her derriere. 'I know what you need. If you feel what I feel, I know what you need. Now, Again.' He sweetened the deal by sliding a hand up to squeeze her soft breast.

And with that, she couldn't deny him. Arching, she began to grind against him, the added friction of his breeches against her bare flesh slowly pushing her towards the edge.

James felt a surge of masculine power as he felt her resistance fall.

Her inexperienced movements, gaining in desperation as she sought some sort of release, were so erotic it fueled his rampant desire and he felt himself grow heavy and thick. Every frantic thrust of her pelvis against him caused her thigh to press against his erection, creating a sweet torture. 

After each buck, she paused, as if some part of her mind still retained the sense that she should stop, forcing him to repeat his command over and over, his hand on her bottom encouraging each stroke.

'Again,' he whispered darkly. A breathy moan escaped from her lips.

'Again.' He swooped in for another searing kiss, her siren mouth too tempting to resist.

'Again!' he breathed harshly against her mouth, feeling her thighs tightening around his as she neared her end.

Suddenly, he slipped his hand between them and beneath her skirt, quickly finding her dripping heat. Running a cursory finger through her slick folds, he delved right into her tight, wet channel. 

'Yes!' the woman in his arms cried out, her voice thin and high in passion as her tight muscles clenched.

James felt himself go cold, then flaming hot in a split second. He couldn't believe his ears. The blatantly wanton proclamation was so erotic falling from the lips of this innocent that he suddenly had to fight to retain control of himself. 

He gritted his teeth in concentration. He couldn't rut her against a tree, in broad daylight, in a public place! He just couldn't. Already his arousal was beginning to pain in unfulfilled need. He wouldn't be able to find release. 

Abruptly, a dark place within him opened up.

His eyes narrowed as he looked down at her. 'Yes, what?' he asked harshly.

'Yes, that, your finger...!' her eyes were scrunched closed, her jaw clenched tensely as if in pain.

'Do you want it?'

She didn't answer him, but a blush crept onto her cheeks.

'Do you want it?!'

'Yes!'

'Too bad.' And with that he withdrew his hand and stepped away.




Man of Her Affairs



Charlotte gasped as cold air filled his lost embrace and she felt her body clench helplessly in search of his invading hand. Frustration shot through her as he left her unfulfilled. Unfulfilled? Ha, she didn't even now what she was missing! 

She glared at him silently, her breath still ragged as her heart began to calm down slowly. Leaning against the tree, she had to say something to regain her sense of self.

'You bastard!'

All he did was raise a brow, then, before her unbelieving eyes, he raised the finger he had used to tease her womanhood and inserted it into his mouth. He sucked.

Her cheeks burned.

Slowly, he grinned a grin filled with such arrogant satisfaction that she wanted to wipe it off with a slap. 'A bastard? For which part, Miss Grey? For pleasuring your body or stopping before you could find...completion?

She held her silence, knowing that either answer would be damning.

Stepping back towards her, he leant a hand against the tree and bent his head once more to her ear. 'If I can do this with only one part of you, imagine what I could do with the rest.'

'If you think I would allow you to even lay one finger one me!'

'Ah, but you wouldn't be able to stop me, my dear. I'm bigger and stronger than you, and,' he chuckled, 'without a chaperone, no one would be around to stop me.'

And there it was. Charlotte knew that in every single way, she had been bested. Never in her life had been at such a loss for words and all she could do was stare up at him, murder in her blue grey eyes.

For a moment he looked down at her, his lids lowering as his eyes lazily traced her features. The air became thick with tension.

'Till we meet again.' Abruptly he pushed away from her and, without looking back, pushed through the curtain of leaves. 

Shocked, Charlotte listened to him ride away, and then continued for many minutes to stare blankly into the distance, her mind refusing to settle after the storm of emotions that the stranger had teased from her unknowing body.

But now she knew, and she wanted more.

***

Author's Note:

Thank you for reading Man of Her Affairs! 

If you enjoyed it, please let me know, especially if you want to read more of James and Charlotte's story.

All constructive comments are welcome and I'm open to any advice or just some notifications of typos that escaped my notice.

Thank you to the readers who have alerted me to some errors. They have been corrected. ☺

Lepetiterose

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