Page 23 of Charlotte's Kisses

He wanted to grab Chesterhill and shake sense into him. And not just for his negligence as a father. The cad had not kept his married cock in his married breeches, and now he wanted Hugh to deceive Charlotte about his purpose for being there. And yes, Hugh was passing judgment. He was no stranger to a wayward cock, which was why he did not intend to saddle some poor woman with his proclivities in a sham marriage. And no, he was not marrying Charlotte. He simply wasn’t marriage material, and she was much too good for him—a marquess’s daughter, for Fuck’s sake. And undoubtedly a virgin to boot. He was simply looking out for her. The unfortunate truth was, if Hugh wanted to stay here, near her, he’d have to work for her father, and this meant he would have to keep Lord Chesterhill’s secret.

The bloody irony of it all.

Hugh wasn’t opposed to the twisted thrill he’d receive if he punched her brother’s teeth down his throat. Bloody arrogant arse. However, he’d refrain for now since Charlotte loved Alexander. But someday soon, he would enact his revenge.

If only he could cut out her stepmother’s heart. Not that the shrew had a heart. Maybe he’d cut off her head. He’d carry his new trophy around by her long locks as steaming devil’s blood dripped throughout the chambers of Chesterhill Manor. Of course, he’d never beheaded anyone. This wasn’t the Dark Ages, and swords and knives were not his thing. Fists were another story. Still, he would never use his fists on any woman. Not even an odious battle-ax. One thing was certain: she could threaten him all she wanted, but he had no intention of telling her about his business with the marquess. If he gave in to a woman like her, she would make his life a living hell.

He blinked himself to the here and now. All of these violent images needed to be squelched. They were simply out of place while his Firefly had her arm wrapped around him.

He tried not to groan when his arse hit the mattress, but since every inch of his body hurt, except the arm that was still wrapped around Charlotte’s neck, he whimpered like a child.

She pulled away from him to fluff his pillow. “Get some sleep.” She gifted him with one of her sweet smiles as she brushed her hand over his cheek.

“Well, what do you know?” It wasn’t just his libidinous befuddled beast—when she touched him, he didn’t hurt.

“Know what?” she asked.

“Do that again.”

She fluffed his pillow.

“No. Touch my face like you just did.”

She bit her lip, suddenly looking rather shy. He’d pushed this innocent too far. What had he been thinking when asking her to help him to his bed? Especially after his flirtatious innuendos, which had actually been quite indecent.Crawl onto my lap and ease the rest of my aches.What in the hell was wrong with him? He should cease acting like a randy fuck and apologize immediately.

Before he could beg for forgiveness, her fingertips grazed his cheek. There was no doubt about her healing touch. Not only did her hands heat his skin, but they also eased the pain.

Staring into his eyes, she caressed his face. Oh, to lean forward and kiss the fluttering pulse in her neck. He was mesmerized. Lost. Done for. He melted into her featherlight touch as his heart hammered and his throat constricted.

There was no such thing as enchantment…and yet? His Firefly had sprinkled a dusting of magic over last night andthen placed a spell on him using her sincere innocence and kindness.

For now, he must ignore his throbbing cock. She should return home and lock herself in her chamber. Away from her stepmother—and away from him.

“Charlotte,” he whispered.

“Hugh?”

“Charlotte,” he said again, hoping she’d repeat his name.

“Hugh.”

Her voice skimmed over his skin, and the hair on the back of his neck rose. What would it hurt to let her stay for a while longer? Nothing indecent would happen. He would not allow it. He’d simply close his eyes and sleep while his Firefly watched over him.

Chapter fourteen

Moments after Hugh’s eyelidsdrifted closed, his breathing shallowed, and the line of his jaw softened. He had been awake one second and asleep the next. Although the loss of conversation was disappointing, Charlotte relished being in his company.

She watched the rise and fall of his chest for a few moments before wandering around the cottage tidying up. She locked the door and positioned one of the chairs in front of it. Not that furniture could keep one of Lady Chesterhill’s men from breaking down the door and entering, but perchance, in the dark, they would trip over it, giving Hugh extra time to arm himself.

What was she thinking? Hugh could barely walk. Still, the chair would provide her an extra moment or two to arm herself. She searched for a weapon, settling on a bread knife. She’d just plopped herself at the table, knife in front of her,when Hugh moaned. She jumped to attention and rushed to him.

His head thrashed from side to side. “No,” he mumbled. “No, no.”

What type of nightmare plagued a worldly man like Hugh? Sitting on the mattress beside him, she ran the back of her wrist over his sweat-covered brow. Please do not let this be a fever.

“Hugh,” she cooed, “’Tis just a nightmare. I am here. You are safe.”

In the scanty lantern light, she barely discerned his eyes opening.