The Reluctant Marquess by Maggi Andersen

mind. She didn’t understand this world of the ton, and was not at all sure she wished to become part of it.
    “It won’t happen to us,” she murmured.
    Robert lowered his head to listen. “What was that?”
    “Never,” she said emphatically, closing her eyes. She drifted off to the sound of his deep chuckle, relishing the squeeze he gave her.

Chapter Four

    The carriage pulled up in Grosvenor Square.
    Robert looked down at the small head that rested against his shoulder. Charity was sound asleep. The lamplight fell upon her cheek. He stroked her delicate skin with a finger and spoke her name. She didn’t stir. She was worn out, and rightly so. He felt a stab of guilt. She’d annoyed him asking about Arabella. Perhaps because she’d been right. He and Arabella had enjoyed a brief affair a year ago. He’d thrown Charity to the wolves and the vixens. He knew only too well how harsh the ton could be. She’d done remarkably well, though. Several friends had sought him out during the evening to offer their approval.
    “I’ll carry Lady St Malin, Fielding,” he told the footman. He gathered her up, her soft body encased in corset, petticoats and skirts nestled against his chest as he walked up the steps and into the house. He realized how slight she was, how light in his arms.
    When he reached her chamber, he found Brigitte waiting, dozing in a chair by the fire. “You may go.”
    He laid Charity on the bed. Her eyes opened briefly then closed again. “Oh, thank you Robert. Too kind.” He could have left her there with her maid, yet he found he didn’t wish to. He wanted to see more than the brief glimpse he’d had of this young woman who was now joined to him for life.
    She briefly opened heavy-lidded eyes as he turned her and unhooked her gown, stripping it and her petticoat off and throwing them over a chair.
    He unlaced the strings of her pretty stays, then paused, suffering another twinge of guilt. It didn’t seem right to do this while she slept. But perhaps she knew and enjoyed his ministrations.
    She murmured his name, and her delicious mouth widened in a smile.
    His mouth hovered above hers. Aroused, his blood quickened. It brought him up short, and he drew away. This was not what he’d intended. Anastasia awaited him in her apartments. Yet he preferred to remain and make love to his wife. They would have to become lovers eventually, why not now? She had told him to wait, but a man couldn’t wait forever.
    Robert gently shook her shoulder. “Wake up, Charity.”
    She half sat up and opened her eyes, gazing at him. “What?” Her curls tumbled down in a glorious mass of sun-kissed locks.
    “I am undressing you. Do you mind?”
    “Thank you for putting me to bed, Robert. I’m so dreadfully weary.” She settled down in her shift and closed her eyes again.
    She had been through so much in these past months, and was so trusting, lying there in his arms, almost naked. What he could see of her body was delightful, and the brief glimpse he’d had of creamy skin, honey curls and rose-tipped nipples when she’d stepped from her bath lingered tantalizingly in his mind. Her shift covered most of her slim legs. His fingers itched to raise it so that he might more thoroughly discover what lay beneath.
    He denied himself, resolutely removing her pink satin garters. Then he rolled down her stockings, enjoying the view of her shapely legs, her skin soft against his hands. The rose water she used drifted tantalizingly in the air. He wanted to bury his nose in her skin and inhale deeply. Her full breasts pressed against the fine lawn, and it was all he could do not to cup a breast in his hand and thumb a perky nipple. But he wanted her awake, and agreeable.
    “Charity?”
    She opened an eye. “I’m afraid I’m in my cups, Robert.”
    “Are you, sweetheart?”
    He wouldn’t stoop so low as to make love to a woman worse for drink. Not unless invited. Regretfully, he pulled back the bed covers and settled