Bad Boys Ahoy!

wanted him. Desperately.

She'd spent her entire life caring for herself because there was no one else to do it. She found it difficult to trust others, and she was a pragmatist at heart who believed in keeping her emotions far removed from her sexual liaisons. And yet she found herself wanting to believe a silver-tongued rogue. Knowing she shouldn't, Charlotte nodded her head.

'Thank God,' he muttered, his mouth pressing feverish kisses against her skin, belying the control he'd exhibited only a moment ago.

Hands on her hips, Hugh pinned her down. Releasing his desire, he began to fuck her with greedy abandon. Hard and deep, his driving rhythm unfaltering, he brought her to orgasm and then continued to take her, plunging through the grasping depths of her body. He came, she was certain of it. She heard his deep groan, felt his seed pulse and then spill out, but he didn't cease, didn't grow softer.

He slid her knee forward, opening her further, so that nothing impeded his cock from her depths. His sac, tight and hard, slapped against her clit, making her beg. Hugh swore and cursed, and came again. Charlotte could only grasp the edge of the desk and allow the pleasure to take her, to fill her, to sweep away her reservations, until all she felt was Hugh La Coeur and a tentative dream that would never come to fruition.

Chapter Four

Hugh stared at the map and wished he'd paid more attention to the Earl of Merrick's discussions of trade routes in the West Indies.

He snorted. In the last twenty-four hours, he'd wished he paid better attention to a lot of things. He'd always been a bit self-absorbed and rarely bothered with matters not directly pertaining to him or Julienne. Now suddenly he found himself concerned for a stranger. It was disconcerting, to say the least, and confusing.

Behind him, in his bed, Charlotte slept on. He'd give her a few more minutes, and then he'd take her again. The need he felt astonished him. He'd been at her most of the morning, and still his cock was hard and throbbing to be inside her once more. Only when they were fucking did he feel even remotely like his normal dissolute self, albeit minus his usual control.

Hugh couldn't grasp why his brain refused to concentrate on the finer points of the sexual act with Charlotte. It was simply base, no finesse, all need and sweat and fierce desire. He'd been unable to pull out before spilling his seed-not once, but every damn time. It was intolerable, but he was unable to resist, assuring himself that one more encounter would sate his lust, one more spine-melting orgasm would appease his craving.

'Hugh?'

The soft sigh behind him made his heart race. It had taken a bit of… persuasion to convince her to use his given name. Hugh was inclined to think she'd initially been stubborn just to enjoy more of his fucking, a thought that filled him with masculine satisfaction.

He turned and offered a smile. 'Yes, sweet?'

Charlotte's eyes dropped to his erection, widened, and then lifted again to his. She licked her lips. Flushed and disheveled, sprawled out across the mess that was his bed, she was breath-takingly beautiful. 'What are you doing?'

'Studying your map.' He rested his hip against the escritoire and crossed his arms. 'It's unusual and cryptic.'

She nodded. 'There are some books and a journal that I've been using to decipher it.'

'Where did you purchase these things?'

'The elder Glenmoore gave them to me.'

Hugh frowned. 'Why?'

She slid upward on the bed, propping herself against the pillows, caring nothing for modesty. And he was glad of that, for the sight of her creamy skin, firm breasts, and rosy nipples filled him with delight. He could gaze at her for hours, had in fact done that very thing this morning, counting her freckles and admiring her sleeping innocence. Then he'd cursed himself and the madness that had been plaguing him since he arrived. He'd donned his trousers and retrieved the map, determined to think of something other than Charlotte.

'Glenmoore knew his son would give us nothing,' she said, with obvious bitterness. 'His Grace grants us the use of this home only because it suits him to keep us under his thumb.'

'Why not simply institutionalize the duchess?'

Charlotte stiffened visibly. 'She's not mad.'

She paused, and he said, 'It would be best if you divulge everything without prodding.'

'I was his mistress,' she blurted, lifting her chin.

Hugh gaped. 'The old man's? Good God.'

'No.' She rolled her eyes. 'Not the elder Glenmoore. The newest Glenmoore.'

'Oh.' He scowled.

'You knew I wasn't innocent,' she reminded softly.

Waving off her statement with a toss of his hand, Hugh bristled at the jealousy he felt for a man she was no longer with. 'Yes. Yes,' he muttered. 'And that doesn't bother me in the least. I'm grateful actually. No other way I could molest you all morning.'

She laughed. 'I was most willing to be molested.'

Hugh arched a brow.

Her wide mouth spread in a delighted smile. 'It isn't often that well-endowed, gorgeous men with hearty sexual appetites come to call.'

He snorted and ran a hand through his hair.

She sighed. 'Your mood is odd for a man who should be sated.'

'I don't like that you would have taken any man,' he admitted gruffly.

Sliding from the bed and dragging the sheet with her, she retorted, 'And I don't like that you think I would have.'

He watched her stalk toward the door, her spine straight and proud. She was magnificent, a red-haired goddess who brooked disrespect from no one.

Going after her, Hugh stepped between her and egress. 'I'm sorry. Please don't go.'

Charlotte tilted her head back and considered him carefully. 'You're surly this morning.'

'I apologize. You are not to blame.'

Evidently satisfied, she nodded and moved back to the bed. 'It was beautiful here once,' she said over her shoulder. 'The first time I visited, the manse and grounds took my breath away.' She crawled back into the bed.

'Glenmoore brought you here?' He followed her to the bed and sat on the edge.

'He was Marquess of Carding then and impatient for his father to die.' She looked at him with narrowed green eyes. 'Do you know him?'

An image of the brawny, overbearing duke came immediately to mind. 'I've met him on occasion.'

'He's an ass,' she said curtly. 'He didn't care at all that his father might be offended to meet his mistress. Carding never cared about anyone but himself.' She brushed her hair back over her shoulder. 'Glenmoore was ill, and Carding left him here, far from his ancestral seat, to die alone and uncared for. The servants were understaffed, no doctor was sent for. It was terrible. I was ashamed to know him.'

Hugh reached out and claimed her hand, knowing that, as nurturing as Charlotte was, she would have been deeply distressed by the elder Glenmoore's suffering. She squeezed back, and he felt an odd tugging at his heart that she would take comfort from him. He was certain he'd never been a comfort to anyone.

'One evening I went to Glenmoore's room to check on his welfare. His chamber was freezing, since no one could be bothered to light the grate. The chamber pot was full and smelled dreadful. I couldn't be certain when the last time was that someone had fed him.' Charlotte shuddered at the memory.

'And you took care of him,' he finished, feeling a flicker of pride to which he had no claim.

'I had to,' she murmured, stroking his palm with her fingertips. 'Animals are treated better.'

Sliding further atop the bed, Hugh rested against the headboard and pulled her back between his legs, wanting