“I promised to find the treasure,” she moaned, melting into him.

“For what purpose?” His finger slipped inside her and began to pump in a leisurely rhythm, driving her mad.

“Why does anyone seek treasure?” Her head fell back against his shoulder. “Heavens . . . that feels wonderful.” She shivered, and his hand at her breast gripped tighter.

“For money, for fame, for adventure,” he suggested, his voice so gruff, it betrayed his arousal. “Which is it for you?”

Charlotte arched her hips into his hand, her body on fire. His teeth bit into her neck, his fingertips tugged at her nipple, his fingers thrust between her legs until her orgasm was almost upon her. She cried out and tensed in expectation.

He stopped, and his hands left her.

“No . . .” she protested. “Don’t stop.”

With a hand between her shoulder blades, Hugh pressed her gently forward until she lay sprawled across the map. He lifted one of her legs and set it sideways atop the desk, opening her completely.

“Why do you want to seek treasure, Charlotte?” His palms stroked the curve of her bare derriere.

“For the money.”

“For the duchess?” He kissed the small of her back. “For yourself?”

“Both.” She shuddered, her arousal so painfully acute, she considered relieving it herself. Her hand moved off the desk to do just that.

“Don’t even think about it,” he warned. And then she heard him remove his trousers. “Tell me you’re not a virgin.”

Her throat was so tight, she could only shake her head.

“Do you want this?” he growled, thrusting his hard cock through the lips of her sex.

“God, yes,” she breathed. “I want it.”

He bent over and pressed his damp cheek to hers, his erection resting in the valley of her buttocks. “I want you more than any woman I can recall, Charlotte. Your scent intoxicates me, the feel of your skin drives me to madness, and your mouth . . . I want to do obscene things to your mouth.” He kissed her cheek so gently, her heart clenched. “But I need answers, and I expect you to give them to me. Will you do that when I’ve finished?”

At the moment, she felt like doing anything he asked.

Hugh’s hands stroked down her back, soothing, caressing. “Are you in danger, sweet? Perhaps you hide here to escape something unpleasant?”

Charlotte’s hands closed into fists. Seduction was one thing, as long as it was honest and without guile. “Don’t pretend to care, Montrose, when I hold no illusions that you do or will. You want sex. Fuck me, and be done with it.”

He straightened abruptly, his voice tightening. “I’m not lacking in sex. It’s you I want.”

She took a breath, then released it, sensing she’d pricked him and wondering why that mattered to her. “I swore not to tell anyone, Montrose. Can you collect that? I don’t know you. In a day or two you’ll leave and—”

She gasped as he thrust his cock into her with no further preliminaries.

Her fingers clawed at the desk and her back arched as pleasure seared her senses. He was large, so unbelievably built, and hard as steel, throbbing within her, until she felt nothing else.

Hugh leaned over her, lacing his fingers with hers. “I’m inside you, Charlotte.” He nudged deeper, reminding her of that fact. As if she could forget. “I intend to remain inside you for the next few days. There are things I can do, ways I can take you, that will prompt you to tell me what I want to know just so I’ll allow you to come. Or you can be a good girl and just tell me now. Then we can spend the next few days enjoyably discussing ways to alleviate your problems.”

Arrogant men were one of her deep irritations. “I am not without skills of my own,” she bit out, clenching deliberately around him, pushing herself into orgasm.

He growled, his hands tightening brutally on hers, as she came around his cock. She threw her hips back to take him completely inside her, biting her lip to hold back her cries. It was a breathless, burning release, searing her senses, but it was only a tease, a brief respite, and as he swelled in response, she writhed in torment, needing more.

Hugh withdrew from her, then slid forward again, making her feel every thick, silken inch, stretching her deliciously, until she thought she would die of it.

“Naughty Charlotte,” he murmured. He stroked her again with expert awareness. “We can stay here for hours.” Again he withdrew, again he thrust. “Or we can retire to my bed, and you can lay on your back. I could suck your nipples then, sweet. Lick them, bite them, while I fuck you. Wouldn’t you like that?”

She ground her teeth together and shuddered all over as he pumped into her again. “Bastard.”

“No, I’m quite legitimate. And wealthy. I could help you, sweet.” Out. In. “Why seek treasure when you have me?” His fingertips stroked the straining length of her spine.

“I don’t have you.”

He stilled his movements. “You could.”

She lay prone upon the massive mahogany desk, spread and helpless, filled with Montrose’s wondrous cock, her heart racing so fast she could hear nothing over the rushing of blood in her ears.

What was he saying? What was he offering? And why, when she’d given him what he desired without a fight?

Hugh didn’t move, he simply waited, and she knew without him saying so that he wouldn’t continue until she replied one way or the other. She didn’t understand what he was offering, but whatever it was, she wanted it, she 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 breathtakingly 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 to hold her and offer whatever solace he could. He stroked his hands down her arms and kissed her shoulder.

“You are so sweet, Hugh.” She wrapped his arms around her waist.

He buried his face in her hair to hide his embarrassment. “Tell me more,” he said gruffly, deflecting the conversation away from him.

“Glenmoore was ill but still lucid and sane. He didn’t know who I was, of course, but once I explained, he took my presence in stride, and we spoke at length. I really liked His Grace. He had a sense of humor and a zest for life I admired. I couldn’t leave him to suffer simply because Jared wished to be rid of him—”