The Third Duke's the Charm Read Online Free PDF Page B

on softly, “Tonight is about you and me, not whatever came before. I don’t even remember any woman before I met you.”
    In answer, she gave him a skeptical look. “Not even the very lovely Miss Lacrosse?”
    “Viv is a friend,” he said after a moment, an uncharacteristic seriousness in his voice. “She wanted me to follow my heart, and I did so. If she hadn’t seen more clearly what I wanted than I did myself, you and I wouldn’t be here. Underneath the bluestocking botanist lies a very romantic soul she hides from the world.” His smile was devastatingly tender. “Now then, why don’t you finish your wine and let me enlighten you as to why I can’t describe what is about to happen between us.”
    ***
    Charles found his bride’s shyness provocative and the unadorned robe she wore—no doubt selected by her straitlaced mother—somehow arousing. It draped her from her throat to the tops of her dainty feet, the plain material serviceable but hardly a silken negligee.
    Perhaps it was a sign, he thought as he rose and gently took the wine glass from her hand, urging her to her feet, that a man wanted his mistress to dress like a courtesan, but his wife to represent something else altogether. Not virtue precisely—he was more worldly than that, but a singular innocence that would belong only to him.
    Possession might be a rather barbaric notion, he realized wryly, yet it applied. He didn’t want to own Louisa, but he certainly wanted her all to himself.
    He wanted to be her first—and only—lover.
    So he had married her, and now he was going to bed her. Charles slowly brought one of her hands to his lips, murmuring against her fingers, “I love you and I want to make you mine.”
    Not terribly original, but heartfelt. He couldn’t be glib at a moment like this.
    Louisa was not at all his usual preference. She was more slender than the women he normally pursued, very fair with her almost silvery blond hair and porcelain skin, and large gray eyes. Maybe it was her petite beauty that had drawn his eye in the first place, or the unusual impact of her coloring and delicate features, but there was no doubt that moment he’d caught sight of the vicar’s daughter standing on the corner of the street by the modest bakery, her purchases clutched in her arms, he’d been smitten. That had led to infatuation. Then, finally, to love.
    He’d never been in love before and it was more intoxicating than any beverage he’d ever consumed, and certainly clouded his judgment more. His father was going to want his head. So was the vicar, and no doubt so was Vivian’s father since he’d jilted his daughter, though he wouldn’t have done so if Vivian hadn’t encouraged him to take this course.
    But at the moment he just wasn’t concerned over anything but that he was alone with Louisa finally, there was a comfortable bed waiting for them both, and she was his wife. His
wife
. Perfect.
    “Sweeting,” he said, his hands going to the sash on her robe, currently tied so tightly he was surprised she could breathe, holding her gaze with passionate sincerity, “come lie with me. I promise you that I will honor the vows I took to cherish you in all ways.”
    Her beautiful eyes shimmered suddenly as if tears threatened, but to his relief, she smiled. “If I did not think
that
, Charles Caverleigh, I would not be here.”
    He kissed her then, certainly not their first, but this was different from their stolen moments before—when he’d persuaded her to meet him by the river, when he’d crept into the garden by the vicarage, when she had slipped out to join him when he was ostensibly out for a morning ride by the meadow . . .
    This was different.
    Her mouth was soft, warm, beguiling; and as he tasted and tantalized, his tongue sweeping in to touch hers, he deftly undid the sash of her robe and slipped his hands between the parted fabric to find her slim waist. Louisa came into his embrace with gratifying enthusiasm, her arms