Secluded with the Rogue

Chapter 7

Seven

C harlene stormed out of the breakfast room, absolutely furious with Drew. Stopping in an alcove to calm down and gather her wits about her, she tried to inhale slowly.

In all these years, one thing hadn't changed about Drew Wentworth: the man could still make her as mad as an angry hornet's nest. Tucked away in her shadowed spot, she saw—or, more accurately, heard—him stomp into his study.

With a sigh of disappointment at how the morning had turned out, Charlene pushed out of the alcove and yawned heartily—the man really was exhausting—as she wandered toward the orangery attached to Glenn Ivy Manor. It was a lush and beautiful indoor botanical space—it was so much more than a mere garden—filled with orange trees, lemon trees, elephant ear plants, and many other tropical varieties that wouldn't normally survive in their cold climate. It was also quite warm, despite the snowstorm. It had been a favorite spot of hers as a child when she and her mother came to visit, especially after she'd punched Drew.

This was the place she had hid.

Charlene found a lovely little bench near the orange tree and sat down. She had woken up this morning nearly as tired as when she'd gone to bed last night, and truth be told, it was Drew's fault. After that kiss in his study she had dreamed of him all night, which had her sleeping fitfully as she tried to escape her sleeping fantasy. Every time she ran, the blasted man caught her and kissed her to within an inch of her life.

It was infuriating. The brute had invaded her sleep and despite that, she had woken determined to be a pleasant breakfast companion. After all, she was stuck here for the duration—however long that turned out to be—and she really didn't want to spend that time fighting with the only other occupant of the house. To be sure, there was Polly, but she kept to herself mostly, or so Charlene would expect of a housekeeper. That was certainly how it was at her parent’s home.

Needless to say, Drew's boorish behavior at breakfast had thwarted all her best intentions.

The idiot knew she hated being called Charlie. She had always hated it, even as a girl. Without a doubt, she had been a bit of a tomboy, but that had been the only way to spend time with Drew, and it had hardly been her fault that she'd taken a fancy to him as a girl. She was woman enough to admit that now.

But the fact the man had needled her with that nickname he'd given her long ago, on top of demanding she change her clothes, was outside of enough. What the hell did the man think? That she had absconded into the night and brought a trunk of gowns with her?

She'd packed light, believing she would arrive at Brookhaven Manor where she would have plenty of clothes at her disposal. She had hardly planned on being caught in a bloody snowstorm. Who could plan for that this far south?

And she was fully covered! Her trousers didn't show a sliver of skin. It's not like the man didn't know what legs looked like—he had a pair, after all.

Charlene frowned. Could…could he be attracted to her?

The thought pinged around in her mind, wreaking all kinds of havoc on her psyche. That was impossible…although they had kissed—or she had kissed him, really. She didn't believe for a moment Drew could find her attractive. She was far too plump for such a thing—well beyond the fashionable amount of curves for a woman. Her former fiancé had made it more than clear that no man would ever find her appealing beyond her dowry and the connection to her father.

Well, if Drew wanted to regress to old behaviors, Charlene thought wickedly, two could play that game. She knew there was a pianoforte in this house. After all, she'd played it as a child when forced by her mother. She hated playing the thing as she was terrible at it, truly awful. She could never make her fingers go where they needed to, and she had no sense of timing.

Perhaps it was time she practiced again?

A few minutes later she found the music room, conveniently located across the hall from Drew's study, though everything was draped in holland covers. Pulling the cloth off the pianoforte, she coughed as the dust floated into the air in a million tiny little particles. How long had it been since the instrument had been tuned? Charlene grinned. All the better for her to punish her rude host, she thought as she pulled out the bench and sat down.

The question was, what should she play?

Charlene decided to start off easy. She began with a few scales. As she hit the first notes, it sounded relatively in tune. Then she hit the fourth and fifth notes and it became clear that the beautiful instrument had not been properly maintained. She continued at the scales for a while, increasing her volume with every note. When that had elicited no response from Drew, she started playing full pieces. She started with Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star, and then moved on to Prelude in C Major, by Bach.

As badly as she played those and for as many times as she repeated them, he still had not made a peep. It was infuriating.

Charlene had been playing for an hour without a single demand she cease the noise. Frustrated and bored with the few classical songs she knew, she started playing sea chanteys and dirty songs she'd learned to force her mother to end the music lessons. It had taken weeks and weeks of filthy songs, so she was well versed, allowing her to raise her voice with the delightfully dirty lyrics.

It was the lyrics which finally roused the great beast from his hidey-hole. “What in the bloody hell are you playing?” Drew stalked into the music room and shouted to be heard over her, banging on the keys in wild abandon.

Charlene stopped and looked at him. The sudden silence was almost disorienting. “I was practicing my pianoforte playing. Mother doesn't like it when I get out of practice.” She blinked as innocently as she could muster as she stared at his horrified face.

“You—you can't possibly be serious. You are playing—and singing, I might add—the filthiest songs I know—and I know quite a few, considering I am often at sea with a bunch of sailors.” Drew glared, his blue eyes were dark with anger.

Though she swore she saw his lips twitch a little, as though he might be repressing a smile. He was a very confusing man.

“Oh, I'm quite serious. I have to admit your pianoforte is a bit out of tune, but still one must suffer on for their art.” Charlene sighed dramatically and waited a moment. “Now, if you don't mind, I need to get back to my practice. Mother insists I practice for four hours every day, and I wasn’t able to practice yesterday. I must make up for lost time.”

Drew growled, “If this is how you play after practicing four hours every day, I can only imagine what you sounded like in the beginning. I've heard dying cats that had more musical talent than you do.”

Charlene stood up in actual affront. She knew she had no talent, would hardly be the first one to claim it, but it was truly rude of him to compare her efforts to a dying cat—and making it clear the cat would win the contest. She stalked over to where he leaned against a sofa. “You are the rudest man I have ever met.”

“You are the worst musician I have ever heard.”

Were his eyes sparkling with merriment? No. She must be seeing things. Or was he doing it to goad her?

Charlene tried focusing on his eyes to really see if he was enjoying their argument, but his gaze was back to his normally cool blue, like icicles. Her heart lurched. How had she fled one cruel man who wanted to control her, only to land in the clutches of another? Were all men like this? Surely not. Fate must have it out for her.

“You are the worst sort of man. You have no regard for others, only yourself. I should have known you'd be as bad as Lord Fenwick.” Charlene raised her hand to slap him, but he caught her wrist before she could strike.

His grip was firm, but not painful. “Lord Fenwick is an arse. The man has fewer morals than a pit viper. Do not compare me to such a creature.” Drew’s gaze softened. “Is he the reason you were running to your country home without a proper chaperone?”

She tried to jerk her wrist free of his hold, but found herself well and truly stuck. “That is none of your business.”

One of his eyebrows lifted in skepticism. “On the contrary, as you are currently under my roof and my protection, I believe that makes it very much my business.”

“I disagree.” Charlene glared, resenting how she was well and truly trapped, and hating her body's urge to press against the man now she was so close to him.

Against her will, her gaze dipped to his well-formed lips and her body grew warm. She heaved in a breath as her heart sped up. Much to her dismay, she wanted nothing more than to feel his lips on hers once more.

It was then that Drew pulled her forward and into his arms. Her breasts pressed against his chest as his lips captured hers. Charlene’s breath stalled in her chest for a moment as his tongue swept past her lips to explore. He tasted of mint and a hint of scotch—this early in the morning?

All thoughts disappeared. The feel of her legs tangled with his heightened her awareness of him. With no skirts to act as a barrier, it was damned arousing to be pressed against him so intimately.

Drew shifted so he was nearly sitting on the back of the sofa he'd been leaning against, and deepened the kiss. Their tongues glided over one another, slipping and sliding in a sensual dance that had her moaning into his mouth. A throbbing between Charlene’s thighs took up a steady rhythm that had her pressing to get closer to him.

That was when she felt the ridge of his erection. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. Physically, at least. She felt his hands slide from her ribs to her waist then lower down as he gripped her arse.

The way Drew kneaded the globes of her backside added to the wild thrum of her blood and the deep pulsing need between her legs. God, she wanted to feel him! All of him . Charlene lifted a knee, trying to get closer to that delicious hardness of his cock. She was a virgin, but not a complete innocent, and she knew that this had moved far beyond a mere kiss.

Drew responded, grounding his hips into hers as sparks fired through her body. She could feel nothing but the pleasure of having him crushed against her, grinding into her body in defiance of the clothing between them. He groaned, low and deep, as the pressure built toward a precipice. She'd touched herself enough to know where she was headed and to crave that blissful end from this man. Her hands slid up his muscle roped arms and around his neck.

More. She wanted more.

“Drew? Oh!” Polly walked in and exclaimed in surprise before she turned and fled the room.

Surprise and fear swirled with the desire pulsing through her body as Charlene stepped back on wobbly legs and stared at this confusing, intoxicating man. Her lips lightly pulsed from their kiss, thrumming in time with the need firing through her blood.

She wanted to dive back into his arms and damn the consequences. But she couldn't. She wouldn't.

Charlene hated this man.

Before she could further act the fool, she turned and fled the room. She raced upstairs to her bedchamber as though the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels. Perhaps they were, because she'd just kissed her childhood nemesis and first love. Again! What was she thinking?

Worse—what was he thinking?