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into
his arms and was content to let her head rest on his shoulder.
Within moments, the gentle rocking of the coach and the pitter of
his heartbeat rocked her toward sleep. “Thank you,” she murmured as
she nestled into him.
    “You’re welcome,” he said gently,
brushing the hair from her brow. “Sleep now.” And Charlotte
did.

Her Gift – The Butterfly
House
    By Laurel
Bennett

    Charlotte blinked her eyes open slowly
as the sun filtered in through the slit in the curtains. She looked
around at the unfamiliar chambers and felt an uncommon sense of
peace. She rolled beneath the counterpane to face the other side of
the bed, and frowned at the site of the empty space beside her. She
lifted Trent’s pillow to her nose and breathed in his scent. He
smelled of sandalwood and spice. Her gaze darted around the room.
Where was he?
    The last thing she remembered was him
gently undressing her and sliding beneath the counterpane with her,
both of them naked. He’d pulled her into his chest and rested her
head on his shoulder. Then he’d begun to stroke the length of her
hair, letting it slide between his fingers as he moved from the top
of her head to where it draped across the pillow. He tested the
strands between his fingers as he spoke casually about the
future.
    He’d very softly asked for her to
close her eyes, even though closing her eyes was the last thing
she’d wanted to do. She wanted to make love to him. Or at least
have him make love to her. She had no idea how to accomplish the
former, but she had a sneaking suspicion that he could teach her
all the things he liked. That was the last thing she remembered.
And now, it was morning, he was gone and she was alone.
    They still hadn’t consummated their
relationship. Could one consummate a relationship? Charlotte wasn’t
certain. The Duke of Randallshire was known for his prowess in the
bedchamber. Yet all she’d gotten from him so far was a thoroughly
enjoyable experience with a woman he sent solely for Charlotte’s
pleasure and a fierce orgasm brought about by his talented fingers
in the middle of a crowded room. She threw the counterpane to the
side and sat up on the edge of the bed. The man would be inside her
before the day was over. She would bet her life on that.
    Charlotte slid into his dressing gown
and belted it at the waist. She ran her fingers through her sleep
tousled hair and opened the door to his private sitting room. She
stopped cold. Trent sat on the other side of the room in the window
seat staring out into the approaching morning. His posture was
relaxed, but the hand that shuttled up and down his cock was not.
He must not have heard her open the door, because he didn’t even
look up at her. He simply stared out the window, his mouth hanging
open as his fist sped its furious flight up and down his cock. His
eyes closed and his head fell back, his hand slowing its movement,
then speeding again. His hips began to move as small noises left
his throat. He arched into his own grip, the crown of his cock
purple and shiny with wetness that seeped from the small slit at
the tip.
    He had a lady, warm and willing in his
bed and he was more interested in pleasuring himself than thrusting
inside her body? Tears pricked at the backs of her lashes. She’d
hoped for more from the duke. She’d hoped for a pleasurable
interlude. She’d hoped he’d be different. She’d hoped for more than
she should.
    “Your Grace,” she said softly. He
didn’t hear her. She coughed into her closed fist. There was still
time. Still time before he found release. Still time for him to
choose her over the pleasure of his own hand. However, he didn’t
look up. He didn’t acknowledge her presence.

    His hand slowed and his grip eased
somewhat on his swollen member. His mouth closed and she feared she
could hear his teeth grinding from across the room. Charlotte
shoved her hair back behind her ear and took a step toward
him.
    It was then that he saw her. His hand
stopped.