But oh no, that had not been good enough for her.
No, she had refused to accept any man’s offer for her hand–and there had been quite a few, as she was a pretty girl from a well to do family with a sizable dowry–because they just weren’t right. Like a shoe that was either a tad too small or too big.
Now she didn’t have any shoes at all, and her mother was asking her to walk on broken glass.
“I say, is everything all right? Your face is turning red,” her partner observed.
They had come to a halt in the middle of the room. All around them couples clapped politely, signaling the end of the waltz. Charlotte pressed her hands to her cheeks and felt that they were, indeed, quite warm to the touch. “I apologize, Lord… Er…”
“Lord Yardley,” he supplied.
“Yes, yes of course. I…You shall have to forgive me, Lord Yardley. I fear I am not feeling well, and have not been a very good dance partner.”
“Oh no,” he protested, reaching out to rest his hand on her forearm. At her stare he snatched it away and rubbed his chin instead, as though that was what he’d meant to do all along. “You were absolutely splendid. But is it true, Lady Charlotte?”
“Is what true?” Her attention was already drifting, try as she might to remain focused. Her scalp itched from the wax Tabitha had used to ensure her curls stayed in place, and sweat was trickling down between her breasts. For the second time she reached for her reticule, this time to draw out a fan, and her teeth gnashed in frustration when she remembered it was sitting on her dresser at home. Some women fashioned tiny ribbons around their wrists and hung their reticules from there, but she’d never been able to stand having it hit her in the arm every time she moved.
“Your engagement,” Lord Yardley said earnestly. “Is it true, or is it not true, that you are to marry the Duke of Paine?”
Any thoughts of fans and missing reticules fled Charlotte’s mind at the idea of being forced to confirm her betrothal out loud for everyone to hear. She took an involuntary step back and bumped hard against a woman in a plum colored dress who clucked her tongue in annoyance.
“Watch where you’re going,” she said sharply.
“I… I am terribly sorry.” Charlotte turned to the side, and nearly tripped over a servant attempting to carry a tray of cucumber sandwiches from one end of the ballroom to the other. “Sorry!” she burst out again, clapping both hands to her burning cheeks. Why was it so miserably hot? Someone needed to open a window.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Yardley walking towards her, his expression one of utmost determination. She waved him off. “It was lovely dancing with you, Lord Yardley, but I must…I must go powder my nose!”
The room was spinning. Colors flew by, each brighter than the last. Sound intensified. Her blood hummed. Her pulse pounded in her ears. Her heart flung itself against her chest as if trying to break free.
Feeling as though the floor itself was tipping sideways, Charlotte fought her way through the crowd, desperate for a breath of fresh air. Dimly she thought she heard her mother calling her name, but by then she had reached a door, and not caring where it led so long as it was away from the ballroom and all of the eyes she could feel upon her back, she turned the brass doorknob and stumbled through.
Chapter Four
Gavin Graystone did not have a very high opinion of his first ball.
To his mind it was a cluttered, tedious affair, filled with high society nabobs who had nothing better to do than throw a party for themselves to celebrate how bloody rich and important they all were.
There was no gambling, no brawling, no women rubbing against his side like cats in heat. Thank God he had thought to bring his own whiskey for it seemed only lemonade– lemonade–was being served. Were it not for his need to meet with new potential clients and the fact that he had turned in a very big favor to ensure an invitation, Gavin would have left hours ago.
He had not expected to be well received, and his assumption had proved correct. He was, after all, the son of a baker; a commoner without an ounce of blue blood running through his veins and no title to precede his name. But he was an ambitious man and a wealthy one besides. In truth, he most likely could have bought and sold half the lords in attendance three times over, a fact they were very well aware of. It made them despise him all the more, even as they curried his favor like simpering pups begging for a bone.
But they were purebred pups, he reminded himself with a sardonic tilt of his mouth. While he, no matter how much financial success he achieved, would always be seen as nothing more than a mangy mutt who was not fit to live in the same household, let alone eat from the same silver bowl.
Pulling out a silver flask from beneath his black waistcoat, he took a liberal swig before collapsing his long, lanky body into a leather chair. He’d retreated to an adjoining study some time ago in an effort to find quiet amidst the babbling chaos, and had little intention of returning, at least not until the whiskey took some effect.
When Gavin heard the door to the study open with an audible creak, followed by the unmistakable scurry of small feet and the crinkle of crinoline, he grimaced and took one last swig from his flask, draining the contents in a long, satisfying swallow that left his throat burning and his mind pleasantly fuzzy.
He had wondered how long it would be before an overzealous mother sent her daughter searching for him. There was more than one money hungry family in attendance tonight whom would be willing to overlook his lack of title if it meant their salvation from financial ruin, and they had not been shy in letting him know it.
“If you are looking for Graystone, he is not here,” Gavin drawled, not bothering to stand or even turn his head to see what the fancy bit of fluff looked like. He had no intention of being lured into marriage by a member of the nobility, no matter how fair her features or soft her bosom. No, when he finally bothered to take a wife (if he ever did), it would be to a girl of his own class who had not been raised with a silver spoon jammed down her throat. One who knew what it felt like to work for what she had and did not laze about all day sipping watered down tea and getting fat on crumpets.
He sincerely doubted there was a more spoiled creature in the entire world than a high society brat, and he abhorred their haughty demeanors and the way they looked down their nose at him. Unless they wanted his money. Then they held their noses, but their contempt was still obvious.
“I did not realize anyone was in here,” the intruder–unmistakably female if her soft, lilting voice was any indication–replied.
Gavin rolled his eyes at the dormant fireplace before him. “Do you make it a habit to wander into dark, empty rooms by yourself?”
“Do you make it a habit to sit in dark, empty rooms drinking by yourself?”
He stared down at his empty flask, well hidden from view in the crook of his arm, and frowned. “How do you know I was drinking?”
His unwanted guest snorted under her breath. “Because it reeks of spirits in here. And what other reason would a gentleman have to retreat to an empty room than drink himself foolish? Unless you’ve been jilted. Are you?”
“Am I what?” he asked irritably.
“Jilted.”
Gavin gave that question all the response it deserved, which was to say, none at all. Still, he could not stop himself from leaning on his elbow and peering around the side of the chair to see who had marched into the study with all the finesse of a bull in a china shop.
The light was dim and the air heavy with shadow, but what he was able to see had his eyes widening and a low whistle of appreciation forming between his lips. Lady or no–and he would be willing to bet all of his considerable holdings she was a lady–the chit was stunningly beautiful.
Her countenance was that of an angel’s, all soft lines and creamy skin with a pert little nose that hinted at stubbornness and a full, voluptuous mouth just begging to be kissed. Her eyes, neither brown nor green but a captivating mixture of the two, were tilted at the corn
ers and framed by the longest lashes he had ever seen. Curls the color of fire framed her heart shaped face and had been gathered in a knot at the top of her head, leaving the slender line of her throat exposed to his wandering view.
His gaze traveled leisurely from the rounded tops of her breasts to her small waist and back again as the muscles in his abdomen clenched and heat stirred in his loins. Consumed with work, he had gone too long without a woman, and certainly too long without one who looked like this. All fire and flame, she was a vision, and were it not for the fact that she had undoubtedly been sent to him like a lamb to the proverbial slaughter, he would have been pressed to do more than just enjoy her with his eyes.
“Are you done yet?” the titian haired goddess asked in a very un-goddess like tone. “Or would you like me to do a turn and stick out my tongue so you can check my teeth?”
“Would you mind?” he drawled, and a rare grin tugged at the corner of his mouth when she merely pinned her hands to her hips and cocked a russet eyebrow. Bounding to his feet with ease despite the amount of liquor he’d imbibed, he stepped around the chair and leaned up against the back of it, crossing his arms over his wide chest and raising one of his own brows in turn. “Gavin Graystone at your service, my lady. Congratulations. You have found me.”
Her lips thinned. “I thought you said Graystone was not here. A liar and a drunk? No wonder you are in hiding.”
She was shockingly sharp-tongued, he’d given her that, and Gavin found himself both amused and impressed by her quick wit, a trait so rarely found among the beauties of the ton. Although invariably pretty to look at, the poor girls could rarely hold a conversation that went beyond the latest fashion trend.
“If I’m in hiding, then what are you doing here?” he asked.
She gave a haughty toss of her head. “I fail to see how that is any of your concern.”
He liked her. He was surprised by just how much. As a general rule, Gavin didn’t like anyone.
But he wasn’t stupid.
“This is the part where you’re supposed to convince me you stumbled into this room by complete coincidence,” he said cynically, “and your mother isn’t waiting just outside to catch us in a compromising position.”
“You think rather highly of yourself, don’t you, Mr. Graystone?”
He shrugged. “I am a practical man by nature, sweet.”
“Not to mention an arrogant one to believe the only reason I sought refuge in this particular study was to throw myself at you.” She gave an unladylike snort. “Enjoy your spirits, Mr. Graystone. I shall see myself out.”
Gavin did not know why he did it. One moment he was lounging against the chair; the next he was uncoiling to his full height of six feet and crossing the room.
She wrenched the door open. He moved with lightening quickness to slam it shut. He saw the muscles in her shoulders and neck tighten before she whirled to face him and lifted her chin, a warrior princess with a Cupid’s bow mouth begging to be ravished.
“What now?” she snapped.
“You cannot leave yet,” he said huskily. Lord, but she smelled sweet. Like violets and sunshine and something a little dark. A little dangerous. She was dangerous, if only for the fact that she made it so temptingly easy to forget who and what she was: an innocent, but worse than that–far worse, to Gavin’s mind–a highborn lady.
Yet he still ached to touch her.
To know the feel of her skin.
The taste of her flesh.
The sound of her sigh.
In the dancing candlelight her eyes were endless pools of shimmering amber. He shifted closer and her eyes widened, but she did not look away or fight to be free of him. She stood quietly, her head slightly canted, her arms poised motionless at her sides. Gavin wet his lips. The small motion drew her gaze to his lips, and the naïve curiosity he saw flicker across her face was nearly his undoing.
“Bloody hell.” He dropped his head and braced his arms on either side of the door, effectively pinning her against it. From inside his chest his heart pounded like a drum, as if he were an eager, inexperienced lad instead of a man full grown who prided himself on his self-control.
When had a woman ever affected him like this, let alone a slip of a girl with sunlight in her hair and steel in her eyes?
Never.
The answer was never.
“Tell me to let you go,” he said roughly, dragging a hand from the door to cup the delicate curve of her jaw. He could feel her pulse racing against the pad of his thumb. Her eyes were like fire. Her voice like smoke.
“Why?” she whispered.
Why indeed?
Throwing caution to the wind, Gavin muttered a savage oath as he claimed her mouth with his.
Chapter Five
The world was spinning with dizzying quickness.
One moment Charlotte was fleeing the ballroom and the next she was being pressed up against a door and kissed senseless by a handsome stranger. No, not kissed, she thought dazedly. Surely this was not kissing. This was nothing short of ravishing. She was being ravished and it felt…it felt wonderful.
Gavin’s mouth was hot and heavy on her lips. His body pressed against hers in the most delicious places, all hard lines and long angles. One hand slipped from her jaw to curve around the back of her neck while the other settled high on her left hip and squeezed. She quivered in response, a quick jolt of movement that earned her a hard nip on her bottom lip. He soothed the bite almost before he gave it, nursing it with his tongue and, because it only seemed natural, she opened her mouth as well and oh…oh. Who knew kisses could be like this? It was almost like dancing, except with their tongues instead of their bodies, and it was infinitely more exciting.
The hand at her hip began a slow, sensuous ascent, and she gasped when he cupped her breast through the sheer fabric of her bodice. No one had ever touched her there. It was wicked, and carnal, and forbidden.
She loved every second of it.
A whimper spilled from her lips when Gavin dragged his thumb across her nipple, and her knees nearly gave when he suddenly dipped his head and took the hard, aching bud between his lips. Pleasure crashed over her like a violent wave, dragging her under and spinning her around and around until she did not know left from right or up from down.
“Do you like that, sweet?” he murmured.
She nodded helplessly in response, her fingers tangling in his thick hair when he moved seamlessly to her other breast. Warmth was building between her thighs, like a fire being gradually stoked, causing her head to thrash restlessly from side to side in anticipation of…what? She didn’t know. This was her first true taste of passion. Her first sip of desire.
And it was glorious.
He was glorious, if only because he’d stirred all these feelings to life within her that she’d never known existed. Feelings she’d never known were even possible. It was like seeing a brilliant sunset, or fireflies dancing in the moonlight, or a double rainbow stretching across a blue, cloudless sky. Sights so magnificent in their beauty that they could not be described, only experienced.
Gavin kissed her again, his tongue sliding lazily between her lips as his hand settled on the sloped edge of her hipbones before they slid inwards, towards the source of all that pulsing heat. He yanked up her skirts and she hastened to help him, hissing out a breath of frustration when she encountered all of the layers beneath her ball gown. Shifts and slips and white silk drawers. Oh, why did women have to wear so many undergarments?!
“Easy, sweet,” said Gavin, his husky laughter tickling her ear when she growled in exasperation. Gently pushing her arms aside, he easily loosened her drawers enough for his large hand to slide inside.
Charlotte cried out when he used a single fingertip to part her damp curls. He swallowed the sound with his mouth, and all the others that came after as he found the small, sensitive nub hidden within the thatch of auburn.
He began to stroke her, slowly at first and then faster and faster. She clung to h
is broad shoulders as the room whirled around them and everything within her tightened, like a bow string drawn taut. Then with one final flick of his fingertip Gavin set the arrow loose, and light exploded all around as she sagged against him, her breaths heavy and uneven, her entire body limp as a dishrag.
“That…that was…” Goodness, she couldn’t even speak.
“That was a mistake,” Gavin said flatly before he untangled himself from her heavy limbs. “I apologize, my lady. I–I do not know what came over me. I’ve never…” He cut himself short, gave an annoyed shake of his head, and then went to the window where he stared blindly out at the shadowy lawn beyond.
“Never ravished an innocent in a study before?” Charlotte leaned against the door as tiny little after-shocks of pleasure continued to reverberate throughout her body. A smile played across her swollen lips, and with a happy little sigh she tugged her bodice into place and fixed her skirts.
Of all the rooms she could have picked, she was inordinately pleased to have selected this one in particular. It was like she’d won a prize without even knowing she’d been playing a game.
Even if part of her present didn’t appear pleased to have participated.
Gavin’s frame was a single knot of coiled muscle, his shoulders tense and rigid beneath the sleek line of his tailcoat. He was a large man, both tall and solidly built, with hair as black as a raven’s wing and eyes so gray they made her think of a tumultuous summer storm right before the thunder rolled in. He had his countenance turned away from her, but it didn’t matter. Every inch had already been burned into her memory. The harsh lines, the slashing brows, the nose that was slightly off center, the firm lips and granite jaw.
He may have been dressed like a gentleman, but that roughhewn face gave him away. Gavin Graystone was a rogue through and through; the exact sort of man she’d always been warned to stay far, far away from.
London Ladies (The Complete Series) Page 4
