"What do you mean, once you had the particulars– You had us investigated?"
"Of course." He appeared surprised she might object. "I couldn’t allow Anne's Season to be tainted with scandal."
Charlotte took a step back, her spine stiffened, and her chin rose. "How dare you pry into our lives? Did you think we would sully your family by being the same room with you?" Realization stuck. Her voice dropped to a horrified whisper. "The same house with you."
Her eyes burned with furious tears that threatened to overflow and she blinked hard. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing how much it hurt to know he'd had them spied upon like common criminals. She raised an eyebrow and stared him in the face before declaring, "No family is without some past scandal." She looked meaningfully at the miniature of his brother on the mantle. "I believe this is an occasion where it is the pot calling the kettle black."
She turned on her heel and swept out of the library and up the stairs before he could respond.
CHAPTER 14
Lucien left the house and headed for his club where he knew he would find refuge from the aching residue of his unrelieved lust. Guilt knotted his belly. He abhorred violence against women for any reason, but other than that, he’d behaved no better than Dalton. He’d not forced her kisses, but he’d given in to his desires for a woman whose words had revealed how little she understood about passion and a man’s reaction to it.
Once at White’s, he made a point of strolling through every public room before settling down with a brandy while he watched for Ravencliffe. Dalton was not in evidence, nor did Lucien believe he would attend any future social event to which his own family had accepted invitations. He would alert his friends to watch for Dalton at any other venues his family might attend without him.
Dalton had been about to strike Charlotte for resisting his aggressive embrace, but was Lucien much better because his kiss had been more seductive? That question made him stifle a curse and grip his glass until his knuckles whitened. He should have come here directly after seeing his family and the Longboroughs home instead of disappearing into his study until time to meet Ravencliffe as they had agreed that morning.
If he'd come to the club, he would not have noticed the faint light under the door to the library. He would not have found Charlotte. He would not have kissed her. He would not have discovered that he was as weak as his father and as despicable as Dalton. The chit was under his protection and he'd ignored honor by giving into the driving need to taste her mouth– her skin– Damnation! He took swallow of his drink and worked to ease the fire that still licked his blood with the heat of his own personal hell.
Her parting accusation had been like an echo of his own past. He had shouted much the same to his father when he was sixteen and embarrassed at being caught with a willing maid in his room. That confrontation had led to retaliation that haunted him with guilt, and to his determination to redeem his honor through absolutely blameless behavior.
He closed his eyes and sighed. He'd failed that pledge tonight.
Had Tristan's mother held the same fascination for his father as Charlotte held on him? Never had he regretted his youthful spite more than he did tonight.
UNABLE TO FACE LUCIEN at breakfast the next morning, Charlotte requested hot chocolate and fingers of toast in her room. Her abandoned response to his kiss mortified her, as did her defensive attempt to embarrass him with her childish exit. She'd been as small minded and petty as the same people whose gossip fueled everything. She had no business bringing up the scandal she'd learned about from Aunt Poppy. The only time she had met Mr. Sheffield he'd been all that was kind and proper in his behavior. Neither he nor the duke deserved scorn for their father's actions any more than she and Elizabeth deserved derision because of her aunt's elopement.
Charlotte took a final sip of her chocolate and frowned as she admitted she owed him an apology though she wasn't quite ready to do so. She set the cup down, rose, and rang for the maid to remove the tray. Crossing to the vanity, she poured warm water into the bowl and dipped a face cloth into the tepid water. Stroking the cloth along her neck, she shivered with the memory of Lucien's lips and tongue following the same path. Kisses he'd admitted he should never have given her. She rinsed the cloth and scrubbed her face vigorously, the abrasive action offsetting the compulsion to relive the seductive temptation of his touch.
He owed an apology to her as well.
An inquiry to the maid assured her that Wolverton attended parliament that morning. Cowardly as she knew it to be, she breathed a sigh of relief that she would not encounter him before she knew how she could apologize without letting him think she forgave his investigation. When she finished dressing, she made her way to the family sitting room in search of Elizabeth or Anne.
She found them both laughing at the mess Elizabeth had made of her latest attempt at embroidery. It amazed Charlotte that Elizabeth had such a difficult time with a needle and thread when she could carve the most delicate of flowers in wood. Of course, Elizabeth freely confessed that she gave less than half her attention to the needlework and the rest focused on mentally solving her latest wood project. She sat next to Elizabeth on the settee, held out her hand for Elizabeth's embroidery hoop, and began to pick out the tangled stitches.
LUCIEN WAS IN HIS STUDY when the clock in the hall chimed the hour and he realized it was time to dress for dinner. He’d avoided Charlotte by attending parliament that morning, but he might as well as stayed home for all the attention he’d been able to focus on the matters under discussion. Guilt had made him retreat to the study when he returned, where he’d pondered the situation created by his lack of control.
How could he have been so weak... so lacking in honor and control as to take advantage of an inexperienced guest in his home? Charlotte had suffered a shocking attack and he’d given in to his own desires under the guise of ... What? That his inappropriate behavior was justified to show her pleasure instead of threat? What had he been thinking?
He hadn’t been thinking. He’d been feeling. And she’d felt perfect in his arms. The memory sent heat to his lower regions and he gave a huff of disgust. He’d kissed her for no other reason than he wanted to. He’d allowed himself to ignore his own code of honor as well as that of a gentleman.
He rose from his chair and strode up the stairs to his room. The family dined at home this evening before attending yet another ball where he would fulfill his role as protector for his sister and her guests. His conscience did not miss the irony of his role considering his behavior to one of those guests. If he suspected any of Anne’s admirers of behaving in a like manner, he would thrash the man within an inch of his life.
A swarm of suitors filled the drawing room twice a week and Anne's dance card quickly filled at every ball, but so far none stood out as a serious candidate for her hand. His thoughts shied away from who might claim Charlotte Longborough. She, too, seldom sat out a set.
Once Anne’s choice was secured, he would not have to cross the threshold of the Almack’s marriage mart to drink another glass of tepid lemonade for at least five more years.
This Season can’t end soon enough.
Then Charlotte Longborough would no longer be in residence.
A small hitch interrupted his breathing, and he wondered why that thought didn’t relieve his frustration.
His stepmother, Anne, and both Longborough sisters were already in the drawing room when he entered it an hour later. Fashion demanded that unmarried misses wear white, which often made them blend into one another on the dance floor. Variations in the color and style of the trims seemed to be the primary distinction and only the female portion of the attendees paid any attention to those. He never had. But tonight, Charlotte's gown, though the proscribed white, shimmered with silver when caught by the light. If the gown shimmered, Charlotte glowed.
Damned if he didn't want to kiss her again.
Rowena and Sarah entered the room a few moments later, chatting happily.
Grateful for their interruption to his wayward thoughts, he asked the younger girls about their day. Then, when Timmons announced dinner to be ready, led them all into the dining room.
Soon after they’d seated themselves for dinner, Sarah asked, "Does your brother have a fondness for rats as pets?" Startled, Lucien peered at the youngest Longborough. "I beg your pardon?" Her sisters' appalled expressions reassured him that his hearing had not been faulty. Since taking up residence, Sarah had made occasional odd comments that caused her sisters to exchange glances before filling in the blanks of the child's conversational path. It was a trait he feared would hinder her matrimonial prospects despite the fact that she would be a beauty when she came of age. As often happened after making such a comment, Sarah blanched, and her gaze skittered between her sisters.
"A pet rat, Sarah?" Elizabeth asked. "What have you been reading now? No one would choose to have a rat living in the house. They are vermin of the worst kind."
"I think bed-bugs would be worse,” Rowena spoke up.
"What do you know of bed-bugs?" The duchess demanded. "We have never had a bed-bug in this house...and never shall so long as I breathe."
"I heard one of the maids telling the cook that–"
"I believe Sarah asked a question,” Lucien put in before the conversation could go any further afield. "Tristan is quite firm in his dislike of rats," he said. "Why would you think he might make one a pet?"
"I... I just had an odd dream about a rat and... in my dream... for some reason..." Sarah's face had paled to parchment white and Lucien feared the girl would faint before finishing her sentence. "It seemed connected to him–somehow?"
Charlotte's face had also paled. "Was that a good thing or a bad thing?" she asked.
"I don't know." Sarah told her. "I never actually met Mr. Sheffield so... It made me wonder if the rat was a pet of some sort. It was a confusing dream similar to one I had recently where a rat chased a hedgehog, though this time there was a weasel and..." She stopped and her large blue eyes turned to Lucien. "I just wondered."
Lucien smiled to ease the child's disquiet. "Dreams are often disjointed as I am sure you know.” He picked up his utensils and cut a bite of roasted pork. "I don't know why the absurd seems perfectly normal in dreams, but it does. Don’t worry, there are no rats either at Wolverton House or Tristan's apartments."
CHAPTER 15
"I wonder what people would do if we danced a waltz?" Anne quietly mused as they climbed the stairs for the Swathmore ball a few hours later.
"Whatever are you talking about?" Charlotte asked. "We have often walltzed.”
"I don’t mean the country waltz,” Anne clarified. She slowed her steps and whispered, “I meant the continental waltz. You know, the one they say allows a man face his partner and hold her in his arms while they move to the music."
"That cannot be right." Elizabeth said. "Such behavior would be scandalous."
"But it’s all the rage on the continent." Anne assured them. "Lord Clarehaven says it‘s a most delightful dance and couldn't understand why no one danced it here." They neared the top of the stairs and she kept her voice low. “I told him that until danced at Almack's it would remain a continental dance only. Though I remember overhearing Lady Spencer tell my mother that Lady Charlotte Campbell and the Duke of Cambridge danced it during a garden party three years ago. She thought it a beautiful thing then, though it scandalized several of the guests. Unfortunately, I doubt tonight will provide an opportunity to attempt the exercise."
"So why did you ask such a question?"
"Because I wondered if it might make the evening a bit more eventful. Much as I enjoy meeting our friends, one ball has become much like all the others. Something so novel would be diverting."
Charlotte surveyed the room as the usual pattern of announced guests, dance requests, and mild flirtations settled throughout the room. What had at first fascinated her with its novelty now had the familiarity of comfort. Like Anne, she enjoyed the evenings where they danced, mingled and chatted about inconsequential amusing things. But she had to admit her breathless anticipation had waned with that familiarity and she recognized Anne’s lively wish to create a spark of excitement. The musicians began a tune that warned dancers to take their places and she thought no more about it as Lord Bascomb claimed her first dance.
LUCIEN CHECKED THE room and saw that Anne danced with the Swathmore heir. Safe enough there– Swathmore was not yet ready to choose a wife, but neither would he tempt Anne to push the bounds of correct behavior. Anne knew the rules and generally followed them without much protest—though he couldn't claim she'd never found fault with the restrictions applied to females and not to males. Still, he'd noticed a restlessness in her lately that made him hope she received an offer acceptable to them both... and soon. Unfortunately, of the suitors he'd seen in his home, none had made any observable impression on her... nor had the three gentlemen who’d approached and been refused by him without him doing more than mentioning their requests to Anne.
Now that he had ascertained that Anne was properly occupied, he watched Bascomb lead Charlotte Longborough through the steps of the first dance with mixed feelings. Lucien generally avoided asking anyone other than relatives to dance the early dances. He knew better than to claim any young woman's first dance lest any mama take it as a sign of specific interest on his part. Marked interest at any ball inevitably led to expectation for notices in the Times and reservations at St. George’s.
That Charlotte interested him he couldn’t deny, but his interest had absolutely nothing to do with matrimony and everything to do with midnight kisses in the library. Clarehaven had described her as a delicious morsel when he'd first arrived in town and it had angered Lucien to hear another man say such a thing. But he couldn’t deny that he wanted to taste her mouth again, or that he wanted more than mere kisses. He wasn’t proud of his less than honorable desire for her, but he couldn’t deny it either.
When Charlotte laughed at something Bascomb said, Lucien had the unaccustomed urge to stride onto the dance floor and remove Bascomb's gloved hand from hers and sweep her out of the ballroom where he could do exactly that.
He would not, of course. He was a proper man, and she was a proper young lady, and this was a proper venue. A stab of guilt pained his conscience that he'd gone from guarding his sister's attentions from unsuitable interest to lusting after his sister's friend. He wished the Swathmores offered something stronger than lemonade and ratafia.
He hadn’t had occasion to speak to Charlotte privately since she'd stormed out of his study the night before. He owed her an apology, but apologies weren’t easy, even when they were owed. He waited until the evening was nearly over before asking her to partner him.
"I wish to apologize, Your Grace,” Charlotte said as he led her to the floor. "I shouldn’t have said what I did the other night. I behaved no better than those who’ve judged my family for deeds over which we had no control." She took her place and curtsied as the music began and waited until they stepped together to add quietly, "But I’m still most disturbed that you would investigate my family as though my sisters and I might steal the family silver in the middle of the night."
They circled each other, and before stepping back, Lucien answered with the same formality. "I’m truly sorry to have caused you distress, Miss Longborough. I didn’t fear for the silver, I assure you." He hoped his attempt at levity would be accepted as the peace offering, he knew he owed her. "But I can’t apologize for acting as a responsible guardian to my sister. I couldn’t chance putting her through the pain of ridicule and exclusion created by scandal."
Their steps brought them back together to circle in the other direction and allowed Charlotte to retort, “I believe I know the feeling. It is something like being investigated or assaulted for having an unconventional relative."
Her comment caught Lucien off guard, and he met her gaze. In it, he saw a depth of hurt he had not imagined his actions would cause. The dance
required them to part and weave through the other dancers before meeting again at the head of the line and circling again. When they met, he said, "I never meant–"
"I know." Charlotte returned his gaze, then smiled at him for the first time that evening, "and I will allow I understand your motive so long as you now realize you are not the only one who prefers to avoid scorn because of what others do." She glanced away, then turned and gave him a teasing look. "From what I hear from the gossips, though, I should think causing scandal would be more fun than dealing with the results."
WHEN THE NEXT SET WAS about to begin, something in Anne's expression as she took the floor with the Marquess of Clarehaven made Charlotte uneasy. The musicians struck up a country waltz and she held her breath then closed her eyes. Surely she wouldn’t—? A collective gasp confirmed her fear that Anne and the Marquess had taken the continental pose. She opened her eyes when her partner, Lord Swathmore, let out a startled, “Clarehaven must be mad,” and halted any attempt to follow the music.
Across the room the duke stood at rigid attention, clearly furious, but restrained by his stepmother’s hand on his arm. Three of the patronesses from Almack’s had attended the Swathmore ball and now clustered together, clearly shocked and disapproving of such a display. The rest of the guests whispered furiously between themselves and watched in rapt attention as the Marquess and Anne whirled around the floor in a distant embrace that flowed with elegant ease to the time of the music.
The music came to an end and Clarehaven bowed to Anne before turning to their hostess. "Lady Swathmore,” He gave her a rogue's smile as he bowed. "I pray you will forgive me my apparent error. Lady Anne informs me that the continental style of waltz is not yet considered appropriate on these shores, though it is popular on the continent where I’ve spent the past several years." He turned to her brother, his eyes twinkling. "I assure Your Grace I meant no disrespect and ask that you accept my apologies for any insult you might see in my inadvertent gaff."
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