Charlotte rose and came to stand by him, her eyes never leaving his. "You didn’t intend for him to die."
"No. But I hoped Tristan would."
He froze, shocked at his words. Never had he admitted the degree of bitterness he'd born for Tristan. Not even to himself. Had he really hoped that Tristan would die in the dangerous streets of Seven Dials? He'd wanted him gone from his life, yes, but dead? Had he truly been so full of resentment and pride? He shuddered.
Slender arms wrapped around his waist, and he realized that Charlotte held him in a comforting embrace. Her head lay against his chest and her hands swept up and down his back in a soothing rhythm.
She lifted her face and told him, "You wanted him gone from your life, Lucien. But I don’t believe you truly wanted him dead, any more than you wanted your father to die."
His arms came around her and he savored the warmth she brought to his chilled thoughts. Those glorious eyes held sympathy, understanding, and acceptance. He kissed her. It was a kiss of thanks. It was gratitude for listening to the confessions that had plagued his soul. For not turning away.
Then it changed.
His arms pulled her closer and one hand moved up to cradle the back of her head as he bent to deepen the kiss. Heat flared and she made a pleasured sound before she softened her lips, and he tasted the hint of sherry that matched the sweetness of her unique flavor. He plundered that sweetness, reveling in the unrestrained fervor with which Charlotte followed his lead.
Without thought, he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the broad wingback chair beside the fireplace and sat down, securing her on his lap and fixing his mouth back on hers. Her arms came up, one hand at his back, the other encircling the back of his head. He trailed kisses down her jaw, along her neck, then to the softness above the neckline of her gown.
"I have no right," he murmured, "But I must..." He brushed his lips along the upper slope of her breasts.
Charlotte gasped then arched in invitation. “Oh, yes.”
His hand came up to press and fondle the plump flesh and they both exhaled with pleasure. He circled the soft mound with his palms then pressed the sensitive tips before he lightly nipped them through the cloth of her bodice. She moaned and he reveled at her reaction.
"You make me forget myself," He whispered when he finally raised his head and looked into gray eyes that were luminous with pleasure and desire. "I shouldn’t have—”
She raised up and kissed him before he could say more. "Yes, you should," she whispered fiercely. "Do it again... please?"
Her bodice clung, moistened by his open-mouthed kisses. She took his hands and placed them against the dampness, and he flexed his fingers, pressing the flesh and feeling the nipples, hard and swollen, against him palms. With a growl, he slid his hands inside the neckline, tugging the cloth low to uncover the sweet flesh it hid from view. Dear God, she was glorious. He explored every inch of skin exposed to his touch.
Charlotte's moans combined with a low growl– but the growl didn’t come from him. Nor was it a growl of pleasure. Hot canine breath made Lucien look up to see Harry, his stance protective, and his teeth glistening in the candlelight. Lucien sat up abruptly and released his hold on Charlotte’s body.
Damnation, he’d lost control again.
"I believe your chaperone has stepped in, Charlotte." Frustration and a certain amused pragmatic fatalism colored his words.
Charlotte opened her eyes, their gaze unfocused, her expression confused. "Wha...?" She focused, then turned her head toward Harry, and sat upright.
Harry relaxed his stance and gave a kind of snort before nosing her arm.
"I think he is telling you it is time for you to go to your room." Lucien said.
WHEN TIMMONS ANNOUNCED Lord Dalton the next afternoon, Lucien was glad that Charlotte, Elizabeth and Anne had already departed for tea and gossip at the Sinclair home. His stepmother and great aunt had decided the younger girls would benefit from a bit of culture and had taken them to a concert at the park. Harry napped in front of the hearth. Again.
"Show him in, Timmons."
Dalton strode into the study, his eyes bloodshot and his body tense. He wasted no time on the niceties. "Where is she?"
"Won't you have a seat?" Lucien sat back and gestured to the chair opposite the desk before asking, "Whom do you mean?"
"I don't need to sit,” Dalton declared. "I wish to speak with the Longborough chit."
"Considering what happened the last time you spoke with her," Lucien said coldly, "I am unlikely to allow you near her. State your business and I shall decide if you need to be admitted into her presence or not."
Dalton drew himself up, clearly unwilling to discuss his purpose with Lucien. After a moment of silence, he said grudgingly, "I wish to discuss something she may have said to my wife."
"May have?" Lucien raised a brow. "You don't know? I should think your wife could clarify whether or not Miss Longborough spoke to her." He watched Dalton's face redden. "Why don't you ask her?"
Dalton shot him a glance that suddenly sharpened with suspicion. "Because she is missing," he said through gritted teeth. "And I believe Miss Charlotte Longborough knows where she is."
"Missing?" Lucien feigned surprise. "But she was at the Pomphrey betrothal ball last night. I am sure I saw her."
"She left sometime after the supper dance while I was in the card room," Dalton struck his walking stick on the floor in frustration and Harry rose from the hearth and trotted over to the desk. "When I arrived home, she had not returned." Dalton leaned on his hands on the desk and said, "I know the Longborough chit played a part in this. I will speak to her– and I will speak to her now." Frustration finally won over attempted civility and he pounded the desk with his fist.
When he did, Harry barked sharply and leapt up, his front paws on the desk, his head taller than Dalton, his teeth bared. The low rumbling growl sent Dalton backing up and away from the desk in alarm.
"Harry, down." Lucien commanded. He stood and tugged Harry's collar to settle the dog back to the floor but did not order him to be quiet. Harry continued to issue a low warning rumble. "It would seem Harry does not care for your attitude," he observed. "Nor do I. If your wife has left you, I can only wonder why. But having witnessed your behavior toward Miss Longborough, I can guess." He leaned forward to make his point as he warned. "I would be most displeased if you make demands upon me in the future... particularly if those demands concern Miss Longborough."
Dalton maintained his distance from Harry but didn’t back down. "I warn you, Wolverton, that I will bring charges of kidnapping and trespass to bear if I find proof of that meddling female's involvement in my wife's disappearance. The law is on my side, and I will see that she pays for interfering in my life."
Harry continued his threatening rumble, and Lucien maintained a hold on his collar as he stepped around the desk to open the door. "Timmons, Lord Dalton is leaving now. He will not be returning."
Dalton avoided Harry as he exited the room to where Timmons stood beside the open front door.
CHAPTER 24
"Congratulations, Lady Montfort,” Charlotte said as she followed the Wolverton party through the receiving line of the most recent betrothal ball.
Since Jane's engagement, the matrimonial damn had broken and matches with new celebrations occurred nearly every day. Lady Francis Montfort had accepted Lord Farleigh's suit to the extreme satisfaction of her doting mother. Lord Farleigh was a composer of some skill, she assured them, and he played the viola, so next Season's musical entertainments would reach record heights.
Charlotte moved into the ballroom where she, Elizabeth and Anne joined several acquaintances. As always, conversation soon turned to on-dits of the latest gossip. Lady Mary Strand was likely to receive an offer from Lord Plimpton and Miss Barbara Ogilvie had refused Mr. Williams but accepted Sir John Turnbull.
However, the most scandalous rumor was that Lady Dalton was missing.
"She was quite ill some week
s ago," Elizabeth commented, "She most likely returned to the country to recover."
Anne’s cousin lowered her voice and announced, "Lady Templeton told us Lord Dalton banished her to his country estate. Not because she was ill, but for leaving the Pomphrey ball early."
"Oh, no," said a young lady, whose name Charlotte had forgotten, "My maid said cook had it from Lord Dalton’s cook that Lady Dalton never even came home from the Pomphrey ball. She said Lord Dalton was fit to be tied when he discovered his lady gone and he ranted and raved for hours. He slammed out of the house the next morning and engaged a runner to track her down."
One gentleman chuckled and suggested that perhaps Lord Dalton had killed her and buried her in the back garden. No, said another with a jeering laugh, that would mean manual labor... and everyone knew Lord Dalton would not dirty his hands now that he'd risen from his obscure beginnings.
A chilled shiver ran down Charlotte’s back as she listened to the low-voiced speculation and derisive jests. Until Lady Dalton's disappearance, Lord Dalton had appeared to be well liked by the gentlemen and rather a darling of the ladies. They had known nothing of his wife's abuse, though perhaps her chronic illness had not been as unremarked as she’d believed.
Either way, the sudden and salacious delight in which his former acquaintances gossiped about his embarrassment and his wife's fate stunned her. She didn’t pity him in his infamy, he deserved it and more, but it amazed her nonetheless.
She danced several dances and caught snatches of similar gossip as she moved about the dance floor. From it she learned, Lord Dalton had been absent from many ballrooms since his wife's disappearance. He had, however, been seen at several of the most notorious gaming halls instead.
Just before midnight, the Montfort's footmen passed around trays of champagne. When she turned to accept a glass, Charlotte noticed several of the ladies in the chaperone corner whispering together with the animation only a fresh scandal could cause. Whatever sent their tongues wagging must be particularly shocking to distract them from speculating about the Dalton's.
Lord Montfort stepped up onto the dais and called for his guest's attention and made the formal announcement of his daughter's engagement to Lord Farleigh. After they raised their glasses and toasted the couple, Lord Farleigh led Francis into a continental waltz. Charlotte sipped the rest of her champagne and watched them while they danced.
Supper followed the dance, and Charlotte realized that she had not eaten a mid-day meal when she became a bit light-headed after finishing the contents of her glass. Lord Clarehaven took her in to supper, but nothing tasted quite right, and what little she ate did not ease the slight dizziness that that affected her when she moved too quickly. Once they’d filled their plates and found a table, the footman had placed another glass of champagne at her place.
"Are you one of those ladies who eats her meal before the ball so all and sundry believe her to be of small appetite?" Lord Clarehaven teased when he saw how little she consumed over the next half hour.
"Not at all,” she denied, "It all looks delicious, but nothing quite strikes me this evening." She took another sip of champagne but found her fingers sticking along the stem of the glass. "If you will excuse me," she said. "I believe I need to wash my hands before the dancing begins again." She rose, steadying herself against the back of the chair before making her way to the hall and on to the ladies' retiring room.
At the door to the room, another wave of dizziness caught her, and she put her hand out to steady herself. A hand came from behind her and steadied her arm before turning her away from the door. "Why Miss Longborough, you appear to have taken too much champagne. Let me help you."
Charlotte had only a moment to register Lord Dalton's voice and face before he pressed a cloth against her face, and she breathed in a pungent odor. Her dizziness swirled into black.
LUCIEN EXCUSED HIMSELF from the card table and entered the main ballroom. He had led his stepmother out for the first dance after they arrived that evening, and Lady Montfort for the second. They had hardly begun the steps before Lady Montfort said, “I see Miss Charlotte Longborough has been in your company a great deal of late." She smiled and her eyes twinkled. "Shall we be attending a second ball at your residence in the near future?"
A second ball? As in a betrothal ball? He shot a glance across the room to where Charlotte accepted a glass of champagne from a footman. "Miss Charlotte Longborough is a guest of my stepmother's and therefore under my protection," he responded carefully. "It is of little surprise that I am in her company, just as I am often in her sister's company as well."
"Ah, but I notice that you spend more time observing her than you do Lady Anne or the elder Miss Longborough." She tapped him lightly with her fan. "Deny it if you will, Wolverton, but I believe she has caught your interest."
"You will pardon me if I say your joy in your daughter's happiness has led you to see more in the interactions of others than there may be in fact." He smiled to soften his denial. "Lord Farleigh is fortunate in his choice of wife and mother-in-law, but I am not inspired to follow him down the aisle this Season."
He changed the subject by asking if Lord Montfort still planned to attend Lord Kendrick's hunting party in the fall. She gave him one last teasing smile before telling him that, yes, Lord Montfort looked forward to hunting grouse. When the dance ended, he excused himself and immediately sought the safety of the card room.
He wouldn’t ask for a dance with Charlotte this evening. If tabby tongues were wagging with matrimonial speculation, he had best lay that issue to rest. The best way to do that was to return to his habit of dancing only with his stepmother, his hostess, or his sister.
He returned to the card room after supper. During the meal he'd noted that Charlotte took her supper with Clarehaven. That made him frown. Clarehaven’s reputation as a rake was well earned, though he had not crossed over into the territory of the libertine. A supper dance did not particularly mean the man intended to pursue her. Nonetheless, he'd told Lucien someone other than Anne had his interest.
Lady Montfort's words echoed in his mind. He might not have danced with her, but Lucien realized he'd spent the entire meal observing Charlotte. He made a point of turning his attention away from her before someone else accused him of paying her particular notice.
An hour later, he felt he could return to the ballroom without anyone making suppositions about his intentions. As he strolled into the room he checked to see if Clarehaven still remained in her circle. He didn’t immediately spy Charlotte, but Clarehaven now danced with Lady Middlesham. He continued to survey the room. Elizabeth sat with his stepmother and Aunt Ridley, Norcross partnered Anne and Bascomb danced with the Littlemarsh's daughter. He still didn’t see Charlotte. He worked his way around the room. She was, after all not particularly tall and the room was crowded.
He had circled the room and was about to go out to the balcony when he overheard Lady Templeton and Lady Winterstone gossiping about the Dalton scandal. The subject had filtered through the card room where serious gamblers rarely discussed anything other than hands played or bets made.
“I don’t believe the rumor that his wife is missing." Lady Templeton assured her friend. "After her recent disappointment it is to be expected that she would wish to recover in the country. Besides, Lord Dalton would not have come this evening if she were actually missing."
The hairs at the back of Lucien’s neck rose. Dalton here? The man had avoided all ton entertainments since the Pomphrey ball. Why would he return to the social scene now? Yet Dalton's fury when Lucien refused him access to Charlotte might well have made him return to social venues to seek her out. Lucien's pulse quickened, and suddenly the fact that he'd not yet located Charlotte took on an alarming significance. His jaw tightened and he searched the dance floor again.
She wasn’t there.
CHARLOTTE NOTICED THE musty scent of moldy straw first. As consciousness returned, she registered that she lay face down on coarse canvas, pr
esumably the covering of an old straw mattress. Her head throbbed. She swallowed, and her parched throat ached for water. The champagne... Dalton... suffocating cloth– At some point she'd had the sensation of rocking movement and the sounds of carriage wheels on cobblestone, vague voices in the distance... of being forced to drink something distasteful. Laudanum.
She shifted and realized her hands and feet were bound.
Cautiously, she opened her eyes.
Dalton sat in a wingback chair, a bottle on the table, his hand cradling a half-empty glass of dark red wine. He smiled when he saw that she was awake. "I suspect your head hurts like the devil," he commented with satisfaction. "Are you thirsty as well?" He took a sip of the wine and she could not help the reflexive working of her own throat as he made a point of taking a deep swallow of the liquid. Her mouth felt woolly and her tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth. "I see you are." He gave her an unpleasant smile. "You may have all the water or wine you wish once you have told me where my wife is." Charlotte closed her eyes rather than see the malicious intent in his expression. When she answered, her voice sounded hoarse. "I don't know where she is."
"Oh, I think you do." Dalton said as he stood. He put the glass on the table. He walked slowly over to where she lay. "I know you had something to do with her disappearance. She was less understanding of my occasional losses of control after you spoke to her at the Montfort’s."
His glare revealed his rage that his wife had ceased blaming herself for his behavior. Had that been behind his last attack on her? She wanted to ask but suspected that anything she said would give him an excuse to give his temper free reign. He stopped beside the cot and she struggled to remain passive.
"What? No comment?" he asked. He knelt and put his face at level with hers. "I thought you had a great deal to say that day." His piercing gaze reflected the fire behind his artificial calm. "You know, she never looked at me the same way after that evening. She tried to act the same, but she no longer believed me when I said I was sorry."
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