Charlotte’s ebullience seemed undimmed by his churlish words. “But I do not know what else to call you, my lord,” she protested.
“You know my name,” Maximilian replied tersely. “You may call me Wycliffe.”
“Wycliffe?” Charlotte said, blinking. “But that is not your name. That is your title.”
“And so I am known by it,” Maximilian answered.
“You have always called me Charlotte,” she said simply, her clear gaze holding his own. Why did she make him feel...pretentious? He scowled.
“No one calls me Maximilian but my mother!” he snapped.
“Maximilian,” Charlotte repeated in a rush of warm breath that made all his senses sharpen. “It is beautiful! Oh, thank you, Max!” To Maximilian’s complete and utter surprise, she threw both her arms around him and hugged him, just as she might Kit or Thomas.
For one moment, he savored the feel of her slender arms around him, her heavy breasts pushed into his chest and the scent of her hair.... His breeches, snug since she entered the room, tightened further. With a grunt, he disengaged her. “For what?” he asked.
“For allowing me the liberty of your name! Oh, Max, I am so glad that I may count you my friend,” she said. Apparently determined to continue her familiarities, Charlotte took both his hands in hers and looked at him, her features a picture of innocent delight. “We are the best of friends, are we not?”
Startled, Maximilian could only nod. Looking at her now, her thrusting, white breasts only inches from him, her fingers warm over his own, he hardly thought of her in such an innocent light, but what else could she be? He had appointed himself her protector, and she obviously saw him as such. Why did he find that irritating?
“Oh, thank you!” she said, squeezing his hands gently before letting them go. Maximilian stepped back, away from her warmth. “I knew it! But I must tell you that my cousin frowns upon our companionship.”
“Why?” Maximilian asked, bristling. Did that harridan question his honor? Did she not trust him with a young lady?
Charlotte sighed. “I find it difficult to say,” she admitted, her eyes downcast.
“Tell me,” Maximilian urged between gritted teeth. He steeled himself to expect the worst, but he swore that if Miss Thurgoode had soiled Charlotte’s innocent young mind, he would have the woman’s hide!
“Very well,” Charlotte said, folding her hands before her in a pose so reminiscent of the country maid she had been that he wanted to take her by the arms and kiss her soundly. “She wants me only to cultivate those men whom she thinks will offer for me, so she has forbidden me to spend time with you! There you have the awful truth,” she said, her head bent.
Maximilian didn’t know whether to laugh or strangle the cousin. Although Miss Thurgoode had a point, he thought it the height of ill manners to cut him when he had made Charlotte a success. “I will talk to her,” Maximilian said firmly.
“Oh, no! You must not,” Charlotte said, putting a slim hand on his arm. “Then she will know that I spoke with you about it, and she would surely be angry. She does not understand our special friendship,” Charlotte added with a sweet smile.
That makes two of us, Maximilian thought bitterly, for he was not sure he understood it, either. He knew, for certain, that he did not care for the way Charlotte said special friendship. It made him appear to be an ancient guardian, a grandfatherly figure doted upon by a young girl.
“And I do not wish to lose our fellowship, for I can talk to you as I can no one else, dear Max.”
Max? No one in his life had ever called him Max. And what was this about fellowship? It sounded like some sort of religious communion.
“Can we speak...openly?” Charlotte asked, turning to hide her face from his.
“Are we not already?” Maximilian asked, a bit testily. He did not like being a confidant. Was that not a woman’s role? First he had felt like an elderly uncle, then a spiritual adviser, and now she had reduced him to a eunuch.
“Yes, we are. You are right, of course,” Charlotte said, flashing him a quick smile over her shoulder. “So I shall feel no qualms about broaching my subject. Max,” she said, whirling to turn her clear, green gaze upon him, “if you were pursuing a female with marriage in mind,” she asked, her eyes sparkling mischievously, “would you want to kiss her?”
For a moment, Maximilian was taken aback, so thoroughly was he surprised by the question. Then a black suspicion planted itself in his brain. “Who has been trying to kiss you?”
“Oh, nearly everyone,” Charlotte answered blithely.
Maximilian felt his fingers twitch. “Give me their names and I shall take care of the matter,” he said, red rage coursing through his blood.
Charlotte waved a hand carelessly. “Oh, I cannot even remember all their names,” she said. Before Maximilian could assess that startling statement, she was moving on. “What I wish to know is this. Would you want a girl you are thinking of marrying to kiss you?” she asked.
“Certainly not!” Maximilian replied. “A true gentleman would not ask such a thing,” he added, stretching the truth for the sake of protecting her. “And any man who would press you in that fashion is not at all the sort you should consider for a husband.”
“But I am curious,” Charlotte said. “Surely, you have kissed many women. Is it the same every time, or is each experience unique?”
“That, young lady, is none of your affair,” he answered brusquely. The impudent chit! Why was she dragging him into this?
“Botheration! How am I ever to know what it is like if I cannot try it?” Charlotte asked. Although her eyes were twinkling, her lush lips were frowning in annoyance.
“You may try it with your husband, once you are wed, and not before,” Maximilian said firmly. The vicar’s daughter obviously had a devilish streak buried under that angelic exterior, for she was sorely trying his patience with this nonsense.
“I know!” Charlotte said suddenly. She lifted her head, which sent her hair swirling about her face in a luxurious mass, while her bright gaze sought his expectantly. “You!”
“What?” Maximilian asked, glaring at her with some annoyance. He was heartily sick of this ridiculous conversation.
“You may kiss me,” Charlotte suggested, “and then my curiosity will be satisfied.”
Maximilian stared at her, astounded by her audacity. Then he laughed harshly. “I will not kiss you, you little minx! What would your papa say?”
Charlotte frowned briefly, as if considering this argument and rejecting it. She stepped closer to him, her spring eyes holding a tantalizing glow. “Please?”
“No!” Maximilian said sharply, turning away from the soft entreaty in her gaze. Deuced, but the girl had no idea what she was asking! Temptation warred with his better self. “I shall not kiss you.”
“Botheration, but you are a stubborn man. Well, I guess I will just have to let one of my suitors do it,” Charlotte said with a sigh.
“No, you will not,” Maximilian replied, his temper flaring. By God, he felt like taking her over his knee. How dare she defy him? Alarmed at the rush of anger that swept him, he took a couple of deep breaths and spoke more softly. “Or you will ruin your reputation and your chances of making a successful match.”
“Oh,” Charlotte said. She appeared momentarily deflated before brightening again and sliding a glance at him under silken lashes. “But if you do it, Max, no one will know.”
“I am not Max, and I am not going to kiss you,” Maximilian replied. “My God, child, although I may seem like a stodgy ancient to you, I remain very much a man, and kissing can lead to...other things.”
“What other things?” she asked pertly.
Her innocence was a tangible thing, apparent in her every movement, no matter how bold she might make with her questions. Maximilian glared at her, determined to jar her from her reckless attitude. “Lovemaking,” he said through gritted teeth. “Pregnancy.”
She blinked at him, her eyes wide,
and then laughed. “You do not trust yourself to kiss me?” she asked.
Damn it! She seemed to know just how to push him to the limits of his patience. “Very well,” Maximilian vowed. In one swift motion, he took her by the arms, pulled her forcefully against his chest and pressed a hard, closed-mouth kiss upon her lips. Then he thrust her away quickly. Although disinclined to admit that she might be right, Maximilian could still feel the firm thrust of those luscious breasts against him. Maybe he did not trust himself with her, after all.
He had hoped his rough treatment would scare the curiosity from her or startle her, at the very least, but one glance at her told him differently. Charlotte looked...disappointed. “Is that it?” she asked.
Sorely tempted to show her the consequences of meddling in things beyond her experience, Maximilian nonetheless held on to his control. “That is it,” he answered. “And I do not want to hear anything more about kissing. Is that clear?”
She nodded, a bit reluctantly, and hung her head.
“Now,” Maximilian said, pulling out his watch. “I have other engagements today, so I must be going. If your suitors press you further, inform me at once, and I shall take care of the matter,” he ordered. “Although a Toast of the new season, you are in a very delicate position. One misstep and you shall find yourself shunned and without prospects to take home to Papa.”
Charlotte nodded, her head drooping, and Maximilian felt partially mollified by her docility. “If your cousin should give you any trouble, about me or anything else, let me know. You may get a message through Raleigh. Although he can be a bit much, he can be trusted, and you know my direction.”
She nodded again, silently, and he tilted her chin up with his fingers to look her in the eye. “You must call me Wycliffe in public, do you understand?” he asked. “It is not at all the thing for a young lady to be so familiar.”
She flashed a sad smile at him that tore at his heart. “Good girl,” he said. Then he couldn’t resist. He stroked the curve of her jaw with his thumb. Her skin was deliciously smooth, her scent floating around him, her hair drifting over his knuckles. He stepped back. “Good day, Charlotte,” he said with a tight smile.
“Goodbye, Max,” she said. He was out the door before he realized that, despite her cowed demeanor, the sparkle had never left her eyes.
* * *
Maximilian did not seek her out, nor did he accept social engagements where he might see her. Still, he could not seem to avoid thoughts of Charlotte. Her name was on everyone’s lips, especially Raleigh’s, who seemed to take great pleasure in telling him about the girl’s latest conquest.
From all of Raleigh’s chattering, Maximilian would not be surprised if the vicar’s daughter had half the nobles in England eating from her hand. For himself, he heard nothing from her, no notes or messages through his enthusiastic friend. After a week spent keeping to his schedule, Maximilian felt restless. He told himself he really ought to look in on her; it was his duty to her father.
Someone would have to sort through all the proposals that Raleigh swore were in the offing, and her cousin was certainly not up to the task. Feeling magnanimous, Maximilian decided to take the responsibility upon himself, so he penned a letter to the vicar. In it, Maximilian apprised Charlotte’s father of her success and assured the man that he could be counted upon to weed out any unsuitable prospects.
That done, he went to a party where he knew, from Raleigh’s indefatigable apprisals, that Charlotte would be in attendance. Upon entering, he looked pointedly at his watch. One hour, he told himself, and this time he was not going to let the vicar’s daughter upset his schedule.
Maximilian glanced around the reception room, but Charlotte was not among those dancing or talking. However, he soon spotted Raleigh, who was languidly standing at the edge of a group, quizzing everyone with his glass. It was obvious that Raleigh was still awaiting his next allowance, for he appeared heartily bored.
Maximilian made his way to his friend after a few brief nods and acknowledgments to other guests. “Well? Where is she?” he asked without preamble. Raleigh’s smile of amusement told Maximilian that they both knew exactly whom he was talking about.
“If you are referring to the popular provincial, I hesitate to say,” Raleigh answered slyly.
Maximilian’s brows lowered. “Why?” he asked.
Raleigh affected an air of innocence. “You know, my dear friend, that I am not the sort to tell tales,” he said. “Nor do I wish to get the lovely lady in dutch with her guardian. That is the role you have assumed with her, is it not?”
Maximilian’s fingers twitched. “What are you babbling about, Raleigh?” he asked. Suddenly, he longed to take his careless friend by the high collar of his stiff shirt. “Where is she?”
Raleigh’s only response to Maximilian’s hostility was a show of surprised delight. He did have the sense to step back, however. “My, my, Wycliffe. Do not get yourself in a state!” he admonished with a grin. “I saw your vicar’s daughter go into the garden some time ago...with Roddy Black.”
Maximilian barely heard Raleigh’s soft chuckles; he was too busy making his way to the doors leading outside. For the first time in many years, his temper was close to snapping. He stalked outside and glared ferociously at a couple whispering in the evening air, but the dark-haired lady was definitely not Charlotte.
He moved on to some decorative Grecian columns, paused when he heard soft voices and then stepped boldly around the pillars to find his quarry. The slender outline of her form was unmistakable, as was the fact that she was not alone. Charlotte, his fresh, innocent young country beauty, was locked in young Roddy’s embrace.
Maximilian seethed—red-hot anger bubbling to the surface like molten lava. “You forget yourself, Black,” he hissed through gritted teeth.
The young man fell back from Charlotte with a start, staring at Maximilian as if he feared for his life. Maximilian felt a slow, seeping satisfaction at the reaction. “I would have a word with you,” he said, nodding toward the fellow. “Charlotte, please stay where you are.”
For a moment, Maximilian wondered if the boy would hide behind Charlotte’s skirts, but Roddy finally stepped forward, nearly shaking with fright. As well the boy should, Maximilian noted with contempt. It crossed Maximilian’s mind to call him out, not to fatally shoot him, but to teach him a lesson. Perhaps a shoulder wound would stifle his amorous tendencies for a time.
“Please, sir,” Roddy said. “I...I beg your pardon. I became carried away and—”
Maximilian stopped him with a scowl. The boy was obviously quaking in his boots, fearful of a challenge, for Maximilian had a reputation as a crack shot. Although he had fought only one duel and that a long time ago, he had killed his opponent. The incident had proved to all and sundry that despite his quiet demeanor, Maximilian did not intend to be provoked. Nor did he intend to let this young pup soil the reputation of the ton’s latest Toast.
“You will withdraw your attentions from Miss Trowbridge immediately,” Maximilian said. The boy’s eyes grew wide, and he opened his mouth to argue, but Maximilian did not give him the chance. “If you do not, you will find yourself stricken from the list of society’s desirable guests. And your father’s small cache of funds will not be able to change that. Do you understand?”
Roddy nodded mutely, his desire for Charlotte apparently warring with the threat to his way of life. “Well?” Maximilian asked.
“Yes, my lord. I will do as you say, much as it—”
Maximilian cut him off. “Spare me your lovesick prattle,” he snapped. “Now go in to the party before everyone there marks your absence.” With one last, frantic look at Charlotte, Roddy fled, fairly racing back to the safety of the crowd inside. Maximilian watched his exit and then turned, crossed his arms upon his chest and looked, for the first time, at the vicar’s daughter.
Unlike her swain, Charlotte did not appear the least bit frightened—or even chagrined—by Maximilian’s presence. His anger
flared again. “What the hell do you think you were doing?” he asked.
“I was kissing him,” Charlotte answered. She stood very still, moonlight playing upon her flawless features...and the curves of her generous breasts exposed to view by the cut of her new gown. Suddenly, it seemed indecently revealing. Had young Roddy drooled over the sight? The very thought outraged Maximilian. His fingers twitched.
“Kissing him? Are you mad?” he asked.
“No. Just curious. I wanted to compare the...experience,” she said. Although she clasped her hands together demurely in front of her, Maximilian was not fooled by the innocent pose. He had the distinct, unsavory impression that she was laughing at him. His sorely tested temper cracked like a twig.
Maximilian’s brown eyes narrowed, and Charlotte could see just how enraged he was. It was all she could do to keep her tone and her posture careless. Although she had pushed him to this, she had a fleeting misgiving as to the wisdom of her actions.
“You think that slobbering young pup is a better kisser than I? Is that it? Is that what you are telling me?” Maximilian asked, his features harsh in the shadows.
Before Charlotte had a chance to reply, he was moving. He grabbed both her arms and pulled her to him abruptly, his mouth swooping down upon hers in a bruising, punishing communion that was not at all like Roddy’s kiss—that was unlike anything she had ever experienced.
He was not gentle, but he was Max, and she slipped her arms around his neck, clinging to him, glorying in the feel of him. And when his tongue sought entrance she opened her mouth willingly, soaring with the electrifying new sensations it invoked. Her blood raced, her heart pounded, and her head swam dizzily while every inch of her body sprang to life, just as though his mouth breathed vitality into her own.
The pressure of his lips lessened as his tongue swept inside, running over her teeth and exploring the hidden recesses, and as the kiss changed, so did his hold on her. His hands left her arms to stroke her back and lower until one of them was playing upon her buttocks.
The layers of cloth separating their flesh suddenly seemed painfully thin and yet much too heavy, for even though his touch was shocking, it was so pleasurable that Charlotte had a brief, outrageous wish that it was her bare skin he caressed. He moved in widening circles, in a maddening rhythm that made her lean into his body.
The Vicar's Daughter Page 10
