Sighing against his mouth, Charlotte slid her fingers into his hair, stroking the sleek strands that were pulled back by a ribbon, and with one quick tug, she boldly loosened the tie, so that the smooth, black locks fell toward her. She thrust her hands into its thickness, reveling in the feel of it even as she pulled his head down closer.
In response, Maximilian plunged deep, sucking her tongue and taking her breath away. Charlotte whimpered low in her throat. This was kissing. This was what she wanted from this man—and only this man. She gulped for air as he pressed his moist, hot lips along her jawline and down her throat and his hand moved over her buttocks, cupping her curves with greater intimacy. Charlotte’s head fell back while the lower part of her body sank closer, more fully into his, jolting her with exhilaration.
He was raining her with kisses, bringing each tiny, previously unimportant bit of her skin to life, pulsing at his touch along her neck, her shoulder... When Charlotte felt his mouth move lower, toward her breasts, she shivered. This was beyond anything. This was heaven!
Suddenly, Maximilian stilled, his head bent over her low neckline, his breath warm upon her. Whether it was the tremors of her body or a sound in the garden that halted him, Charlotte did not know, but she ached for his return. Don’t stop now! She tried to form the words to tell him, to whisper them—even to shout them in his ear. Instead, her overwhelmed senses refused to respond, and she watched helplessly as he lifted his head a fraction.
For one long moment, she saw him stare intensely at the expanse of bosom revealed by her gown. Then he whispered an expletive and stepped back abruptly, his hands falling from her body. Charlotte felt a loss so keen that she nearly wept with it.
He gazed at her, his eyes narrowed, his features tense. “I want you to compose yourself and go back in there immediately, before you are missed,” Maximilian ordered. Then he loosed a low, shaky breath that sounded louder than his words in the quiet of the gardens. “That was a kiss, and I do not want you to experiment with any more of them until you are married.”
Charlotte looked at him, half-formed protests dying before they escaped her lips. She could tell by his expression that it would do no good to throw herself into his arms. Maximilian, the responsible gentleman, had remembered himself.
Fool! She could almost hear Augusta’s outrage. Wasting your time on Wycliffe! And Sarah...poor, staid Sarah would be so shocked if she knew that Charlotte was up to her old tricks, kissing the boys again, and worse...much, much worse. She had tried to snare the earl, attempting against everyone’s advice to gain his interest.
It was that rebellious streak of hers—that and the tiny little things that hinted to her that he was not indifferent to her. Oh, yes. Charlotte was sure as of this night that he was not indifferent, but was he not indifferent enough to make a difference? One glance at him now told her that Max had withdrawn from her totally.
He looked cold and stern and respectable, Charlotte noted with a heavy heart, making the passion that had flared so abruptly between them seem but a dream. Like a restless sleeper, she sought for some evidence of its reality, but all that remained was his hair, which still hung about his face like a dark, seductive shadow. “Wait! Your hair,” she whispered.
Maximilian swore under his breath and glanced at the ground, a black void in the night. “Where is the deuced ribbon?”
“Here, take this one,” Charlotte said, lifting her fingers to her bodice where a dark blue ribbon was threaded. For a moment Maximilian stared at the offering as if it might bite him, then he slowly untied the bow and tugged until it came loose from the fabric. Although he said nothing, Charlotte noticed with a certain grim satisfaction that Maximilian’s eyes never left the ribbon, and when he reached to pull the last of it from her bodice, his hands were shaking.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Maximilian made an effort to attend more social functions so that he could keep an eye on Charlotte, for he intended to make sure she did not kiss any more of her suitors. Of his own wretched lack of control, Maximilian preferred not to think. She had goaded him into it, he decided, and the fact that holding her in his arms had been beyond anything in his experience simply did not signify. She was not for him.
He had a responsibility to the vicar, Maximilian told himself, and that was the sole reason for his continuing interest in the man’s daughter. Although he accepted invitations he previously would have ignored and all but gave up visiting his clubs, there were still many times when he could not watch over Charlotte. In these instances, Maximilian was forced to rely on reports from Raleigh, who seemed to take a perverse pleasure in telling him just where Charlotte had gone and with whom.
Although Roddy no longer dangled at her skirts, other men stepped forward to take his place. They called upon Charlotte and took her out on every conceivable excursion—nights at the opera, evenings at Vauxhall and rides in the park. With increasing regularity, these engagements propelled her out of Maximilian’s reach, and he found himself unreasonably irritated by the turn of events.
Despite his annoyance, Maximilian could hardly adjust his calendar more than he already had. Already this afternoon he had been bickering with his secretary, and he was in a foul humor. “Why do all my stewards expect me to review every detail of their work?” he snapped, throwing a sheaf of papers down upon his massive desk in disgust.
Ignoring Wilkes’s stunned expression, Maximilian rose and walked to the windows of his study. They were covered with heavy, deep blue velvet, which gave the room a rather dark ambiance he had always thought conducive to work, but which now seemed stifling and gloomy. With an impatient gesture, Maximilian pulled one of the hangings aside and looked out onto the sunlit garden.
“Have Mrs. Mulhaney tie back these drapes,” he said over his shoulder. “It is infernally dim in here.” His words were met by a strangled noise emanating from the general direction of his secretary, and Maximilian turned to look at the man curiously.
“Yes, my lord,” Wilkes said. He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing up and down with the effort. “But you have always demanded a strict accounting from them—from your stewards. You have always looked over all their reports most minutely.”
“Have Egremont look over their correspondence and bring any problems to me,” Maximilian ordered. Then he swiveled again toward the window. He felt oddly restless, his body curiously alive with some undefined longing, and the sunshine seemed to call to him. Perhaps he should go out, he thought, wavering in his resolve to spend the afternoon in conference with his secretary, as scheduled.
“Yes, my lord,” Wilkes answered unsteadily. “Then, the only other letter you may wish to see is from your vicar in Suffolk.”
Maximilian whirled from the window. “I shall read it myself,” he said, nearly snatching the paper from Wilkes’s hand. He ignored his secretary’s startled expression to lean back against the casement and open the missive. The light shone upon the pages as if to bring the green Sussex countryside to life beneath his fingers.
My dear Lord Wycliffe,
I pray that this letter finds you in good health. As you can imagine, I was most reassured to receive your message. I am greatly indebted to you for taking the time to inform me of the events transpiring in London Town and for your continued interest in our small family.
We were all thrilled to hear of our Charlotte’s great success. I trust that her sensible nature will not allow her head to be turned by such attentions, but should she fall prey to vanity, I know that you will set her to rights.
Maximilian grinned at that. He could not picture Charlotte becoming enamored of herself, nor could he envision himself setting her to rights on any subject, for the vicar’s daughter had a mind of her own. His smile lingered as he glanced at the spindly writing.
* * *
The boys were pestering me with so many questions to include, concerning Tattersalls and boxing matches and other interests of that nature, that I finally persuaded them to write to you themselves, so please do not b
e dismayed to find they have posted you on their own. Although we know it is best for Charlotte to have you there watching over her, we must admit to longing for your return.
Jenny misses you dreadfully and will demand her lord whenever you are mentioned. Kit has taken to helping your new groundskeeper, which, he explained to me, could not be viewed as pestering the fellow, but as keeping an eye out for your interests.
Jane sometimes joins him, and, as a consequence, has taken an interest in gardening this year. She plans to reclaim our sorry plot beside the house, so perhaps it will look entirely improved when next you see it.
Carrie nearly swoons over each of her sister’s letters, determined that she, too, will have a season someday. She is sure that all is wonderful in London, but Sarah worries about Charlotte, as is her way. I assured her that you had the situation well in hand.
As to your questions concerning any offers she receives, I trust to your good judgment, my lord. Naturally, you may pick and choose as you see fit, as long as Charlotte is in agreement, for I have no wish for her to be unhappy.
Maximilian scanned the rest of the page, where the vicar filled him in on the latest doings in the village and ended with a heartfelt wish for his own well-being, and he felt oddly affected. Had anyone ever missed him? Although he shared correspondence with friends throughout the country and employees at his various properties, he had never received a letter such as this, filled with humble but sincere greetings.
For the first time in his life, Maximilian had the sensation of belonging wholly to something, as though he were a member of this warm, loving family. It was a strange but not unpleasant feeling.
With sudden surprise, Maximilian realized that he would not mind seeing them all again; sweet little Jenny, Carrie, Jane, Kit—even the squabbling older boys. He shook his head firmly. He was becoming dotty. The ties that bound him to the vicarage were strictly a matter of duty—and nothing more.
Maximilian folded the letter, tucked it in his pocket and noticed Wilkes’s expectant visage. He had almost forgot the man was there. His secretary cleared his throat. “Now, as for today’s schedule...” he began. “You were to check the sale at Tattersalls for some new stock.”
At the mention of the horse auction, Maximilian smiled. What was little more than a mildly diverting errand for him would thrill the boys beyond anything. Perhaps someday he would take them along. Idly considering the idea, Maximilian noticed that Wilkes was evidencing alarm at his wandering attention. He nodded for his secretary to continue.
“Then the dinner party given by Lord and Lady Shacklesby—”
Maximilian cut off Wilkes’s words with a careless wave of his fingers. “Send my regrets and have someone go round to Augusta Thurgoode’s to discover what invitations she has accepted for this evening. I shall adjust my itinerary accordingly.”
Wilkes looked as if he might faint dead away. “You wish to go wherever they go, my lord?” he asked, his brows crawling up his forehead.
“Yes,” Maximilian answered with determination. His mood had been lightened by the vicar’s letter, and he had a desire to share the small bits of news with Charlotte.
“But you do not wish to go with them?” Wilkes asked.
“No.” Maximilian never escorted Charlotte anywhere, for he did not wish the gossips to get the wrong impression. He was, after all, only doing his duty by her father.
Feeling a sense of renewed vigor, Maximilian strode away from the window. “I think I shall take a turn around the garden before I leave,” he said. Then walked right by his secretary, whose jaw was hanging open, without even checking his watch.
* * *
Charlotte hid a yawn behind her fan. She had finally mastered the art of this particular fashion accessory to her cousin’s satisfaction. Now she was able to convey subtle messages with a mere flick of the bone and fabric, but tonight she used it only to mask her weariness. They had been out until nearly dawn every evening this week, and the pace was telling upon her. Although Charlotte could have protested, she did not, for at each new function she hoped for a glimpse of Max.
He had been showing up more frequently, usually staying in the background, a presence across the room that drew her as a bee to the hive. Sometimes he sought her and spoke with her, but ever since that night in the gardens, he had kept his distance.
Charlotte tried to rein in her disappointment. She had failed in her attempt to win him, and now she must accept her defeat with good grace and turn her attention to the admirers from whom she must choose a husband. With firm resolve, Charlotte told herself to enjoy the evenings that had sounded so magical when she had dreamed of them in her bed at the vicarage, but which, in reality, were not that wonderful. Unfortunately, once the pomp and glitter of London began to lose its shiny, bright newness, the nature of her predicament became all too apparent.
What she had always seen as a lighthearted romp, a pursuit of wealth and affection, now seemed a grim matter indeed, for none of her suitors captured her feelings. Forced to pretend to delight in men she did not want to marry, Charlotte was miserable. The attention and the success beyond her wildest imaginings were no longer savored, and with each passing day, she became more aware of her dilemma. She had only a few short months to make a match, while indecision and the rebellion of her heart plagued her. In truth, she only wanted Max.
“I am simply being perverse,” Charlotte mumbled aloud.
“What is that?” asked Phillipa Stollings, who was seated beside her. Although Phillipa very much resembled her brother, the dashing captain, the likeness worked to her detriment, for what was pleasing on his male countenance did not suit her female one. She was tall and big-boned, with a nose too long and a chin too square to be beautiful. What’s more, her failings seemed to have soured her disposition, making it difficult to like her.
Lately, she always appeared to be at hand, perhaps in the hope that one of Charlotte’s suitors might take an interest in her. Although Charlotte tried her best to be accommodating, she often sensed jealous looks directed toward her, which did not bode well for a future relationship by marriage.
Marriage. Charlotte was well aware that the good captain was growing impatient for her, although Augusta had not spoken of an offer as yet. Stollings’s increased attentions and the constant presence of his sister made Charlotte feel as if she were backed into a corner with no way to gracefully exit.
“Oh, I was just thinking aloud,” Charlotte answered. “Why is it that we always want that which we cannot have? The classics are full of such tales!” she said, frowning. “Can we not learn from them?”
Phillipa giggled, a rather horsey sound, which she made whenever Charlotte’s conversation drifted over her head. Sensing the girl’s dismay, Charlotte turned the track of her thoughts from the lessons of the Greeks to more earthly advice. “Papa is forever sermonizing that we should be happy with our lot,” she said, “but it is easier said than done.”
Phillipa giggled again, and Charlotte gave up her attempt at conversation. She had long since decided that none could share her distress, for those girls who were not so jealous of her popularity that they avoided her did not understand her anxiety. Why, Miss Singleton had actually admitted that she fully intended to marry for money and seek affection elsewhere! Charlotte had been too shocked to respond. Despite the loose morals of the ton, her upbringing would never allow her to contemplate such a thing as taking a lover.
“Shall we stroll through the conservatory?” Phillipa asked with a rather sly look. “I believe that it is quite lovely.”
“As you wish,” Charlotte answered. Perhaps it would do her good to walk through one of the indoor gardens she had heard so much about. She had certainly been feeling sorry for herself lately, and guilty over it. She tried to remember Papa’s teachings and apply them to herself. Then she rose and forced a smile for Phillipa. It was unusual for the homely girl to take the initiative, and Charlotte wanted to encourage her to pursue her own interests.
T
he conservatory was quiet and rather dimly lit, some of the larger specimens casting shadows as great as trees, and Charlotte could not help but think that in the daylight, it would be easier to view the vegetation. But Phillipa seemed determined, in a rather nervous way, to explore. Stollings’s sister was even more giggly than usual, although Charlotte failed to see the humor in the lovely flowers blooming under the glass.
“Oh, look!” Charlotte said, stepping toward a delicate orchid in full blossom. “Isn’t it beautiful?” she whispered.
“Not as beautiful as you are, Charlotte,” a man whispered back. Starting in surprise, Charlotte felt strong arms enclose her, sliding down her own with an easy familiarity.
“Captain!” Charlotte said with some alarm as she placed the voice. Although she was a bit freer in manner than other young ladies, she knew her suitor should not be here, touching her in the relative privacy of this shadowed bower.
“Phillipa?” she asked. Her distress increased when Stollings’s sister did not answer.
“My sister knew I wanted to speak to you alone, dear Charlotte,” the captain said smoothly. He pulled her so close that her back touched the long length of his tall body, shocking Charlotte with his boldness. It was one thing to play at kisses with Roddy Black, for she had been totally in control then. Now she was dismayed to discover that the worldly captain had planned this assault on her person with his sister’s cooperation.
Charlotte felt a trickle of panic ease up her spine. It was not Stollings that she feared, but the possible consequences of his behavior. If someone saw them here together, she could be ruined...or forced to marry him! Was that his plan? Charlotte’s heart quickened its pace considerably at the thought.
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