Third, he discovered his fascination with Charlotte Griffolino hadn’t died the sudden death it should have after she publicly cut him during the waltz. He had spent the rest of the evening thinking about her, mostly how he would like to paddle some manners into her perfectly rounded bottom. He had tried not to think too much about other perfectly rounded parts of her, with limited success, but the moment he saw her while out on his morning ride, that battle was lost.
He reined in his horse and watched her climb out of her open carriage and up the steps of the Kildair house. Even though she moved with the same sensual grace that had taken him in last night, today she was dressed more like a prim governess than a siren. Her dove-gray gown had a high neckline, long fitted sleeves, and an unadorned skirt, and she was most definitely wearing a petticoat. Her modest bonnet of pale blue framed her face almost angelically, and Stuart half-expected to see a prayer book clasped in her gloved hands. She was almost unrecognizable as the woman who had flirted with him in the darkened library last night.
Stuart frowned. There was something odd about that. He would bet his last borrowed farthing this wasn’t her natural style. He watched as she was admitted to the house, more and more certain she was up to no good. Why he knew this, he couldn’t say, but Stuart suddenly had to know what she was plotting. He ought to avoid the woman like the plague, and yet somehow, he just couldn’t. He loosened the reins and touched his horse’s flank before he could think better of it.
He tied the horse to a shady tree in the park just across from the Kildair house. Setting his hat at a jaunty angle, he strolled over to her carriage. The driver was drowsing on the seat, but snapped awake at Stuart’s question. “I say, is this Madame Griffolino’s carriage?”
“Aye,” said the man without a trace of curiosity.
“I was just on my way to see that very lady; what a pity she shan’t be at home to receive me.” Stuart affected dismay. “Is she planning to pay several calls?”
“Don’t know, guv.” Stuart was sure the driver had been hired only for the season. He had employed many temporary servants himself, and knew the signs. The temptation was too much; he gave in to the urging of the devil on his shoulder.
“Aye, just the one.” The driver caught Stuart’s coin with practiced ease. “Told me to wait here, she did.”
Stuart looked up and down the street, which was growing more crowded as the fashionable hour for paying calls approached. “Bad for the horses to stand in the sun, don’t you think?”
“Aye, but I’ve got my orders.” Stuart flipped him another coin. The man slipped it into his pocket in the blink of an eye, and straightened in his seat. “’Course, can’t have them standing too long. Blocking traffic and all.”
“I quite agree,” said Stuart. “A turn about the park should serve.”
“G’day to you, guv.” The man tipped his hat before snapping the reins. Stuart watched him drive away, a faint smile spreading across his face. Hopefully her expression would be worth the two shillings, for he really couldn’t afford to waste them. He took up a position near the steps, and waited.
“Lady Kildair.” Charlotte smiled tremulously at her hostess as she was shown into the drawing room. “I feared, after last night, you wouldn’t receive me.”
“Not at all, not at all,” Lady Kildair said, hurrying forward. Her eager eyes took in Charlotte’s subdued air. “Are you unwell? Do sit down and have some tea.” She led Charlotte to a place on the sofa and took a seat nearby, pouring a cup. Charlotte took it, blinking rapidly.
“You are too kind. I ... I must apologize to you for my actions last night. I never meant to cause a scene—” Charlotte broke off, pressing a handkerchief to her lips in mock distress. She drew a deep breath, and turned back to her hostess, who was balanced precariously on the very edge of her seat, her curiosity almost tangible.
“My dear Contessa!” Lady Kildair reached out for her hand. “Whatever has upset you so? I declare, it was a trifle last night, not worthy of note.” A bald-faced lie, but Charlotte simply nodded, pressing Lady Kildair’s hand.
“You are too kind to say so. I expect it caused some comment, perhaps even outrage. Mr. Drake ... Oh, I know he’s been received as a most eligible gentleman. Naturally, no one had any idea he was not! But Lady Kildair, if you knew what I have heard of him—! And then to find my own dear Susan had fallen under his spell and was in danger of being compromised ... It was too much for me, too much, and I lost my head. Do forgive me, please.” She turned a pleading gaze on a severely disconcerted Louise Kildair.
“Why, Contessa.” Lady Kildair cleared her throat. “Whatever can you mean? Do you mean to say that Mr. Drake is a ... ?”
Charlotte closed her eyes and inhaled sharply, as if the mention of the word would be painful, and Lady Kildair obligingly stopped. Charlotte waited a heartbeat, then nodded heavily.
“Yes. I have been in London this past fortnight settling affairs in Italy for myself and Madame da Ponte. I did not go out much in society, for there was a great deal to be done regarding my late husband’s estate, but even in my limited circle of acquaintance I heard of Mr. Drake.”
She paused again, and Lady Kildair clucked in sympathy and urged her to take some tea. Charlotte sipped, letting her hostess wait in suspense. So far it was going beautifully.
“And what I heard was terrible. He is reputed to be a rogue of the basest nature: always in debt, notorious for his gambling, associating with the most scandalous people. And the worst ... Oh dear, I can scarcely bring myself to say.” Charlotte shook her head again, biting her lip as if tears threatened. Lady Kildair sprang forward.
“But his family! So well-connected and respected!”
“His family,” interrupted Charlotte, “has cast him out. His father has banished him from London and revoked his income. Everyone was speaking of it in town. He is quite penniless and without support until he inherits. And that may be years from now—both his grandfather and father are in excellent health.”
“No,” breathed Lady Kildair, eyes wide. “But we all thought him so ... so ...”
“Eligible?” Charlotte nodded. “He meant everyone to think so. He meant to catch a wealthy bride. But the reason his father cast him out renders him beyond the pale for any decent girl.”
“Indeed?” Lady Kildair hadn’t blinked in minutes, it seemed.
Charlotte picked up her tea again. “Yes. And when I think of how near to disaster my niece strayed, because I was not here to advise and guard her, it is almost more than I can bear.”
“Naturally.” Lady Kildair cleared her throat delicately. “But what, precisely ... ?”
Charlotte hesitated. She opened her mouth to reply, then closed it and looked away. Just as Lady Kildair drew breath to speak again, Charlotte leaned forward, lowering her voice to a confidential whisper.
“There were two young ladies—heiresses—who suffered from Mr. Drake’s attentions. One was ruined when he was caught removing her stockings in her grandmother’s garden. Her family hurried her off to the country in disgrace. The other young lady agreed to take a drive with him, no doubt unaware of his true nature—how vigilant a parent must be, Lady Kildair!—and when they did not return in a reasonable time, her brother pursued them. They were already on the Dover road, and heaven only knows how far he might have carried her! She was fortunate in having a suitor who was not turned off by the scandal, and she was married at once. But Mr. Drake went on his merry way, until his father called his bluff and sent him away.”
Lady Kildair’s mouth formed a perfect O, but no sound emerged. Charlotte sat back, shaking her head sadly. “I had no idea it was the same gentleman Susan had mentioned in her letters. Of course she only saw him as he presented himself, not as he really is.”
“And you really think he would have ... That is, is he truly so dishonorable?”
Charlotte swallowed, reaching for her handkerchief again. “Lady Kildair, I believe he would have ruined her beyond redemption! And it would h
ave been ...” She drew in a shuddering breath and clutched the handkerchief to her breast. “It would have been all my fault. It was only by chance I was fortunate enough to learn the truth in time. Oh, it is too horrible to contemplate!” By the end of her speech, Charlotte was sobbing quietly into her handkerchief. It was mostly for effect, but Charlotte was very keenly aware of how nearly Susan had missed complete disaster; she had heard her niece offer to run off with the cad herself, after all. If she had remained in London even a day or two longer, who knew what might have befallen Susan? Lady Kildair sat stunned for a moment, then rushed to Charlotte’s side.
“There, my dear! But you could not have known. As you said, you are only just returned to England, and had no way of knowing. Why, those of us who have been here had no idea.” Lady Kildair fell abruptly silent as the ramifications of her words sank in. Charlotte sniffled into her handkerchief, letting her think about it. So far this had gone as well as she could have hoped. Lady Kildair was following exactly where Charlotte was trying oh-so-subtly to lead her.
“Yes, we were all of us taken in,” said Lady Kildair a moment later, her voice growing shrill. “He seemed so charming and genuine! He was received by the best families in Tunbridge Wells, particularly those with marriageable daughters. And all this time, he was nothing but a common fortune hunter! My dear Madame Griffolino, we owe you a great debt for exposing him.”
“Yes.” Charlotte dabbed at her eyes and sat up straighter. “Why, I never thought of that—but of course, now that I have refused to allow him to see Susan again, who knows where he may turn his attentions? He must be quite desperate for funds, and will likely not scruple to seduce his next target.”
Louise Kildair swelled with outrage, rising to her feet. “Never fear, Contessa; we shall make known his perfidy. I wager he’ll not find a friendly reception in this town again.”
“But he will say I am blackening his name because I did not approve his suit of Susan. And my poor niece is still upset over the whole affair,” Charlotte protested. “I would rather have nothing more to do with that man.”
She watched with immense relief as her hostess smiled. Smugly. “Why, of course I understand. I would be only too happy to relate what you have told me.” No doubt, thought Charlotte, you ceaseless gossip. Lady Kildair’s left hand would tattle on her right, if it could.
And thank goodness for it. Charlotte rose and let Lady Kildair take her hands again. “I cannot thank you enough. It has been a great relief to unburden myself to a sympathetic ear, and you will do a service to every female in town if you warn them of Mr. Drake’s intentions.”
“Now, now.” Louise patted her hand as she led Charlotte to the door. “It is all thanks to you.”
Charlotte smiled back. “You are too kind.”
Lady Kildair pressed her hand; Charlotte interpreted it as thanks for depositing the season’s most delicious scandal right in her lap. With another effusive thanks, Charlotte left, confident Stuart Drake would be rumored a liar, a rogue, and even worse before the end of the week. And all Charlotte would be guilty of was repeating gossip, somewhat dramatically, but she had indeed heard everything just as she had told Lady Kildair. Stuart Drake could blame no one but himself for his own behavior, which was reprehensible if the gossips were even half right. With no one willing to receive him, he would have no choice but to leave, and then Susan would realize how shallow his affections had been.
Poor Susan. Charlotte wished there were any way to prevent her inevitable hurt at that discovery. She would take Susan shopping, she decided, and even allow her to choose the colors. A few new gowns wouldn’t ease the ache, but they would at least give her something else to think about, and perhaps it would signal a new beginning to the relationship Charlotte was trying to build with her niece. They would begin anew, Charlotte decided, and this time she would stay close enough to nip any more unfortunate attachments in the bud before they had the chance to blossom into trouble.
Lost in plans to win Susan’s trust and friendship, Charlotte didn’t notice her carriage was no longer in front of the Kildair house until she reached the walk. She stopped short with a frown, glancing up and down the street.
“Lost something?” She started violently at the low voice behind her. She whirled around to see Stuart Drake standing less than a foot away, so close she had to tip her head back to look him in the face.
And what a face it was. Last night, she had been focused on crushing his designs on Susan, and while she had noticed he was a handsome man, she hadn’t really recognized how handsome. Dark blue eyes looked out from under arching brows the same midnight black as his hair. His cheekbones were wide and flat, and though his nose was a bit long, his sensual mouth more than made up for it. He was impeccably dressed in clothing that fit perfectly, with no evidence of padding or cinching anywhere. There were no signs of the dissipation Charlotte associated with rogues like him; either he had the best tailor in England, or he really was as hard and muscular as he had felt, lying on top of her the night before.
That memory made her flush, and she turned her back on him, scanning the street again for her carriage. She had explicitly told the driver to wait here, and the man had gone off somewhere. “Good day, sir,” she said coldly, without looking back.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement. “I half expected you to scratch my eyes out.” He moved to stand beside her. Charlotte glared at him from the corner of her eye.
“Only half? How terribly I failed.”
“Well, I can’t say I half expected you to throw yourself at me again, can I?”
Charlotte clenched her teeth together in fury. “I did no such thing.”
He waved one hand negligently. “No matter. I came to extend the olive branch. Heal the breach. Mend the rift. We began badly last night—or rather, we began well, but then our relationship took a turn for the worse. I apologize for any offense you inferred, for I never meant any.”
She sniffed. “We have no relationship, sir, nor shall we. I know very well what you meant, and no apology would suffice.”
He was smiling, the wretch. “And I thought you’d had a change of heart. An enchanting siren at night, a virtuous saint by day, willing to forgive her fellow man his transgressions.”
“Mr. Drake. Surely you have something better to do.”
He made a show of looking up and down the street. Charlotte was nearly shaking with anger at her coachman for deserting her and subjecting her to this. She would have started walking, but she didn’t want to walk all the way home with him following her. “And leave a lady in distress? Never.”
“You are the cause of my distress,” she pointed out. Stuart laughed, admiring her profile. Up close, her attire was every bit as severe as he had thought when he first saw it from across the street, but perversely, he found it enthralling. Her drab gown couldn’t hide the swell of her bosom or the curve of her hips. He imagined peeling it away, inch by inch ... He reminded himself how she had tricked him, no matter that she had the body of a goddess, and that he had other concerns with her.
“I would like an end to the hostilities,” he said. “I’m disappointed you won’t consent to my request for your niece’s hand—”
“I’m sure you are,” came her acid retort.
“And you, no doubt, acted impulsively when we were dancing—”
“You shall wait a long time if you hope to hear an apology.”
“And so I propose we call it even,” Stuart continued, ignoring her interruptions. “Tunbridge Wells is a small place to wage a war, and—”
“I agree.” She turned toward him at last and smiled. It was a close-lipped, coy smile that made him catch his breath in a mixture of desire and suspicion. “Much too small. I’m delighted you agree, and hope you find the hunting better somewhere else.”
“Pardon?” Stuart was still distracted by that smile, and the light on her face. Even buttoned up like a vicar’s wife, she was breathtaking.
“That is
what you’re doing, isn’t it? Hunting for a fortune?” Her carriage rumbled to a halt beside them. “I doubt you’ll find the prey so susceptible from now on,” she added. Stuart stared at her, eyes narrowed. Her smile turned gloating as her driver jumped down to assist her into the carriage. “Good bye, Mr. Drake.”
Stuart said nothing as she drove away. He stood on the side of the street, filled with a growing sense of apprehension. What had she done, calling on Lady Kildair dressed like a she-wolf in lamb’s wool? What did she mean, he might find the hunting better somewhere else? He had no plans to leave Kent. Tunbridge Wells was still a moderately fashionable spa; there were several families of good fortune spending the season there. Susan Tratter was by no means the only heiress in town. With his name and expectations, he was still an eligible match.
Unless someone managed to ruin his reputation.
His fears were swiftly confirmed. By the end of the day, he had been given the cut direct by no fewer than five of the haughtiest matrons in town. By the next morning, he was openly snubbed in the park, and young ladies who had once all but thrown themselves at him scurried behind their mothers with horrified, accusatory glares. Stuart didn’t need the confirmation from a sympathetic widow with whom he had shared a brief flirtation to know what had happened to transform him into an outcast.
Stuart could stomach being refused Susan Tratter’s hand—in some small way, he was almost relieved—and had sincerely meant his attempt at peace with Charlotte Griffolino. He could accept that she didn’t like him, and that she had played him for a fool. It had been his own fault for falling for her ruse, after all. But Stuart also had no doubt that she was behind his ostracism, and that he could not forgive. It made his precarious finances desperate, and left him with little hope of restoring them soon. She could only have done it to spite him, and somehow, in some way, Stuart meant to pay her back.
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