Caroline Linden

by What A Woman Needs

  “Snuff it,” he advised his friend, taking a glass of wine from a passing footman. “This is my farewell to Kent. I’d rather not end it lying facedown in the street.”

  “Don’t say you’re abandoning the field!” Jameson shook his head with a soft tsk. “Thought you had more backbone than that.”

  “It’s not backbone I lack right now.”

  “I’ll spot you a hundred,” said Jameson carelessly. “Kent would be as dull as a Lenten sermon without you.”

  Stuart forced a sour smile. “Many thanks, but I try to keep my debts under a thousand.”

  “Ah.” Jameson became absorbed in his own glass of wine. “Back to London, then?”

  “Regrettably,” muttered Stuart, draining his glass. He lifted it significantly at a footman, and the servant hurried over to exchange his empty glass for a full one.

  Jameson cleared his throat, looking around the room, anywhere but at him. “Well, best of luck.” Stuart knew it was sympathy that made Jameson uneasy. Jameson couldn’t believe a few paltry rumors had actually ruined him; stand firm, he had advised Stuart, and it will blow over. Stuart wasn’t so sure—it didn’t seem Charlotte did things by half measures—but it didn’t really matter. The mortgage on Oakwood Park was due in a month, not nearly enough time for him to find another bride. He would have to admit defeat and return to London, and do his best to worm his way back into his father’s good graces. If he began now, he might yet be able to keep his property. “Ah,” said his friend suddenly. “Your heiress has arrived. Give her one more go, why don’t you? She looks dashed pretty tonight.”

  Stuart hesitated. Against his will he looked, from the corner of his eye. She was there, glorious in green with black lace. Miss Tratter was at her side, as was the tall, voluptuous Italian woman who lived with them. “I think I’ve burned my bridge with the aunt, so to speak,” he said, watching the three women greet the Martins.

  “Not quite the wizened shrew you were led to expect, is she?” Jameson was watching Charlotte with interest. Stuart was trying not to, both to avoid meeting her eyes and to keep from remembering how she looked in his bed.

  “She’s far from wizened,” was all he said.

  “I should say ...” Jameson’s voice tapered off, and Stuart tore his eyes off Charlotte. His friend’s gaze had fixed on her, focused and intent, and Stuart was opening his mouth to ask, rather testily, what was so intriguing, when he saw what had caught Jameson’s eye. Not Charlotte, even though she did shimmer like an exotic bird in her green silk, but the emerald and diamond necklace around her throat. “Not,” finished Jameson in a quiet, thoughtful tone. He shot a quick glance at Stuart, who was gulping down his wine and wishing he’d already left for London.

  “Not many necklaces like that in Kent, I expect,” said Jameson after a moment.

  “No,” agreed Stuart grimly.

  “A woman like that is sure to have the stones appraised sooner or later.”

  “No doubt.” Stuart seized another glass of wine, wishing it were whiskey. This, of all nights, was an excellent time to get foxed. “Pardon me.”

  He walked away before Jameson could ask outright if he had knowingly given a woman paste jewels, or why that woman was Charlotte Griffolino instead of Susan Tratter. Luckily Mrs. Martin had invited half the town to her supper party, and he could slip away without being noticed. Of course, half the town was already doing its best not to notice him even if they came face to face with him. Stuart stepped onto a balcony overlooking the garden and pulled the drape shut behind him. He must have offended the deity to have every little thing in his life go so spectacularly wrong.

  “Drake!” Stuart closed his eyes wearily, then turned around. Susan stepped forward, her face shining. Stuart stopped her from throwing her arms around him by catching her hands and raising them to his lips instead. “Oh, you look terrible,” she cried. “Has it been just dreadful for you? I’ve barely slept a wink, thinking about how Aunt Charlotte humiliated you! She’s hardly left me alone for a moment since then, or I should have come to see you at once. I shall never forgive her, never!”

  For a moment Stuart thought she meant Charlotte’s sabotage to his reputation, but then he remembered the dance at the Kildairs’. “It’s been a difficult week,” he said vaguely. She nodded, her eyes glistening.

  “I’ve told her ever so many times you’re not the scoundrel she thinks you are, but she refuses to listen. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you anywhere, and people are saying the most dreadful things about you now—”

  “Miss Tratter,” he tried to interrupt.

  “But of course I don’t believe one of them,” she rushed on. “I know you’re not capable of ruining a young lady during her grandmother’s garden party, let alone abducting some girl to Dover! I’m sure they were both plain, freckled girls anyway, but of course you would have married either if you had done anything to ruin them, unintentionally of course, because I know you are a man of honor.”

  “Garden party?” Stuart repeated incredulously. “Abduction?” Was that the story Charlotte had started? Anne Hale was a persistent flirt who was never content with just one man’s attention. Even after she had contrived to walk with him in the park, she had been trying to catch the eye of another gentleman. When she lost her shoe, Stuart found it and slipped it back on her foot. True, she had lifted her skirt higher than necessary—the girl had no subtlety—but he hadn’t touched her stockings, as the rumor had reported in London. Now he had ravished her in front of a party of elderly ladies?

  And abducting Eliza Pennyworth! He hardly knew her, and never would have met her had she not been in love with an old schoolmate of his, Aiden Montgomery. Her family refused to allow them to marry, and arranged a match with a wealthy cousin for Miss Pennyworth. In desperation, the lovers had decided to elope. Montgomery would have to desert the Royal Navy to do so, though, which shocked Stuart; Aiden had wanted a naval career his whole life, and had just risen to first lieutenant. Not wanting his friend to lose everything, Stuart had offered to drive Miss Pennyworth to Dover, where Montgomery’s ship was docked. The couple could marry quickly and quietly, Montgomery could keep his rank, and Miss Pennyworth would be safe from her family’s ambitions. Miss Pennyworth agreed eagerly, and Montgomery wrung his hand in fervent gratitude. But it all came to naught when her brother caught them a mere ten miles from Dover, dragging Miss Pennyworth back to London where she was unceremoniously married to her cousin. Montgomery’s ship sailed two days later, and Stuart had borne the gossip in silence, knowing his had been the kindest fate of the three.

  Susan shook her head and put her finger on his lips to silence him. “You don’t have to deny it. I don’t believe it, and it doesn’t matter, anyway. I still love you.”

  Gently he removed her hands from his face and jacket. “Miss Tratter, I think it is time ...”

  “For us to run away together?” she asked, so bright with hope he couldn’t bear to look at her. “Oh, I can pack my bag in an hour! That will teach Aunt Charlotte to treat me like a child. Where shall we go, to Scotland? Or to London? I just know I shall adore London, when we live there.”

  “For us to face the truth,” he corrected quietly. “Your aunt will never give her consent to my suit.”

  “She can go hang,” declared Susan.

  “Nevertheless, I fear ...” Stuart paused, thinking. “I fear we are doomed to be apart, divided by fate and misfortune.”

  She contemplated that for a moment. “But if we elope ...”

  He shook his head. “It would be no use. We are a pair of star-crossed lovers.”

  “Oh,” she breathed, understanding dawning. “Like Romeo and Juliet.”

  “Yes.” Stuart heaved a tragic sigh.

  “Pyramus and Thisbe,” she said softly. “Heloise and Abelard!”

  Stuart cleared his throat. “Yes, something like that. My only consolation is that you will bear it more nobly than I shall.”

  “I won’t,” she said, tears springing t
o her eyes again. “I shall die of a broken heart.”

  “No!” He brushed a light kiss on her hand before letting go of it. “That would make it worse for me. Say only that you will be happy. I could not bear it if I thought you miserable.”

  “Then I shall be,” she promised in a wobbly voice. “But you! What shall you do?”

  He looked away, over the dark garden. “I do not know. I cannot think beyond tonight.” That was true, he thought wryly; none of his options at this point were pleasant to contemplate.

  She reached out to him, then clasped her hands before her. “I shall miss you,” she said in a small voice.

  “And I you,” he said with a sad smile. That wasn’t strictly true, although if he ever did think of her, it would be kindly. She was a nice girl, but he couldn’t see himself married to her now, not even for eighty thousand pounds. The thought of her fiery aunt would be enough to keep him from her bed forever, but he didn’t have the heart to tell her that. He was just congratulating himself on his stroke of genius in casting her as the tragic heroine, and trying to think of a way to ask for his ring back, when the drape was abruptly torn back.

  “How dare you?” said Charlotte with quiet malice. Susan gave a guilty start, but put up her chin.

  “It was destiny,” she said. Stuart could see she was warming to her role.

  Charlotte didn’t even glance at her. “Susan, you are excused.”

  The girl’s expression turned mulish. Stuart gave her another sad, solemn look, and bowed slightly. “Good evening, Miss Tratter.” She dropped her pout and curtsied.

  “Good evening, Mr. Drake,” she said in martyred tones. “Farewell!” She started to brush past her aunt, head held high.

  “You may go to the carriage,” said Charlotte in a frosty voice.

  Susan turned, mouth opened in surprise. “Why? We’ve only just arrived.”

  “And you have disobeyed the only thing I asked of you.” Charlotte had yet to take her eyes off him, so she didn’t see the angry sparkle in her niece’s eye.

  “You don’t understand anything!”

  “I understand all too well.”

  “Oh!” Susan stomped her foot. “You think you know everything, but you don’t!”

  Finally Charlotte looked at her. “Go to the carriage,” she said slowly, enunciating each word. The girl flushed, then headed for the door, casting one last look over her shoulder at Stuart.

  Once she was gone, Charlotte stepped onto the balcony and let the drape fall shut behind her. Stuart wondered what it would be like to see her without arguing with her, or perhaps only arguing when he stood a chance of winning.

  “You needn’t have done that,” he told her, crossing his arms. “She was beginning to like the idea of being as tragic as Juliet.”

  Charlotte frowned. “She is not Juliet, she’s a girl who is too trusting to see you as you are.”

  “Unlike you, who have seen me at my most elemental.” She blinked, and then glared at him. Stuart grinned, feeling reckless again. Why not tangle with her one last time? He had absolutely nothing to lose now. “Or should I say, heard me, for I don’t believe we saw quite enough of each other last night.” He noticed she didn’t quite meet his eyes. He found this rather pleasing. It meant their encounter last night had unsettled her. It had certainly seared itself into his memory.

  Charlotte opened her mouth and then closed it, unable to say what she wanted to say to him. Don’t look at me, she wanted to scream at him. Don’t make me think of all the things you said. “Stay away from my niece.”

  He lifted one shoulder. “I was simply getting a breath of fresh air. She happened to want the same, it seems.”

  Susan had disappeared almost the moment they arrived. Charlotte had counted upon Mrs. Martin not inviting him, and hadn’t worried about it for several minutes, until she saw Lord Jameson, one of Stuart’s associates, alternating between watching her and staring at this balcony. “I did not expect to see you tonight,” she said, raising her eyebrow contemptuously. “I thought Mrs. Martin was better informed.”

  He laughed. “She was, but too late. The fault is mine, for keeping an engagement agreed to in the calm before the storm.” He leaned back, bracing his hands behind him on the railing. “So perhaps I should leave, you’re about to suggest. Perhaps. I could consider it ...”

  “Pray, don’t waste much time contemplating the question,” she said coolly. “The answer is rather obvious.”

  His grin flashed white in the darkness. “Will you throw me out yourself?”

  “I dream of it nightly,” she replied with a superior smile.

  “Then do it.” Before she could react, he had taken her hand and raised it to the back of his neck. Charlotte pulled, shocked, and he massaged her hand until her fingers opened and lay flat against his skin, held in place by his. “Take me by the back of the neck and toss me out,” he whispered, stepping even closer. He had to stoop slightly to keep her hand on his neck.

  Charlotte tugged harder, appalled by the way her heart accelerated. “Let go of my hand.”

  “Ah, you’re the ear-boxing type.” He had her other hand, and flattened it across his cheek so that her fingers brushed the hair behind his ear. Charlotte gasped; her reflexes had abandoned her completely, for he’d gotten her hand against his face even before she thought to resist. And now she was stuck, cradling his head unwillingly in her hands.

  “Let go, or I shall box your ears.”

  “A tempting offer,” he said. “Although not as tempting as this.” He slid her hand from his cheek to meet the hand behind his neck, and transferred his grip to hold both her wrists there with one hand. Charlotte strained backward, then stumbled into him, pulled closer as he straightened. “That is much better,” he said with another soft laugh. Charlotte turned her face away.

  “Stay away from my niece,” she said again, doing her best not to touch him while she tried to pull loose.

  “I’m as far away as I can get,” he murmured, his breath stirring her hair at her temple. “You should be pleased; I’ve given her up entirely.”

  “You were out here with her tonight,” said Charlotte, staring fixedly at the ivy climbing the side of the house and trying to pretend she wasn’t pressed up against him.

  “If you’re going to eavesdrop,” he said, taking a step and backing her into the ivy, “you should do a thorough job of it.”

  “I heard enough.” Now she was trapped, an ivy-covered brick wall behind her and Stuart before her, just as hard and unyielding. She considered screaming, and all the attendant furor over another public scene between the two of them, and had just decided in favor of it when he cupped her cheek in his free hand and turned her face up to his.

  “You heard what you wanted to hear,” he said, “because you won’t admit the truth. You don’t want me to marry your niece because you want me for yourself.” She opened her mouth to scream, and he kissed her.

  Charlotte jerked, bumping her head on the wall. He stepped forward again, his feet on either side of hers, fixing her in place. His fingers plowed into her hair, holding her steady as his mouth moved over hers. She clamped her lips together, but he had anticipated her, and his tongue came into her mouth so firmly and masterfully, she quaked. All her reactions were slow; it was almost as if her body and mind alike had paused to wonder at his truly marvelous kiss. She hadn’t been kissed this well, and this thoroughly, in a long time. Perhaps never.

  Charlotte felt herself drift. She did hate him, she really did, but he had left her quivering with desire last night, and maybe it would be fair to let him ease some of the need he had created in her. It’s just a kiss, she told herself, letting go. It means nothing.

  Stuart heard her sigh and wondered what it meant. She was soft and warm in his arms, perfectly female although as stiff as iron, and then she changed. The fists behind his neck unfolded to grip his shoulders, and she went up on her toes, pushing into him. The passive form in his arms came alive, clinging as if she would never
let go. And her kiss ...

  Stuart had never been kissed like this by any woman. Even the most experienced courtesan seemed tame in comparison. She twined her tongue around his, sucking it deeper into her mouth in such blatant imitation of intercourse, he felt faint. And more alive than ever before in his life. He leaned into her, pinning her against the wall and leaving his hands free to explore at will.

  He palmed the full curve of her breast, his thumb teasing her nipple through the silk. Her moan was acquiescence and delight and encouragement all rolled into one. Stuart stroked his other hand over the curve of her shoulder, around her waist and down to pull her hips against his. Her back arched a little, and he felt again her incomparable warmth pressed against his erection. He was a fool for it, but this woman affected him like no other.

  “Come home with me,” he whispered in between light kisses down the soft curve of her jaw. “Let me show you all I forgot to mention last night.”

  His voice shattered the spell. Charlotte froze, horrified to realize she was letting the man who had broken Susan’s heart make love to her. It wasn’t just a kiss, it was a betrayal, of her niece and of her vows to herself. “No.” She uncurled her fingers from his shoulders and turned her head away when he would have kissed her again. “Stop. Please.”

  Slowly his embrace loosened. She stepped away, straightening her dress to avoid his eyes. “Someday,” he said thickly, “you’re going to have to finish what you start.”

  “No,” she replied, reaching behind her for the drape, “you’re wrong. I intend to finish what I started, protecting Susan from you and all fortune hunters.”

  “I don’t mean your niece, and you know it,” he said as she slipped back into the drawing room. “We’re not done, you and I.” The other guests had gone into the music room, and she walked rapidly out of the house. Lucia would fend for herself, and Charlotte wanted to be away as soon as possible. Stuart’s last words taunted her, and worried her; what would it take to finish things between them? And why did he have to speak aloud her deepest, darkest fear: that she did want him for herself?