With a nod, Samuel stepped several paces back and left. She watched him go, a dull ache starting at the center of her chest. She quickly squashed the sensation. She certainly had not developed any tender feelings for the man. Lust did not amount to that. Especially lust derived from her sister’s concoction, a source outside herself.
She turned to face Marian, who stared back at her with lifted eyebrows.
Charlotte braced herself for her sister’s verbal barrage. Marian motioned to Charlotte to precede her into the library. With a deep breath, Charlotte moved ahead of her into the room.
“Charlotte, I do not even know what to say,” Marian began, shutting the door behind them.
Charlotte turned to face her. “I can explain.”
“Please do.”
She took another breath. Where to begin? “No one saw us.” She offered a wobbly smile.
“No one?” Marian looked decidedly displeased. “Except me, you mean.” She tapped her chest. “I saw. Me.”
“Yes, and you’re my sister. You’re not going to carry tales. I’m quite safe. You’ve no wish to ruin me.”
“Of course not, but, Charlotte—” Her gaze turned beseeching. “You are not unattached.”
Familiar guilt wiggled through her.
Marian continued, “You are not free to bestow your favors, and I fear Mr. Kingston is not honorably intended toward you.”
She winced. “I have been the one accosting him, thanks to Nora’s tonic. Admittedly, she gave me another dose today, albeit a small one.”
“Another dose?” Marian exclaimed.
Just then, the library door opened. Charlotte sucked in a breath until she saw it was only Nora.
“Nora,” Marian snapped at the sight of her. “I thought I told you to stop poisoning your sister with your questionable remedies.”
Nora pulled a face. “You told me,” she grumbled in agreement, looking at Charlotte resentfully.
Charlotte glared back at Nora as she admitted, “I must confess, the smaller dose was much more manageable. Not so much so that I could not resist kissing him, as you saw for yourself, Marian—” She had tried and failed. “But it was not quite as overpowering as the last time.”
“What are you talking about?” Nora looked bewildered. “Did you kiss Pembroke? I did not think him still here. Weren’t you going to call on him?”
“No, she did not kiss young Pembroke!” Marian’s face turned bright in agitation. “That would have been much too simple.” She made a sound of disgust. “No, it was Mr. Kingston. She kissed him! I caught them kissing bold as day in the corridor.” She motioned toward the hall.
“Kingston!” Nora’s eyebrows winged high.
“Not so shocking considering I was drugged when I encountered him,” Charlotte reminded tartly.
“Oh, indeed. I am not shocked,” Nora agreed. “But not for the reason you believe.”
“I don’t understand,” Charlotte replied.
Nora glanced at Marian almost nervously.
A sense of foreboding swept over Charlotte. “Nora?” she pressed.
“Actually . . . I did not give you the cordial this time.” Nora forced a smile as though that would somehow mitigate her confession.
Charlotte could only stare at that blasted smile, thinking it misplaced and rather eerie in the aftershock of her statement.
“What?”
“I did not give you the cordial,” she repeated.
A long spell of silence passed as Charlotte turned this revelation over and over in her mind. At last, she shook her head mulishly. “No, you did. Remember? You told me you did. You snuck it into my hot chocolate. A smaller dose. You said, a smaller dose . . .”
Nora shrugged. “I lied.”
“Nora!” Marian moaned and pressed her fingers to the center of her forehead, as though attempting to alleviate the ache there. “You’re incorrigible! Why do you do such things? Look at her.” She motioned to Charlotte. “She’s on the verge of apoplexy. Why must you play these games with her? She’s your sister, for goodness’ sake.”
“I am not playing games. I was trying to help her. She wanted to kiss Pembroke, but her nerve failed her. She merely needed a boost of confidence. I thought even the suggestion that I gave her a bit of my tonic would give her the courage to kiss Pembroke.”
Charlotte stared blindly ahead at the countless spines of books shelved so very correctly. Orderly. The way Charlotte’s life had once been. Before she’d trysted with a rogue.
Aside of her guilt, she had thought herself mostly blameless because she lacked control of her body.
Except now there was nothing and no one to blame save herself.
She’d kissed Samuel. She alone. Nothing had made her do it. It was all her. There was no running from that truth even as difficult as it was to accept.
“I kissed him. I kissed Kingston,” she admitted. “It was me.”
Nora nodded, her expression sympathetic.
“Because I wanted to,” Charlotte added.
There. She had declared it out loud. It felt significant—this, the final acknowledgment to herself and her sisters.
“True,” Nora agreed.
Charlotte let all of it settle over her until there was no more denying, no more evading, no more hiding. It was time to put her thoughts to words.
“I don’t think . . .” She stopped and swallowed. “I cannot marry William,” she murmured.
“Praise heavens. She’s come to her senses,” Nora muttered.
“Charlotte,” Marian said gently. “You’re rattled. Let’s not be hasty.”
“I’ve thought long and hard on this. Deep down, I’ve known for a while. I acted on my own impulses with Kingston. At least today I did.” There was still that first time she had encountered him under the agonizing effects of Nora’s tonic. “I could not, however, even compel myself to kiss William, despite determining to do so.”
“Are you saying you wish to end your betrothal because of Mr. Kingston?” Marian peered at her closely.
She shook her head slowly. “Mr. Kingston is not the only reason.”
Marian gave a rude snort of disbelief.
Charlotte inclined her head. “True. It may very well be that I’ve developed a tendre for the man. I am . . . drawn to him. Clearly.”
Marian closed her eyes in a long-suffering blink. “Oh, my dear, dear Charlotte.”
Charlotte’s stomach fluttered uneasily at her sister’s reaction. “Don’t look so alarmed. I’m not professing my love for the man,” she defended, laughing nervously.
Marian’s gaze shot to hers, wide-eyed with alarm. “I should hope not.”
Charlotte moistened her lips, her unease only mounting. Marian’s reaction seemed . . . excessive. “I mean . . . if I did harbor such feelings, would it be so terrible? Is Samuel—er, Kingston so very unsuitable?”
With a moan, Marian turned and sank down upon the sofa, burying her face in her hands. Her older sister’s manner gave her pause. She made Charlotte feel as though she had done something terribly wrong. Something irreversibly wrong.
Marian lifted her gaze up to Charlotte. “I do understand how these things can happen. Of course I do. Mr. Kingston is a very handsome man,” she allowed with a slight incline of her head.
“He is,” Nora agreed, nodding. “And a sight more diverting than Pembroke.”
Marian glared at Nora. “Be that as it may, he is not eligible. I can certainly understand attraction and infatuation . . . It was that way for me with Nathaniel in the beginning, but Mr. Kingston is not like Nathaniel. He will not be . . . domesticated.”
“Domesticated.” Nora laughed. “You make him sound like a wild animal.”
Marian’s gaze searched Charlotte’s face. “Do you understand what I’m telling you, Charlotte?”
Charlotte gave a single uncertain shake of her head. “Not entirely, no.”
“If you don’t want to marry young Pembroke, then very well. Don’t. You have our full support. Bu
t don’t let it be because of Mr. Kingston.” Marian’s gaze only turned more beseeching. “He’s not the manner of man whose heart you can rely on.”
Charlotte bristled, disliking her characterization of Samuel and thinking it a bit unfair. “Why do you say that?”
“Nathaniel spoke to him.”
Charlotte shrugged. “What does that have to do—”
“Nathaniel spoke to him about you.”
That gave her pause. “Oh.” Her stomach tensed as she contemplated what that conversation had entailed. “And?”
“The particulars of that conversation don’t precisely cast Mr. Kingston in a flattering light,” Marian hedged.
The back of Charlotte’s neck prickled.
“Marian,” Nora said quietly, her tone one of warning, perhaps even pleading. “Don’t.”
Nora knew. She might be younger, but she was clever. Intuitive. She wanted to spare Charlotte from hearing the details of that conversation . . . details she was clearly not going to like.
Marian exhaled. “When Nathaniel questioned him on why he was lingering here and whether it had anything to do with you, Mr. Kingston said he has no interest in milksop misses. I believe his words were: ‘I’ve no appetite for milksop misses.’”
Milksop.
The description stung. She didn’t know why. All her life she had been considered a boring creature. She should be fine with that designation. Milksop was not so very offensive.
And yet it stung.
“The cad!” Nora growled. “I’ll mix him a remedy that will leave him soiling himself for a week.”
Marian ignored Nora, keeping her eyes trained on Charlotte. “He said you’re not to his tastes, Char.” Marian looked at her intently. “I fear he is toying with you.”
She nodded jerkily. Of course he was. A sophisticated gentleman like him and a country mouse like her did not suit. Even she knew that. From the start, she had known that.
Marian continued, “As I said, if you don’t wish to marry, then don’t. But don’t toss aside the life you’ve planned for a rogue like Kingston.”
Not to his tastes.
“Of course, you are right.” She lifted her chin.
She wished he’d never come here. She wished she had never clapped eyes on Samuel Kingston. Her life would be so much simpler if they had never met.
He’d thrown her into upheaval. She’d been fine before his arrival.
Fine before the aphrodisiac.
Fine before she’d realized that she wanted more in life than what her future promised to be with William.
Kingston had ruined everything. He’d changed her, blast him. Damn him.
He’d changed her because suddenly nothing satisfied her anymore. Not the present state of her life and certainly not the promise of her future.
She’d been content before and now she wasn’t. And it was his fault.
Chapter 19
The following day, Charlotte found herself in the Pembroke drawing room. Not so surprising, she supposed.
She’d stared into the dark long into the night, pondering her future.
She’d fallen asleep at some point, waking early despite her few hours of actual sleep. She woke with a jolt. As though her slumber had only been a brief suspension on her thoughts, her mind immediately went to Samuel. The thought of him, of course, came with a frown. Yesterday’s conversation with Marian had left an indelible mark.
She’d been foolish to let herself become entangled with such a rogue—a man far out of her scope, far out of anything she had ever known or encountered in her provincial upbringing in the shire.
She would take ownership of her scandalous behavior. It didn’t matter why she had had dallied with Samuel. Quite simply, she had. On more than one occasion she had.
Now she had to take responsibility for her actions.
She had to take responsibility for every conversation. Every flirtation. Every lingering glance. Every touch. Every kiss. She had been a willing participant. She could blame no one but herself.
Seized with the desperate need to escape the house, she sprang from bed and dressed herself. She was never comfortable in using a maid to assist her—no matter that Warrington employed a houseful of them.
Even though they’d had servants before Papa died, that felt a lifetime ago—and Cook and Gertrude had never helped her dress herself. That did not fall among their tasks. Charlotte and her sisters usually assisted each other dressing and arranging their hair for the day. In the years since, she had learned to manage quite sufficiently on her own.
She skipped breakfast, not alerting anyone she was even awake yet, and snuck out in the murky predawn. Once outside, the fresh air did her good, allaying any lingering doubts.
She walked across the countryside at an easy stroll, the ribbons of her bonnet swinging idly from her fingers until the morning sun crested the sky. At that point, she secured her bonnet atop her head lest her nose pinken.
She took the long course to the Pembrokes’, checking on her house en route, admiring Mama’s flowers in the morning light before heading for William’s.
She needed to get it over and done with, but she was naturally nervous. It wouldn’t be pleasant, to be sure. No matter how gentle or kind she tried to be, it wasn’t the kind of thing one enjoyed.
Unfortunately he was not at home.
In her eagerness to speak with William, she had called on the Pembrokes without invitation or warning, and the unexpectedness of her arrival was made patently felt. Mrs. Pembroke conveyed her disapproval with her usual scowl.
The lady glared at Charlotte over her teacup. “A little warning would not have been remiss, Charlotte. You could have sent word that you were coming and not caught us so unawares.”
Sighing, she nodded. “Of course. It was thoughtless of me.” She was accustomed to generally displeasing Mrs. Pembroke.
“Mother doesn’t like surprises. They’re not good for her constitution.” The woman gestured to her mother.
The elderly Mrs. Pembroke presently slept where she sat near the fireplace, her chin bobbing above her chest, seemingly oblivious to everything around her, including Charlotte’s unsanctioned arrival.
“I will send word next time if I am not expected, Mrs. Pembroke,” Charlotte promised.
William’s mother sniffed haughtily as she added sugar to her tea. “Indeed. These are things upon which you need to deliberate.” Pressing her lips together, she shook her head in censure. “You will certainly need to consider such things once you are married to my son. He needs a proper wife at his side, a paragon of Society . . . not some flighty, capricious creature unaware of basic comportment.”
Charlotte inhaled a slow breath. The lady’s criticisms had never been easy to tolerate, but she wasn’t improving Charlotte’s already frayed nerves.
There was a brief interlude, thankfully, as Mrs. Pembroke sipped her tea. Charlotte forced herself to drink and even nibbled at one of the biscuits on her plate despite her lack of appetite.
After some minutes, Charlotte cleared her throat and inquired, “Have you any idea when William might return?”
“If he had been aware of your impending visit, I am certain he would be here,” her future mother-in-law said tartly.
Of course, Mrs. Pembroke was not yet ready to relinquish her annoyance.
Charlotte nodded and eyed the door, prepared to make her escape. Even she had her limits and she had reached them with this spiteful lady—for the day at any rate.
“Let us be clear, Charlotte.” Mrs. Pembroke uttered her name with scathing precision. “You are not good enough for my son.”
Charlotte blinked and leaned forward to set her teacup down with a decided clack. Well. How was that for unmincing language? There could be no confusion. Charlotte had always suspected Mrs. Pembroke felt thusly about her, but it was entirely different to hear the words boldly stated.
It shouldn’t hurt.
As unsurprised as she felt, she was still baffled.
Why was Mrs. Pembroke telling her this? It certainly didn’t benefit their relationship. Was it her hopes to create animosity between them weeks before the wedding? Did she not want the marriage to go forward?
Perhaps she wouldn’t be disappointed when Charlotte broke off the betrothal.
Mrs. Pembroke continued in frigid tones, “Mr. Pembroke and I have approved this match for the single reason of your newfound connection to the Duke of Warrington. Let us not pretend otherwise. You must know that. Do not think for any other reason I would allow my son to tie himself to the likes of you.” Her lip curled as she assessed Charlotte where she sat.
Charlotte looked down at herself as though she might observe what it was about her that Mrs. Pembroke found so objectionable. She could detect nothing unusual about her personage. Still, she shifted uneasily, feeling as though there must be something there . . . some little sign that gave her away as less than desirable.
Perhaps the woman knew. Perhaps she could see deep inside Charlotte to all her many flaws . . . to all her recent transgressions with Kingston.
Her face burned as the memories beset her. Memories like Kingston’s very hard body beneath hers, his deft hands and mouth between her thighs. Heat fired her cheeks and she reached for her teacup again. She could not have imagined such indecent love play . . . or herself a participant in it.
She knew there was joy to be found in the marriage bed. One glance at Warrington and her sister looking at each other and she knew that. They had . . . appetites, to be certain. The two of them were always sneaking off to their bedchamber in the middle of the day.
Charlotte gave herself a small shake. It was impossible, of course. Mrs. Pembroke could not know of her recent missteps.
She moistened her lips and cleared her throat, deciding she had nothing to lose by asking. “May I ask, Mrs. Pembroke, what is it you find so terribly objectionable about me?”
The woman sniffed. “You may ask and I will answer. You are a graceless, insipid and uninspiring female.”
Charlotte almost laughed at her ready reply. Clearly these thoughts had been festering inside Mrs. Pembroke.
The Virgin and the Rogue Page 16
