She swallowed hard, for the minute she gave this man her name he would know who she was. More importantly, he would know who her father was and what her sire had planned. Or most of the plan anyway. Probably. Well, it was more likely than not. And that would be a pity because it was unlikely that the gentleman before her would smile at her this way once he knew who she was. And she discovered that she did want him to keep smiling at her like this. For as long as he was willing.
Then, an image of Francis and the way he had looked at her last Christmastide when he had kissed her beneath the mistletoe popped into Charlotte’s mind and she came back to herself quickly. Yes, she had planned to flirt and dance and see if her feelings for Francis were truly as deep as she believed. However, she hadn’t planned to do so on her very first night. Nor had she planned to do any of that with this man. At least not really, no matter that the thought had crossed her mind a time or two. She was only human, after all, not to mention extremely confused.
Instead of saying any of that, however, she simply tilted her chin higher and hoped for the best. “I am Lady Charlotte Cleary, the daughter of the Marquess of Waverly.” Except that she said all of that in a bit of a rush, and she was certain the words had come out all garbled. So certain that she winced and clamped her lips shut, beyond embarrassed.
However instead of running in the opposite direction, Lord Snowly’s eyes went wide and while the smile on his lips faded a bit, it never disappeared completely, much to her surprise. If anything, he now appeared more puzzled than anything. “You? You are Lady Charlotte?”
“I am.” She drew in a breath and held it, hoping he would not berate her for what must look like a dreadful coincidence that was actually wasn’t.
The earl looked at her askance. “And you are here because?” He allowed the rest of the sentence to trail off.
Charlotte knew she had two choices. She could lie to this man or she could be honest with him – about everything. Neither choice was particularly appealing. However, perhaps there was a third choice. Perhaps she could tell him most of the truth and leave out the worst parts, at least for the moment.
For it had occurred to her as she had dressed for the evening that she knew nothing of Lord Snowly and while she sought to warn him, perhaps he already knew the sort of man her father was. Perhaps he wouldn’t mind handing out the Springford fortune to a man like her father and her warning him would actually do more harm than good. Perhaps he would not mind bedding his uncle’s bride and getting her with child.
Such a thing seemed unlikely, Charlotte had admitted to herself, but it was possible. So she had thought to use a bit of caution when she first approached the earl and took the time to get to know him first before she gave him her warning. Then she had reconsidered and decided she was being ridiculous, that full honesty was the best policy.
Now? Looking up into this man’s eyes, she was beginning to reconsider her options yet again. Because the reality of this man was far different than he had been in her imagination.
“I am here because my father forced me to come,” Charlotte finally replied, releasing the breath she had been holding. “Given who you are, something I did not know when you first approached me I assure you, you likely know of the arrangement that my father is attempting to make between him and your uncle. I will assume you also know their expected role for you in this plan.”
“I do.” The earl’s expression was guarded now.
She cleared her throat, knowing that she had to make a choice regarding how much to reveal. It was now or never.
“My father’s plan was for me to come here to seduce you, to convince you that what they had in mind was not so terrible after all. I was told to succeed or else, no matter what I had to do to convince you.” She paused to allow that bit of information to sink in for a moment.
Charlotte thought the man might bid her a good night then, thinking her too forward or possibly a candidate for Bedlam. Another gentleman might have, she supposed, but not Lord Snowly. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest and studied her for a long moment with those gorgeous eyes of his. She could feel his heated gaze sweep her body from her head to her toes and then back again. Calculating. Assessing. Admiring?
“And why do I have the feeling you are not the sort of lady who does as she is told.” His voice was low and rough, and it sent shivers up her spine, though she did not know if that was good or bad.
“Because I am not.” Best he learn that from the first, Charlotte decided. “What I truly came here to do was warn you about my father’s plan and inform you that I knew nothing about his decision to approach your uncle about marrying me.” She closed her eyes. “Or their plan for you to take your uncle’s place in the marriage bed. Our marriage bed, I should say.”
In for a penny then in for a pound as her friend Pearl was fond of saying.
If there was a more embarrassing and mortifying conversation to be had, Charlotte could not imagine it. However, though she had only met this man, she had the feeling that Snowly was, for the most part, a good sort. She neither could not nor would not allow him to believe that she was a willing party to such madness. She had come here to warn him – which, very well, she had yet to do – but she had also come here, at least in part, to make certain the earl understood what sort of man his uncle was. Not to mention what sort of scoundrel her father was. Which she had done. She just hadn’t told him the rest, about her father’s threats. That was partly because she wasn’t certain she believed those threats herself so she didn’t know why this man would either.
However, she kept silent more because once she confessed all to Lord Snowly she would have no more reason to speak with him or to be at this house party. Her duty done, she would not feel comfortable staying. Instead, she would likely be forced to retreat to wherever her mother was staying with Uncle Cris and the spend the next few days worrying over how her father would react when he learned she had once more thwarted his plans.
However if she didn’t reveal everything to Lord Snowly quite yet, then there was still reason to stay. There was still reason to speak with him, and she would still have time to figure out just how she felt about Francis and if the passion that had once flared between them was truly dead or if it could be rekindled. Or perhaps that same passion found with another gentleman.
Such as perhaps the gentleman before her, for he was so very handsome. Especially when he grinned at her, just as he was doing now.
“I take it your father tells you everything. Even in the case of delicate matters such as these?” The earl’s full and rather kissable-looking lips were quirked into a sort of smile.
“In my father’s world, nothing is delicate,” Charlotte offered as demurely as she could. “To him, I am a mere bargaining chip to be used at his whim. What I desire does not matter. All that matters is that he can continue to lead the lifestyle he chooses and at the moment, he does not have the funds to do so. He desires those finds above all things and my marriage to your uncle would be the most expedient way of obtaining them.”
The earl nodded in understanding, his fingers on his chin. “And, as you said, your wishes do not matter?”
“Not to my father.” Charlotte was not about to lie. At least not about this anyway.
“What about to your betrothed?” Snowly’s eyes almost seemed to stare directly into her soul.
“I have no betrothed.” Again, not really a lie.
“What of Lord Underhill? I was told there was an understanding.” Snowly was still smiling that odd sort of half smile, which did not make Charlotte feel any better.
“My father refuses to let us marry.” Once more, not a lie.
“There is always Gretna.” The earl cocked his head to the side as if to study her though he never lost that half-smile.
“It is…complicated.” Charlotte felt that was something of an understatement, but could offer nothing else quite as succinctly.
That, finally, made the earl smile widely once again. “Ah, complicated
is something I understand very well, my lady. In my experience, there are a good many things in life that are complicated. So am I to understand that you are currently free of formal attachments, shall we say?”
Charlotte nodded, though something in her heart twisted in pain as she did so. “For the moment, my lord.”
He took her hand in his. “Please. Call me Snowly. Or better yet, call me Noah. When you are speaking of intimacies such as we are, I think we have moved well beyond the formal stage, don’t you agree?”
She did, considering that if her father had his way, she and the earl would be sharing a bed sooner rather than later. Much sooner. “I would be honored, Noah. And please, call me Charlotte.”
This time, the earl’s smile reached his eyes and it was more than just friendly. His smile was downright wicked. And suddenly, she found herself wondering what it would be like to share a bed with this man in truth – something she had longed to do with Francis but never had.
“Charlotte.” Her name was like a caress on his lips. “I would like that very much.” Then he offered her his arm. “Would you care to dance? Given all that you have told me just now, I have a feeling that I would very much like to get to know you better. Especially since you have come all this way to warn me about your dastardly father and my equally dastardly uncle.”
“I would.” Though Charlotte smiled up at him, a part of her felt as if she was betraying Francis. Then again, wasn’t that part of her reason for being here? For doing things like dancing with the earl? To see if she truly cared for Francis as deeply as she thought?
“Splendid.” Then the earl led her onto the dance floor and she ceased to think about anything at all other than the man who was, quite literally, sweeping her off of her feet.
From a dimly lit corner of the ballroom, Francis watched unnoticed as Charlotte and Lord Snowly waltzed a bit closer than was absolutely necessary. It took every bit of his iron will not to march over there and simply yank the two apart, but he couldn’t do that. At least not yet. No matter how much he wanted to.
For when Francis had arrived at Havenhurst earlier that afternoon in a small cloud of dust, hot and exhausted from this travels, he had overheard some very interesting whispers from two maids who had passed by, never noticing him as he made his way to his assigned chambers. Instead, they were too busy gossiping. The maids were discussing the fact that Charlotte had arrived without her mother and while that did not concern Francis overmuch, what did concern him was the bit of news spreading like fire belowstairs.
It was rumored that Charlotte was, in fact, here to find a husband.
Just as Rayne had guessed.
Though Francis had known that was likely the reason why Charlotte was here, hearing the words from someone else’s lips was a powerful – not to mention painful – blow.
He hadn’t wanted Rayne to be right. He had wanted Charlotte to still be faithful to him, though as far as he knew, she had been. Not that they had truly made any promises to each other. They hadn’t. In fact, as of late, they had become very good about not promising each other anything at all. They simply talked about marriage and not much else, save for the night that she had offered herself to him and he had refused.
In retrospect, perhaps that had not been one of his better ideas.
After all, what man in his right mind would refuse the offer of a half-naked woman, especially one he said that he wished to marry?
Why had he? Francis no longer knew. At one time, even a year ago, he would have bedded Charlotte without hesitation. What had changed? When had he changed and become the sort of man to hesitate and question rather than take? That wasn’t the man he knew himself to be – or at least not the man he thought he was.
He supposed he had changed around the time that the dreams of the unknown woman had begun plaguing him. For it was then that Francis began to wonder if perhaps he should have looked into his past a bit more. Perhaps he should have made the journey to Cross Hill and found out exactly what sort of man he had been before, back when he had been William Denton and not Francis Deaver. Perhaps then he would know who Violet was and what she meant to him, if anything.
However, he hadn’t done any of that. Instead, he had allowed the doubts to take hold of him and yes, he had begun to drift away from Charlotte, terrified of marrying her on the off chance that he already had a wife somewhere that he couldn’t remember. Which really, he supposed, was nothing more than an excuse. And a rather bad one at that, if one thought about it logically.
Marriage involved paperwork. Usually lots of it and thus far, though Nick’s men had been unable to locate Violet, they had also been unable to find a single shred of proof that Francis had a wife either. Or, rather, that William Denton had a wife. Therefore, it was highly unlikely that Francis, whatever his name had been at the time, had a wife.
So why was he hesitating when it came to marrying Charlotte – the one thing he claimed he had wanted for a year now? For that question, he had no answer. However, Francis did know that he wanted her back for, on the ride to the house party, he had also come to the conclusion that Frost was correct when the other man said Francis might be losing her. In truth, he might have already lost her. Because he was a fool.
While the issue of marriage was still a bit murky in Francis’ mind, the one thing that was not was his desire for Charlotte. He wanted her. He wanted her beneath him, in his bed, and he would have her there. Even if, yes, he did have to marry her to get her there. He just might have to win her back first before any of that could happen.
Which might prove a bit more difficult than he had anticipated, given the way she was laughing at whatever Snowly had just said. Blast the man, anyway! Why did he have to be a wealthy earl? And a handsome, wealthy earl at that?
As the waltz ended, Snowly escorted Charlotte off the dance floor and toward the refreshment table, forcing Francis to sink deeper back into his shadowy corner where someone had stacked up a large number of potted plants, the perfect place to hide himself for a bit longer. He didn’t want anyone to know he was here just yet, though there had been at least ten people witness him enter the ballroom. However he hadn’t known them and he doubted they recognized him, as he had made sure to keep his eyes downcast. Nothing made him stand out quite as much as his eyes. His hair could be overlooked, but not his eyes.
Except that the couple detoured a bit on their way to the refreshments, making it necessary for Francis to skulk along the wall as best he could without being obvious. He probably looked a fool. However, no one said anything to him, so he continued his painfully slow and almost erratic journey along the far side of the ballroom, hoping for all the world no one noticed him and cried out “idiot” at the top of their lungs – for that was precisely what he felt like just then. A lovesick, foolish idiot playing schoolroom games.
As Charlotte and the earl continued to move toward a groaning table piled high with decadent teacakes and overly sweet lemonade, Francis continued to slink along the shadowy ballroom wall. He wasn’t very skilled at this spying thing, at least not like most of his friends were, especially men like Lord Hunt who had lived their lives in the spy game. Then again, Francis had never been trained as a spy. At least he didn’t think he had. No, he likely hadn’t for, like the languages, he suspected those skills would have returned to him by now had he ever possessed them.
“Looking for someone, Lord Underhill? Or have you found what, or should I say whom, you are looking for?”
Francis turned, not really surprised to see Lady Priscilla, the duke’s sister, standing next to him and looking rather smug.
He knew very little about her except what was reported in the gossip rags. Not much of that was very favorable, unfortunately. However, according to his friends, Lady Priscilla was extremely intelligent and far too canny for her own good – making her a poor choice of a wife for most gentlemen of the ton, at least those who cared more about what others thought than whether or not they were happy with their choice of a bride. Those s
orts wanted empty-headed women to decorate their arm and fill their nursery, always meek and compliant without question. According to the Bloody Duke, Lady Priscilla Trew was not any of those things.
But she was beautiful, especially in her glittering golden gown. No one, not even Francis, could deny that.
“Lady Priscilla. A pleasure.” He offered her a bow of deference. After all, with their parents long deceased and the duke’s previous wife passed away as well, this woman was officially his hostess for the house party.
The woman’s eyes flicked to where Snowly and Charlotte were laughing again, each holding cups of lemonade and seemingly oblivious to everything and everyone else around them. “Don’t think I am unaware of why you are here, Lord Underhill. News travels fast in our world.”
“I would never think any such thing,” he replied smoothly. “You are far too clever a woman for that, as we all know.”
“Rogue.” Her lips twitched with silent laughter and something that might have been humor sparkled in her eyes. “Still, I wanted you to know I am not unaware of your plight. In some respects, I might even dare say that I share it.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, noting the way that the woman’s eyes strayed to the earl more than to Charlotte. “Am I to suppose you might be willing to assist me?” Though he was no spy, something in Francis’ gut told him this woman might be on his side.
“I might be,” Lady Priscilla confirmed, something dark and fiery flaring in her eyes for a brief moment. “You are not the only one to have been foolish recently.”
Francis had no doubt she was referring to the earl. “I want my betrothed back, my lady. Nothing more.”
“She is not your betrothed.” Lady Priscilla inclined her head in Charlotte’s general direction.
“She should be.” Of that, Francis had no doubt whatsoever.
Lady Priscilla seemed to think that over, her eyes calculating as she took in the spectacle Charlotte and Snowly were making of themselves. “I understand,” she finally replied.
A Lady to Desire Page 7
