“Do not stop,” Charlotte whispered again as she kissed the corner of his mouth before moving on to his chin and then further down, her lips seeking out the warm, bare expanse of chest revealed by his undone shirt. That had been an accident, the result of some spilled lemonade on his evening shirt. Francis had been on his way to his room to change, so anxious to be out of the soaked clothing that he had removed his cravat and undone his shirt, when he saw Charlotte enter the library alone. After that, the damp shirt was the last thing on his mind.
“Then stop thinking,” he whispered back as he nibbled at her ear, careful not to muss her hair too much or dislodge her earbobs. The last thing either of them wanted was for her to leave the library looking as if she had just been thoroughly kissed – even though she had been.
Francis captured Charlotte’s lips again, this time his tongue seeking entrance to her lush mouth. She opened to him the moment he ran his tongue along the seam of her lips, all but begging for entrance. She responded just as she had in the garden and Francis had visions of her coming apart in his arms once more. This time, however, he would not stop himself or hold back. If he wanted her – and he did – he would claim her. Then they could have a long engagement until he sorted out this whole mess with the dream woman. Surely she could wait a few more months for she had waited this long.
Except that he was wrong, for suddenly, Charlotte stiffened in his embrace and pulled away from him. Her eyes were full of pain now rather than passion and she twisted her hands in front of her worriedly.
“I cannot, Francis. I am sorry.” She bit her lip and he wanted nothing more than to taste her again, to kiss where her teeth marred the soft flesh of her lips. However, he felt that he if did, that might earn him another slap. She was a rather high-strung woman, after all.
“But we both want this, pet,” he countered, clenching his hands to stop from reaching for her.
She swallowed hard, regret crossing her features. “That may be true but this gets me no closer to sorting out what I desire.” Charlotte paused. “And whom I wish to wed.”
“Would kissing Lord Snowly the same way as you just kissed me provide the answers you need?” Francis snapped, angry now though whether at himself or at her he could not be certain.
“Perhaps.” She notched her chin higher in that annoying way she had. Or perhaps it was a charming way. He was so angry just then he could not be certain. “Or perhaps not. We cannot do this again, Francis. Not yet. Not after this morning.”
“Because I have suddenly become distasteful to you?” Oh, how he was ready to simply throw her over his shoulder and abscond with her. If only he could.
“Because when you kiss me, I cannot think!” Charlotte clenched her jaw tightly. It was subtle but Francis noticed, just as he noticed everything about her. She only did that when she lied to him or withheld something. He did not think she was lying now, so there was something she was not telling him. Something important. “And I need to think. I need to make this decision on my own.”
Francis rather disagreed with that assessment, but he did not say so. “The decision between Snowly or me.”
“Yes,” she snapped irritably. “Or some other man.”
Francis snorted in disbelief. “Come now, Charlotte. I think we both know there will be no other man. It is either Lord Snowly or myself. You have made your preferences clear, despite your flirting with other gentlemen this evening.” Which, in Francis’ mind begged the question of why Snowly when there were other, less complicated gentlemen present. The earl was something of a rogue and most certainly a libertine. Until a month ago, he’d kept a mistress both at his country home and in a London love nest. He drank and gambled, perhaps a bit more than was wise. He was hardly the sort of gentleman fit for a lady like Charlotte. Which gave Francis pause.
Perhaps that was precisely why she was attracted to him. The earl was suave and sophisticated. He had impeccable manners and an easy charm that won him friends easily. He was also physically fit and extremely active, or had been until his run-in with the pall mall mallet earlier in the day. In short, he was many things that Francis was not, or at least what Francis had become over the last year. Snowly still was the man Francis had been when he first returned to London. And Francis also had a feeling that if Charlotte expressed a wish to marry Snowly tonight, even if it meant running away to Gretna Green, the man would not hesitate. Again, unlike Francis.
“It is still my choice to make,” she said quietly, her eyes still defiant. There would be no more winning her over tonight. Likely not even if he was the one to strip himself naked.
“Then bloody well make it, then,” Francis swore, which seemed to shock her a little, but not truly offend. “For I find that despite my earlier claims, I grow weary of this dance, pet. Far too weary for my own good.”
With those words, Francis turned and left, stalking out of the library and leaving Charlotte gaping after him in silence. And for once, he did not care.
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Twelve
Town Tattler
Apparently, country house parties are far more dangerous than I remember them. I am told that just yesterday, Lord Snowly had a very unfortunate run-in with a pall mall mallet wielded by one Miss Susan Worth, a distant relation of Viscount Marshfield. However, the earl is quite nearly back to his old self and is recovering splendidly – especially with the fawning attentions of several young ladies at the party. Including one Lady Charlotte Cleary.
Was she not all but engaged to Lord Francis Deaver, you ask? Why, yes! She was! However as I have said before, Lady Charlotte is something of a fickle creature. She enjoys toying with various gentlemen, I fear. Let us hope she soon settles on one gentleman in particular and opens the marriage mart for other, more circumspect young ladies. After all, it is just not the done thing to keep two gentlemen of such eligibility dangling.
And how do I know all of this, you might ask? Well, dear readers, news travels exceedingly fast these days! Especially when men like Lord Buxton – rogue that he is – passes through London rather frequently as he dashes from house party to house party by way of the most obscure little country villages. Now there is a man with a story to tell, I am certain. I also fully expect that we will all hear it in good time.
-Lady A
Francis was still angry as he rode his horse, Mercury, hard across the Havenhurst estate fields. He was angry with Charlotte for being so bloody fixated upon marriage. He was also angry with her for being able to tempt him into madness so easily. Furthermore, he was angry with her because she was garnering something of a reputation as an unrepentant flirt, particularly if that morning’s edition of the Town Tattler was anything to judge by.
He was also angry with himself for any number of things, ranging from his lack of memory to his rationale for fighting against what was becoming more and more apparent were his natural inclinations where Charlotte was concerned. He should have just bedded her already and damn the consequences, especially if his aching cock this morning was any indication of what to expect until she made her decision.
Additionally, Francis was also angry with Cilla for organizing this mad party which was bordering on the scandalous, angry with the Bloody Duke for lack of news regarding the identity and location of this Violet Denton woman, and most of all, angry with Lord Snowly for simply being himself – a man that Charlotte was attracted to without question and who was probably free to marry her immediately.
For Charlotte was attracted to the earl, and there was no getting around that fact. She had been all but sitting in his lap that morning at breakfast, fluttering her eyelashes at him as if she had not just kissed Francis like a true wanton the night before. That had irritated Francis more than he already was – for he had awoken in a rather wretched mood – and he had skipped the breakfast room in favor of a good, hard ride across Havenhurst’s southern-most fields. They also happened to be the farthest away from the manor house. And Charlotte’s simpering performance in front of a
man who would be more likely to bed her and then toss her over as not.
Francis might be a rogue – something he was coming to suspect more and more lately – but he was no cad. Not like Snowly.
Coming to the edge of the field he had been racing across, Francis pulled Mercury up slowly, knowing full well the temperamental stallion would likely charge directly into the thick brush that marked the field’s southern edge as not. On the other side of the small tree line lay the stream where the gentlemen had been fishing the day before. Reports were that the stream was running high and fast this morning, and Francis had no wish to take the chance that Mercury might look upon the stream as a challenge and decide to jump it, Francis still on his back.
If Francis survived riding through the small patch of woods to reach the stream, of course. His horse did have something of a mind of his own, after all.
As he drew up, Francis noticed another man leading his own mount along a path that came from the general direction of the stream. He was not the only one who needed a breather from the house party, it seemed.
“Good morning!” the other man cried and Francis was surprised to see it was Dr. Nathaniel Longford, the same physician who had been pulled away from his fishing exploits the day before to treat Snowly. He had thought the doctor was otherwise occupied that morning, or so the rumors floating out of the breakfast room had indicated.
“Dr. Longford. A pleasure.” Francis drew up beside the other man as he mounted his own horse and settled into the saddle before securing his fishing gear. So no medical emergency then, but rather a longing to fish instead. He could understand that motivation well. “Coming back for another go at the fish?”
“Indeed,” Longford laughed heartily. “I had a big one on the line yesterday. Was reeling it in when I was called away.” He gave another good-natured chuckle. “Such is the life of a physician, though.”
Francis had to admit that he did not know the doctor very well, though he had heard nothing terrible about the man either. After all, Longford had only just returned to London after what amounted to a self-imposed exile in Suffolk with his old friend, Lord Beau McCandless, the Marquess of Kingsford, at Grayfield, the remote estate of the so-called “cursed marquess” where Longford and McCandless had both grown up. However, from what Francis could discern, the physician seemed like a good sort and the man had been instrumental in convincing the notoriously reclusive marquess to not only take a wife but return to Society as well. Given what Francis knew of McCandless, that was something of a miracle in and of itself.
“It seems the earl is much recovered this morning,” Francis offered. “I saw him breaking his fast this morning and he appeared the picture of health.” Healthy enough to ravish Charlotte if the man had a mind to do so. The very thought almost made Francis growl in anger, but he managed to control his baser instincts. He was not an animal, after all. Nor did Longford need to know about the ongoing battle between the two men for Charlotte’s hand.
The physician inclined his head. “Let us be thankful Miss Worth only struck his knees. Those heal. A blow to the head might have been fatal.”
Francis didn’t think he would have minded that nearly as much as this man likely would have. “A lucky thing, indeed,” he replied instead. “Are the fish biting?” he asked, changing the subject for he didn’t wish to discuss Snowly any longer.
Longford shook his head. “Afraid not. Yesterday was better. The current is too swift today what with that rain overnight. Nasty storms and I expect we are in for more tonight.” He squinted at the sky. “The sun is misleading I fear. Saw it often back in Suffolk.”
Had it rained last night? Lud, Francis hadn’t even been aware, though he should have been given the way his bad leg throbbed this morning – so much so that he had been considering using his cane today. Instead, he had been too busy thinking about all of the ways he would like to seduce Charlotte, not to mention dreaming of the mystery woman again. For as the clock arms had crept toward dawn, the faceless female had appeared again to haunt his sleep. Christ above, he wished he knew who she was. That would make this entire mess with Charlotte so much easier!
“Perhaps tomorrow, then,” Francis replied without really thinking.
“Forgive me for asking, Lord Underhill, but are you well?” There was true concern on the physician’s face. “For I know you are not a stupid man, and if the current is too swift today, rain tonight will not make it any better tomorrow.”
Francis winced. His mind had been wandering throughout the conversation and he had only heard a portion of what Dr. Longford had said. “In truth, Doctor? No, I am not well.” Francis slid off Mercury and began to walk his horse away from the direction of the stream, needing to feel the strong spring sun beating down on him. He was tired. He hadn’t slept in more nights than he could count and right now, the heat of the sun was the only thing keeping him from curling up right here in the field and taking a good, long nap. “I…do not sleep. I dream. Of a woman I do not know. It is infuriating and confusing.” He paused. “It is also concerning on many levels.”
Dr. Longford nodded as he slid back off his own mount as well, obviously sensing that Francis wished to talk. “I know something of your case, my lord. Dr. Hastings has spoken with me about it since both my brother and I studied diseases of the mind a bit in Italy a few years ago.”
Francis had just about forgotten that Longford had a half-brother, a Dr. Michael Longford, who had been born in Italy to the cast-out daughter of an Italian aristocrat and Nathaniel Longford’s father. Few people in England had even seen that Dr. Longford, who was more mysterious and shadowy than even Lord Kingsford had been – which was truly saying something.
“Then do you have any suggestions that might help me?” Francis asked as he led his horse back toward the opposite edge of the clearing as he attempted to calm the fidgety stallion. “For I confess that I am at a loss.”
“Not really,” Longford admitted ruefully. “The mind is a peculiar thing and I agree with Dr. Hastings. Given how much time has passed, it is not likely that you will ever recover your memory, at least not completely. The blow you suffered was fairly severe from what I can tell.” Instinctively, Francis’ hand went to the dinged-in area of his skull just above his right ear. “However, given my studies, I do believe that the personality you have now is likely the one you had before. When you were William Denton.”
“How can you be certain?” For Francis was not.
“I can’t be,” Longford said as he walked his horse, a gelding that was beginning to canter nervously in Mercury’s more imposing presence. “However I do know that men rarely change who they are at heart. Back in Italy, a study was conducted on a thief who lost his memory after being beaten by a village mob for stealing a chicken. After the beating, the man no longer knew who he had once been, but he eventually went back to stealing, indicating that while his memory was gone, the essence of who and what he was remained intact.”
Francis mulled this over for a minute. “So you are saying that my natural inclinations now are likely the same as those that I had before.”
“Probably.” The physician smiled as he remounted his horse. “However I know of a man, a good man, who lost his memory and turned into the most wretched human being ever before he took his own life in a fit of madness. The brain is a funny thing, Lord Underhill, and I cannot even pretend to know that we, as a society, understand more than even a tiny percent of what it is capable of.” He paused. “As for the woman? You knew her, probably well if I had to hazard a guess. Though who she is? I’ve no idea.”
“Nor do I.” Francis sighed wearily as he hoisted himself up and onto Mercury’s back. “And I understand what you are saying, as well. Thank you, doctor.” Francis nodded in the direction they had just come from. “And I hope that the expected rains do not arrive and the fishing is more favorable on the ‘morrow.”
“You and me both,” the man laughed before he started off back toward Havenhurst on his horse, leaving Fra
ncis alone in the clearing.
Francis had hoped speaking with Dr. Longford would clear his mind but it had done nothing of the sort. If anything, the conversation had muddled his mind even more.
Settling himself on Mercury more firmly, Francis was just about to begin his own journey back to the manor house when there, as if merely thinking about her could make her appear, was Charlotte – and she was looking just as tempting to him as she ever had.
Unfortunately right behind her was Lord Snowly – looking just as smug as he always did. Particularly when it came to Charlotte.
Well, best get the pleasantries – or should he say the un-pleasantries – over with, he decided. Before he was again tempted to land a good right hook to the earl’s jaw at any rate.
“Lady Charlotte. Lord Snowly,” Francis called out as he cantered over to the other riders. “How fare you this morning?” As greetings went, it was not a very genuine one, but it was all he could manage just then.
“We are well, thank you, my lord.” Charlotte sounded a bit frosty, but then, considering how they had parted last evening, he could not blame her. He feared they were both growing weary of this perpetual dance between them.
“Underhill.” Snowly tipped his hat in Francis’ general direction. “You are up and about early, are you not?”
Francis shrugged, not wishing to tell this man anything he did not have to beyond the polite. “I am a light sleeper, I’m afraid, and the storms last night kept me awake longer than normal.” A complete lie, but Snowly did not need to know that. He also could have sworn that he heard Charlotte snort quietly in derision. Blast the infernal chit anyway!
A Lady to Desire Page 14
