by Susanne Lord
“What do you mean, ‘usually’?”
“I am two and twenty and I know when to carry an umbrella and wear my shawl, so your cautions cast a pall on my outings, which I enjoyed greatly until you became the resident Cassandra. And I know why you are here and why you think all of us live lives of meaningless dissipation, but you do not know all.”
She caught her breath and unclenched the grip she had taken upon his hand. “You cannot pretend to like me. I just wonder—I have always wondered what I have done to offend you.”
His arm tightened and his lips were right back to hovering over her ear. “Wait…”
More silence. Honestly! She would not stand here and let him trample her heart.
She ripped herself from his arms. “It is fine. I hardly require every man to like me, Mr. Repton. Be assured I am aware of your feelings and you will not have to suffer my attentions anymore.”
She whirled to leave but a steel hand gripped her arm.
“God! Blast it! Now what have I done?” he growled, his blue eyes wintry in the moonlight. “I thought we were getting on. I wouldn’t mind being your friend, as long as you understand that’s where it ends.”
“Wouldn’t mind? I have more friends than I can count, I hardly need—”
He yanked her hard against him. “Then what do you want?”
“I…I will not argue—”
His hands gripped her waist. “What do you want, Charlotte?” He growled. “What do you want me to do?”
Her words died in the face of his rising frustration.
What did she want? What had she ever wanted but him? She wanted him still. From the first sight, the first instant. Every day, every hour, she wanted him. In a deep, tender, precious place she could not touch with reason. And all he did was sneer and push her way.
“Why didn’t you ignore me as you normally do?” she asked hollowly. “Why did you talk to me at all tonight?”
He said nothing. He didn’t move. Something furious and wild thundered through her breast. “You don’t belong here!” Her fist clenched, wanting to slap that frozen look off his face. “Say something!” She launched against him, gripping him about his hard neck. “Say anything!”
But his stubborn lips were sealed, and before she could stop herself, she mashed her mouth against them.
Instantly, she regretted it. Their chins knocked, their teeth scraped, and a grunt of surprise sounded from his throat.
Oh God, what was she doing? She didn’t know how to give a kiss and he certainly didn’t want hers. His hands dropped off her and she sobbed sharply against his mouth. Mortified, she crumpled against his neck.
Oh God, oh God, how will I face him?
A hard hand seized her neck and forced her head up. Blue eyes blazed into hers. “Damn it all!”
Warm lips clamped to hers expertly. Shocked, she sank to her heels but his arm tightened and locked her against the hard wall of his body. His deep groan shook her—but it was a sound of surrender.
Like a lull in a storm, his lips softened and molded to hers, and he was kissing her slowly, thoroughly, as if memorizing the terrain of her mouth. Dazzled, she clung to him, her feet unsteady on the ground but trusting he would not drop her.
My first kiss…this is important…I must remember…
Beneath her hands, his hard shoulders bunched and flexed. His tongue parted her lips and sank deeper, all of him sank deeper, and she expected to feel the cool grass beneath her with her weight set so far back, but the pull of the earth was denied by his arms. A rough, strong tongue dragged across the roof of her mouth, sending shuddering vibrations of pleasure between her legs.
Dear God…him. Please, he’s the one.
Every nerve in her body sang. She hooked her arms around his neck and kissed him back with all the yearning and hope her lips could convey. She couldn’t feel him enough, couldn’t get close enough.
This, this, was passion. This was love.
This was the only test that mattered.
“Will,” she breathed.
He growled in answer. His teeth raked her neck, a hot tongue licked her and left her wet where her pulse drummed.
Please stay. It’s you.
He couldn’t have heard her plea, but in an instant his mouth lifted and she was hauled upright, her feet planted rudely on the ground.
“No,” she gasped. She moved to bring him back but her lips slid over the rough grain of whiskers on his cheek. He put her firmly away and she swayed on the tilting earth.
“Damn it.” A handkerchief was fumbled from his pocket and dragged over his mouth—a flash of snowy white in the dark.
Hope and fear and desire were suspended in a cold cloud about her.
He lifted his head and his eyes were blacker than the night could ever paint them. “I can’t pass your bloody…tests.”
Her heart cramped in her chest, her mind reeling—
“You want me to talk and entertain and be a messenger?” The handkerchief shook in his fist. He stalked her, loomed over her, taller and broader than she had ever thought him to be. “I don’t want to talk. I don’t want your smiles and your questions and your…your kiss— Christ, I don’t care what you do, they’re waiting so leave me alone!”
His growled words were a heated stream on her face and she couldn’t move, paralyzed by this anger. No one had ever—no, they had yelled and cursed her after Wally’s trial. But those people…those people hated her. She blinked. Hot tears traveled down her cheeks.
Why…? She never cried, she was happy—
His handkerchief was pressed to her cheek so fast, she jumped.
“I’m sorry.” His voice was tight. “You can’t—Christ, I’m sorry.” His face was hard as stone, intent on drying her eyes, and she realized he used his fingers rather than the handkerchief now. “It’s my fault. It was a mistake.”
“A mistake,” she whispered, searching his face, but he turned sharply and stuffed the linen back in his pocket.
He raked a hand through his hair. “We should return.”
She nodded, but he was not looking at her. He walked away, the sight of his back heartbreaking. And utterly familiar.
All was exactly as before. No hope. No words. No friendship.
No. Not like before. Worse.
The man had kept his distance from the first moment. And with every silence, every slight, he’d shown her he wanted no part of her life.
It was time she believed him.
Seven
On the third Wednesday of the month, Lady Henrietta Abernathy invited a select group of two dozen like-minded ladies to her parlor to discuss the serious topics of the day. As the ladies were all of the upper circles, the serious topics of the day necessarily encompassed fashion, home management, and the myriad issues wrought by ill-trained servants.
While Wally jokingly referred to Charlotte’s monthly foray to Lady Abernathy’s salon as her “bluestocking” night, the ladies of the club balked at the moniker. Well-bred ladies rejected such narrow classifications and, as many of them were yet unmarried, rumors of intellectualism could be socially disastrous.
Still, Charlotte never missed a gathering, though the topics weren’t always to her taste. Tonight’s program was the medicinal use of herbs in tinctures and poultices by the Apothecaries Society. A not unpromising topic of discussion, she supposed, as she wended her way to a seat.
Nothing revived like education. And she was sure to learn something, as heretofore she had been largely ignorant, or rather, uninterested in such things. Yes. Tinctures and poultices were sure to be fascinating. This was her life, her real life, as it was before Will Repton.
She was happy then, and would be happy again. Once she no longer felt that peculiar pain in her chest whenever she remembered how he’d pushed her away after kissing her. Or when he told her he did not want her questions, or to leave him alone—
Yes. She was sure the pain was a little less acute than it had been yesterday.
And life was
not so bleak as all that. She and Hugh had made great strides the last few days, and she no longer resisted the idea of knowing him better at the house party. There were fewer obstacles between them now that she fully accepted the reality of her circumstances.
And now that she acknowledged Mr. Repton could never love a woman like her.
Charlotte was settling her skirts on one of the few empty seats in Henrietta’s grand salon when Henrietta herself came bustling over to her.
“Charlotte, I do so adore you.” The auburn-haired lady was beaming and holding out her beringed hands as she navigated the seated ladies about her.
Charlotte stood to receive a kiss upon her cheek from her hostess. “Well, I adore you, too, Henrietta. What have I done to deserve this special welcome?”
“Do not be coy, dear. You know very well what you have done.” Henrietta leaned conspiratorially toward her. “Let us keep it dark. We’ll surprise them all. Ah, but once the ladies see how handsome your dashing friend is, I pray they do not all swoon from their seats.”
Henrietta threw her hands up about her ears as if to make herself slimmer, and tottled carefully back to the front of the room between the chairs.
My dashing friend? Charlotte lowered slowly back to her seat.
At the front of the room, Henrietta clapped her hands for attention. “Ladies, ladies! There has been a change in program. I am delighted to tell you we have a special guest presenter.”
A happy buzz of curiosity swept the room and Henrietta signaled for quiet. “Our guest has traveled thousands of miles by land, sea, and water buffalo to the deepest realms of Asia. And if you were in attendance at our March meeting, we spoke of this man’s great adventure featured in the Westminster Review.”
Oh no.
The room erupted with an excited chorus of gasps.
No, please. She looked through the open door leading to the hall and her heart lurched. Mr. Repton stood in the foyer, watching her. She jerked her head back around.
“He is here to speak of his expedition into that exotic frontier,” Henrietta said. “Please welcome Mr. William Repton.”
The ladies clapped and he entered, carrying a number of small boards with maps and illustrations. As he faced the audience, the ladies sat up straight.
What was he doing here? They’d not spoken since the night they kissed, nearly two weeks ago. She had not even seen him since Ben, Lucy, and the children had traveled to Windmere for Lucy’s confinement.
She had been preparing to see him only sparingly at Windmere at the end of the month, and never again after. Ben was not to return to London for months after the baby arrived, and by then, Will would have sailed.
And she would forget him. She had to.
“Thank you, Lady Abernathy.” Mr. Repton bowed to the room. “Ladies.”
Charlotte slumped in her seat as far as her tight corselet allowed. Even in the back of the room, his blue eyes could pierce her heart.
“Thank you for allowing me to speak this evening. I was made aware of your monthly meeting through your friend, Miss Charlotte Baker.”
Oh good God.
Several ladies cast speculative glances her way, and she lowered her lids when his eyes sought hers across the room.
Receiving no encouragement, he cleared his throat and continued. “As she proves, a curiosity of the world is not the exclusive domain of men. I hope you will find my experiences with the Chinese enlightening and enjoyable.”
He placed his display on the easel, flashed a nervous smile, and clasped his hands together. “Well. Let’s begin…”
Against her better judgment, she tilted her head to see the map he’d placed on the easel, and for the next hour, Mr. Repton kept her friends riveted and laughing as he spoke of his journey through Asia. He spoke of the colorful people and the hardships on the ship and on the trail in search of plants.
He did not speak of his injury. Nor did he speak of what drove him to spend every day preparing for his return, or why he was always so tired. And he certainly did not explain why he was here unless…
Was this an apology? If it was, did he not understand this was no way to make amends?
At the end, after all the questions, the ladies surged forward to meet him. Charlotte remained in her seat to chat with friends. She must appear undisturbed by the course of the evening. All knew she’d been encouraging Viscount Spencer for weeks now. Did they suspect a transfer of affection to Mr. Repton?
Oh no…that would not do. She still needed to secure a nobleman’s affection, and ultimately, his proposal.
She was well-liked. Would anyone dare to accuse her of caprice? Surely not without confirmation.
She would give them none.
Kissing her friends farewell, she made her way to the hall and requested her carriage. She would not acknowledge Mr. Repton’s participation in tonight’s assembly beyond her polite applause, and there would not be a whiff of impropriety surrounding them.
Quickly, she drew her shawl about her shoulders. How odd would it appear to wait outside on the pavement?
“Miss Baker?” Mr. Repton’s voice sounded from behind her.
Oh, bother it! She turned but did not look at him. “Good evening, Mr. Repton.”
“You’re leaving?”
“Yes, my carriage has been called. Good night.” The footman opened the door and she swept out, cringing at the dual disasters of her carriage being nowhere in sight and the sound of Mr. Repton following her out.
“May I wait with you?” He stepped close and she shied from that familiar scent of bay rum and clove. Her quick retreat seemed to embarrass him. “I thought…I’ve not seen you. I hoped we might speak. I could see you home.”
See me home? “That is kind but unnecessary.”
He frowned at her refusal but didn’t press.
She should not be rude, though her heart was cramping. And drat him, she had missed him so. “I…I enjoyed your presentation.”
His eyes shot to hers. “Was there anything you wished to know? I thought you’d have questions.”
Tell me why you are returning. Why you do not sleep. Tell me what hurt you.
Tell me why you couldn’t love me.
She shook her head and stared at the street corner, wishing the carriage might materialize.
He cleared his throat and looked down the street as well. “All right. More importantly, how do you like my ensemble?” Mr. Repton straightened his jacket with a quick tug and stood with his hands upon his hips to be inspected.
She ran a cursory glance over him, afraid he would see the longing in her eyes. “I like it very well.”
“I asked Wallace what I should wear before such discerning ladies.” He stroked his waistcoat distractedly. “Jacob had recommended a sailor suit, but I didn’t have the right shoes.”
She could not even feign a smile. “There really is no need to wait—”
“I just…when we kissed—”
“I kissed you, Mr. Repton. And only caused greater discord between us—”
“No, I was—”
“Please, let’s not speak of it.” She took a deep breath. “That night was just another of my fanciful notions.”
He looked at her, confusion on his face. “Won’t you let me make amends? I thought coming here…” He bent his head to speak closer. “Tell me what I might do.”
Alarmed by his nearness, she stepped backward and he frowned. “You’re angry.”
“No.”
“You’re avoiding me.”
“No, I…I suppose you do not understand what your presence suggests to my friends, Mr. Repton?”
He looked blankly at her.
“I am in no position for others to think I am encouraging you.”
Comprehension dawned, but a rather mulish look came over his face. “I see. I didn’t think—”
“Your presentation was remarkable—but please do not extend yourself any further on my behalf.”
He frowned, then pulled out a small w
rapped package from his pocket and thrust it at her. “I brought you this.”
Stupefied, she stared at his neck. “Oh…I—” Emotion stole her words and she pressed her hand against her heart. The paper was not elegant at all but she adored his gift already.
“Your birthday is Saturday.”
She nodded, too moved to speak. Oh no…there was no falling out of love with Will Repton.
“It’s nothing all that dear. But you have that green dress…” He trailed off at her confused look and frowned, rubbing his jaw. “The striped one? You wear that jade bracelet with it.” He pressed the gift at her. “I thought—”
“I cannot accept,” she blurted. “I’m sorry. It would not be proper.”
He leveled his chin, gazing over her head, and slid the package back into his pocket. “I didn’t…sorry.”
Mr. Repton looked embarrassed and she…well, dash it all, she wanted his present.
“It is because we are not related,” she said. “Not that…well, surely no one could find fault with your showing me the gift.”
His eyes met hers. “No?”
“That is, if you cared to show me. But as we are both here…and you went to the kind effort of delivering it this evening…?”
“Right, I could show you.”
Her heart began to thrum, and she couldn’t stop the excited smile from stretching her lips as he stepped close to unwrap the gift between them at waist level.
This felt like their first secret. Like the most wonderful gift of her life.
Like friendship.
He crammed the paper into his coat pocket and handed her a leather jeweler’s box.
It was a jade necklace, far finer than her bracelet, with beads of many colors. White jade tinged with russet. Translucent celadon. Deepest jasper. She lifted the necklace higher to borrow light from the streetlamp. Each bead had been carved with astonishing detail and multiple layers, revealing a hidden world within. Gnarled pine boughs framed rushing waterfalls. Cranes winged over jagged mountain landscapes. A dragon and phoenix tumbled round each other on their small sphere for all eternity.
“Oh my,” she whispered. “It’s beautiful.”
“I found this in the markets in Canton.”
