Heart stopping passion. Pulse quickening desire. All consuming love. Did she not deserve those things? Not because she was a lady, but because she was a woman. A woman who wanted to feel a man’s hand run across her flesh. A woman who wanted the pressure of a man’s body on top of her own. A woman who wanted to know what it was like to desire and be desired in return.
“You met a man?” Dianna clapped both hands over her mouth and released an ear-splitting squeal. “Who? Where? Why? Oh, tell me everything!” Her breathless enthusiasm was not out of the ordinary.
Since they were children Dianna had always lived vicariously through Charlotte, having never possessed the temerity to speak up for herself, let alone kiss a stranger in a dark study. She was the epitome of a gently raised lady, always saying the right thing – which was often nothing at all – and never doing anything that would be considered untoward.
Sweeping her skirts to the side, she perched on the edge of a stone fountain that sat unused in the middle of the yard and clapped her hands together. “Everything,” she repeated firmly, her blue eyes sparkling. “At once.”
Charlotte sat beside her and began to absently swing her legs to and fro. “After my first dance at the ball I could not stand the stares and the whispers, so I left. The engagement announcement had just been printed the day before.”
“I remember.”
“And so it was all anyone was talking about. Or at least it seemed that way. I retreated to a study. It was dark, and I thought at first I was alone, but someone was already in the room. A male someone,” she said after a quick peek at the solarium doors to ensure no one was eavesdropping.
“This is quite scandalous,” Dianna decided. “Do go on. Did he see you?”
“He not only saw me, he accused me of tracking him down on purpose for the sake of ruining myself and trapping him into marriage!” Charlotte’s face grew warm as she recalled the way Gavin had stared at her, his gray eyes lingering on every inch of her exposed flesh. Wolf eyes, she thought now. Watchful and cunning and just a little wicked. “Apparently women do that quite often.”
Dianna released a quiet hum of agreement before she asked, “Well, who was he? A duke? An earl?”
“No.” Charlotte shook her head. “And no. He did not have a title at all, actually.”
“No title? Was he a servant? Oh Charlotte, you did not have a moment of passion with a servant, did you?”
Charlotte wondered if her cheeks were as red as they felt. “How do you know we had a moment of… of passion?”
“Please.” Dianna rolled her eyes. “It is written all over your face.”
“Well, he was not a servant. But we did have a moment of passion.” Charlotte grinned when Dianna shrieked yet again.
“Tell me his name right now!”
“Mr. Graystone. Mr. Gavin Graystone. What?” she asked when Dianna’s jaw dropped. “Why do you look like that? Have you heard of him?”
“I do not know how you haven’t heard of him.”
“I’ve been a bit preoccupied,” Charlotte reminded her.
“I suppose being forced into marriage against your will is as good excuse as any,” Dianna allowed. Standing gracefully, she began to saunter – Dianna never paced – back and forth in front of the fountain. “Last month I had tea at Lady Miranda’s house. Now, you know I never repeat gossip—”
“Never,” Charlotte said dryly.
“—but she spoke at quite some length about a certain Mr. Graystone. Apparently no one had heard of him up until six months ago, and then he was everywhere. He purchased the Shire House on Bleaker Street, you know.”
“The one facing the park?” Charlotte’s eyebrows rose.
“Precisely. And the one next to it as well. The word is he intends to combine them, which would give him one of the largest mansions in all of London.”
Charlotte could not quite contain her surprise. Who knew Gavin possessed such wealth? Why, it would have been difficult for a duke to undertake a renovation of such magnitude and expense, let alone a commoner. Although it certainly explained his initial suspicion of her. He thought she was after his money!
“No one knows exactly where he comes by his fortune. Ill means, I would assume.” Dianna’s lips pursed. She, like the rest of the ton, was naturally wary of anyone who worked for their money. Amidst the nobility it simply was not done, which meant the more wealth Gavin accrued, the more apparent he made it to everyone that he was not of their lineage, nor of their blood.
Charlotte did not agree with Dianna’s way of thinking, but she had always been very careful not to impress her radical ideas upon her friend. Dianna was always unfailingly polite to the lower class, but she did not believe them to be her equals as Charlotte did. Which was why Charlotte was shocked down to her very core when Dianna grabbed both her hands and pulled her to her feet.
“I’ve got it! Oh Charlotte, I know how to rescue you from the duke! It’s a perfect plan.”
Having schemed enough in her youth to know no plan was ever perfect, Charlotte narrowed her eyes and tried to withdraw her hands from Dianna’s grip, but her friend held fast. “This doesn’t have anything to do with Mr. Graystone, does it?”
“This has everything to do with him!” Dianna cried, nearly bouncing up and down with excitement. “He is your solution. Don’t you see?”
What Charlotte saw was more trouble than she needed. “No,” she said emphatically, shaking her head from side to side. “No, no—”
“If you ruin yourself with Mr. Graystone, the duke will have to withdraw his offer for marriage! Mr. Graystone will be forced to marry you instead, and his money will save your mother from financial disaster!”
“—no,” Charlotte finished weakly.
Oh dear.
Had Gavin known his future was being plotted out without his knowledge, he could have been infuriated. As it happened he was already quite angry, although it was for a different reason entirely.
“I have given you three months, Newmore. Your loan has come due,” he said, speaking through clenched teeth to a tall, heavyset man who sat opposite him behind an enormous mahogany desk that could have paid off the debt owed three times over. That was the crutch of the nobility, however: they would take the shirt off their back before they gave up their possessions, for heaven forbid anyone visiting their home guess they were in financial straights.
Lord Newmore straightened in his chair and slapped his hands on the desk. His gold signet ring caught the late afternoon sun flickering in through one of the windows, drawing Gavin’s eye. Newmore’s lip curled in disgust beneath his salt and pepper moustache.
“Don’t have one of these, do you boy?” he asked, holding up his hand. “Do you know why? Because you are not one of us,” he sneered when Gavin remained silent. “You might wear fancy clothes and buy fancy houses, but your blood is as tainted and impure as it was the day you were born. You think you can come in here and bully me? You are nothing more than an insolent mongrel scavenging for scraps. A half breed – MMPH!” The rest of Lord Newmore’s words came out gargled, for it was quite difficult to speak clearly when one had a hand wrapped around one’s throat.
Papers flew in the air as Gavin launched himself across the desk, knocking over a vase in the process. It shattered on the floor and Newmore’s eyes widened in horror.
“That w-was a Clifton!” he wheezed.
Gavin’s grip tightened. “Two days, Newmore,” he said, his tone deceptively calm. “Two days to send what is owed to me or I will come back here and I will break more than a vase. Are we clear?”
“C-crystal,” Newmore choked out.
“Excellent.” Gavin opened his hand, and the lord sagged in his chair, his face a rather alarming shade of purple above the crisp white collar of his cravat. Picking up his jacket and tossing it negligently over one shoulder, Gavin strolled out of the study without a backwards glance.
Shire House was only a few blocks away and as the skies were clear and the weather crisp, he w
aved his carriage on. He sank into deep thought as he walked, his head echoing with the things Newmore had said. The man may have been a pansy livered muckworm, but he was still right on all accounts.
No matter how much money Gavin made, he would always feel second class to those born above him on the social ladder. He could not escape his past. He wore it like a brand on his forehead, for despite his endless voice lessons and expensive carriages and tailored clothes it took only one whisper, one sideways glance, one smirk, and he felt as he had all those years go standing over his mother’s bed: worthless.
Cupping his jaw, he rubbed at the dark shadow of scruff he had not shaved since yesterday morning. Perhaps there was one thing that would gain him the respect of his peers. One thing he had once thought to avoid at all costs, but he was weary of feeling as though he did not belong, weary of the gossip and the stares, weary of lurking on the edges of the ton like a beggar, staring hungrily through the window at something he could see but never have.
What he needed was a wife, but not just any wife. She would have to be a lady from a well to do family. A lady the ton knew and admired. A lady that would make him the envy of every man. A lady with hair the color of fire and eyes that burned like the setting sun.
A lady just like Charlotte Vanderley.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“I feel like a peacock.” Jutting out her chin, Charlotte glared sullenly at her reflection in the gilt framed mirror above her dresser. For the past two hours she had been sitting in the same chair in her bedroom while Tabitha fixed her hair into an elaborate tower of curls that would compliment her fanciful Georgian gown, and her patience was finally wearing thin.
Surprisingly, it had been Dianna’s idea to attend the masquerade ball held yearly at the renowned Devonshire Estate. It was an illicit affair, filled with drinking and gambling and other acts of sin usually denied to women of their station, but for one night a year, as long as the faces of everyone in attendance remained suitably covered, the ton chose to look the other way.
“You look beautiful,” Dianna said from behind her. “Now hold still, this feather is not sticking like it should. Tabitha, what if we used hot wax to secure it?”
Charlotte instantly ducked her head to the side, no small feat given the current weight of her hair. “Don’t you dare,” she warned in an ominous tone. Obediently the maid set down the beeswax candle she had picked up from the dresser and resumed attempting to pin in the final white feather by less destructive means. Charlotte rolled her aching shoulders and sighed. “Remind me why we are doing this again?”
Dianna’s grin in the mirror was unmistakably mischievous. “Because your Mr. Graystone will be there, and it will be a splendid opportunity to woo him.”
“Firstly” – Charlotte held up one finger – “he is not my Mr. Graystone. Secondly, who said he will be there?”
“Lady Miranda.”
“Lady Miranda seems to know a great deal about Mr. Graystone.” Not that she cared. Of course not. After all, she hardly knew the man. They had only spoken for a few minutes… and shared the most passionate kiss of her life.
“Yes.” Dianna’s head bobbed up and down like a sparrow’s. “I do believe she has set her cap for him. Quite a few women have, it sees. He is not titled, everyone knows that, but he is quite wealthy and undeniably handsome. Why, if not for Lord Radnor, I might set a cap for him myself.”
Dianna had been engaged to Lord Miles Radnor, Earl of Winfield, since the age of seven. It was a family match, made before such arrangements fell out of favor. There was no wedding date set, as Lord Radnor was traveling abroad – had been traveling for the past ten years, give or take – and it was a topic Dianna rarely, if ever, discussed.
“I thought you said I should marry Mr. Graystone,” Charlotte pointed out, doing her best not to scowl. She wasn’t jealous. That would be absurd.
“And I still do. But you can hardly expect the man to wait around forever, and let us not forget your impending nuptials.”
As if she could. Wincing slightly when Tabitha yanked at a particularly stubborn curl, she said, “I still do not see how marrying Mr. Graystone will solve all of my problems.”
Dianna sighed. “As I have already explained a hundred times, the only way to escape marrying Crane is to marry someone else. No other lord would dare go against a duke, but Mr. Graystone would not care about that since he is as common as they come. He is also quite rich, which means he will be able to pay off your mother’s debts and you will be free of Crane once and for all.”
It did in fact make a great deal of sense, which Charlotte was loath to admit. If it were up to her she would not marry any man; unfortunately she did not seem to be in a position where that was a possibility. “How do I know Mr. Graystone would have any interest in marrying me?”
Dianna lowered the smudge of kohl she was using to darken her eyes. “That is why we are attending the masquerade. So you can flirt with him outrageously and gain his attention.”
“But we do not even have a proper chaperone,” Charlotte protested. She was reaching for excuses now, and even Tabitha knew it if her raised eyebrow was any indication. Charlotte’s fingers twisted anxiously in her lap.
For the first time in her entire life she was truly apprehensive about something, and she wasn’t certain how to handle it. Usually she acted first and considered the consequences later. It was Dianna who questioned everything; Dianna who talked her down when she wanted to do something impulsive. Now Dianna was urging her to commit the most reckless act of her life and she was balking.
It was almost embarrassing.
“No one has a proper chaperone, which is the entire point of the ball,” Dianna said.
“But my mother—”
“Believes you are staying with me for the night so we can go to the dress maker’s first thing in the morning, just as my mother believes I am staying with you. Rivers has sworn not to breathe a word, and he will pick us up and drop us off as though we truly were staying at each other’s houses.” Dianna wrapped her fingers around Charlotte’s shoulder and squeezed. “If you truly do not want to go, then we will not go. But this is your one chance, Char. Your only chance. You will be getting married at the end of the week no matter what you do. Why not choose the groom?”
Why not indeed?
“All right,” she said reluctantly. “The masquerade it is.”
Dianna met her gaze in the mirror and grinned. “This is going to work splendidly. You’ll see.”
That was exactly what Charlotte was afraid of.
“I think this may have been a very bad idea.” Her face white as a sheet beneath her ornate gold and blue mask, Dianna tugged desperately at Charlotte’s arm and pulled her into the bushes. “I think we should leave.”
A steady stream of guests – all dressed in glittering costumes with demi masks to disguise their faces – sauntered past them, their voices raised to be heard over the steady stream of music pouring through the open French doors of the Devonshire Estate.
In every visible direction the masquerade was well underway. The front steps spilled directly into the main ballroom which was already near to bursting at the seams. Through a second set of doors a rambling garden aglow with torches provided a bit of privacy for those couples wishing to take a respite from dancing. Overhead balconies were being utilized as well, and as the two friends cowered in the bushes a woman’s pink handkerchief came spinning down in lazy circles to land in a pool of silk at their feet.
Charlotte bent to pick up the discarded handkerchief, but Dianna pulled her upright with a soft murmur of dismay.
“Did you hear what I said? I… I have changed my mind. This is a bad idea. A very bad idea. We need to leave at once.”
The air itself thrummed with excited, and inside her chest Charlotte’s heart pounded with a delicious mixture of nerves, anticipation, and exhilaration.
“Stop it,” she hissed. “You are the one who wanted to come in the first place! Now we are here, and w
e are not leaving.” At least not until I see Gavin, she added silently. Her pulse quickened at the mere thought of him, and she wondered how he would be dressed tonight. Would she be able to recognize him? Better yet, would he recognize her?
Her costume was deceptively simple. It had, in fact, once belonged to her grandmother and Tabitha had only to make a few alternations for it to fit Charlotte’s body like a glove. It was a traditional Georgian gown, tight above the waist and through the elbow length sleeves before spilling out in a wide hoop skirt supported by an old fashioned wood pannier. The fabric was silk and dyed a dark, sumptuous shade of plum with white lace trim.
Her hair, piled high above her head in a tangle of elaborately styled curls, was powdered white and filled with feathers and ribbons and heaven knew what else. The combined weight of it all was already straining Charlotte’s neck, and she could not imagine how women had once dressed in such a fashion on a daily basis. It was little wonder simplistic hairstyles and free flowing empire waist gowns were now all the rage.
A black mask outlined with sparkling amethysts completed the costume. It left only her eyes and the lower half of her face visible, giving her a demure air of mystery that fit perfectly with the night’s festivities.
Dianna, on the other hand, had been uncharacteristically daring with her costume. She was dressed as Helen of Troy, and her white dress was most definitely inspired by the Greek gods of old.
It draped across one shoulder, leaving the other scandalously bare. Her dance slippers, mask, and jewelry were all gold. She had purchased a wig that very morning to disguise her short mop of curls, and the new hair tumbled over her shoulders in waves, giving the costume one last finishing touch of sensuality.
“I should have brought a cloak to wear,” Dianna moaned as she did her best to cover her wantonly exposed flesh with her hands while simultaneously shrinking further into the bushes. “What was I thinking? I am going to be ruined. Someone is going to recognize me and I will be irreparably ruined.”
The Runaway Duchess Page 6
