Female approbation, as he’d once complained to Miss Hurst, was all too easily gained when one possessed the title of earl. Was he so eager to win her simply because she hadn’t fawned over him from the beginning like almost every other female of his acquaintance? He didn’t think so, but then one’s faults were rarely self-evident.
Still, his pride could hardly explain the electricity of that kiss in Libby’s drawing room. Miss Hurst might claim that kiss hadn’t changed anything, but he begged to differ. A kiss like that—an attraction like that—didn’t come along every day. He had the experience to know this, even if she didn’t.
He was willing to concede she might be entirely correct when she said their differences were too great for anything of a permanent nature to blossom between them. But he found it maddening that she refused to even consider exploring the possibility of turning their pretend betrothal into a real one.
Because, really, where was the harm in that? If they truly didn’t suit, then they’d go back to their original plan, she’d jilt him when the time was right, and they’d go their merry ways. He wasn’t sure how to overcome her resistance on this point, but he’d like to try.
He’d spent too much time during his meetings today thinking about her objections, and how to counter them. Truth be told, he hadn’t landed on any good ideas, but he remained optimistic that he would. In the meantime, he looked forward to seeing her tonight at the Huntington dinner party.
Unfortunately, the evening didn’t go quite as he’d hoped. First, he’d been seated across from Miss Hurst at the dinner table. The dictates of good manners prevented him from engaging her in conversation, while the placement ensured he had a perfect view for watching Lord Wellcott, a randy widower, try to flirt with her all through dinner. And leer at her bosom when the old goat thought she wouldn’t notice.
After dinner, the ladies moved on to the drawing room while the gentlemen smoked, drank port, and jawed over political matters. William didn’t smoke, and he’d never cared for port, but he impatiently endured this habit of aristocratic males, biding his time until the men rejoined the ladies. But once again he was thwarted in his objective, when he was detained by Huntington, who wished to discuss his latest efforts to persuade Liverpool’s advisers William was the man to head the reforms commission.
When he and Huntington finally made it to the drawing room, they’d immediately been drawn into a group debating the issuance of government bonds to pay off lingering war debts versus finding ways to increase tax revenue. Normally William loved these sorts of evenings, but tonight he had one goal, and so far he’d been frustrated in achieving it. His patience was at a low ebb.
So low, in fact, that he was currently fighting the strong inclination to cross the room and warn Charles Townshend that if he didn’t quit monopolizing Miss Hurst’s attention, he’d draw his cork for him. To William’s great annoyance, she didn’t seem to mind the way the man stayed plastered to her side. On the contrary, she appeared to enjoy Townshend’s company a great deal. She laughed at something he said, her mirth turning her cheeks a becoming pink, while the soft curve of her lips brought to William’s mind thoughts of kissing.
Not that there would be any more kisses between them. Not unless he convinced her they could be more than just friendly allies.
Townshend leaned in cozily and said something to her that made her laugh again. Someone needed to tell the blighter to keep his distance from her. Why was Townshend so intent on keeping her to himself? And where was Serena? William had long suspected she harbored a secret tendre for the man, for all that air of cool disdain she put on whenever Townshend was around. She couldn’t be liking this cozy tête-à-tête.
An acid-like burn simmered in his gut. Jealousy—particularly jealousy over a lady—was a foreign emotion for William, but he had it in spades tonight.
“I say, Norwood, you’re awfully quiet,” a gentleman named Rayburn said jocularly. “Cat got your tongue?”
“Yes,” William replied. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave it to you gentlemen to solve England’s problems tonight,” and to the astonishment of his companions, he stalked across the room to Charlotte’s side.
She looked at him in surprise, and some of the laughter faded from her eyes. “Is something wrong?” she asked.
“No,” he said, trying to reorder his expression into something more pleasant than the scowl he suspected graced his face.
“You look like you’ve had enough politics for the evening,” Townshend said, with a nod to the group of gentlemen William had just left.
“I’ve had more than enough political talk, and not enough of enjoying my fiancée’s company.” He positioned himself closer to Miss Hurst’s side, sending a clear message to the other man.
Townshend shot him a quizzical look, then said, “I, uh, believe Weatherby is signaling to me.” He turned to Charlotte and bowed briefly. “If you’ll excuse me, Miss Hurst.”
“What’s the matter?” Charlotte asked after Townshend departed. “You looked upset a moment ago.”
“Nothing. I’m just not in the mood to discuss the government’s finances tonight.”
“Is that what you were talking about over there? I wondered why you were glowering.”
“I’m surprised you noticed; Townshend was keeping you well entertained.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
He’d sounded more disgruntled than he’d meant to. He took a deep breath and smiled at her, trying to look less like a jealous suitor, despite still feeling like one. “What was so entertaining?”
“He told me about a funny happening he witnessed from his club last week. A gentleman named Gilbert Ogilvy lost a bet and had to parade down St. James’s Street in a skirt and bonnet.”
“I heard about that,” William replied, chuckling in spite of his lingering jealousy. “Gilly is an inveterate gambler and merely an average card player, who has—as usual—outspent his quarterly allowance paying off his bets. I expect he’ll have to carry out any number of outlandish stunts until the next quarter day.”
“According to Mr. Townshend, he will. Apparently, Mr. Ogilvy recently lost another wager and has to interrupt a performance of The Marriage of Figaro by standing up and singing all the verses of ‘God Save the King.’”
“I pity the operagoers that night. Gilly has a god-awful singing voice.”
“That’s precisely what Mr. Townshend said.” She smiled and jealousy speared him again. He didn’t want her smiling fondly like that over another man’s words.
“Come along,” he said abruptly. “I want you to see something.” He clasped her elbow and led her over to Serena, who was deep in conversation with two ladies, who, like Serena, often involved themselves in charity work and championed various social causes.
“Duchess, Lady Beasley, Serena.” He nodded and gave the ladies a smile meant to charm them into doing his bidding. “I beg pardon for the interruption, but I need to steal Serena away for a moment, if I may. It’s urgent.”
“Certainly, Norwood.” Lady Beasley beamed at him fondly. “Felicitations to the both of you, by the way.”
William inclined his head slightly. “Thank you.” He hoped his impatience with this small talk wasn’t obvious, because the truth was, after waiting all day to enjoy Miss Hurst’s company, he wasn’t willing to share it. Hence, the need for Serena’s help.
“Yes, congratulations, Norwood,” the Duchess of Rochester said with a gracious smile. “With such an enchanting fiancée, you ought to purchase tickets to our subscription ball, if you haven’t already.”
“Serena made sure that I did,” he said. “Now if you ladies will excuse us…this won’t take long.”
“Oh, it’s quite all right,” Lady Beasley assured him. “Grace and I’ve been monopolizing Serena too long anyhow. Go. Take care of your urgent business.”
William led the way out of the drawing room into the empty hallway beyond. “I’d like you to accompany Miss Hurst and myse
lf to the roof. I want to let her look at the stars through the telescope your father keeps up there.”
Serena gave him a strange look. “It will have to be set up first,” she said, “which I can certainly have done. But the viewing won’t be very good, since the moon is nearly full. It would be better to wait for the new moon. Unless the moon is what you wish to view, but then that would be even better at the full moon.”
“The moon will be fine,” William said, with a touch of impatience. He should have remembered that the telescope would need to be uncovered and positioned. He chalked this lapse up to the fact that his mind was chiefly occupied with finding a private moment with Charlotte, the better to assuage this burning desire to kiss her again. “Actually, don’t bother with the telescope. I have a better idea. I’d like Miss Hurst to see the library. Your father’s Shakespeare folios are particularly fine.”
“All right then,” Serena said, once again looking at him as if she wasn’t quite sure what to make of his requests. Miss Hurst stared at him with a perplexed, slightly suspicious expression, but she didn’t offer any objection, so Serena led them down the hall, and into a moderately sized room with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves along two walls, several comfortable-looking chairs, and a large marble fireplace at one end of the room.
Before she could unlock the cabinet where the folios were stored, however, William said, “No need to get out the folios. What I’d really like is a private moment with Miss Hurst. If you could just wait here to lend countenance to our absence from the gathering, she and I will duck out onto the terrace for a few moments.” Serena glanced at Miss Hurst, as if trying to ascertain what she thought of this idea.
“There is something wrong, isn’t there?” Charlotte said. “I knew it. You’re acting so strangely.”
“No,” he said, turning to her and keeping his voice low. “Nothing’s wrong. I just need a few minutes with you.”
She frowned and studied him a few seconds as if trying to figure out what was on his mind. “I don’t know…” she began.
“Please,” he said.
“Is it really necessary that we go outside?”
He nodded and glanced at Serena, who shrugged and said, “I’ll wait here, and get out one of the folios to show you. Charlotte looked rather keen to see them when you first suggested it. And I find it’s best to stick as closely to the truth as possible, so we shall have a look.”
“I would like that.” Miss Hurst was forced to throw these words back over her shoulder because William, already intent on getting her outside, was pulling her toward the French doors that led out onto the terrace.
“Hurry back,” Serena called after them. As William pulled the door shut behind them, he saw Serena’s knowing smile. She knew what he was up to.
Miss Hurst, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have tumbled onto what was behind his urge to get her alone because her expression, illuminated by the nearly full moon, was one of bemusement.
“Well?” she asked. “What’s so urgent that we had to come out here?”
“I’ve barely seen you this evening,” he said, taking her hand in his and pulling her farther along the flagstones of the terrace right up to the verge with the gardens beyond.
“Why, you’ve seen me quite a lot,” she contradicted. “We sat across from each other at dinner, and we were in sight of each other after that in the drawing room. The only time you didn’t see me was when you gentlemen remained behind in the dining room to have your port and cigars.”
He gave a brief shake of his head and smiled wryly. “If you’re being strictly literal, then yes, I’ve seen you quite a bit. I watched you converse with the gentlemen on either side of you through dinner, while I was prohibited to do so without appearing rude for speaking across the table. And in the drawing room, I watched Townshend monopolize you until I thought I should go mad with frustration.”
He saw confusion chase across her features. “Is it because he’s a Whig, and you have Tory leanings? I didn’t think that would be a problem since he’s a guest of Lord Huntington’s. I thought he was very nice—”
“My frustration stems from the fact that you obviously found him very nice.”
“But I…” She stopped and eyed him uncertainly. “I wasn’t flirting with him, if that’s what you thought. Oh, but perhaps others would think that,” she said consideringly. “I suppose that’s not good when we’re trying to make people believe we’re—”
She didn’t get the chance to finish her sentence because William had drawn her into his arms and lowered his mouth onto hers. This wasn’t like their first kiss, tentative and exploring. This was about possession, claiming her as his, and easing the flame of desire that had been building within him throughout the evening. His kiss was greedy and demanding, and for the first second or two, one-sided. But only for a second or two, because then, to his immense satisfaction, she was kissing him with just as much ferocity as he was kissing her.
Tongues tangled and danced as he held her so close against him that she was in danger of having the buttons of his waistcoat imprinted on her front. She didn’t seem to mind this though. Her hands crept around his neck, her fingers buried in his hair, pressing into his scalp, as if to say More. Don’t stop. I want this.
So he didn’t stop, and neither did she until several breathless minutes later both seemed to remember Serena waiting in the library, and beyond that, a drawing room full of guests who would surely begin to wonder if they didn’t return soon.
“Charlotte,” he breathed as they drew back from each other, both struggling to regain their breath. Her eyes were large and liquid in the moonlight, her face pale and guarded. Her hands slid down to rest lightly on his shoulders for a second before she snatched them away.
She raised her chin. “You seem to think that kiss gives you the right to use my given name.”
“I think after that kiss it would be ridiculous for us to fall back on formality. In private, at any rate.”
“I think after that kiss it becomes more important than ever that you address me as Miss Hurst, the better to ensure we don’t make a habit of this.”
He brushed his knuckles along her cheek. Her skin was warm and satiny. He gently cradled her jaw, and ran his thumb along her bottom lip. “Whether I call you Miss Hurst or whether I call you Charlotte, it won’t change my desire to kiss you. As far as habits go, I’m afraid it’s one I’ve acquired already, and there’s no use in pretending that I haven’t.”
She didn’t say anything, didn’t step away from his caress. She closed her eyes for a second and he sensed she was fighting some internal battle.
“Charlotte,” he whispered, “tell me you don’t like my kisses.”
She let out a long sigh. “It doesn’t matter if I like them or not. What matters is keeping things in perspective and not getting so caught up in our roles that we forget what’s real.”
“And that, according to you, is that we have so little in common it doesn’t matter if we’re attracted to each other, in the end this betrothal will be over and we’ll go our separate ways.”
She nodded. “The problem is when you kiss me I have trouble remembering that.”
“When I kiss you, I have trouble believing that.” He glanced back to the French doors. He could see Serena through the glass, her back to them as she appeared to study the library shelves. “If I had more time, I’d attempt to convince you on precisely why we should continue to indulge in this habit.” He emphasized this by pulling her close again, and giving her one last quick kiss before letting her go. She took a step back, and then another, placing some distance between them.
* * *
“And just how do you plan to convince me? By kissing me some more?” she asked coolly, trying mightily to maintain some emotional distance. No easy feat when she’d just been kissed so thoroughly and held so closely that it was as if their two bodies were trying to meld into one.
“Yes, since I can hardly do more than that in Huntington’s garden
, much as I’d like to.”
Her breath caught at his words.
Since I can hardly do more…much as I’d like to…
More…more…more…
The words echoed in her mind, setting off a warm tingling from her head to her toes.
Don’t refine upon it over much, Charlotte. He’s a man. Of course, he wants to do more if you’re ninny enough to let him kiss you like that in a dark garden. Be sensible!
She was trying to be sensible, truly she was, but her heart pulled her in one direction, her mind in another, and on top of that William was able to breach her defenses with almost no effort.
She pretended to be unaffected by his statement though, deliberately smoothing the front of her gown, then checking her coiffure for any loose pins or wayward tendrils. Satisfied that her outward appearance was tidy, whatever the state of her inner turmoil, she said, “That would be a mistake, and we both know it. In any case, this isn’t the time or place to argue over it. We should be getting back. Lady Serena will be wondering what happened to us.” She turned toward the French doors.
“Serena is too worldly to think we were doing anything other than what we were doing, but she’s discreet and won’t say anything.”
When they re-entered the library Lady Serena greeted them with a knowing smile. “How was the moonlight?” she said.
“Illuminating,” William said, flashing an irritatingly roguish grin at her. Honestly, men could be such insufferable creatures.
“I shouldn’t be absent from the drawing room much longer,” Lady Serena continued, “but if you’d like to take a quick look at this folio, you may. It’s not the finest of the four Papa owns, but it’s in quite good shape nonetheless.”
Charlotte examined the book, turning the pages carefully, respectful of its prized place in Lord Huntington’s book collection. It had that old book smell, not exactly unpleasant, but distinct, a mix of leather, paper, ink, and for lack of a better word, age. It took Charlotte back to her youth, and long afternoons spent reading in her father’s library, happily curled up in an overstuffed armchair before the fireplace, lost in a book.
Not the Kind of Earl You Marry Page 16
