Eyes bluer than the most brilliant sapphires met his slack-jawed gaze, and lips of lush sensuality curved up in a mocking smile. The carroty hair he remembered from childhood had darkened and was tamed into a profusion of auburn ringlets that danced about the flawless ivory skin of her perfect features.
Good God. Somewhere in the last ten years, Charlotte Page had turned into the most beautiful creature this side of the English Channel. And he’d just made an ass of himself in front of her.
Why that bothered him he couldn’t say. It just did.
As he quickly straightened to his full height, Charlotte flashed her father an oddly triumphant smile. “I fear we’ve come at a bad time, Papa. It appears that Mr. Masters is out of sorts.”
“David, you scoundrel!” David’s own father snapped. “What is the meaning of this?”
David’s mind went utterly blank. He could only stare at the woman who was nothing at all like he’d expected.
Unfortunately, Giles’s mind was in full working order. “You know David, Father.” Giles made a motion that signified drinking. “Started on the dinner entertainment early.”
“Shut up,” David muttered under his breath.
Giles cast him a gleeful look. “You told me—”
“Forget everything I said.” Aware that Charlotte watched the interchange with peculiar amusement, David met his father’s angry gaze and grabbed at the only explanation he could come up with. “It was just a joke, Father. Giles and I knocked over the decanter in your study, and it spilled whisky on me. Isn’t that right, Giles?”
“If you say so,” Giles remarked blithely.
Later David was going to knock him on his ass, but for now he had to get out of this predicament. “Since I’d already soaked myself…I…we thought it might be amusing if we—”
“Embarrassed me before my guests?” Father thundered.
David winced. “Clearly, not my best idea.” When Father glared at him, he added hastily, “I’ll dash upstairs and change my coat.”
“Judging from your breath, you might wish to rinse out your mouth as well,” Charlotte said helpfully, her beautiful eyes dancing. “Some of that whisky seems to have spilled right up into it.”
He flushed. She was mocking him, damn her. Women never dared to do that to him. It was galling, to say the least.
“Charlotte, hold your tongue!” Lord Page growled behind her.
The teasing light left her features, and her manner changed abruptly. “Forgive me, Mr. Masters,” she told David as she dropped her eyes to the floor. “I don’t always think before I speak.”
David didn’t like that reaction either. “And I don’t always think before I act,” he countered, wanting to put her more at ease, “so we’re even.”
Her gaze shot to his, and a fetching confusion spread over her face. Then she stiffened. “Not quite even,” she murmured, low enough not to be heard by her father, “since actions generally speak louder than words.”
The criticism stung. Yes, he’d behaved like an idiot, but she didn’t have to rub his nose in it. And what the hell had happened to the doe-eyed adoration he’d been prepared to rebuff?
His mother stepped into the fray. “David, go change your coat. Giles, tell Cook that we’ll be ready for dinner shortly. Lady Page and Miss Page, I shall show you to your rooms so you can freshen up while Lord Page and my husband retire to the study.” She arched an eyebrow at David. “Assuming it doesn’t still reek of whisky. You might wish to check that on your way to your room.”
When Mother nodded toward the stairs, David stalked up them, conscious of Charlotte’s eyes on him. At least she would see that he wasn’t foxed after all. Though he wasn’t sure why he cared what she thought.
Nothing had changed; he didn’t want to marry her. For God’s sake, he wasn’t quite twenty, and he certainly wasn’t about to tie himself to any wife of Father’s choosing.
So why did it annoy him to have her think him either a drunkard or a clumsy fool or both? He could have his pick of women. He didn’t need to impress some daughter of a pushy chap trying to claw his way to the top of society. Let their fathers weave their web; David didn’t mean to be caught in it.
Never mind that she was pretty as a picture. No, better than that, beautiful. Stunning, really.
He frowned. It didn’t matter. He refused to marry some chit just to provide Father with new monies for his mad investments. And that was that.
Chapter Four
Dinner at Kirkwood Manor that evening was a grand affair, but Charlotte was aware only of the young man across the table from her.
She hadn’t expected David to be so attractive. Granted, he’d been good-looking as a boy, but sometimes good-looking boys grew up to be ugly men.
Not David. When he turned to speak to her mother on his left, Charlotte sneaked another peek at him. Merciful heavens, he was handsome. As a boy, he’d kept his unruly hair in a queue like the other lads, but that fashion had passed. He now wore his hair cropped short enough to curb the worst of its curling. It looked quite good on him, too.
So did his clothing. She sighed. After the incident in the foyer, he’d changed into an emerald-hued coat that strained over his surprisingly broad shoulders and brought out the glorious green of his eyes. But it was his chin, set off by the folds of a snowy cravat, that she couldn’t stop staring at. Had he always had that interesting dimple right in the middle?
As if he felt her studying him, he swung his gaze to her. Chiding herself for her ridiculous fascination with his looks, she dropped her gaze to her plate. It didn’t matter that David was handsome. Or well built. It didn’t matter that the piping tones of a boy had deepened to a husky voice that thrummed along her every nerve.
He was either a drunkard like Papa, or he’d pretended to be a drunkard as a joke. That didn’t speak well for his character.
Or his brother’s, for that matter. She glanced at Giles, who sat to her right. He was rather handsome himself, with the same hair color and build as David’s. So why didn’t he make her heart race?
She grimaced. David did not make her heart race. The very idea was absurd!
As the walnut pudding was brought around, Charlotte’s mother flashed Lady Kirkwood a polite smile. “Where are your daughters this evening?”
Charlotte glanced up, startled that she’d completely forgotten about David’s two sisters. If memory served her correctly, one of them was a year younger than her. As a child she had rarely played with either girl, preferring the rough-and-tumble games of the boys.
“Actually,” David’s mother said, “they’re spending the summer with my sister in Essex. She’s trying to prepare them for their come-outs, poor dear.” She dipped her spoon into the pudding. “I wanted to send them to a school for that, but it’s hard to find a good one. A girl of that age needs so much more than just lessons in dancing and deportment.”
“I agree wholeheartedly,” Charlotte chimed in, relieved to find as august a personage as the viscountess sharing her own views about education. “Young ladies should be taught history, mathematics, science…” She trailed off when she saw Lady Kirkwood’s shocked expression. “Oh. You meant something else.”
Papa glowered at Charlotte. “I keep telling my daughter that even if young ladies could comprehend such knowledge, they have no use for it. But she won’t listen.”
David, who’d been concentrating on eating his pudding, said quietly, “Amassing knowledge is good for everyone. We don’t necessarily use poetry in our daily lives, but reading it enriches us, doesn’t it? And what use is dancing, really, except for amusement and perhaps a little exercise? I don’t see how it hurts either a man or a woman to learn something new.”
Defense from such an unexpected quarter took Charlotte by surprise. When her gaze shot to him, David winked at her, setting off a quivering in her belly that was most alarming.
“Be that as it may, David,” Lady Kirkwood said with a sniff, “I was speaking of a different sort of knowledge.
About society. About men and their ways. There’s entirely too little education on that score. Young ladies are taught everything but how to handle themselves while rogues like you and your brother are busily trying to corrupt them.”
“Mother!” Giles complained laughingly beside her. “You’ll have Miss Page thinking that David and I are un-trustworthy blackguards. We don’t want her hiding in her room for fear of losing her virtue.”
“Somehow I can’t imagine Miss Page hiding anywhere,” David said with a faint smile. “She certainly wasn’t any wilting violet as a girl.” He drank some wine. “Do you remember, Giles? She threw herself into every fray. She could run and ride as well as any of us, not to mention outclimbing me the one time we put it to the test.”
Charlotte tensed. Was he actually bringing up that horrible incident now?
“Climbed like a monkey,” Giles drawled beside her, apparently determined to make it worse. “Isn’t that what you said?”
David frowned. “Did I? I don’t recall.”
What? The wretch had humiliated her before all the village boys, and he didn’t even remember? She could hardly believe it!
“Well, I recall it perfectly,” she snapped. “First, you made that hateful comment about—”
“One thing my daughter doesn’t do very well,” her father interrupted, “is swim. Isn’t that right, Charlotte? You can’t swim at all.”
She glanced at Papa, whose warning expression said she’d better curb her tongue or he’d make sure she regretted it. Wiping her clammy hands on her skirts, she returned her gaze to her plate.
“Hateful comment about what?” David asked in clear bewilderment.
“Nothing.” She didn’t dare look at him…or Papa. “I just realized I was recalling the wrong thing. It was a long time ago.”
After a moment of strained silence, David said, “Giles, that was the second time you mentioned monkeys. Was that supposed to mean something?”
Charlotte shot Giles a pleading glance.
The young man seemed to note her distress, for he glanced from her to his brother, then said, “No. Not in the least.”
Forcing herself to meet David’s gaze, she smiled weakly. “I somehow doubt I’d be able to match you in any athletic endeavor these days, Mr. Masters.”
“But if you ever need to buy a horse, consult my daughter,” Mama surprised her by saying. “Charlotte has quite a good eye for them, like her father. Rowland bought me the sweetest little mare—”
“They don’t want to hear about your mare, Agatha,” Papa cut in.
Stiffening, she murmured, “No, dear, of course not.”
Charlotte’s fingers tightened on the spoon. She remembered when Mama used to fight him, argue with him. But the years had worn her down, and Charlotte hated to see it.
“Well, I can testify to Page’s excellent taste in horses,” Lord Kirkwood put in, relieving the tension. “Whenever I go to Tattersall’s, I take him along. Haven’t ever regretted a purchase that he approved.”
Fortunately, that kept the conversation going until it was time for the gentlemen to head for Lord Kirkwood’s study while the ladies retired to the drawing room.
But Charlotte couldn’t take one more minute of the tense conversations. The gentlemen probably wouldn’t stay away from the ladies for long, and she couldn’t bear any more of Papa’s trying to control her every word and deed.
She told her mother she had a headache and was retiring to her room. Thankfully, Mama didn’t press the matter. But halfway to her room, Charlotte realized she’d forgotten her shawl in the dining room. She went back to retrieve it and was passing some open French doors when she glanced outside and got a jolt. There stood the windowless garden hut the boys had claimed for themselves when they were all children. She couldn’t believe it was still intact.
For a moment she simply stared at it, remembering what a forbidden place it had seemed to her as a girl. She’d never even seen the inside, for the boys had kept it padlocked when not in use.
A sudden mischievous impulse seized her. No one was around—this part of the house wasn’t close to the drawing room or the study. Why not take a look?
Grabbing a candle, she ventured out and across the garden to the shed. No lock on the door. Probably it merely held hoes and such these days, but still…
She swung the door open, startled to find that the plain wooden structure was already inhabited. David sat in his shirtsleeves at an old desk, sketching madly by the light of a lantern.
As his surprised gaze shot to her, she blushed crimson, mortified that he might think she’d followed him there on purpose. “I-I beg your pardon.” She started to close the door. “I didn’t mean to invade your privacy.”
He leaped from his chair. “Wait!”
She froze with the door half-open.
“Why don’t you stay?” He hurried near enough that she could see his loosened cravat. “I could use the company.”
“I’d have thought you came here to avoid company.”
“Some company, yes.” His expression was genuinely friendly, sending warmth spilling through her veins, despite her determination to stay immune to his charms. “Probably the same company you are attempting to hide from.”
She thrust out her chin. “I thought you said I wasn’t the sort of woman to hide.”
A faint smile touched his lips as he gestured for her to enter. “Honestly, I think the devil himself would want to hide from that lot in there.”
She laughed, relieving whatever tension remained between them.
One sort of tension, anyway. Now a new sort tightened her nerves. She’d never been alone with a man. Even Captain Harris had always talked to her with other people about.
Feeling as jittery as a mare confronted with her first saddle, she reluctantly went inside. She would just stay a moment, long enough to determine his feelings about the marriage their parents wanted to force on them. And to make her own feelings clear.
David closed the door, then hurried behind the desk to hold out his chair. “There’s only one decent seat, I’m afraid. We lads always preferred the floor.” Amusement gleamed in his eyes. “More manly, you know.”
Not nearly as manly as the sight of him without a coat, looking perfectly at home in this rustic spot. Setting her candle on his desk, she gazed about her at the bare plank walls, worn rug, and flattened cushions in faded fabrics. A faint scent of mold permeated the air, mingling with the smell of burning wax and lamp oil.
“When I used to picture what it looked like in here,” she remarked, “this was not what I imagined. It’s so…so…small.”
He chuckled. “Go ahead, say it. It’s filthy and wretched and lacking in any creature comforts. But we used to think it a castle.”
“One devoid of women,” she said archly.
“I hate to tell you, but no boy of nine or ten creates a secret inner sanctum that includes girls.”
“Given that our fathers are presently ensconced in the study without their wives, secret inner sanctums must continue into adulthood.”
“Ah, but the difference is that grown men don’t mind having a woman invade the inner sanctum. Sometimes they rather enjoy it.”
His sudden, wolfish smile sent her pulse into a wild dance. Heavens, she’d have to watch that. He did have a reputation, after all.
She gestured to the desk. “What exactly do you do in your inner sanctum?”
Noticing the direction of her gaze, he flushed, then hurried to shuffle the papers into a stack. “It’s nothing. A hobby of mine, that’s all.”
“What sort of hobby?” she persisted.
“If you must know…” His expression turned belligerent, as if he dared her to make fun of him. “I have an interest in architecture. I realize it’s not considered the thing for a—”
“I think it’s wonderful,” she blurted out. A blush warmed her cheeks. “I-I mean, it’s good for a man to be industrious, no matter who he is.”
His face lit up. “I’v
e been working on a design for a hunting cottage.” He spread out the papers again, his voice rising with enthusiasm. “My friend Stoneville says that if I come up with a decent one, he’ll use it on his estate. After a real architect approves it, of course.”
Edging closer to the desk, she gazed down at the plans David had meticulously inked. She couldn’t help being impressed. She didn’t know anything about architecture, but they looked like genuine plans for a building. And who’d have guessed that David had such a respectable hobby?
He shook the chair. “Come, stay awhile.” His gaze burned into hers. “I promise not to tie you up or make you walk the plank or any of those other wretched things we boys did as children.”
That reference reminded her of the last thing he’d done to her, and her smile vanished. “I prefer to stand,” she said with a lift of her chin.
He shot her a searching glance. “It’s the monkeys, isn’t it?”
Her heart dropped into her stomach. “You remember.”
“No, I don’t. But clearly you do. So would you please tell me what I did? Then I can beg your pardon, and we can be done with it.”
His remark was so practical and matter-of-fact that it took the edge off her resentment. “You’ll think it’s ridiculous.”
“Perhaps. But then, I think that much of what mattered to me at nine was ridiculous.”
“I’m afraid I haven’t been so sanguine about it.” She related the tale as unemotionally as possible.
By the time she finished, he was wincing. “They kept calling you Miss Monkey after I left for school?”
His clear chagrin filed down her resentment even more. “Two years at least. Even after I took down my pigtails and grew a couple of inches.”
“Good God, I’m sorry.” His expression seemed to confirm that he meant it, too. “What a wretched thing to say to a girl. No wonder you called it hateful. I’m only surprised you agreed to come with your parents for this visit.”
“My father didn’t give me much choice.”
His eyes locked with hers, suddenly somber. “Neither did mine.” With an arch of his eyebrow, he shook the chair again. “Perhaps we should confer, because they’re not going to leave us be. Might as well assess the situation together.”
The School for Heiresses: 'Wed Him Before You Bed Him Page 4
