She almost jumped out of her skin, except her skin liked that touch too much to allow movement. She savored the alluring stroke and the memories it evoked for a delicious few moments.
Then she backed away. “You are indeed drunk.”
He followed, step for step. “As I warned you. I have an excuse. I am sure we can find one for you too.”
That flustered her badly. She was against the wall now, and he blocked any gracious retreat.
His fingertips stroked again. A feathery, delicious skimming sensation. He gazed in her eyes with a confident dare. She tightened her jaw and tensed her body to try to contain the lively tremors streaming through her.
“Mr. Knightridge, you are forgetting yourself.”
“Indeed I am, and I thank you most kindly. You have succeeded in thoroughly distracting me from the hell of the hour and my dark thoughts. That was your intention, no? To offer solace?” His hand slid up her skin in a trailing, seductive caress of unbearable titillation. It roamed around her neck until it cupped her nape in a gentle hold.
She did not believe he was thoroughly distracted. His manner bore an edge, a danger, that suggested the darkness not only still lived in him but also drove him.
She tried to shrug his hand off, to no avail. She made to move away from the wall, but with one step he blocked her again.
“What a generous woman you are, Lady M. All this time I thought you were an irritating, argumentative, interfering, opinionated female, but I was wrong.”
“It was not my intention to distract you like this, for heaven’s sake. Get hold of yourself, sir.”
“I would rather get hold of a woman. That would be very comforting right now. I assure you, nothing else will suffice.” He made a display of looking over each of his shoulders. “I’ll be damned, it appears you are the only woman here.”
His hand pressed against her neck, easing her forward. Panic and shock broke in her.
“Sir, it is ignoble of you to importune me in this manner. Your inebriation does not excuse it. I insist that you move and allow me to leave. I will not be—”
The next thing she knew, he was kissing her.
How outrageous. How disastrous.
How . . . wonderful.
If you could silence Charlotte’s sharp tongue, she was a very appealing woman.
That was Nathaniel’s first thought on kissing her.
He was behaving badly and he knew it. He was not really drunk enough to excuse the impulse he followed. He was angry enough not to give a damn, however. Angry at the world, at his failure, and, since she was available, at her.
His little goads and teases had indeed kept the darkness from engulfing him. Now desire overwhelmed all thoughts of the day’s sickening events. He welcomed the oblivion.
It had been some time since he had kissed a woman. Not since Lyndale’s last party. His body remembered the intense passion of that night and ached to repeat it. His muddled senses dredged up the sensations and wonders of that dream and his floating mind experienced them again.
Suddenly he was not in his sitting room but in a darkened salon embracing a mysterious, sensual goddess who knew no restraints.
The lips he kissed were unbearably soft and warm. He swept his tongue in a welcoming, velvety mouth and a low, lyrical sigh played on her breath. A beautiful sound, full of assent and anticipation. He kissed her again and his head bumped her bonnet.
Bonnet? She had been wearing no bonnet. A silken veil covered her hair and a mask obscured her face.
The bonnet interfered with both his kiss and his fantasy. He plucked at its ribbons and cast it away. He pulled his lover into an embrace and savored her soft warmth. He looked into her eyes.
Desire and vulnerability looked back. He had not realized what a potent combination that could be, or the reactions it could stir. Even with that mask, he could see where her soul dwelled. Her face might be hidden, but her essence was open to him.
He blinked and reality intruded. These eyes were not looking out from a bejeweled mask. They were not gazing through the pale light of candles. They were owned by a woman not at all mysterious or anonymous, and it was the middle of the day, not night. The middle of a terrible day.
But the eyes seemed the same. And the expression, and the desire. He realized that his befuddled mind was confusing time and place. He was seeing other than was here, but he did not care.
He kissed her again and submerged himself in that ambiguous world where the past and present seemed to merge. Only now he knew it was Charlotte he kissed, even if it felt as if it was the other.
She did not object. He did not have to seduce. She embraced him and accepted and shared, her tongue well silenced now, but not still. The lovely sighs of the memory sang in his head, joining hers.
It felt good. Blissfully removed from reality. The pleasure offered escape as nothing else could.
He cupped her breast with his hand. She arched into it with a little cry. He felt for the hooks closing her dress. She moved as if she welcomed the offer of freedom.
His arousal roared out of control. He wanted to bury his face in her soft breasts and his hips in her thighs and his erection in her tight passage. He would know peace for a brief while before he faced the ugly world again.
He picked her up and carried her to the sofa across the room and set her on his lap. Kissing her hard, devouring her willing passion, he made quick work of the hooks and loosened her stays so he could reach her breasts.
“You are very soft. Very lovely.” He kissed the breast he cradled in his hand. “It does not matter that you choose not to speak. I do not need words to know everything about you.”
He brushed his thumb over her erect nipple. A muffled cry of pleasure filled his head. A sweet, beautiful moan followed. It pulled him back into the memory.
Her skin tasted so sweet as he kissed her neck, her bare shoulder. His lips moved down, savoring, his tongue flicking at soft velvet warmth. Finally her perfect breast was in his mouth and her delirium at the pleasure carried him to a place where nothing but sensation existed. Pleasure and peace swept him, followed by the urge to lose himself in her lush, feminine comfort. He caressed down her silken nakedness. . . .
Garments interfered. A soft mountain of skirt and petticoats. She was not naked.
He pressed through the cloth for the body beneath. He began lifting the fabric so he could reach her legs.
A tight grip on his wrist stopped him. The soft body in his embrace turned to stone. A new cry penetrated the bliss. One of shock.
“Nathaniel, listen,” she whispered in a furious scold.
“Did you say something, my dear? If you expressed impatience, I can only respond that I am dealing with your obstructing garments as quickly as I can.”
She smacked his shoulder. “Oh, pay attention for once in your conceited life.” She pointed away, to the opposite wall. “Listen.” She began squirming out of his hold.
Fantasy and reality collided, breaking both into pieces.
“I know he is here.” The loud, imperious voice outside the chamber made the afternoon reassemble itself at once.
Jacobs’s voice matched the other in volume. “My lord, your son is indisposed. He is unwell. I will tell him you called.”
“What twaddle. Indisposed, hell. He is probably just sleeping off another night’s drunken revel. Go back and tell him I am here.”
Charlotte’s head turned and her eyes widened. “It is the earl,” she mouthed silently. She looked down at her exposed breasts with astonishment, as if she had never seen them before. She seemed to stop breathing.
Suddenly sober, viciously so, Nathaniel set her on her feet and rose as well. “Have no fear. Jacobs will hold him off.”
He quickly set to righting her garments. She scrambled to help.
“This is dreadful. If I am found like this—”
“Move your hands. Your stays—the lacing is—”
“Hurry.”
In a hectic flurry of clumsy a
ctions and Lady M.’s desperate exhortations for speed, they managed to get the stays half-fixed and her bodice up. He began on the hooks in back.
“Stand aside, Jacobs. My son is not in his chamber, ill. I can hear him in that sitting room and I will see him now.”
Charlotte froze, then pivoted toward the door, horrified.
“This way.” Nathaniel took her arm and sped her to a side door. She broke free, ran to get her parasol and bonnet, then hurried back, tripping twice on the hem of her loose skirt.
He opened the door. “Those stairs lead down to the kitchen. Jacobs will get you out once you are . . .” He made a gesture to indicate the work still to be done on her garments.
Her face burned. She looked close to raving panic. Clutching her dress closed in back and her bonnet and parasol to her breast, she crossed the threshold just as the other door began opening.
“My apologies your visit ended so poorly, Lady M. I am most grateful you called.”
She cast him a deadly glare that said he would pay dearly for this day.
Nathaniel closed the door just in time to turn and see his father striding into the chamber.
“Father, what a treat. To what do I owe the rare and inconvenient favor of your attention today?”
CHAPTER
TWO
Charlotte cursed herself. It had been stupid to come here today. Reckless. Insane.
Now here she was in a small basement kitchen, having her dress fastened by a servant she did not know. A male servant.
It was so humiliating that she wanted to thrash someone with her parasol.
The idea to come here had seemed so sensible when it first struck her. She knew the responsibility Nathaniel would feel for that young man’s execution. She had empathized with the anguish it would cause. It had seemed perfectly decent, even necessary, to give the comfort of company to Mr. Knightridge so he would not suffer the vigil alone.
The next time she decided to do such a noble deed, she hoped someone locked her in her bedchamber.
Of course, she had not expected him to kiss her. She had certainly never anticipated that if he did, she would capitulate so completely. Memories of her abandon caused a new flood of humiliation.
Jacobs finished with the dress. Charlotte accepted her mantle. Jacobs’s face remained as bland as a dumpling while he escorted her to the kitchen’s garden door. She suspected he had shown other women out this way. Disreputable ones.
Well, she had behaved most disreputably herself. She deserved to be sneaking out of Albany like a soiled dove.
She mounted the stairs and slipped along the covered walkway that led to Albany’s back entrance on Vigo Street. Beneath the roof’s deep shadows, she trusted no one would recognize her if they should be glancing out the windows of the other apartments. Just to be safe, she would never again wear this mantle or bonnet.
The cold air bit her burning face. She walked to her carriage and gave instructions that she was going home.
As the carriage moved, she sank back in the seat. The full implications of the scandalous episode overwhelmed her.
Bad enough to melt like an ingenue when he kissed her. Bad enough to end up half-naked on his lap. But to almost be found there by his father, the Earl of Norriston—to have to rush to dress and sneak out—to have his servant know everything—
And the worst part, the most dreadful and frightening part, the memory that had her stomach sick and her head splitting, was the look in Nathaniel’s eyes when he gazed into hers.
And the bold confidence of his advances.
And what he said as they embraced on the sofa.
I do not need words to know everything about you.
She hoped she was wrong, but feared she was not.
He knew far too much about her.
He had realized that she was the woman with him at that party.
“You look like hell.” The Earl of Norriston examined Nathaniel with the same critical expression he had used since his five sons had been children. Those steely eyes rarely saw much in his progeny to give him pleasure.
Right now it was clear the earl was most displeased with his youngest son. Nathaniel did not care. He had long ago ceased attempting to reconcile his life with his father’s lack of approval.
“Good Lord, is that a love bite on your neck? Fix your collar and show some discretion.”
Nathaniel absently pulled at his collar. The passion that produced the mark intruded on his mind, making him smile.
The earl lowered his tall, imposing form into the green upholstered chair. He noticed the decanter beside it. “Drinking already?”
“Yes, and a goodly amount too. Whatever you want with me, another day would be better.”
“I expect your drunken state explains the broken windowpane.”
“I lost my temper.”
“Still sulking about that Binchley fellow, eh? Pull yourself together. He was guilty, and it is a relief your theatrics did not get him off. The law is not a game, you know. It isn’t like your chess or tennis matches.”
Nathaniel turned away. He struggled to quell a rising anger. Expressing it would do no good. The earl did not like that his youngest son was a lawyer of any kind, and detested the criminal defenses that Nathaniel mounted.
As he found the calm to face the conversation to come, he wondered if Charlotte had made a clean escape. The other bachelors who had apartments at Albany were rarely at home in the afternoons. It was unlikely she was seen leaving. Still—
“What is that smell?”
Nathaniel turned to see the earl sniffing the air.
“Is that perfume? You had a woman here today, didn’t you?”
“I have my women elsewhere. That is incense that I burned last night.” Nathaniel lied with conviction. It was a talent he had acquired as a youth. It made dealing with his father easier.
“Incense? Papist twaddle.”
“It was incense from Calcutta.”
“Then pagan twaddle.”
“Well, I like to experiment with twaddle in all its glorious manifestations. Now, why are you here?”
Not to offer company or comfort over the failure with Binchley, that was already clear. The earl would never do that, or see it the way Nathaniel did. His father was not a man to perceive any responsibility on Nathaniel’s part, even if he had thought Binchley was innocent. It had taken Lady Mardenford to comprehend the hell that came with this day.
That had really been very kind of her, especially since they were not even friendly. With his increasing sobriety he realized how brave and thoughtful she had been. In payment he had importuned her and left her open to scandal and humiliation.
That she had not objected very hard to his advances really did not matter. His behavior had been inexcusable.
The seductive lure of memories involving the mystery goddess hardly made it better. He doubted Lady M. would take kindly to the excuse that while he caressed her he had been full of thoughts about another woman.
Flashing images of the passion on the sofa flickered in his mind, resurrecting the sensations. Her eyes, her breasts . . . The odd confusion of past and present nudged at him, demanding some attention. The lapse of restraint on both their parts had been a little peculiar, now that he considered it with halfway sober senses.
His attention narrowed on his father. He would sort out what had happened with Lady M. later, and make the necessary apologies, for what little good they would do. Right now he resented the intrusion that had sent her running half-dressed from the room.
“I have come on two matters,” the earl said. “Collingsworth approached me.”
“What does the good baronet want?”
“He controls a living near Shrewsbury. It is yours if you want it.”
“How generous of him. Is, by chance, this living tied to the requirement that I share it with his daughter?”
“That goes without saying.”
“It sounds to be a fine arrangement for you and Collingsworth. He marri
es a daughter into an earl’s family, and you obtain his help for that investment you are planning in Wales. However, I fail to see how it benefits either me or his daughter.”
The earl sighed with annoyance. “It is a handsome living and it is time you married. She is a good match.”
“I will decide when it is time, and she is not a good match. She is in love with another man. Everyone knows that.”
“Girlish twaddle. She will get over—”
“I do not intend to count on that. Tell Collingsworth that I will not be able to accept his offer. I would not, even if his daughter were indeed a good match. It would be blasphemous for me to become a clergyman.”
“You’ve the education for it.”
“I never took orders or a living because I’ve neither the temperament nor the conviction for it.”
The earl’s laugh did not arrest his sneer. “No, you have the temperament for the courtroom. Common Pleas is not dramatic enough, so you embarrass the family with performances in the Old Bailey. Better than a real stage, I guess. Thank God I convinced you to spare us that scandal.”
Nathaniel chose to ignore the goads. There had been rows enough over all this in years past, and he was both too old and too indifferent to engage in another.
“I would appreciate your ceasing these attempts to find such livings for me, Father. It should be clear by now that I will never accept one.”
“You could be a bishop, damn it. You could sit in the House of Lords someday if you would do as I say.”
“Make one of my brothers a bishop. Edward and Nigel must resent the way you passed them over on this grand plan.”
“They do not have your talents. It takes brains and guile to work one’s way up in the church.”
It was the closest thing to a compliment that the earl had given in years. A little disarmed, Nathaniel moved the conversation to other things.
“What is the second matter that brought you here?”
“One that will be more to your liking. You are going to be asked to serve as prosecuting counsel in a trial.”
Nathaniel took that in. How like his father to be so ignorant that he thought this would be a welcome charge.
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