“Ah.” This time a tiny smile flirted with his lips, and to her astonishment, a dimple appeared in his right cheek, gone before she could get a good look at it. “It’s nighttime and winter besides, Charlotte. The plants are dead. There’s nothing to see.”
A thrill zipped down her spine to hear her name in his voice. “I don’t wish to visit the gardens to examine the flora.” Mentally, she gaped at herself. It was madness what she hinted at, but there was something about the marquess that compelled her to explore, no matter how madcap the scheme. The fire that had ignited within her in his study hadn’t died. Even now the flames licked at her common sense and drove her further into the heat. For the first time in her life, she didn’t want to heed the danger but to plunge onward. No man had ever made her feel such a thing.
His eyes darkened, more golden-brown than green now—intense, primal, beastly. “You’ll be cold, for once again, you haven’t dressed for the weather. Although,” he swept his gaze along the low bodice of her gown, “I am glad you wore blue tonight. A woman who wears blue will always draw notice.”
Heat swept through her body at his regard. “I should hope so. As long as it’s from the right gentleman.”
“For tonight, it most definitely is.” The skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled with his grin. “Is it too much to hope you wore blue due to my suggestion?”
“It might be.” The words tumbled out in a breathy rush. Though she had much experience in the realm of flirting, the art failed her now. Her tongue felt thick and glued to the roof of her mouth. What should she say? How far should she take things? “Shall we adjourn outside?” At least the sharp bite of the chilly air would cool her skin and bring clarity back to her brain.
“Indeed. I’m intrigued by your offer. You have a knack for the most unorthodox meetings. It’s enchanting.” At the end of the dance, he pulled her hand through the crook of his arm and led her toward a side door, presumably where they would eventually connect with the outside. “But then, every moment since our first has been unorthodox.” Desire lit his eyes and his grip tightened. “That, alone, is worth further investigation.”
Moments before they crossed the threshold, Roberta intercepted them. “Good evening, Lord Ravenhurst.” She tugged Charlotte away from the marquess. “Charlotte, my dear, come with me. There is someone you simply must meet, someone much more suited to you and not spoken for.” Her mother glared at Ravenhurst.
Of all the unfortunate times for her mother to interrupt! “Good Lord, Mother. Leave me be,” she hissed. She cast a frantic gaze to Nathan. His smile was once more buried beneath a scowl. The teasing had fled his expression. She’d wanted the dalliance she glimpsed in his eyes. Something had passed between them on the dance floor and now the moment was broken.
He was nothing if not polite as he executed a small bow from the waist. “Perhaps another time, Lady Charlotte. I believe I’m needed elsewhere for the moment. Good evening, Mrs. Darrington.” With a nod to both her and Roberta, Nathan took his leave and was quickly swallowed in the crowds of curious onlookers.
The buzz of conversation flowed around her, but she ignored it in order to contain her rage. Her chest heaved while she stared at her parent. “How could you do that, Mother? Ravenhurst and I were—”
“I don’t care to know what you and he were about to do, but I’m glad I thwarted it.” Roberta threaded her fingers with Charlotte’s then pulled her out of the ballroom and into the corridor beyond. “It’s for the best, dear. Creating scandals like you did and becoming the latest on-dit is not the way to find a husband—or a decent man I should say.”
“You have no idea what sort of a man Nathan is,” Charlotte choked out from a throat tight with unshed tears of embarrassment and disappointment. “Neither have you a clue what sort of man I want. If I seek a rogue, or even a beast, why can I not have one?”
“So, it’s Nathan, is it?” Roberta’s stride didn’t slow. “He isn’t for you, and you will just need to accept this answer.” She patted Charlotte’s hand. “I really do know what’s best for you.”
“In this instance, Mother, I don’t think you do.”
It wasn’t until they were safely ensconced inside their town carriage that she let the first tears fall. The more they came, the more mortified she was. Bloody hell. I’ve never cried over a man before. Though she was livid with her mother, she accepted the handkerchief her parent handed to her without a word. As she mopped her face, her thoughts returned to Nathan. There was something about him she greatly admired, something that urged her to dig deeper into his life and ferret out his secrets—to show him understanding and perhaps affection. Above that, she desired him. Even now, thinking about him, imagining what would have occurred if they had gained the winter-abandoned gardens had liquid warmth tickling between her thighs and her heartbeat racing. None of the hopeful bucks or tired widowers had made her feel thusly for them.
A shuddering sigh escaped her lips along with a few more hot tears. For the first time in her life she longed to know the intimacy of a man’s touch, to be bedded by a man who she’d deemed worthy of her affections. Too bad fate—and her mother—conspired against her wishes. Compared to the marquess, the other men of her acquaintance paled.
“Never fear, my girl. As the Season goes on, no doubt you’ll find another man to occupy your attention and engage your heart.” She gave Charlotte a soft hug. “Things will work out and this evening will be nothing more than a memory. Men are very much the same in that regard.”
“No, no they are not.” Charlotte sniffed and turned her face to the window. She wanted more than fleeting kisses and a dance for memories. She wanted more than a cold marriage such as her parents’ had initially been. Why did things need to be so complicated?
Chapter Six
When sleep still eluded her by the time the clock downstairs struck one in the morning, Charlotte tumbled out of bed, donned her wrapper and crept out of her room. Darkness shrouded the corridor. Silence followed her descent of the stairs. At first, she wanted to slink into the kitchen and raid the leftover pastries Cook kept for the footmen, but when a glimmer of light caught her eye from Felix’s study, an overwhelming urge to talk with her brother came over her. Since his marriage, coupled with his work in Parliament, he’d been scarce.
She paused at the partially open door. When her brother didn’t glance up or acknowledge her presence, she gently knocked on the frame then pushed the door all the way open. “I hate to interrupt, but I’d hoped you could spare a moment or two.”
Finally, he focused his attention on her. His Darrington-blue eyes—so much like hers—twinkled in the soft illumination from an oil lamp on his desk. “When have you ever asked permission before, dearest sister? You have an unfortunate penchant for disturbing me when I’m trying to work.”
She grinned and entered the study. The last time she’d had a heart-to-heart talk with him in this room was to counsel him on courting Clarice. Though her skill lay in matching forlorn hearts, the fact she needed romantic advice from her brother smacked of irony. Plus, he would tease her unmercifully. “Are you perusing the books now?” There were ledgers opened in front of him, but it didn’t appear he’d marked in any of them recently.
“No. In truth, I merely wanted an hour or so to myself. Since coming back to London, I haven’t had a moment’s peace.”
“Oh? Have you found married life isn’t all you expected?” If he didn’t care for the state, what hope was there for her? She slipped into a leather-bound chair opposite his desk then tucked her legs beneath her as she used to do when she kept her father company after his long nights with Parliament. She’d gotten into the habit of visiting him in the quiet moments, and they would talk of things that had nothing to do with familial duty or futures.
It wasn’t possible for Felix’s grin to be any wider. “It’s everything I expected, and more. I never thought one person could make such an absolute change in my life.” His eyes twinkled. “However, Clarice has a tendency
to hog the bedclothes, and she’s not feeling well besides.”
“She’s ill?” Charlotte’s heartbeat accelerated. “Perhaps she is enceinte.” How wonderful there might be a baby in the offing. “Then Mother will have something to occupy her time, and she can stop mucking about in my life.”
“Mother won’t be happy until every one of her children has babies on the way, and even then she’ll cajole and plead for more.” A chuckle escaped him. “It’s only been two months, but perhaps you are right. Clarice and I have been practicing religiously to usher in that state.” He shrugged. “If she doesn’t improve, we shall call for the doctor.”
“Spare me the details.” She held up a hand while pulling what she hoped was a mock-disgusted face. “I’m merely happy that you are happy.” A tiny twinge of jealousy squeezed her heart. Of course, his courtship hadn’t come without conflict, so perhaps she shouldn’t worry about her dilemma either. “It has been a long time coming.”
“You introduced the subject.”
“I did.” She couldn’t help her grin. “Has she given any more thought to claiming her French aristocratic roots and title?”
Slowly, he shook his head. “We’ve talked about it, but she hasn’t decided. It’s still all rather new, and what with being married and adjusting to our new life, the title has taken a less important role.”
“Well, she shouldn’t give it up. It’s her heritage.” She waved a hand. “I’ll speak to her about it, perhaps encourage her.” Before Clarice and Felix had wed, Clarice had revealed she was the granddaughter of a French comte. Since her mother had died, the title would have passed to Clarice, and now was the time for her to publicly announce her heritage. However, Felix had left that decision strictly in his wife’s hands. He refused to push her.
“I’m sure you will, but until she feels comfortable revealing that side of herself, nothing you or I can say will influence her.” He leaned back in his chair. The springs creaked beneath his weight. “Why are you prowling around the house in the dead of night? I’m certain it has nothing to do with engaging me in inappropriate small talk regarding the state of my wife’s loins.”
Charlotte snickered. “No, it doesn’t.” She worried the inside of her cheek. “I’m actually here to ascertain if you have information about Lord Ravenhurst.” For the moment she’d pretend she was merely curious about the enigmatic man. Her brother didn’t need to know anything else. And what would she say beyond that, that she was enamored of the man and his rumors?
“Ravenhurst? Why the devil do you want to talk about him? I remember him being a quiet man at times and an absolute bear at others. The man’s a recluse, more like a shadow in Society than anything else, especially in recent years. I suspect his mind is haunted.”
Which is all the more reason I want to know everything about him. “Perhaps.” She rolled her eyes. “I recently met him by accident while attending a house party for his nephew. He seems to be a rather standoffish man in some respects.”
“That’s putting it mildly. More often than not, when anyone attempts to approach the marquess, he invents an excuse and melts into the crowd—if he even puts himself into a position to mingle with other people. To see him outside of Parliament is a rarity. For reasons I cannot fathom, he prefers the country to London though his sister trails him no matter where he hides.”
“What else?” She needed to know everything.
“Hmm.” Felix tapped a finger against his chin. “We went to school together. We served in Spain at the same time, but I was never on the same battle front as he. Occasionally, he and I will chat briefly during a lull in Parliament business, meet for tea of a rainy afternoon, but I don’t recall him being the terror the rumors or gossipmongers call him. If he is, he either hides it well or he’s managed to let that part of himself live in shadow.”
“And you don’t pay nearly enough attention to rumors in any event to know.”
“Yes, for I much prefer having my news mired in more truth than fancy. Perhaps I should spend time with him socially. Vet him for you, for that is why you asked, yes?”
What would that even be like, her brother with Ravenhurst in the same room, talking about her or the suitability of a match? A tingle shot down her spine. “Yes.” What was the point of denying it? She played with the end of her thick braid. “He intrigues me like no other man has done before. I like the challenge he represents. There are stories behind his eyes, things I would dearly like to know, yet, making such a thing happen is complicated.” Memories of their dance swamped her and brought heat to her body. What would they have done had they gained the privacy of the back gardens? “I guess I want to make him happy or find out why he’s not.”
“Oh, my poor Charlotte.” Felix laughed, and when she frowned, he only laughed harder. “It seems to me—not that I have much experience in the romantic realm—you are smitten with the fellow.”
“I am not!” Her voice raised an octave at the protest. She stared down her brother. “Bite your tongue. My curiosity is of an intellectual nature. I wish to know what drives the man to keep himself aloof from Society or why he appears so haunted.” And to find out if he truly was spoken for or if he had any intention of ever coming out of hiding enough to properly court a woman.
“My dear, you were never very good at lying. I suppose Father never quite taught you the finer points of how to dissemble.”
“Father taught me many things.” The confession pulled a smile from her.
“In addition to smoking and drinking?” Felix leaned forward and again the chair springs creaked. He clasped his hands upon the desktop. “I’ve always admired your confidence and determination to follow your dreams regardless of what Mother wished for you to do.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” She hoped he’d get on with it. If he wouldn’t help her, there was no reason for her to linger.
“Why not pursue Ravenhurst if he’s who you want?”
“Why do you assume I want him? Perhaps I’m merely too curious for my own good.”
“Right.” He tapped a knuckle on his ledger book. “I’ve never seen you so animated about a gentleman before, which leads me to believe he’s aroused more than your curiosity.” He stroked a finger along his chin. “It’s good to see that desire in you, Charlotte. I rather doubt you wish to have only Mother as a companion for the rest of your life.”
Warmth spread through her insides. “He seems quite the passionate fellow.” She fought off a blush. Dear God, this conversation couldn’t go deeper. Not with her brother! “I suspect he wouldn’t let me boss him.”
“Indeed. Now that I think on it, you and he would be a good match. You’re both too stubborn besides. Many an argument will come from that union. And yes, Ravenhurst won’t let you lead him around by a nose ring.” He cocked a dark eyebrow. “What stands in your way… beyond Mother’s disapproval?”
“Complications. Society. Mother, as well as Ravenhurst’s own sister, has hinted he’s spoken for or has duties to another lady—Amherst’s daughter in fact.” She forced down a swallow, pushing away the sour bile that always accompanied the name.
“Damnation, but that is a coil. No one should willingly align themselves with the Amherst line. Every time I think of his behavior at that rout… Well, it all ended perfectly fine for me.” He scratched his fingers along his jaw, but it didn’t hide the twitch in his cheek. “However, it’s not an insurmountable problem.”
“Pish posh, Felix. It is and you know it. He has a duty, I’d imagine.” Though her brother’s dismissal of the facts lightened her heart. “Amherst always gets what he wants. Plus, Lady Grantley seems a grasping creature. If she wishes her brother to marry Lady Sophia, he will if only to be rid of her harping. I’ll have no consideration in the matter.” Her lower lip trembled, but she quelled it from going further.
“Minor annoyances. Truly. Life is a marvel that—if we’re lucky—will give us wonders above anything we could have dreamed of.” He pulled open a desk drawer, rea
ched into it then withdrew an envelope. “Until I can figure a way to help you—and I will—perhaps Oliver can step in. You and he always got on well. I was jealous you two had each other while I’d been forced to pay heed to the damn title.”
“Poor Felix.” Though she did feel sorry Felix had spent much of life either training to inherit the title or dealing with it. She sprang from her chair, snatching the missive from his hand. “He wrote to me specifically?” Though she respected and loved Felix, Oliver occupied a special spot in her heart. She’d gotten into enough mischief with him during their childhood and been reprimanded by Felix when caught that the bond would never fade.
“Absolutely he did, and Mother was none too pleased when she found out as he’s ignored her for a couple of months. No letters for her.” Felix grinned as he stood. “I think he’s vexing her on purpose because he doesn’t wish to come to London. I understand his feelings.” He slid an arm about her shoulders and gently squeezed. “Go read it in your room, but remember not to accept defeat too readily. If Ravenhurst is someone you believe in, fight for him.” He peered into her eyes with a grin. “Isn’t that what you said to me not too long ago? Thank goodness I fought for Clarice. Now I’m urging you to do the same.”
Tears misted her vision. She blinked them away. “Yes.” The word came out on a whisper. “Thank you.”
“Too bad love is a rather sticky wicket, eh?” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “It’s worth the heartache, I can assure you.”
“It is inconveniently difficult.” Charlotte pelted from the study as if Hell’s hounds were at her heels. Once in the privacy of her bedroom, she lit a lamp with shaking fingers then carefully tore open the envelope.
Oliver’s cramped, crowded handwriting covered two pages, both front and back, and sometimes in the margins. He wrote as if he were between adventures and didn’t have much time. She read quickly, ascertained he planned to return to Brighton for a bit, but a couple of lines near the end leaped off the page at her. “I’ve learned a few things since being on my own and away from things, sis. You have to be fearless in this world to get what you want or go where life takes you. No one’s going to just hand you your heart’s desire.” She scanned further down the page. “Don’t let Mother boss you. She’ll only do that if you don’t fight back. If you want a thing, chase it because you might not have a second chance. Trust me on this.” He went on in the same vein for a paragraph then said, “Make peace with who you are and the walk the path you’ve chosen in life. You’ll want no regrets when you’re eighty.”
To Bed or to Wed Page 8
