To Bed or to Wed

by Sandra Sookoo

  By the time the letter ended, tears wetted Charlotte’s cheeks. Of course he was right. As was Felix. Her brothers were the most level-headed individuals she knew, and if they both told her—in their own ways—she needed to fight for something, she should. They were like Father in that regard. More than one time in the middle of the night he’d told her life was too short to be miserable. Yet neither of her brothers had revealed how exactly she should accomplish such an impossible task, and nothing was more impossible than the puzzle of Ravenhurst.

  Nathan completed another circuit around the gold parlor. Where the hell was his sister? They should have already left for the Kenton’s soiree. As it was, if they didn’t depart soon, they’d miss the whole musicale portion of the night. Their hostess would be quite put out, regardless of how late he and Alexandra would arrive.

  “Sanders.” He turned at the barely audible sound at the doorway. “Please tell my sister, once more, to finish her toilette or I will leave without her. Or, depending on my frame of mind, I shall carry her to the carriage in whatever state of dishabille. I’m done waiting.”

  The tall man bowed slightly. “Very well, my lord. I will tell her again, but Lady Grantley operates on her own schedule.” He pivoted and the tails of his coat flared.

  “She can bloody well start adhering to what I want for a change,” he muttered. Especially if he was doing her the unprecedented honor of going out socially when he’d normally stay safely tucked away behind his own door. Nathan resumed his pacing. When it came down to brass tacks, it wasn’t Alexandra’s inherent tardiness that annoyed him. It was knowing Charlotte could possibly be there too. His stomach clenched at the thought of her. He’d wanted that impromptu assignation from a week ago when he’d also broken his own rule and attended that outing. It would seem since meeting Charlotte, Society couldn’t hold him back. He’d been pleasantly shocked at her invitation, but then, everything she did surprised him, and that very thing intrigued him. She wasn’t like other women of his acquaintance. What he and she would have done once they’d been alone, he had no idea, but the thought of causing a right, proper scandal had seemed like the best scheme since escaping the French bastards in Spain.

  Then her damned mother had intervened. I should have taken command and ignored the woman. Aren’t I the Marquess of Ravenhurst? He could have pulled rank, but he hadn’t. He hadn’t wished to make a scene or throw Charlotte to the gossips. Yet the noble sacrifice meant he’d lost out on the opportunity for a possible dalliance—or more. The possibly prickled the hairs on his nape.

  Inside his gloves, his palms sweated. His cravat felt too tight to accommodate his neck. Even his favorite pair of boots didn’t fit correctly. Never had he known such swift desire for a woman nor had he ever been as taken with one as he was with Charlotte. Blast it! He barely knew her, yet something about her captivated him. He wanted nothing more than to tell the world around him to hang itself and then whisk her away to a secluded location in order to spend hours talking to her, finding out what made her laugh or cry, what were her most secret hopes and dreams—ask her if he was her ideal of a man.

  On another turn of the parlor, Nathan’s thoughts continued to linger on Charlotte. Though he hadn’t spent much time with her, in her company he felt at ease, as if he could unburden his soul to her and she wouldn’t judge him, wouldn’t pity him but would accept him for the man he is despite his failures and agree to go forward with him, building from there.

  A grin tugged at his lips and he didn’t stop it. She made him… happy. Good Lord, how long had it been since he could honestly claim that emotion? Well, no matter. Beyond that, she made him excited and aroused. Even now, acknowledging it, his groin hardened. Every illicit, and perhaps inappropriate, kiss he and Charlotte had shared propelled him toward a collusion he hadn’t indulged in for years. This night, he intended to steal a private moment and coax another from her for the sheer pleasure of such an embrace. Where their relationship moved after that only God knew, but there would be talking and perhaps a few plans created.

  “I hope it’s Lady Sophia who causes you such a grin that brims with wickedness,” his sister said as she sailed into the parlor in a rustle of royal purple skirting and jet beads.

  “That, my dear sister, is no one’s business but my own.” He schooled his features into what he hoped was a neutral expression. “Come. We are late, and I don’t appreciate that.”

  Two seconds after Nathan stepped into the drawing room and his name was announced along with his that of his sister, he felt a marked shift in the intensity and attention of the atmosphere. As expected, the musical portion of the evening had concluded. Now everyone indulged themselves in talk before dinner would be served. Whispers started behind fans and hands while gazes were furtively, and at times, boldly trained on him, more so when Alexandra left his side to pursue her own interests. Part of him found the whispered talk amusing, and for the most part he ignored it, for he was only there to see one woman. A quick glance through the room didn’t reward him with Charlotte’s presence.

  He frowned as he pushed further into the crush. Perhaps she’d found a friend and was conversing in the hall or another room. Everywhere he went, snatches of conversation reached his ears.

  Why is Ravenhurst here? Is he looking for a bride?

  Doesn’t he enjoy seclusion? What has happened to bring him into Society?

  I’ve heard he’s promised to Amherst’s daughter. That’ll be a cold marriage bed. He’s much too handsome to waste on her.

  The last comment caused Nathan to stifle a laugh. Good to know Sophia was a cold fish in the bedroom. Perhaps adhering to some gossip had its advantages, not that he was even remotely interested in discovering if the talk was true. At the least, the prattle kept him entertained while he searched for Charlotte, yet the idea of marriage remained lodged in his brain.

  Where he’d once thought he was too advanced in years or too damaged emotionally to offer for a woman and spend the rest of his life with her, now the idea made sense—and would spare Jamie from being in the public eye. His chest swelled with warm pride. Charlotte had been right on the first evening he’d met her. He deserved to be happy in his own life regardless of what had happened to him. It wasn’t fair to let his past define his future.

  Was it any wonder that he held in her such high regard?

  The crush of people shifted, and in the wink of candlelight, he caught the brilliant gleam of red. Nathan sucked in a breath even as it stilled in his throat. Good Lord, she’s a vision. He halted suddenly, as if his feet were nailed to the floor, merely to gaze at Charlotte. Her dark red hair was upswept and vibrant in the soft lighting with fine curls framing her face, but the deep green color of her gown set off her creamy skin to perfection. Emeralds winked at her throat and from her ears. The urge to kiss the delicious spot at her collarbones just above the jewel gripped him.

  His frozen state thawed quickly as he realized she wasn’t talking with a female friend. In fact, her easy smile was trained on a gentleman—Viscount Armenstout in fact, the son of the couple hosting the event.

  Jealousy propelled Nathan forward, and the raw heat of the emotion intensified the closer he moved toward them. The longer they talked, the greater the sting grew. At last, he crept close enough to hear their conversation.

  “I’m glad to know you’re doing so well, Henry. I haven’t seen you for ages,” Charlotte said, nothing except curious politeness in her voice.

  The man nodded. His pomaded blond hair gleamed. His mustache lifted with a smile. “Indeed. I’m recently returned from India, but you and I should renew our acquaintance.” Armenstout grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips. “There was a time when you and I would have made a match.”

  To her credit, Charlotte snatched her hand away and tucked it behind her back. “Well, that was a long time ago, and things have undoubtedly changed for both of us since.” She retreated a few steps from the viscount.

  “Perhaps, but then ardor doesn’t die wi
th separation. It merely grows stronger.” His suggestion held a note of possession.

  “Unfortunately, I don’t believe that’s the case here. If you’ll excuse me? I’d like to speak with your cousin and ask after her health before dinner begins.” Charlotte fled in a flurry of skirts.

  Nathan couldn’t stand the suspense. Who was Armenstout to her and why did the viscount act as if he had a claim? He inclined his chin. “Armenstout. Good to see you again.” He clenched his jaw when all he wanted to do was land the man a facer for the audacity of talking to Charlotte.

  “Ah, Ravenhurst. I had thought I’d seen an apparition when you walked through the doors.” Henry narrowed his beady eyes. “To what do I owe the honor of your presence?”

  “I’m here to speak to a mutual friend, it would seem. Lady Charlotte, in fact. A pity I missed her while you were talking off her ear.” He stepped closer and lowered his voice. It wouldn’t do to give the gossips more fat to chew. “I assume you and she are family friends?”

  “Indeed, and if I have my way, she’ll consent to be my wife before too long.”

  Nathan recoiled at that. “I don’t know how you became so disillusioned, but to my knowledge, Charlotte hasn’t shown a proclivity for any man of her acquaintance.” In that moment, he loathed the viscount. What gave him the right to make any claim on her? For that matter, why did Nathan think he had one as well?

  “Ah, is that how the wind blows then?” Surprise lit Henry’s features. “Sorry, old boy, but you are not who she needs.”

  “How do you figure?” Nathan curled one hand into a fist. Annoyance wound through his gut. With his dying breath he would keep this cur from sniffing about Charlotte’s skirts.

  Armenstout crept closer. The distinct scent of whiskey lingered on the man’s breath. “She might be enjoying a dalliance with you,” his voice sank to a whisper, “warming your bed when you don’t think anyone knows, but she’ll marry me.”

  “You overstep, sir,” Nathan said in his most chilly voice, the voice that used to send the men in his regiment scrambling, the voice his servants fled from.

  “Do I? She and I will share far more than you and she ever could.” The viscount slunk a step closer. “How could you even think she’d want to align herself with you, the beast of London, the terror of the countryside? You’d damage her as time went on.”

  A hot wash of anger coursed through Nathan’s body. He ignored the assumptions about himself in order to defend her. “Are you prepared to stand up in a duel and apologize for the slur against Charlotte’s character?” It was outside of enough he’d even said what he had, and in a public setting.

  Henry, apparently full of reckless daring, poked a forefinger into Nathan’s chest. “Don’t threaten me, Ravenhurst. You cannot deny I’m the safe choice for her. I’m a responsible man who will give her children and a solid, stable life.” Again he jammed his finger into Nathan’s chest. “You have nothing but a title. You’re cold and uncaring—a monster even. Everyone thinks so, and how close to home do those stories run? Charlotte deserves more and you know it, so bugger off. If you truly care for you, let her go. Let her live.”

  As much as Nathan wished to frog-march the man out into the street and lay his fists into him, he couldn’t. The penalty of being in the public eye and mingling with Society was adhering to manners. He refused to unleash his temper in a place that would ruin his future. Instead, the viscount’s words bounced about his mind like children’s balls falling down the stairs. Was what he said true? Would he ultimately bring more heartache to Charlotte if he decided to court her? “This isn’t over between us, Armenstout.”

  Henry laughed then shoved past the marquess. “Go back into hiding, Ravenhurst. Let the darkness eat your soul. There is nothing here for you.”

  Nathan let him go. There would be other times to exact an accounting. When he glanced across the room, his gaze connected with Charlotte’s. Her mouth formed an “o” of surprise then a few women clustered around her and broke their link. Cold fury dripped down his spine. It chased even colder dread through his gut. The night that had seemed to hold such promise went sour quickly. Familiar anger broke over his soul and stole through his being.

  “And this is one of the reasons I’ve turned my back on Society!” His roar of frustration echoed in the space.

  With nothing for it, he strode across the floor and from the room. He didn’t pause to locate his hosts and say his goodbyes. Perhaps he should, indeed, become the beast Society apparently thought him.

  Chapter Seven

  Charlotte paid no attention to the chatter of conversation around her since the bulk of her attention rested on Nathan. He and Henry talked in one corner of the large room, but when the marquess curled a hand into a fist, she frowned. What did they speak of? Why was he so angry? She nudged one of her friends with her elbow. “Did you know Ravenhurst would be here this evening?”

  “No, but I wonder why he came,” the slender brunette replied. “He never attends any sort of function.”

  Another young lady—a blonde this time—moved closer to them. “There’s talk he’s intent on finding a bride and that’s why he’s come out of hiding. I heard it from his sister, but then she followed that he’s nearly betrothed. It’s a puzzle.”

  A tingle chased down Charlotte’s spine. Nathan wanted to marry? She shouldn’t let her hopes soar, yet if there was a chance… “I thought he was promised to—”

  “Lady Sophia?” her friend, Jane, interrupted with a toss of her head. Her black curls bounced. “So says the rumor mill, yet he’s not really squired her about Town, has he? We rarely see him anywhere, but Lady Sophia is at all the most prominent events, and one would think a woman in her position would want everyone to know she had a claim.”

  “True.” Charlotte’s heart skipped a beat. Perhaps he wasn’t as taken as she thought. “Excuse me.” No sooner had she taken a step in his direction than he uttered a loud outcry then stormed away from Henry with his face as dark and stormy as a thundercloud. His gaze crashed into hers, and the intense force of it rolled over her. Hot and cold plowed into her and the hair on her arms stood to attention. “Oh my goodness.” She sucked in a breath even as her pulse beat a furious rhythm. It didn’t take much imagination to feel his annoyance. He’s so intimidating, so glorious. Goose flesh erupted on her exposed skin and left tingles behind. She’d never wished to know a man better as much as she did Nathan in that moment. His rage, his ire, was a mere heartbeat away from erupting.

  On a whim, she chased him. When she caught him up in a few steps, she grabbed his arm and tugged. His muscles tensed beneath her fingertips. “Ravenhurst, wait. Please don’t quit the evening so early. I, for one, would be most pleased to further our acquaintance.”

  He turned the full force of his anger-filled gaze upon her. Charlotte gasped. “Would you? From all I’ve seen tonight, you’re not selective in who you lead on. I expected better from you, Charlotte. Thank God I’ve seen your true mettle before I was played the fool.” He yanked his arm from her grasp. “Excuse me. I find everyone here is rather bitter to my taste and rubs my soul wrong. As I suspected. No better than the French.” The last was uttered with such hatred and loathing, Charlotte’s pulse leaped through her veins with a trace of fear.

  “I… I don’t understand what you mean.”

  “Stop it. If you want Armenstout, fine, but don’t pretend with me.” Disappointment mixed with the anger in his eyes. He strode past her, never appearing as if he knew her, past everyone, then exited the drawing room without a word. Charlotte gaped after him with a light sting of tears in her eyes. Never had she been given such a cut direct before. Oh, Nathan, you poor man.

  The butler appeared at the door and rang a small hand bell. The tinkling sound cut through the buzz of conversation and immediately, the din quieted. He announced dinner would be served in the next five minutes.

  “If I were you, I’d forget about the marquess. No good can come from that pursuit, and he is not worth
your admiration besides. Let Lady Sophia have at him. Perhaps they’re equally cold in their own ways.” Henry’s voice in her ear and his hand firmly on her upper arm prevented her from chasing after Nathan. “Please, accompany me into dinner.”

  Manners and decorum dictated she do as he asked. She blinked away the tears and laid her fingers on Henry’s arm. Nathan wasn’t coldhearted and she suspected he wasn’t as cruel as everyone assumed. Minutes later she was installed between Henry and another gentleman considerably older than him—a Captain Forsythe. For once, Charlotte wished her mother had accompanied her to the musicale evening, but she’d begged off with a headache. Now, Charlotte had no one to run interference or introduce topics of conversation—not that she felt like talking with either of her neighbors. The whole of her being strained to jump from the table and run out into the night in the hopes of catching the marquess before his carriage pulled away from the house. He was hurting and she needed to comfort him. Why was that so wrong?

  She swirled her spoon through a creamed pea soup, her appetite having fled. What would her mother say if she knew the cause of Charlotte’s digestive disorder stemmed from pining after a man she couldn’t—or shouldn’t—have? Barely had she swallowed a scant spoonful of the soup when she heard the word “Ravenhurst” on someone’s lips down the table. Charlotte glanced up and scanned her fellow diners. Who had said it and what did they talk about?