Lady Charlotte's First Love

by Anna Bradley

  “This afternoon, in the carriage. Why did you help me?”

  Because once I saw the truth on your face I couldn’t stand the lie anymore. Because I believed we could save each other.

  He stared down at her, into the dark eyes that haunted his dreams, and he wanted to howl in despair, because it was too late for that answer now. “Help you? I don’t know what you mean. Whatever I might have done, it wasn’t to help you.”

  “You made me tell you the truth, and I thought you did it because—”

  “Because I care for you?” He forced a mocking laugh. “Yes, you would think that, wouldn’t you? I hate to shatter your illusions, my lady, but I did it for myself, not for you. It’s easier for me to achieve my ends if you trust me.”

  Her eyes were huge in her pallid face. “I—I don’t believe you.”

  “Of course you do. I can see in your face that you do.”

  “But…this afternoon. I heard your voice. I saw your face. You did it for me, and now you want to take it back because you think—”

  “Why would I do anything for you, Lady Hadley? Because I still love you? Your arrogance stuns me. I’m betrothed to someone else—a lady of character. Someone who deserves my attentions.”

  “You’re betrothed?” She reached behind her as if to grasp something to steady herself, but her hand found only emptiness. “But you kissed me, touched me, made me promise never to hide from you, never to pretend.”

  Oh God, he couldn’t look at her, at her beautiful, wounded face.

  He strode forward and wrapped his hands around her shoulders. “I promised Cam and Ellie I’d get you out of London, and I mean to keep that promise, but I’ve grown weary of chasing a spoiled marchioness all over the city. I did it to finish this. You’re simply a problem Cam dumped in my lap—nothing more.”

  She looked dazed for a moment, but then her face went so stark with misery his chest tightened like a clenched fist. Without thinking he drew her closer, but in the next moment her face shifted, went blank, as if she’d pulled down a shutter over an open window. “I see. I think… I think you’d better release me now, Captain.”

  He looked down at his hands. His knuckles had gone white from his grip on her. Only this afternoon he’d told her he’d never wanted to hurt her, and now…

  A wave of shame washed over him, but before he could release her she touched her fingertips to the back of his hands. Hers were ice cold, but he snatched his own hands away from her as if she’d burned him. Anger, hysterics—he could bear anything but her gentle touch.

  But she wasn’t hysterical. She was unnaturally composed. “Perhaps you’d be good enough to deliver me back to Lord Devon? I’d like to go home. I’m certain he’ll be willing to take me.”

  “No.” His entire body went rigid. “Not Devon.”

  No reaction. Not even a flicker in the dark eyes. “Lady Tallant, then.”

  “No. I’ll take you in Cam’s carriage with me.”

  He waited for her to protest, but she only gave him a brief, polite nod. “Very well.” She turned without another word and started down the path toward the house.

  Devon was waiting for them on the terrace. As soon as he saw Charlotte round the tall hedge he leapt down the stairs and hurried toward her. “Lady Hadley, are you—”

  “I’m quite well, I thank you, my lord. Captain West has kindly offered to escort me home. Good night.” She gave Devon a vacant smile, then walked past him and disappeared through the open French doors.

  Julian started to follow her, but Devon stepped in front of him. “Jesus. What the hell did you do to her, West?”

  Odd. Hadn’t Cam asked him that very same question this morning?

  Julian fought off the urge to cover his face with his hands. “I don’t… It doesn’t concern you, but for the sake of getting you out of my way, let’s just say Lady Hadley finds the truth distressing.”

  Devon gave a short laugh. “Which truth is that? Hers, or yours?”

  “That’s a liar’s question. There’s only one truth.”

  “One truth, and a thousand different ways to turn it into a lie. I wonder, West. Which lie did you tell yourself tonight? Did you convince yourself she betrayed you?”

  “I suppose there’s another reason I found her clasped in your arms?”

  “There is. But it’s none of your bloody business, and in any case I’d hate to deprive you of all that moral outrage.”

  “Ever Lady Hadley’s champion, aren’t you, Devon? But you needn’t worry about her any longer. She leaves London tomorrow, and I doubt she’ll be back anytime soon.”

  A strange look passed over Devon’s face—something almost like fear. “Listen to me, West. You can’t just dump her off in the country. She isn’t ready—”

  Julian brushed past him. “Like I said, you don’t need to worry about her anymore.” He didn’t wait to hear if Devon replied, but strode into the ballroom.

  “She’s waiting for you in the carriage.”

  Julian turned, startled to find Lady Tallant at his elbow. She studied him for a moment with narrowed eyes. “What just happened between you and Lady Hadley in the garden, Captain West?”

  “Why should you think anything happened?”

  He tried to avoid her gaze, but she pinned him with a cold blue stare. “I think you’ve betrayed my faith in you by hurting my dear friend, and I assure you, I take it very ill, indeed.”

  His lips twisted in a bitter smile. “Ah, well. You should know better than to place your faith in a hero, Lady Tallant. We never quite live up to expectations.”

  She closed her fan with a snap. “Lady Hadley looked unwell when she passed through the ballroom. See you get her home at once.”

  Julian bowed. “Of course. Good evening, my lady.”

  He found Charlotte just where Lady Tallant said she’d be, pressed into one corner of the carriage. She didn’t look ill, precisely, but there was a peculiar hunched quality to her, as if she’d pulled tightly into herself, like a child who’s suffered a nightmare.

  He sat on the bench across from her and the carriage pulled smoothly away from the curb. She didn’t look at him as they wound through the London streets, but he found his gaze coming back to her again and again. He seemed to be always in a carriage with her, watching with helpless fascination as the moonlight moved over her face.

  But this would be the last time. She’d be gone from London tomorrow—

  Except she’d never promised that, had she? “Do I have your word you’ll accompany your family to Bellwood tomorrow morning?”

  She didn’t answer right away, but waited until the carriage drew to a stop in front of her house. “You have my word, Captain, I will leave London immediately.”

  And then she was gone, the carriage door closing with a quiet click behind her. His last thought before she disappeared through the door was the house was very large, and she…

  She was very small.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Her. The dream begins with her now, always with her. Teasing dark eyes hidden under long, thick lashes. Red lips. Such a deep red, velvety and soft. The rose petal lips smile, move, make shapes. Words. No, not words. One word only. His name. Julian. There’s an entire world in that word. His entire world. His knees go weak and his heart soars, but then the thick lashes sweep down to hide her eyes, and when they rise again they’ve gone cold. One blink, and her beautiful dark eyes are cold, so cold his heart drops, becomes an icy stone, and then impossibly they are colder still, so cold they turn blue, and the silence is swallowed by a sudden explosion of red, such a bright red, more vivid than it should be, redder than he’d ever imagined blood could be, and what used to be Colin Hibbert’s chest becomes a bloody mass of jagged metal, the flesh torn to pieces, a gaping, pulpy hole where skin and bone should be, and sightless, staring blue eyes.…

  “Juli
an.” A rough hand shook his shoulder. “Christ. Jules, wake up!”

  Julian wrenched awake with a curse, his hand scrabbling for his waistcoat pocket and Colin’s watch. No pocket. No waistcoat. Damn it, where—

  “It’s in your hand.”

  Julian cracked open burning, gritty eyes. Cam stood over him, his mouth pulled into a grim line. He gestured with a sharp jerk of his chin to Julian’s hand. As always, Colin’s watch was clutched in his palm.

  Where the bloody hell am I?

  “You’re in my study,” Cam said. “You fell asleep in the chair again, helped along by large quantities of whiskey, no doubt.”

  Julian struggled upright in the chair and ran a hand over his chin and jaw. He had a face nearly overgrown with whiskers by the feel of it. A quick hand through his hair confirmed it was rumpled and damp with sweat, and his eyes were no doubt bloodshot, since it felt like someone had ground glass into them.

  Not a pretty sight. No wonder his cousin looked grim.

  Cam strode over to the tall windows on one side of the room and yanked the curtains aside. “Something wrong with your bedchamber, cuz?”

  Julian flinched as the morning sunlight fell across his face. “No.”

  Not unless one counted the nightmares, which had grown so disturbing he’d permanently abandoned his bed for his chair in Cam’s study in the hopes he’d wake more easily if he slept in an upright position. It had seemed to work, too.

  Until last night.

  That gaping hole in Colin’s chest, the coldness in Charlotte’s eyes, and the blood—so much of it, and so red. Far too red—not like real blood, which was much darker, but bright, lurid, pretend blood. Julian drew in a deep breath and clutched at the watch in his palm. The blood was always the worst of it.

  He fumbled for the table at his elbow until he found the glass of whiskey he’d abandoned last night. Ah, good. Still half full. “To your health.” He tipped the glass toward Cam, and then brought it to his lips.

  “It’s not my health I’m worried about.”

  Julian let the liquor sear his throat, then dropped the empty glass back onto the table. “Don’t say you’re worried for me, cuz? I’m in the pink of health.” Julian held his arms out wide. “Never been better. Just look at me.”

  Cam did look at him—such a long, hard look Julian had to fight to hold his cousin’s gaze. What did those sharp green eyes see when they looked at him now? He’d never been able to hide anything from his cousin, not since they were boys. Maybe Cam knew he’d offered to pleasure Charlotte in the middle of Lord and Lady Elliott’s garden last night.

  No, not offered—threatened.

  What kind of hero insinuates a lady is a whore?

  No kind of hero at all. Julian did drop his eyes then, desperate to avoid Cam’s searching gaze, and ran an unsteady hand down his face. Jesus. He’d been out of control from the moment he stepped into that garden last night, utterly at the mercy of the brute lurking under his skin. What else had he said to Charlotte? Damn it, he’d been so overwhelmed by his own pain and anger he couldn’t remember.

  But her face, pale and anguished, the tremor in her voice when she begged him to stop—dear God. He remembered that.

  He rubbed a weary hand over his eyes. The moment she arrived this morning he’d tell her how sorry he was. He’d beg her forgiveness—

  “This business with Charlotte, Julian. Its best if—”

  “It’s done. She’ll accompany you to Bellwood this morning.”

  Cam’s eyes narrowed. “Oh? How did you manage it? Should I expect to find her bound and gagged and deposited on the floor of my carriage?”

  Julian tried to smile. “A simple thanks will do.”

  Cam wasn’t amused. “Your tactics with Charlotte thus far have been—”

  To Julian’s relief, Cam didn’t get a chance to finish before he was interrupted by a knock on the study door. “Yes? Come.”

  Phipps entered, his long face flushed with distress. “I beg your pardon, sir, but there’s a gentleman here who demands to see you, and he’s rather insistent.”

  Cam raised his eyebrows. “Insistent?”

  “I’m afraid so, sir. I tried to turn him away, it being far too early in the day for calls, but he pushed his way inside. Nearly knocked me down, sir.”

  A strange sense of foreboding shot up Julian’s spine. “Did he give his name, Phipps?”

  “Yes, sir. Lord Devon.”

  “Devon!” Cam shot to his feet. “Send him away at once, Phipps.”

  “No! Wait.” Julian held up his hand to stay Phipps. “Something’s wrong, Cam. It must be. Devon would never come here otherwise.”

  Cam’s face paled. “Charlotte?”

  Julian nodded. It had to be Charlotte, and whatever it was, it was dire. Nothing short of disaster could induce Devon to appear on Cam’s doorstep. Fear choked him as he sifted frantically through his memories of last night. What had she said? She’d asked him to stop, yes, but what else? Something about wanting to see him, to tell him something, but he hadn’t let her speak, and in the end she’d said very little.

  I did weep for you. I still see your face when I close my eyes.

  Julian went still, remembering.

  “Phipps, give us ten minutes for Captain West to make himself presentable, then show Lord Devon in.”

  “Yes, sir.” Phipps bowed and left the room.

  “Get dressed, Jules. Quickly.” Cam retrieved Julian’s clothes from the chair. “For God’s sake, what did you do to them?” He cast an impatient eye over the crumpled coat and waistcoat.

  Julian shoved his shirt into his breeches. “Makeshift pillow. Give them here,” he snapped when Cam tried to shake the wrinkles out of them. “Devon doesn’t give a damn about my clothing, and I wouldn’t give a damn even if he did.”

  Cam threw the waistcoat across the room to Julian. “Good thing, because it will take far more than ten minutes to make you presentable. No, forget the cravat—it’s as believable as silk gloves on a cutpurse. You look a ruffian either way.”

  Julian had just struggled into his waistcoat when Phipps returned. “Lord Devon.” The butler stood back to let Devon pass, then hastily retreated and closed the door behind him.

  Julian eyed Devon. Wise of Phipps to escape before the bloodshed began. Devon looked ready to take someone’s head clean off his shoulders.

  No, not someone’s. His.

  Devon didn’t spare Cam a glance. “What the devil did you say to Lady Hadley last night, West?” He strode across the room until his livid face was mere inches from Julian’s. “Whatever it was, you’ve made one hell of a bloody mess.”

  Julian’s heart stuttered in his chest, but there was no way he’d let Devon see his panic. “I told you last night, Devon. Lady Hadley is no longer your concern.”

  “Is that so?” Devon’s voice was soft, menacing. “Well, I’ll damn well make her my concern until you manage something more than your current pathetic efforts.”

  Cam shoved himself between Devon and Julian, his face dark with fury. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing here, Devon, but you have a bloody nerve coming into my home and telling me how to take care of my family.”

  Devon turned on Cam. “You’ve done a damn poor job of it, otherwise I wouldn’t need to be here at all.” Devon jerked his chin in Julian’s direction. “Good God, man. Is he the best you can do?”

  Julian clenched his jaw until it threatened to shatter. “You think yourself a better choice? You would have disgraced her, ruined her—”

  “No, West.” Devon’s low voice cut through Julian’s fury. “I would have married her.”

  Cam’s mouth fell open. “What?”

  Julian stared at Devon, searching for a blink, a twitch—anything that would give him away as a liar, but the blue eyes held his without wavering. “What’
s the matter, West? Have I shocked you?”

  “I might be shocked if I believed a word of it.” But he did believe it. He could see by Devon’s face the man told the truth.

  “I don’t give a damn what you believe, but ask yourself this. Did you ever bother to ask Lady Hadley? To talk to her at all? You’ve been harassing her to leave London for a week, and in that time you never tried to understand what kept her here, did you? I suppose you thought you knew it all already. Not just a hero, but a mind reader, as well.”

  Julian shook his head. “No. It’s impossible. She would have said something, told me—”

  “Why, because you’ve proved yourself so worthy of her confidence?” Devon gave a harsh laugh. “You wouldn’t have believed her even if she had told you.”

  Julian wanted to deny it, but he knew damn well Devon was right. “She’d have told her family, then. Her sister.”

  “No doubt she would have confided in her sister had there been a betrothal, but Charlotte didn’t give me an answer until last night.”

  Julian’s stomach gave a nauseating lurch. Last night when he’d come upon them locked in an embrace, she’d been giving Devon her answer. It hadn’t looked like a refusal. Well, he bloody well wasn’t going to ask Devon if they were betrothed. He wouldn’t give the man the satisfaction.

  But the fierce possessiveness thrumming through him refused to be denied, and in the next breath he heard himself say, “Charlotte? Unless you’re betrothed, she’s Lady Hadley to you, Devon.”

  Devon stared at him for a moment, an incredulous look on his face; then he made a disgusted noise and wheeled away. “Yes, by all means, Captain, let’s quibble over my manner of address. Perhaps then we’ll have tea and adjourn to Tattersall’s for the afternoon while Lady Hadley continues her journey to Hampshire. Alone.”

  “Hampshire?” Julian stared at him. “You’re mad. She leaves this morning for Kent, accompanied by her family.”

  “My God. You don’t even know. What did you do, West? Dump her off in front of her house and congratulate yourself on being such a hero? You haven’t even bothered to find out where she is!”