This was the prince! My future husband! And several variations of the sentiment ran through Charlotte's head, blocking out everything else. She spun around and took a good hard look at her betrothed.
Most of his face was blocked out by the mask, but she could tell that he was tall (not as tall as Drake), rather lean (Drake was more solid), and his face was rather sharply structured, with high cheekbones (Drake's was broader, with a heavy brow). Her expert eye could tell his clothes were easily worth twice or even triple of hers -- although her own dress had cost a small fortune.
No wonder the country's coffers are so empty, Charlotte thought venomously. The royal family's been using it all on clothes!
A beat later, and Charlotte remembered that soon she'd be a part of this family. With this man.
She was struck with a wave of nausea as her spirit wailed in protest. No, I can't! I'm not meant to be with this man!
Then who are you meant to be with? Whispered a voice in her mind that sounded suspiciously like her mother. Are you going to dupe the prince for a disreputable man you met in a rookery by accident, and whom you will probably never meet again?
Charlotte gripped her smudged glove and shot back, he promised I'd see him if I looked for him.
Her mother's voice fell silent.
"The masks are perfect for the occasion," the prince was saying, rather cheerily but with an undercurrent of malice. "Gaudy and flashy, just as I expected."
"They fit your style quite well, Your Highness," Helen responded calmly. The prince seemed to bristle before sweeping over to Charlotte, taking her arm without asking (Drake wasn't this forceful, a rebellious voice said,) and leaving an infuriated Helen behind.
"I apologize for that bit of unpleasantness," the prince said to Charlotte, striding through the crowd of nobles with Charlotte in tow. 'The Lady Devonshire and I have had a bit of a spat. You must have heard the rumors of how unsociable she is." The haut monde seemed to melt before them, sliding into the shadows to chatter about the two of them. Charlotte tried her best to look confident and serene under their scrutiny despite her supreme discomfort.
"It's quite alright...Your Highness." A note from a hidden piano hung in the air, and a refined waltz began. The prince took lead quite confidently, and Charlotte allowed herself to be swept up in the steps.
"You look quite stunning tonight, Lady Gordon," the prince said, his words almost as rehearsed as his dance.
If there's a grain of truth in anything he says, I'll eat my own foot! Charlotte declared to herself, searching the prince's piercing green gaze (the only thing visible out of his rather large mask) for a sign of affection. The warmth that she'd seen earlier today in a pair of dark, fathomless eyes.
Nothing. He was as cold and unreadable as a snake.
He coughed politely, once, and Charlotte realized she'd been so busy trying to find even a glimmer of Drake in the prince that she'd completely forgotten her manners.
"You look handsome as well, Your Highness." Charlotte hurried, a beat too late.
"Please, we are to be married soon. No need for such formalities."
"Then...Alexander?"
"Yes?"
"If I may ask...why did you choose me as your wife?"
"Perhaps you don't remember me, but I saw you at several affairs last year." Charlotte shivered a little at the thought of the prince watching her without her knowledge. His grip on her tightened, and, instead of feeling warm, she felt numb where he touched her. "After seeing how you dealt with the Marquess of Bath, I knew that you would make a good queen."
Not a good wife then? thought Charlotte sadly, although she wasn't surprised at his rather clinical response. One dance in, and she could already tell that the prince wasn't going to be the fatherly and detached husband she'd always envisioned.
Last year, at the end of a rather trying weekend away at Lady Devonshire's country estate, Charlotte had tried to depart the Marquess of Bath's company to seek an hour of solitude, claiming that she had a prior engagement with another lady of the ton.
The Marquess had been overtly chatty and reluctant to let her leave, continuing to ramble on and on about something or other -- Charlotte had tried her best to listen, but she thought her face might sprain from the effort it took to keep her smile.
Eventually, she'd had a brilliant idea to be rid of the gossipy old woman.
"Why, ma'am, that's a fascinating story! You know, Lady Cornwall was telling me a similar story," and here, she had lowered her voice conspiratorially and the Marquess of Bath, looking rather delighted, leaned in towards her, "and she told me her daughter was absolutely refusing to marry Lord Tibbit!"
"How dare she? That's the problem with this new generation -- aside from you, of course my dear -- there's no respect for their mothers! Lord Tibbit is a fantastic match for young Joanne!" The Marquess said indignantly.
Jumping on her chance, Charlotte suggested innocently: "Of course, Lady Cornwall didn't tell me the full story -- I shouldn't even be telling you, Marquess! But if she knew about how sympathetic you would be, she'd tell you all about it so I'm sure she wouldn't mind me mentioning it to you."
At the thought that she might be the first person to hear such a juicy bit of gossip, the Marquess had suddenly looked quite antsy. She made a hurried excuse and went to find Lady Cornwall and Charlotte later saw the two gossip fiends closeted together, chattering away.
She had thought she'd been so clever then! She would never have pulled that little trick if she'd known it would attract the attention of the prince.
"You flatter me, sir," then Charlotte added more truthfully, "I'm not proud of that bit of cunning. I'm sorry you had to witness such an unsavory act."
"Nonsense." The prince was so smooth, so appropriate and courtly in his reassurance, that Charlotte couldn't sense a bit of true feeling in his words. "A princess -- and later, a queen if I may be so forward -- must be diplomatic in her approach to others. She is first and foremost a hostess, and you are precisely that."
"Why, thank you sir." Charlotte let herself be expertly guided through the rest of the dance in silence. A more lively tune had been struck up and the prince had offered her his hand when, out of nowhere, another gentleman swept her up in his arms. They twirled through the crowd of skirts and tailcoats until they lost themselves in the dark red and gold of the room.
"I would apologize, but it didn't seem like you were enjoying yourself with your partner," the mystery man whispered close to her ear. Although his face was covered by a beautifully crafted golden mask, she would recognize his deep voice anywhere.
"Drake?" she asked, nearly frozen with shock.
"The one and only. Surprised, little Duchess?"
"But how...?"
"A friend of yours let me in. Let me borrow this mask too, which, I must say, is exquisitely made. And that's saying a lot, as I've seen quite a few masks in my time."
Charlotte looked at him skeptically. "A friend of mine?"
"Fair hair, green eyes, rather thin. If I'd seen her in the woods somewhere, I would have thought she was a fairy."
"Helen?" She was the only person in the ton that could have possibly fit that description. Charlotte sent a private thank you to the girl in her head.
When Drake spoke, his hot breath tickled her ear and a blush spread like wildfire through her body. Her cheeks turned nearly red. "As much as I'm enjoying the dance, how would you like some fresh air? It seems like the man I duped is looking for you."
Following Drake's gaze, Charlotte managed to catch a glimpse of the prince making his way through the crowd of nobles, clearly searching for her. Charlotte squeezed Drake's hand, signaling him to follow her.
Weaving in and out through the ballroom she knew like the back of her hand, she managed to reach the statuary garden in the back of the Devonshire estate. In her hurry to get away from her fiance, she'd taken Drake to the last place in the world she'd wanted to be (or exactly where you wanted him, whispered the reckless side of her). The v
ery same gardens that every self-respecting debutante was warned of, lest they be taken and ravished in the dark by the infamous rakes of the ton.
She could hear hurriedly bitten off moans and giggles as they walked along the path. Heat rose in her cheeks until she was decidedly red and made to turn around.
"My apologies. This seems to be a rather inappropriate venue..." her voice died as Drake caught her arm, stopping her from retreating back inside. She looked up at his grinning face.
That rogue! He knew about these gardens and suggested going outside to see if I'd bring him here! Charlotte, absolutely infuriated, shook her arm out of Drake's grasp and gathered her skirts to leave. I knew he was just playing around with me!
It smarted to know that he thought so little of her, when she had been so fiercely glad to see him tonight.
"Wait," Drake said soothingly, circling around to cut off her furious departure. "I'm sorry. I know you're not that kind of woman and I was having a little fun because I thought you wouldn't do anything here. On my life, I never thought to take advantage of you."
Charlotte was slightly mollified at the truth that rang in his every syllable, but her infuriation knew no bounds. "You still shouldn't have. I know I'm not nearly as worldly as you and I must seem like a silly girl that knows nothing but small talk --"
Drake made to interrupt but Charlotte steamed on, her insecurities blurting out one after another. "But I'll have you know that I won't be swept up by your charm all willy-nilly. I'm not some foolish chit you can use like that! Contrary to popular opinion I have a will of my own, thank you very much, and I have enough people trying to control me so if that's what you're looking for you can see yourself out."
He was grinning as she stopped to breathe, taking advantage of the pause to head her off before she started again. "Why, Duchess, you've quite the temper on you."
Charlotte stopped in her tracks, utterly confused. No one had ever tolerated of her temper before, and Drake seemed to not only approve of her outburst, but was amused by it.
"Am I funny to you?" Charlotte demanded. Drake shook his head, a clear no.
"You continue to surprise me. I thought those dull British gents and ladyfolk would have beat the spirit out of you long ago."
"They tried," she said dully, thinking back to all those lessons and beatings and harsh words her mother had used to bully her into submission. Eventually she had come to think of being accepted as a challenge and worked hard on her own to be the very best socialite she could possibly be. It had worked -- albeit too well.
"Well, I'm certainly glad they couldn't. You're a little hellcat, you are." The interest shone in Drake's eyes as he proffered her his arm. "Now that we've established that I won't try anything indecent -- I'm sure you'd scratch out my eyes if I tried, anyhow -- shall we go take a walk?"
Charlotte took his arm, and off they went into the garden of earthly pleasure. She turned a deaf ear to the moans and gasps that permeated the air, although she had never been so grateful for darkness in her entire life. To her dismay, Drake seemed to be just fine, as if they were strolling on the street and not in the dark with the heady scent of honeysuckle floating around them.
"Was the man you were dancing with a suitor of yours?" Drake asked conversationally.
"Fiance, actually." Charlotte sneaked a peek at Drake's face, which remained cordially impassive. However, she could feel the muscle in his arm tense.
"Perhaps I've done a terrible thing, separating a beautiful lady from her betrothed."
"Nonsense, I barely know the man. You probably know him better than I do, since you seem to know so much about the ton."
"Oh? And who might this illustrious noble be?"
"He's known as George IV, son of George III."
Drake stopped dead. "You can't possibly mean --"
Charlotte laughed at the look on his face. "I knew you would recognize the name."
"Why, your Majesty!" Drake recovered and presented her with a mock-bow. "I see I'm in the presence of royalty!"
"Future royalty." She was careful to stress the "future".
"Does that mean her Majesty is not satisfied with her match?" Drake watched her curiously.
"It is the best match a young lady could ever wish for. It is selfish to ask for more." Charlotte parroted the words of her mother, and Drake's face darkened.
"Come now. That's not the Charlotte I know."
It was the first time he'd used her name and not called her by her title. Startled at the familiarity, the truth tumbled out of her before she could stop it. "I've always envisioned an old man for a husband, someone who wouldn't care much for what I do. But this Prince! Oh, it'll be like living with my mother all over again -- someone to tell me what to wear, how to act -- I bet he'll even teach me how to wave! The worst part is it won't be just him. It'll be the entire castle and, once he's crowned King, all the people we'll rule over and I'll never escape their scrutiny. The news sent me into such a shock that I had to run away, which is when you found me," she admitted, rather sheepishly. "I'm sure you thought me an utter fool."
Drake, who had been silent through her entire monologue, said to her gently, "No, I understand. You're like me -- you need freedom like you need air..."
"...or you'll suffocate." Charlotte finished for him, as naturally as if they'd known each other for years instead of a day. Indeed, it simply felt right to be by his side, pouring out her innermost thought and feelings that she'd kept locked inside herself for years.
"Tell me something about you." she blurted, and she felt rather than saw Drake turning to her in surprise.
"What do you want to know?"
"Here I am, telling you these intimate things, and I don't even know your real name."
There was a silence, and Charlotte had almost given him up when Drake said quietly, "I'd like to have kept it from you, but I suppose you would have demanded to know later anyway. But it's easier to show you rather than to tell you."
"What do you mean?"
"Do you read the news, little Duchess?"
"Rarely. I get my news through word of mouth." Her father was of the traditional make, and to read the paper she'd have to squirrel it away while her father wasn't looking -- often far too much trouble when she would hear about it from the rest of the ton later on.
"Well, if you want to know who I am I highly advise you read the paper tomorrow. And if you'd still like to see me after, come to the docks around noon tomorrow. Stick to the main streets, I'll be at the entrance to the fish markets -- although I won't hold my breath for your arrival, I assure you." he grinned, although it was more like a baring of teeth than a show of amusement, 100 percent the rogue and none of the gentleman he was in front of her. Rather than frightening her, it only made her more curious and she opened her mouth to tell him so.
Suddenly, Drake held up a hand and Charlotte hushed. In the sudden silence, she could just make out faint footsteps drawing closer from their secluded garden hideaway. An arm entwined around her waist and pulled her deeper into the shrubbery, holding her fast to a warm wall of hard muscle.
When she tried to wiggle away, Drake whispered several calming words into her hair, breath ghosting over her sensitive neck. Desire washed over her in a wave and she stilled instantly.
"Tha's a good lass," Drake said, words broken and voice unsteady. His gentleman's veneer slipped away, hints of his rough nature coming through at last. They waited together in the dark, Charlotte electrified with the feel of Drake's body so close to hers. She wanted to hear more of his cockney accent. She wanted him to clutch her closer, wanted him to turn her a bit and claim her mouth as his. She wanted him to -- she wanted him!
Heat built in her core with every second that passed by. Adrenaline and desire fought for dominance in her veins as the heavy footsteps drew closer and closer, but her blood ran cold when she heard a rustling in front of the very bush they were hiding behind. The man stopped in front of the topiary, and put his hand out to brush it aside...
Just then, a female voice rang out and the hand stopped.
"What is the majestic prince doing skulking around in my bushes? Doesn't he know there's a party going on inside?"
Helen. Oh, that blessed, blessed girl.
"I seem to have lost my fiance." The prince replied coolly. "One of the ladies told me she'd seen her slip outside with a man in a mask -- one of your making, it seems."
"Yes, the gold mask is one of my favorites. If you're looking for its wearer, dear prince, I seem to have spotted it near one of the punch bowls before I came out to search for some wandering royalty."
"Thank you, Helen." He snapped, in a tone very different from the smooth, collected and composed one he'd used on Charlotte. "What would I ever do without your ever helpful presence."
"You'd be lost without it, I presume." She replied cheerily, and the voices faded away in the other direction.
Drake and Charlotte both breathed a sigh of relief.
"That was close." Drake said, and Charlotte nodded.
"Much too close."
"Thanks to your clever friend, your reputation is still intact, it seems."
"Bother my reputation!" She almost meant it, too.
“Really?” Drake grinned, one of his roguish ones, the moonlight glinting in his mischievous blue gaze. One of his hands drifted down to her thigh, his light caress reaching her through her thin summer dress. She gasped and put a hand on his chest to stop him, but it rested there weakly as he finally closed the gap between their lips.
Their first kiss was brief but passionate -- he tasted her like a starving man, crushing them together as he pulled her flush against him. She stiffened at first, relaxing by degrees as he wound his hand through her hair and let the hand on her thigh drift upwards, upwards, and further upwards…
A hot flash of desire electrified Charlotte and she whimpered against his assault, opening her mouth in surrender. His tongue invaded her and she moaned, pressing herself against him as he pushed between her legs.
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