4. Chapter Four

Chapter four

T he second Cricket saw her, she leaped about on her three legs, then charged toward Charlotte to nibble on her fingers.

“Hello, my sweet girl,” Charlotte cooed. “I am sorry I do not have an apple or a carrot tonight, but the evil one was guarding all of the food. Would you like to hear a secret?”

“Baa,” Cricket bleated.

“There were some lovely apricot tarts I desperately desired to eat,” Charlotte confided to her little friend.

Billy, the stable boy who looked out for Cricket, stepped out from behind a bale of hay. The lad could not have been more than fifteen years old and worked himself to the bone taking care of Papa’s horses. Hopefully, he had not heard Charlotte insulting her stepmother.

“My lady, you look quite lovely this evening,” Billy said. “Why are you not at the masquerade? ”

Charlotte pushed down sadness and smiled as if all was right with the world. “The party is delightful, but I wanted to say hello to Cricket.”

“She is a good girl, my lady. A good girl indeed. She is always sun-shiny. Nothing gets her down. Not even limping around on only three legs,” the boy said.

As if agreeing with her caretaker, Cricket bleated happily.

Charlotte leaned forward to kiss the sweet girl on her head. One could learn so much about resiliency from animals.

Billy’s face contorted into sharp lines.

“Is something wrong?” Charlotte asked.

“Well, I don’t think it’d be proper for me to say.”

Since that response often went hand in hand with a retelling about her stepmother, Charlotte moaned. “What has Lady Chesterhill done this time?”

Billy stared at his boot before meeting Charlotte’s gaze. “Leon has been here askin’ questions about Cricket. Just seems odd. Why would the head of Lady Chesterhill’s staff be askin’ about an injured goat? A goat nobody but you cares about? Well, and me. I love you, girl.” He patted Cricket on the head.

Why indeed? Because the spying woman must know Charlotte was hiding the animal she had run over and left to bleed to death. Thank heavens Charlotte had been out walking and witnessed the entire accident. With Billy’s help they had sought out Doctor Wellington, and then the three of them had saved the sweet goat’s life.

What if Lady Chesterhill harmed Cricket out of spite? She would not put it past her stepmother because the woman destroyed everything that meant something to Charlotte. Poor Romeo and Juliet .

“Thank you for sharing that information with me,” Charlotte said. “If he continues to ask questions or you see any of her staff around the barn, please let me know.”

Billy nodded. “I will, my lady. I do not trust those people in capes. They think they are better than the rest of us. But I do not let them intimidate me, and I will do my best to guard this little lady.” The lad’s frown quirked upward, and he pointed at Cricket. “She thinks your dress tastes delicious.”

Sure enough, Cricket munched away at Charlotte’s hem.

Billy gently guided the goat away from Charlotte. “You return to your party, my lady. Cricket is in good hands.”

Charlotte waved goodbye, then retraced her path. However, she had no intention of returning to that stifling party.

Standing beneath the canopy of a large Oak, Charlotte closed her eyes and exhaled.

After visiting Cricket in the barn, talking to Billy, and a few minutes in the gardens, her spirits lifted, and she’d experienced an epiphany. She was done cowering—to her stepmother. To the cruel women in the ton . To everyone. From this minute forward, she would be her own woman. She would say what she thought and do what she wanted. And no one would embarrass or talk down to her. Considering the last decade, what other choice did she have?

Despite Suzannah’s cruel eccentricities and desire for wealth and power, Charlotte and Alexander had done their best to make her feel welcome.

When Charlotte invited the new marchioness on her daily constitutionals, the woman declined with her nose in the air .

Charlotte planned delightful picnics until the marchioness had her favorite picnic basket burned.

“Ants!” the marchioness had screeched. “Destroy it now,” she’d told her staff of caped men. Charlotte had stoically swallowed tears as she watched the wicker catch fire and disintegrate, knowing full well it was insect-free. Suzannah simply loved destroying Charlotte’s precious possessions.

And then… Charlotte could not think about the incident without tearing up. Her stepmother had set Charlotte’s lovebirds free. She denied it vehemently, but the birds were merrily singing on Charlotte’s balcony in the morning and gone by that afternoon. The cage door had been closed and latched. How in the dickens would two little birds have escaped then closed and locked their own door? And Charlotte had adored Romeo and Juliet with all of her heart. If she replaced them, who knew what Suzannah might do.

Despite all of the heinous things Suzannah had done, Charlotte attempted to join her in the drawing room each evening. She would order them warm cups of chocolate and biscuits. “How was your day, my lady?” she would ask. Her stepmother would snort and then ensure there was a heaping dose of cutting insults served alongside their evening repast. Twice she’d poured the chocolate on Charlotte’s embroidery, claiming it was an accident.

“Charlotte,” someone behind her said.

She recognized that voice. Lord Nash. Dash it all. Not now. Not when she was in the middle of making a plan to fix her life. Even though her father hoped for a match between Charlotte and George Nash, they should not be alone. She feigned a smile, then faced him. His red mask, which matched the brilliant shade of his waistcoat, swung from his fingers.

“Good evening, my lord. ”

“Good evening, my lady. Are you well?” he asked. “When you left the ballroom, you seemed quite distraught.”

“I am having a lovely time.” Apparently, her new forthright personality did not involve honesty. “But we cannot be alone without a chaperone.”

“Of course, my lady.” He bowed. “Now that I know you are well, I will take my leave. I hope you allow me to add my name to your dance card.”

Ha! And her stepmother thought no one would ask her to dance. Perchance when she returned to the ballroom, she would barge right up to Suzannah and point out that Lord Nash had asked her. Surely, Papa would be delighted. But how to break it to him that she had no interest in courting George without upsetting him, because lately, Papa was consumed with something. What, she knew not. But his brow was always furrowed, his skin had become an ashen shade of gray, and he disappeared into his study for long periods of time. Meanwhile, his wife’s maleficence multiplied.

Another epiphany hit with a thud. Instead of tiptoeing around Papa, she’d confront him and ask what the dickens was wrong. Afterward, she would tell him she did not favor George enough to marry him.

Something rustled in the tree line running alongside the gardens.

“Hmm,” she murmured as she perused the area. Moonlight and lanterns lit up the gardens, but the forest off to one side remained in shadow. There was movement and a crunching sound in the vegetation. She tilted her ear.

“Perchance ’tis a parcel of deer munching on leaves,” she said as she swiveled to face Lord Nash. However, he’d disappeared into thin air as if he were an apparition or a figment of her imagination .

She blinked and rubbed her eyes.

Something snapped.

Had someone just stepped on a twig? Thereupon, there was a resounding crash. Then, heaven forbid, a man’s moans.

She swallowed hard. “George?” she croaked.

Lord Nash stepped into the light. With his mask now in place, he brushed leaves from his exquisite tailcoat that was much too small for him.

“Thank heavens you are unharmed.” Dare she admit she thought he’d disappeared as if they were in some gothic ghost story?

He sauntered to her. “I am well, my lady.”

Why had she never noticed Lord Nash’s toe-curling baritone? Or that his shoulders were extremely broad? In stark contrast, his hips tapered in, giving him the physique of a warrior. She’d always thought his chin a bit pointy. However, when wearing a mask, his jawline was chiseled to perfection.

Wait a dashed minute. Who was this well-built man in a too-tight coat, and where had he stashed Lord Nash? “Where is George?” she asked, a sharp edge to her question.

The masked stranger softened his voice and cautiously moved as if she were a skittish bird. “Do not be afraid, my lady.”

But she wasn't afraid of him. Maybe she should be since it seemed he had incapacitated Lord Nash and stolen his coat and mask. But call her curious. Fascinated even.

The clomp of approaching footsteps startled her. A moment later, she relaxed, for it seemed Lord Nash had returned for his stolen belongings. Unfortunately, her theory was problematic because it sounded like more than one person stomped toward them .

“Shite. There is no time to explain.” Her mysterious stranger grasped her around the waist. Before she had time to protest, he had pushed her back against the Oak, his torso pressed against hers.

“Kiss me,” he demanded.

“I will not.” She’d never kissed anyone, let alone a stranger. Never mind that he was physically attractive—God-like, stunning.

Caged between his hard body and the tree trunk, she placed her palms on his chest, intending to push him away. Instead, she halted, frozen in place as the intoxicating scent of spicy ginger enveloped her, wrapping her in its warmth. She inhaled again. Good gracious. Perhaps if she had eaten that dang tart, she might not be in this deprived state, helpless to the charms of this masculine specimen.

His lips crashed against hers. When she gasped, his tongue slid into her mouth.

This was all too shocking. So why was she sucking on his tongue and rubbing her tingling breasts against his pectorals?

She moaned, like a puppy getting its belly scratched, or perhaps a harlot. But heavens above, apparently, she adored being kissed by a masked stranger who had recently drunk ale.

Her lover withdrew his tongue, and his lips cupped her ear. “Please play along, my lady.”

“Yes,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around his neck. She would do anything he asked as long as he placed his velvety tongue back into her mouth.

She whimpered as he withdrew from her embrace and stepped back. Perhaps she was a horrible kisser. No surprise there since she had no idea what she was doing. However, she had secretly stolen a few peeks at the scandalous instructional book, The Secret Life of Gentlemen , and had some idea of what happened between men and women. Unless it wasn't her awkward kissing, and he had noticed she “looked a fright in pink.” Her heart, which had been beating wildly just moments ago, withered as if it were a dried-out old current.

He turned his back to her and backed up until his shoulder blades bumped her nose. “Please excuse the lady and I,” he said.

Who in the dickens was he speaking to? Charlotte raised onto her tiptoes to peer over his shoulder. So much for the noise in the forest being hungry deer or a disgruntled Nash. Three of her stepmother’s staff stood gawking.

“Pardon us, sir, um, my lord,” Leon said. “Have you seen a bloke run through here? About your height and build, brown tailcoat.”

Caught behaving like a Jezebel. She was ruined. Her stepmother would smirk. “I told you she was worthless ,” she would say to everyone. Her father would huff and then lock himself in his study. Alexander might be her only ally—but only if she could get him to put away his books for a moment and listen to her tale.

Charlotte winced at the horror of her predicament. She hid behind the gentleman who apparently owned a brown coat and was on the run from her stepmother.

Wait a minute. If he was her stepmother’s enemy, perchance he was her friend? What a pleasant thought. Remaining concealed behind the wall of muscle, she called out, “Yes. I saw him.”

Her lover stiffened as he peered over his shoulder at her. What lovely blue eyes he had. Unfortunately, they morphed into little slits that contained hellfire. “Do not,” he growled at her .

Heavens, even his growl was appealing.

“He went that way.” Charlotte swung her hand over her human shield’s head and pointed into the forest.

“Thank you, miss,” Leon said.

“Hurry. Before he gets away,” she said.

Sending her enemy in the wrong direction filled her with effervescent bubbles that threatened to burst forth in a giggle. Although, perchance, what she truly celebrated was the bold new Charlotte who planned to continue kissing this masked stranger.