Chapter 12

Chapter

Twelve

T his was her time. The moment she was about to kiss the man she had been pining after for months. The man who made her feel all sixes and sevens whenever she was around him.

The carriage rumbled through the streets, weaving its way toward Mayfair, and her time was precious—and running out.

He had said she could kiss him once, but now that the moment had arrived, she was filled with trepidation.

What if she didn't know how to kiss well? What if her kiss was not what he had hoped for, and the little faith she held that he liked her as more than just her father's daughter rattled about in her mind?

He turned and stared at her as if he, too, were afraid of what they were about to do.

"I'm a little nervous," she exclaimed, hating that she sounded vulnerable and untutored in the art of kissing—yet she was very much so.

No man had ever done anything more than dance with her. She rarely allowed them to escort her outside at balls and dinner parties, and if she did, she was always chaperoned.

But this situation was quite different.

"I would be fired—and possibly called out on a field of honor—if you allowed me to kiss you, Lady Charlotte. Are you certain this is what you mean to do?"

The pleading in his voice, the trepidation, filled her with dismay. Did he honestly not wish to kiss her at all? Was he doing this solely because he didn't want her to go to the gaming hell again?

She leaned back against the squabs and settled a smile on her lips while her heart broke into a million pieces. She fought not to cry at the unfairness of it all. Why did she have to like him so very much, and Alexander not like her at all?

"I jest, Mr. Richards. Of course, I shall not make you kiss me. I like to tease my friends, you see. I hope you do not think badly of me. I still promise not to return to the gaming hell. No kiss is needed to seal that agreement."

She glanced down at his lap and noticed him wringing his hands. She reached out without thought and clasped them, stopping the nervous gesture. "I'm sorry I worried you so. I will not do so again."

He nodded, his jaw tight, a slight muscle flexing at his temple. "I think this way forward is best, Lady Charlotte."

"Of course." The remainder of the carriage ride home was uneventful, and it took all of Charlotte's patience not to sigh with every breath she took. Well, there was nothing for it. He did not desire her, and she would have to get over her silly little infatuation and find another man to kiss—and eventually marry. Hopefully, that would be the same person.

A shame, however, because there was something about Mr. Richards that spoke to her body and soul—not to mention her mind—that just felt…right.

"Lord Anson is calling tomorrow. We're not riding, so there's no need to chaperone me, but I will be having tea in the gardens with his lordship. Can you perhaps work in Father's study and chaperone me from afar? My maid will be present, but I think it's always better to have other staff keeping watch."

"Of course, Lady Charlotte. I can do that for you. Your father will be pleased to hear Lord Anson is showing interest and courting you as he should."

"Yes, I suppose he would be. A shame he is not marrying the man himself since he likes him so very much."

Mr. Richards's laughter caught her unawares, and she stared at him, her mind scrambling to think straight, especially when he smiled—genuinely smiled, not just the polite way men often did. This guileless smile lit up his eyes and animated his face.

"You have a lovely laugh, Mr. Richards. You should use it more often."

He finished chuckling and nodded in agreement. "I should, you're right. My life is filled so often with important matters that I sometimes forget to enjoy what goes on around me."

"Do you have any family?" she asked, having never asked him for any personal information.

His eyes widened, and he adjusted his seat before he said, "My mother lives in Marylebone. I bought her a small town house when I started working for the duke two years ago. She is all I have."

"No brothers or sisters?" she asked, a small tidbit of concern creeping into her mind that Mr. Richards might not have a father—or at least not know who his father was. It was one thing for her to try to persuade the man to fall in love with her. It was quite another to get her father to allow her to marry a man without legitimacy.

Despair swamped her, and she had the overwhelming urge to slap the cushioned seat she sat upon.

"No."

He did not elaborate, merely offering a one-word answer that did not shed any light on his life, leaving her with more questions than answers. Answers he was reluctant to give if his tone was any indication.

"We're almost home," she said, wanting to change the subject. "Thank you for escorting me, even though you did not have to. I would have been perfectly fine."

"So you say," he quipped, raising one disapproving brow.

Without thought, Charlotte ran her thumb over his brow, settling it back to where it ought to sit. "One day, I shall make you stop looking at me with disapproval, Mr. Richards."

He swallowed, and his eyes met hers. No matter how hard she tried, she could not look away or stop taking in the raw hunger she read in his blue eyes.

Charlotte did not know what to do. Should she move toward him? With shock and excitement, she realized that he was indeed leaning down, coming ever closer to her.

Had he changed his mind? Would he finally kiss her now and put her out of her aching pain?

Her hand slipped to the lapel of his coat, and her fingers twisted into the soft, well-made material, pulling him closer, not wanting to let go of him if she didn't have to.

The carriage rocked to a halt, and Charlotte almost toppled onto the floor. Mr. Richards reached for her, keeping her on the seat before letting go.

"Here ye are, sir," the driver called, tapping on the roof.

Frowning, Mr. Richards stared at her and moved toward the door before opening it. He reached back inside, holding out his hand, and she took it, allowing him to help her down the steps.

"I shall watch you enter the house, Lady Charlotte, and then go around to the servants' entrance. Good evening to you," he said, bowing before returning to the driver and giving payment.

Not wanting anyone to see that she had been in a carriage alone with her father's steward, she turned on her heel and returned indoors. No one was home when she arrived, and she promptly had her maid help her undress, bathe, and get ready for bed.

Sometime later, she lay abed, listening to Mr. Richards fumble around in his room upstairs—just the slightest sounds, muffled and faint, but she knew they were him.

What was he doing? She closed her eyes, imagining him settling for bed, undressing, removing his breeches…

She rolled onto her side with a huff and forced herself to stop thinking about him. She was insufferable, even to herself.