Chapter 13

Chapter

Thirteen

T he following afternoon, Charlotte sat with Lord Anson in the gardens, enjoying a light repast of tea and food that the cook had made especially for the viscount after her mother had learned of his favorite dessert.

There wasn't a breath of wind today, and the blue sky stretched endlessly above them—a lovely day for a visit from the man courting her. It was shame that he was endlessly going on about last evening's ball that she had missed.

Charlotte picked up her tea and sipped, losing interest in the subject of society. She had a far better time at the gaming hell. Well, at least the few minutes she was there before Mr. Richards whisked her away in a hackney cab. Now, that journey had been far more interesting.

She adjusted her seat. Her reed stays poked into her hip. She really needed to speak to her dressmaker about having these adjusted.

"I do apologize for missing the ball, my lord. It sounded quite the event. And Lord Rice proposed to Miss Jones, you say? Did she accept him?" Not that she was particularly interested in who the young Miss Jones married, but at least it would keep Lord Anson from gazing at her with those sad, beguiling eyes in an attempt to make her marry him as well.

"She did indeed. And they danced afterward, which was very nice."

"You sound quite the romantic." Charlotte threw him a slight grin, and he smiled back, pleased, it would seem, that she had termed him so.

"I must say, Lady Charlotte, that my calling on you, I do believe, has brought us closer. I'm a shy person by nature, and I thought that if I asked your papa for permission to marry, we would have the banns called over the following month and get to know each other better before it was all official. But I do believe you asking me to court you first, to get to know you better, is a much sounder way around this whole marriage necessity."

"I believe so too, my lord." She set down her teacup. "But just because your family may wish for you to marry, I do not think you ought to out of necessity until you're in love." She paused, and he frowned at her words. "I do not wish for you to force your feelings for me. They will be there, or they will not. For instance," she turned and reached for his hand, taking it in hers. "Do you feel anything when I touch you like this? Anything out of the ordinary?"

Lord Anson cleared his throat, his thumbs rubbing over her fingers as he debated his emotions. "I feel your warm, gloveless fingers, which are pleasant and soft, but that is all." He puckered his lips. "What do you feel?" he asked. "Should I be feeling something different?"

"To touch me like this, I believe we should feel like we never wish to let go, and you would want to take my hand and place it on your cheek and lean into my touch. When two people are romantically inclined, they should never want to let go."

"Perhaps it will only occur if we kiss?"

Lord Anson's words startled Charlotte, and she gasped, unable to comprehend that he would say such a thing. He had never come across as a rake before—at least, not until now.

"We cannot kiss, my lord. I do not wish to compromise myself." At least she did not wish to compromise herself with this particular man. Should another, however, who went by the name of Mr. Richards, be sitting before her? Well, that would be another question altogether.

"There is no one about," he mentioned, glancing around the garden's small, hedged lawn area where they sat and took tea. A part of the garden that she knew her father's study overlooked—and Mr. Richards was supposed to be sitting and chaperoning her from afar.

Of course, her maid was seated on the terrace, reading a book, but she was too thoroughly engrossed in The Castle of Otranto to pay Charlotte any heed.

"Have you ever kissed a woman before, my lord?" she asked, unable to quite comprehend that she was even considering such a scandalous thing. Especially when she held no romantic feelings toward Lord Anson, especially after his conduct at the park, and not helping that little girl on her runaway horse. Although, perhaps once and for all, this would prove to him that he felt nothing for her. His asking her father for her hand was simply because he was a lord of marriageable age and needed a wife. That she had been on the marriage market for three years was considered a good, not-too-troublesome prospect.

How wrong the poor man was.

He pulled at his cravat, and a sheepish look crossed his features.

"Perhaps I should add to my question and ask if you've ever kissed a lady not being paid by his lordship?"

He cringed but met her eye—a noble action, in her opinion, not to shy away from the truth. "You are right. I have kissed women, but, as you say, not women whom my family would approve of me marrying."

"I have not kissed a man before, so I am untutored, but to prove to you that as much as I do like you—and I truly do my lord—I do not think we suit. When I touched you just now, I felt as you did. I felt friendship but not desire. And I think desire is such an important element of any marriage. We shall be married a long time, God willing. How awful to marry someone you do not wish to touch, kiss, and laugh with as much as possible."

His lordship nodded. "I quite agree, but if this is to be our last meeting alone as it is, perhaps we ought to kiss just to see and be sure. I would hate not to kiss you and regret not trying and finding out."

"Very well, let us share a brief kiss, and if we feel anything resembling desire, we shall continue with our courting."

"I agree to those terms."

Lord Anson leaned forward, and Charlotte did the same. She couldn't stop the grin of amusement that twisted her lips before his lordship's settled on hers.

His lips were surprisingly soft, and he opened his mouth, kissing her in a way she did not quite know what to do with. She followed his lead, clasping the lapels of his coat and kissing him back. And while the kiss was sweet, warm, and enlightening, it did not spark desire.

In fact, she felt nothing at all but mild interest and fascination that this was how people kissed.

She had never known it would be open-mouthed like it was. She frowned when Lord Anson clasped her cheeks, deepening the kiss. Was she feeling his tongue? Bile rose in her throat and she fought not to gag.

Lord Anson pulled away and sat back in his chair, looking at her. "Well, that was unexpected. I thought kissing one of The Graces would overwhelm me, and while kissing you was delightful, you are correct. I did not feel anything but a mild stirring of desire, which is what I always feel when kissing a woman."

Charlotte sat back in her chair, pleased with this outcome, although the fact that he had not fallen deeply in love with her was a little concerning. Maybe she did not kiss very well?

How mortifying.

"So we can remain friends, my lord. I think it is best since we now know that we do not desire one another enough to make an enduring and happy marriage."

"I quite agree, and I cannot thank you enough for proving your point to me this afternoon. I would never have known otherwise."

"And now you're free to find someone who does spark that wild, untamed desire in you and marry them."

Lord Anson reached out and clasped her hand. "I hope you, too, find what you're looking for, Lady Charlotte. You are a remarkable woman, and I am quite in awe of you. I do hope we shall forever be friends."

"Of course." She waved his heartfelt words aside, never having had a gentleman friend before and a little unsure how to have one now. "I would like nothing more."

Well, that wasn't entirely true. She would like to test her kiss theory on another man to prove her point that with Mr. Richards, that desire did burn between them. If only he weren't such a staunch stickler for rules.

Weren't rules meant to be broken? Maybe it was time she shattered them to pieces.