Chapter 16

Chapter

Sixteen

C harlotte and Matilda departed from the Southwell ball separately, both giving their mamas the excuse of feeling tired and overwhelmed with the Season and needing to return home to rest. Of course, their mamas believed the excuses, and as soon as they left the ball, they hailed a hackney cab to the dowager Lady Fraser's, who was holding another of her scandalous masque balls.

Charlotte sat on the squabs of the hackney and lifted the shimmering silver silk skirts, untying the mask from around her thigh and tying it upon her face. Her Venetian mask, crafted from rich black silk, framed her eyes, giving her an air of mystery and allure, the dark fabric contrasting seductively against her pale complexion as it concealed her identity. The candlelit Mayfair streets passed by, the carriage meandering toward their destination, their gowns rustling softly with each turn of the wheel.

"Oh my, you're a genius." Matilda laughed, opening her reticule and pulling out her mask. "Mine is a little crinkled, but it should straighten out in no time," she said, tying it around her face.

"I do not think anyone will recognize us with these masks at Lady Fraser's, and it is a good place to test their ability to keep our identities a secret. Then we shall be able to wear them again for the card game everyone is talking about."

"So you're certain your papa will attend and participate in the game?"

"I am indeed. I've heard Papa and Mr. Richards speaking of it, but I'm yet to find out where the game will take place. That information, as of now, is still eluding me."

Matilda nodded. "What a shame Genevieve left early for her country estate, but I'm happy for her. I look forward to the letter telling us to come to her new home and visit with the baby."

"Oh, as am I, but it is a good outcome for her. She's very much in love."

Matilda sighed and leaned against the squabs. "I so wish we could find a love as grand as Genevieve's. But then, I think you're on the brink of making a love match yourself. I cannot believe you kissed Mr. Richards. Tell me again how passionate it was."

Charlotte chuckled, but butterflies took flight in her stomach at the memory of Alexander kissing her with such intensity. The heat of it still lingered in her veins, threatening even now to steal her breath and strengthen her resolve.

The moment she had Matilda to herself at the ball, she had told her what happened that very afternoon, how she had all but given up hope of him ever kissing her, and how that had changed, quite fantastically so after he'd seen her with Lord Anson.

"No, I cannot repeat it, but it was wonderful."

"I'm very envious. I have danced once with Marquess Wolfson, yet he seems to have disappeared from society and has not been in town for several weeks. A shame, for I thought him most handsome."

"He is handsome indeed, but did I not hear that his sister was embroiled in some scandal at their country estate?" Charlotte thought for a moment before the memory resurfaced. "Oh yes, that's right. She was caught kissing the local vicar, a man ten years her senior. I overheard Mama talking about it at one of her afternoon teas. Lord Wolfson must have returned home to deal with the scandal."

"I imagine he would have made her marry the vicar," Matilda mused. "But I haven't read anything about his family or sister in the papers. Maybe he disapproves of the match."

"Or the vicar does and refuses to marry her."

"Whatever the case, I hope his lordship is back in London soon. He was the only gentleman so far that I found remotely interesting. I despair of ever making a match."

Charlotte leaned over and clasped her hand. "You will make a match now that you're vigorously looking. Up until this Season, none of us were too fixated on finding a husband."

The carriage rocked to a halt before Lady Fraser's modest town house. A footman in blue livered uniform ran from the front steps and opened the carriage door, letting down the steps and helping them alight. "Thank you." Charlotte moved toward the door, but before they could enter, a hand wrapped around her upper arm, pulling her aside.

"What do you think you're doing here?" Mr. Richards looked past Charlotte and glared at Matilda, who stood in silent shock at having been caught entering Lady Fraser's scandalous abode. Not that they would do anything dishonorable themselves—they were merely testing out their disguises for the upcoming card game.

"A better and more poignant question would be, what are you doing here, Mr. Richards?" Charlotte fought to school her features. She didn't need him to know that his presence excited her more than it dismayed her or that jealously warred with her pleasure. Was he here to court other women? Women who were not her?

"I dropped your father off at White's. He had some business to discuss and wanted to speak to me on the way to his club. I accompanied him, and on my return to His Grace's estate, I saw you and Lady Matilda slipping out of the Southwell ball by chance. I informed the driver to turn about and follow your carriage. Imagine my surprise to see where you were headed."

Charlotte sighed, reaching for Matilda's hand, knowing there was nothing else for it. They would have to return home before anyone noticed and recognized them.

"And I can only assume by your highhandedness that you'll escort us home instead of letting us enter Lady Fraser's as planned?"

He stepped back and gestured toward her father's carriage. "That is exactly what will occur."

"Very well," she sighed. "But I ask that you drop Lady Matilda off at her home on Berkley Square. That's the least you can do since you're going to ruin our evening's fun."

"This is not a place any woman of good breeding should be having fun ," he said, his tone serious as he strode purposefully toward her father's gleaming black-lacquered carriage with gilded trim.

Mr. Richards helped them inside and remained vexingly quiet at Matilda's home, where he wished her friend a good evening once they'd deposited her safely back in Mayfair.

Charlotte narrowed her eyes and glared at Mr. Richards as they started toward home. "You're being very high-handed, considering you're my father's steward."

"Are you trying to put me in my place, Lady Charlotte? Reminding me of my social standing compared to yours?" he scoffed and stared out the window as the carriage moved through Mayfair. "There's no need. I'm well aware of the vast space that separates our standings."

Charlotte inwardly cursed, hating that she sounded like an elitist—one moment throwing herself at his head and the next, reminding him why she shouldn't.

"I apologize. I merely do not like being told what to do. It has no bearing on your status."

His brows rose, and he threw her a condescending smile. "Of course, Lady Charlotte."

Panic assailed her that she'd offended him and perhaps ruined what little progress they had made. She untied her mask and threw it on the seat beside her. "I'm three and twenty, Mr. Richards. I need to marry so I may be of independent means. I no longer have the patience to be under lock and key, which my mother is keen to continue until I do."

"Very well, I shall endeavor to believe you."

Charlotte allowed the silence to stretch before she could not stand it another moment. "What were you really doing at Lady Fraser's?"

"I could ask you the same question," he threw at her. "Lady Fraser is not a woman known for hosting events suitable for unmarried women such as yourself."

"This may come as a shock to you, but I've been there before. Lady Matilda, Genevieve, and I would often sneak away and attend such events in disguise. Tonight was no exception."

"I recognized you," he said, his gaze dark and intent. "Not so covert."

"Yes, but you saw us leave the Southwell ball. It's not the same thing." She slipped her mask back on and moved closer to him. She leaned against him, her palm sitting suggestively upon his chest. His heart beat fast under her touch. Not so calm as he outwardly appeared.

The knowledge gave her power.

"Can you say you would have known who I was if I had come up to you in Lady Fraser's shadowed, smoky rooms? If I touched you like this?" She gripped the lapels of his coat and pulled him close. "That you would recognize me?"

"I would recognize you anywhere, Lady Charlotte. There is no escaping me now."

"Do you truly believe so?" she asked, not quite believing him.

He clasped her jaw, tipping her face up to meet his. He stared at her, devouring her every feature. Something in his eyes made her heart thump wildly. His soft yet firm touch consumed her with the knowledge that no matter what Mr. Richards said, his actions proved otherwise. Desire coiled deep within her, and she squirmed on the seat, wanting him in a way that made her not understand herself.

"I know so. I've watched you for months. I know your every stride, every feature, and every little habit you may not even know you have yourself. I know you and would identify you anywhere."

Charlotte did not think she had ever heard anything more romantic. "Anywhere?"

"Anywhere," he said before closing the space between them and kissing her.

Hard.