Chapter 8

Chapter

Eight

L ater that same evening, Charlotte sat in the drawing room downstairs beside one of the many windows that overlooked the gardens and terrace, contemplating the moonlit night.

If she were one for fanciful thoughts, she could imagine Mr. Richards entering the room quietly, attempting to avoid being noticed by any staff who might still be awake, to meet her clandestinely, to steal a kiss or two, or perhaps declare his undying love.

She snorted at the fanciful thought.

She wasn't a foolish person, and even though she lounged in the quiet of the large, opulent room, no Mr. Richards would join her this evening—no matter how much she wished for him to appear at any moment.

She had attended Lord and Lady Lamb's ball earlier this evening and conveyed to Genevieve and Matilda what had happened at the park and what she thought of Lord Anson's lack of duty to help others in need.

They, too, had agreed that his lack of action was not the behavior of a gentleman, and he should have reacted better in a time of crisis.

But the bravery of Mr. Richards only made her longing for the man twofold. Whatever would she do with herself if he did not soon start to show some modicum of emotion toward her?

How was she to bear being ignored as she was?

Maybe she ought to storm right up to him and demand to know what he was about. Ask him if he would like to kiss her. Did he find her attractive and appealing?

She threw the pillow she had been holding onto the floor and fought not to pout.

She was a duke's daughter, an heiress, privileged beyond reason. She did not pout like a child who could not get her way.

The sound of a door closing in the foyer had her sitting up, listening, trying to gauge whether it was Mr. Richards. Was he still awake? It was well past two in the morning. Her parents had escorted her home and promptly wished her goodnight, but she could not sleep, no matter how much she tossed and turned in bed.

The door to the room creaked open, and Mr. Richards stood at the threshold, his surprise at seeing her clear on his face. He held a long metal tube in one hand and stilled the moment he saw her.

"Oh, Lady Charlotte, I did not know you were here. I shall leave you. Goodnight."

She quickly stood, waving away his concerns. "Do not leave, Mr. Richards. I'm only enjoying the moonlit night and the quiet. You're more than welcome to join me."

"I dare not. That would not be appropriate."

She bit back a chuckle and sat back down. "Are you always such a stickler for rules? Do you never allow yourself a little fun?" she asked, looking back at the night sky, hoping to hide how much she longed for his company.

If he only glanced at her face a little more closely, he would see how desperately she wanted him to linger.

He hesitated at the doorway for a moment longer before finally walking into the room, boldly sitting beside her on the settee.

Maybe her little jibe about never doing anything risky had hit a nerve, and he was doing the opposite of what he truly wanted.

"I like rules and regulations probably as much as I enjoy numbers, so I suppose I am a stickler for what is right and wrong."

"Like today," she said, meeting his eyes. His gaze was mysterious and dark in the moonlight, unlike its usual color. "When you saved that little girl on her runaway horse. How brave you were. If I didn't say it before, thank you for acting without thought for your safety. She could have been killed."

"Which is why I rode after her. I'm just relieved that no harm befell her. That would have been horrific for everyone involved."

"I agree." Charlotte glanced down at the long, circular tube he carried. "What is that you have in your hand, Mr. Richards? It looks most interesting."

"Oh." He lifted the tube as if he had forgotten he was holding it. "This is a telescope. You can view the moon through it with a magnitude that will surprise you. Would you like to see it?"

"I would indeed. Is it hard to use?"

"Not at all." His demeanor changed to one of eagerness, his awkwardness and fear for what was right and wrong long passed. He stood, setting up the telescope on a nearby table and pointing it toward the bright moon. Bright enough this evening to illuminate her mama's extensive gardens.

"Come and look, Lady Charlotte. I think you will like what you see."

She enjoyed what she saw when she stood and walked over to the telescope. His attention dipped to her dressing robe, and although she wore a nightgown with pretty ribbons on her arms—a gown usually only seen by family or very close friends—the fact that Mr. Richards had come upon her in it was completely serendipitous.

Charlotte ignored the interest that flared in his gaze and bent over to look into the telescope. "Am I doing this correctly?" she asked, unsure if she was using the instrument properly since she had never seen one before.

"Yes, and I have it set on the moon, so you should see it." He stood beside her and leaned down, looking along the telescope to ensure it was still set on the moon.

She gasped at seeing the large, round, mysterious mass in the sky. She had never seen it so clearly before. The moon looked less mysterious under the telescope—more rugged and untamed than ever.

A little like Mr. Richards, whose cravat was dangling about his neck, and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone as if he had been preparing for bed.

"I see it. It's amazing." She pulled away from the telescope. Mr. Richards was but a breath away, leaning close beside her. Her heart skipped a beat when his gaze dipped to her lips.

She had never been kissed before and would so love for it to be Mr. Richards who gave her first one.

Would he, though? He leaned closer, and Charlotte clutched the telescope, needing something to keep her feet on the ground during this magical night that seemed to be making all her dreams come true.

As if sensing his error, Mr. Richards stood abruptly and stepped back, putting several feet between them.

"I'm happy you enjoyed seeing the moon, Lady Charlotte. I can leave the telescope here if you wish to look some more. As for myself, I'm retiring for the evening. Goodnight," he said, striding toward the door as if the hounds of hell were after him.

"Do you not wish to take your telescope with you? I do not need to look at the moon any longer."

He hesitated, and she sat back on the settee, not wanting to frighten him away. It wasn't as though she was going to throw herself at him like a Covent Street whore.

He quickly returned, picked up the telescope, and tucked it under one arm. "Goodnight, Lady Charlotte."

"Good night, Mr. Richards." He stared at her before fumbling toward the door and leaving her alone.

She narrowed her eyes as she listened to him hastily make his way up the stairs. Did she scare him? Intimidate him? Did she make him nervous?

Something told her she did, and that was power—and a way she could use it to her advantage. How could she know he was meant for her if he never kissed her?

But then, should he kiss her, she couldn't help but think she would never want him to stop.