Chapter 16

Charlotte’s nerves were about to get the better of her. She’d been impossibly bold in the garden. There in the dark, with her lips still burning from his kiss and the hard press of his body against hers, she’d given in to baser urges—and to the curiosity that only he had ever sparked in her. But then, how would such curiosity have ever been sparked during her betrothal to Arliss when he’d barely looked at her, much less touched her? For seven years, he’d been content to call her his betrothed while having as little to do with her as possible. Was it any wonder that he’d married another when it was very apparent, in retrospect, that he’d had no attraction for her at all? In truth, she was hard pressed to recall why it was that she had said yes when he proposed to her. Unless perhaps it was simply because he had proposed. She had known, always, that living in Ambleside limited her marital prospects greatly.

Yet, she was entirely certain that the Marquess’ proposal was being accepted for all the right reasons and likely not the reasons one would expect. His title had naught to do with it, nor did his wealth and the fine home. If anything, those were points that might dissuade her. What did she know about the running of such a grand house? But she could learn. She would learn. Because she wanted to be his wife. Not his bride—his wife. It seemed he also wanted very much to be her husband and her lover.

When she was with Ethan, he could not refrain from touching her. Offering her his arm at any point it could possibly be deemed appropriate. He made it a point to stand near enough that their hands could brush against one another. When he was seated beside her, it was close enough that she could feel the heat of his body emanating through the layers of their clothing. Then there had been their private moments, the few that had been possible, when he’d kissed her until she lost all reason and sense. And it was those things, those small intimacies that had made her willing to throw caution to the wind. She could not let the opportunity to have the kind of life, the kind of marriage one dreamed of, slip through her fingers.

It was that thought which gave her the courage to stand her ground. She did not run to lock her door because nerves had set in. Instead, Charlotte gave in to vanity rather than anxiety. Moving to the dressing table, she removed the pins from her hair and began to brush it. She could have had a maid do that for her, but it calmed her to do it herself.

A glance at the clock on the mantle told her that the time was drawing nearer. It was only a few minutes till midnight. A few minutes till he would open her door and she could give herself up to the pleasure of being kissed by him, of losing herself in that kiss so that nothing else mattered.

There was a noise at the door. The brush halted mid stroke, and she removed it from her hair, returning the tool to the tray on the dressing table as she watched expectantly in the mirror. Finally, the door swung inward and Charlotte gasped. It wasn’t Ethan at all. It was a very, very foxed Arliss Cranford.

“Charlotte,” he said, slurring her name to the point she wasn’t even entirely certain of what he’d said. “I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

“Yes, you have. You are in my room, Arliss, and you need to leave immediately,” she insisted. What would happen if Ethan discovered him there? Oh, it would be awful. She just knew it.

“I can’t. I cannot… I was so wrong to do what I did, Charlotte. I love you. I always loved you. I simply lost sight of it for a moment.”

“It was more than a moment, Arliss. You’ve married another woman—a woman who would be furious with us both if you are discovered here.” Just the thought of it, of the scandal and drama that would erupt from such an event, made her feel positively ill. “Please, Arliss, leave. If you wish to talk tomorrow when you are not in your cups, I will speak with you then. But for now, you must go!”

“I will not,” he said. “Not until you’ve seen reason. I will leave her, Charlotte. I will leave Georgianna and we can go somewhere to start a life together. America! America is a land of opportunity, after all.”

He was simply too inebriated to see reason. She might as well have been speaking to a brick wall. “I am not going to America with you, Arliss. I’m not going anywhere with you! The only thing I’m leaving, since you refuse to, is this room,” she said, getting to her feet.

Immediately, he stepped deeper into the room and slammed the door behind him. “I can’t let you do that. You must forgive me, Charlotte! You must take me back.”

Suddenly, she was less concerned with what Ethan might do to Arliss than what she might do to Arliss. “I cannot take you back! I will remind you, Arliss, as you seem to have forgotten, that you are married to another! Another whom you left me for, no less. Further, as you put it, I do not want you back. I want to marry Eth—the Marquess. And I can say, without question, that I know he wishes to be married to me.”

Arliss moved toward her, but Charlotte sidestepped. Even as he reached out and grasped her wrist, she was pulling away from him. Somehow, he caught the sleeve of the blue satin gown that Regina had given her. The sound of the fabric ripping as the seams gave way was like thunder in the otherwise quiet room.

With her ruined sleeve hanging in shreds, Charlotte shoved Arliss away from her and ran to the door. But when she opened it, the corridor beyond was not empty. Ethan stood there and his gaze went immediately to the tears in her dress. And then he looked past her. His expression shifted into one of quiet fury.

“Go to Regina’s chamber,” he ordered.

“It isn’t what you think!” Charlotte feared that Arliss would be killed. While she was angry with him, death was not something she wished for anyone. And certainly not for him to die in her chamber at the hands of the man she was presently betrothed to. That was the sort of ruin no woman could come back from. A scandal such as that would hang over them for the rest of their lives.

“What I think, Charlotte, is that Mr. Cranford forced his way into your room for reasons that simply do not matter. And when you tried to leave, because he would not, he grabbed you… that is the least wretched scenario. If it was anything more than that, he deserves whatever fate is in store for him.”

It was also the accurate scenario. “He’s in his cups and regretting his decisions. That is all. He will be sober in the morning with more regrets to come… Take me to your room.”

The suggestion must have penetrated the haze of his fury, because he finally took his eyes off Arliss to look at her. “You must see this changes everything.”

Charlotte’s heart skittered in her chest. “You no longer wish to marry me?”

“Do not be silly. It changes our plans for the evening, not our plans for life,” he said sharply.

It was a moment of both relief and inspiration. “Nothing about what had planned for tonight must change. But if we remain here, there will be an altercation. Let us choose our scandals carefully. If I’m to be ruined, I’d prefer it be for something enjoyable… and not involving Arliss Cranford!”

As she’d suggested, they retreated to his room. Stepping inside and closing the door behind them, Ethan was struggling to rein in his temper. When he thought of what might have happened to Charlotte had he not interrupted Cranford in whatever desperate attempt he was making to reclaim the life he’d thrown away, it made him shudder. Charlotte believed him harmless, but Ethan knew better. No man was truly harmless and a man as foxed as Cranford had clearly been was doubly dangerous, especially to a lone female.

What if they had not planned to meet? What if she’d simply been alone there to fend him off? Jealous men were dangerous men and Arliss Cranford was something far worse than simply jealous. He was covetous—wanting to take back what he had discarded simply because she was now desirable to someone else.

“I am unhurt,” she said softly, as if sensing the nature of his thoughts.

“And that is why he yet lives,” Ethan answered with quiet conviction.

“Arliss does not want me. Not really. He’s like a selfish child with an unwanted toy.” She offered the assessment dismissively, offhandedly. As if she hadn’t been attacked by her former betrothed in her own bedchamber.

“It does not signify… what he wants is irrelevant. It’s what he did, or nearly did, that matters.”

At those words, she crossed her arms protectively in front of herself. Immediately, Ethan felt terrible. She had been through something incredibly terrifying. The last thing she needed was to be put in the position to soothe his ruffled feathers. “I am sorry, Charlotte. I’m behaving nearly as badly as Cranford. What can I do for you?”

She cocked her head to one side and surveyed him thoughtfully for a moment. “You could start by kissing me.”

Ethan moved towards her with slow, deliberate steps. He wanted to kiss her. More than anything, but he also wanted her to be completely certain that she still wanted to be kissed. Given the turn of the evening, he had no expectation that what they’d initially planned would take place. Whatever occurred between them would be entirely up to her.

“You’re certain?” he asked, reaching out to gently cup her cheek and brush back a tendril of hair that had fallen over her face. The softness of her skin beneath his hand was a balm to him, soothing the anger that still seethed inside him.

“Yes. I am entirely certain,” she answered. “This changes nothing. I want the same thing now that I did when you were kissing me in the garden before. I want to know what it means to be desired… to be wanted and, perhaps, even seduced. Is that shocking?”

“No. It isn’t shocking. You were betrothed to a man who could never be bothered to pay you the attention and devotion that you deserved—and your loyalty to him was rewarded with only betrayal. You have every right to ensure that by agreeing to marry me, you are not simply repeating that pattern with someone else.”

Her lips parted on a sigh. It was followed by muffled laugh. “Once again, the man of such few words has the right ones to say. I couldn’t explain it myself, but you have done perfectly.”

He brushed his thumb over the crest of her cheekbone, then down until he could trace the fullness of her lower lip. “Then let us explore what else I might do perfectly.”

Leaning in, he kissed her with all the gentleness he could muster. He kissed her as if his very soul depended on it. And when she kissed him in return, her hands on his shoulders and her lips so soft beneath his, he was overcome by gratitude. He was grateful she trusted him, that she wanted him, that she was so openly responsive and he could know what it was she needed and wanted without having to simply guess. And when her hands slid over his shoulders so that she could clasp them behind his neck and draw them even closer together, he was so much more than simply grateful.

“Charlotte,” he whispered her name, and it sounded like a prayer. He supposed that was not too far from the truth. “I want you to be my wife—officially and legally—before I take you to my bed. But there are other things we might do… We can explore our passions, find the things that bring you pleasure. Do you trust me to do that?”

“I trust you, Ethan. I trust you more than I trust myself at the moment,” she answered, her voice slightly tremulous.