Chapter Nine

"He isn't coming." Charlotte scanned the ballroom, anxiety gnawing at her insides. She'd worn her new blush silk empire dress, made especially for the ball, and paired it with white gloves, her diamond rose necklace, and a sparkling, small tiara. But her efforts only increased the stares directed at her from all corners of the room and the low whispers that accompanied them. Had Lucas blabbed, or was she simply imagining things?

"Everyone is staring at me, Mama," Charlotte whispered.

"Of course, they are, my sweet. After all, you are the ‘Rose of Mayfair,' and they want to see if you'll favor anyone tonight."

But her mother's reassurances did little to comfort her. Something was amiss. She could feel it in the pit of her stomach. Mrs. Dove-Lyon had been wrong. Lucas was spiteful and wouldn't miss this opportunity to ruin her. If news reached her father… She shuddered and turned her thoughts back to Hugh, scanning the ballroom again.

Where is he?Perhaps, it was as she'd feared, and he'd turned against her once he'd learned the truth of her identity.

Then her gaze fell on the unmistakable copper-haired head of Lucas Richmond. Her stomach seized, and a cold chill took hold of her as she saw he was engaged in deep conversation with a group of young men. He's ruining my reputation as I stand idly by and watch.

"Mama!" she whispered urgently.

"I see him, my sweet. Don't fret. All you need do is hold your head high and act as though nothing is amiss. He mustn't detect any fear in your countenance." Her words were strong, but Charlotte noted a tremble in her mother's voice.

Hugh concealed himselfby standing near a cluster of people as he watched her from a distance—just as she had done to him that first night they'd met. She was as exquisite as he remembered from the brief glimpse he'd been afforded in the garden. He'd felt her features and the memory of their touch corresponded with what he now saw—pert nose; plump, rosy lips; pale skin. He wished he could see the color of her eyes and read their expression, but he was too far away.

"Don't waste your time on that one, old fellow." Brunswick appeared at Hugh's side. "They call her ‘the Rose of Mayfair,' and she rejected countless men during her first two seasons. No one need sign up for that beating."

An image of a line of suitors proposing to Charlotte formed in Hugh's mind, causing a searing heat to rise in his chest. "Well, she hasn't rejected me," he said.

"Yet." Brunswick smirked. "If you ask me, I say you stand a better chance getting something out of that little minx you met at the Lyon's Den."

Hugh put his arm behind his back and clenched his fist so hard that his hand ached. "Sometimes, Brunswick, I wonder how two people as different as you and I became friends."

"You saved me from being thrashed to death in the common room at Harrow, that's how it happened, remember? I swore to be forever grateful to you. And I have been your devoted friend ever since."

"If that's the case, then, do me one small favor now, and shut up!" Hugh said and strode away from his friend toward Charlotte. But he stopped short when he saw another man approaching her. He recognized the flaming copper hair of her suitor and knew immediately that it was the torchbearer from the previous night.

A nasty fellow, by the name of Lucas Richmond. Spurned by Charlotte last year, and likely looking to take revenge,Mrs. Dove-Lyon had said. Or perhaps, he'll use what he saw last night to blackmail Charlotte and try to force her to marry him.

Charlotte kept hereyes on Lucas as he came toward her.

"Mama!" Her throat was dry with fear, and her voice came out in a whisper. She glanced at her mother who appeared to have been ambushed by Petula Musgrave. The woman was talking nonstop while her mother nodded politely.

"Mama!" she whispered urgently as Lucas approached them.

Charlotte straightened her shoulders and looked him directly in the eyes. She could not appear weak or afraid. That is exactly what he wanted.

"Cousin," he said with an obsequious bow. "How wonderful to see you again."

Charlotte gave no outward indication that his remark had ruffled her. "Good evening, Lucas," she replied coolly.

"I hope you will oblige me with a waltz this evening," he smiled, revealing a row of crooked teeth.

"I'm afraid Charlotte's dance card is full tonight, Lucas," Lady Rose had managed to escape Petula and intercept him. "Perhaps Charlotte will save you a dance at the next ball."

"Lady Rose," he said. There was a bitter edge in his tone. "Good evening. I assume Sir Benedict escorted you ladies here tonight." He glanced around. "He's not ill, I hope. I heard he has been having some trouble with his heart of late."

Lady Rose's spine stiffened, and she narrowed her eyes. "I don't know where you heard that. I can assure you that Sir Benedict is in perfect health."

"Excellent." Lucas's thin lips curled into a half sneer. "Let us hope that is still the case after I inform him that his precious daughter was seen fornicating with a man at the home of a notorious gambling proprietor."

Charlotte drew in her breath. "How dare you spread such a vicious lie!" she said through gritted teeth. "If you think my papa will entertain your falsehoods, you are sadly misled."

"Don't take my word for it, dear cousin. My friend Lord Umbridge saw you as clearly as I did, and he will be more than happy to verify my story. He is the second son of a viscount, and his word will not be doubted." He gave Charlotte a hard stare. "But perhaps none of that will be necessary. Perhaps you will clear your dance card and favor me with that dance after all."

"We both know it is not only a dance you want, Lucas," Lady Rose said, "so keep your head and try to be clever about it."

Charlotte turned to her mama, ready to object. How could she encourage him thus?

"Charlotte will oblige you with one dance tonight, but you know as well as I that she must fulfill the promises she's already made."

"Not if she's engaged to me. There's no reason to do so."

Charlotte was about to object when she felt her mother's reassuring hand on her arm.

"Now, listen to me, young man. Nothing must be said about it until I speak with Sir Benedict and clear the way for you to ask for his daughter's hand in the proper and respectable manner. We have enough feuds and do not need another in our family."

Charlotte struggled to keep the tears from her eyes. This wasn't real. It was only part of the plan to keep Lucas quiet. She simply had to play along for her papa's sake—no matter how hard or hateful it might be.

But what if Hugh doesn't come? What if he turned against her after learning her identity? What would they do about Lucas then?

Hugh watched asLucas led Charlotte to the dance floor. Her posture was stiff, and her face deadpan. She'd obviously accompanied him against her will.

Hugh clenched his jaw as he watched Lucas slip his arm around Charlotte's waist, join hands with her, and lead her around the ballroom floor in a waltz. It seemed like an eternity before the dance ended, and Lucas escorted her back to her mother. Lucas then bowed to the ladies and departed. Hugh thought this particularly strange. It was unlikely that the man would be happy with just one dance—unless he'd been promised an audience later. No doubt, Charlotte and her mother had promised him whatever was necessary to make him go away. But there was no time to lose pondering Lucas's motivations. He had to get to Charlotte before another suitor accosted her.

Her eyes widened as he approached her, and then her sweet lips curved into a smile.

Hugh's heart swelled upon realizing his coming to her had made her happy. A few days ago, he had no idea she existed, and today her happiness meant everything to him. Love is a mystery—a wondrous mystery of the heart.

"Miss Rose." He bowed.

"Mr. Warsham," she said. "What a pleasure it is to see you again."

Hugh didn't answer—couldn't answer. He was too busy gazing at her—marveling at seeing her unveiled face up close. Finally, he could look into her eyes and see that they were large, expressive, and the most beautiful pale green. Her hair, which she'd styled in a pretty chignon, was the most unusual mixture of gold and red—the color of strawberries, champagne, and sunlight to be precise—and it complemented her pale skin perfectly. She was, without question, exquisite, like a rare and once-in-a-lifetime flower. He could think of no better moniker for her than ‘the Rose of Mayfair.'"

"Allow me to introduce my mother, Lady Rose," she said.

Hugh had to force his eyes off Charlotte as he turned to bow in greeting to Charlotte's mother. He saw in her a beautiful, more mature version of her daughter and immediately felt endeared to her.

"Mr. Warsham, how delightful to meet you. You are the masculine image of your lovely mother."

"Thank you, my lady," he said.

"I came to ask if you are free to dance," he said, turning back to Charlotte.

"As a matter of fact, I am," she said, despite seeing Lord Lipman, the man who was next on her card, approaching. "But do, let's hurry."

Hugh took her arm and led her toward the ballroom floor, passing by a very confused-looking Lord Lipman.

"I was afraid you would not come," she said as they stepped onto the ballroom floor.

Hugh clasped her hand in his and slipped his arm around her waist, momentarily closing his eyes to savor the feel of her.

"How could you doubt me?" He opened his eyes and gazed at her lovely face. It felt as though he'd been in a wonderful dream.

"I thought you might be cross because—well, because of the game."

"You mean the one my mother conjured up in the hopes of putting the feud to rest?"

"I shouldn't have—"

"Shh," he whispered. "I have nothing but gratitude in my heart for my mother. Bringing us together was simply her way of trying to right the past. She is a wild romantic, so it doesn't surprise me she thought the scheme would work."

"And did it?"

"Yes," he said, gazing down at her.

"The man who saw me last night in the garden—"

"Lucas Richmond. I know. Mrs. Dove-Lyon told me all about him."

"He's here." Her forehead creased, and it pained to see her so perturbed.

"I know that too. I saw him dance with you."

"I didn't want to, but he threatened to ruin my reputation by telling everyone what he witnessed last night."

Hugh recollected the odious creature—a beady-eyed rogue with flaming red hair—who trespassed on their privacy and chased Charlotte from his arms. The thought of his continued interference with Charlotte's—with their—happiness made his stomach churn.

"My greatest fear is that he will go to my papa—he even threatened to do so—if Papa knew that I was in a gambling den—and that Mama took me there—"

"Where is your papa now?"

"In the men's sitting room with some of his friends from his gentleman's club. He misses it terribly after—"

"Being expelled along with my father. They're like two ancient, rusticated schoolboys."

Charlotte giggled, and then immediately looked guilty. "Poor Papa, this awful feud has made him sad and angry. I hate to see him this way. And if Lucas—"

"He won't get that chance," Hugh said. "We must act tonight. I will leave directly. And in about half an hour or so, tell your papa you are feeling tired and wish to go home early. Then pack your bags and be ready for me two hours past midnight."

"Where will we go?"

"Gretna Green." He stopped their dance and cupped her face in his hands. "That is, if you are willing to marry me, Charlotte?"

She hesitated.

"What is it?" he asked. "You appear to be uncertain?" He searched her face for answers, not caring that the other dancers had to spin around them.

She stepped back, out of his grasp. "Even if we manage to keep Lucas from speaking to my father, I still fear for him. When he learns that I have eloped, especially with you, I'm afraid the shock might…" She bit her lip. "His heart isn't strong."

"I understand. I worry about my father too. He might react badly, but my mother has asked me to leave him in her capable hands, and I am certain that's what your mother told you too. They planned this union, and I trust it's because they believe the outcome will be a positive one."

Charlotte nodded. Still, he sensed her hesitation. And although he didn't doubt that she feared for her papa, he wondered if that was the true cause of her worry. "Is something else the matter? Is it me?" he asked.

"I won't marry a man who feels obligated or thinks I need saving." She worried her lower lip. "It is all rather sudden; I wouldn't blame you if—"

"Shh," he said, drawing her close again. "I promise you, Charlotte, that I've never been more certain of anything in my life."