Chapter 10

CHAPTER

a

10

C harlotte walked down the hall to her bedchamber. It was late and the house quiet. As she passed the stairs, no sounds floated up from the lower floors, so supper had to be over and the guests departed for the night. She couldn't recollect when she'd last enjoyed a fancy meal, and she'd have loved to attend, but she hadn't had a suitable gown.

Instead, she'd eaten in the nursery with Polly and she'd tarried for a lengthy interval. They'd chatted about the future, about the sorts of lives they eventually hoped to have. There had been a few books on the shelves that were appropriate for an older girl and they'd read sections together.

The entire evening had reminded her of her childhood with Theo. She and her sister had been a year apart in age, and they'd looked just alike, so they'd often claimed to be twins. They'd always been close, and their mother's scandal had only strengthened their connection.

Shortly after their mother had vanished, their father had married Georgina who'd been a widowed cousin. After that, he'd rarely come home, had rarely bothered with them. He'd abandoned them to Georgina's machinations, and he'd been such a stern, domineering person that they'd never have dared complain to him about how she'd acted when he wasn't around.

He'd really been an awful parent, but then, in their elevated world, fathers weren't exactly known for their kindness or devotion. Yet he'd been particularly egregious. When he'd died, she and Theo had been fourteen and fifteen. They hadn't understood that they should have asked questions about HH Imports, about the family's assets. They'd accepted Georgina's word on every topic.

As Charlotte had begun to chafe over their circumstances, her relationship with Theo had collapsed. Theo detested discord and quarreling, but Charlotte hadn't been able to deal with Georgina in a calm manner.

The final straw had arrived when Georgina had pressured Theo to engage herself to Arthur, and Charlotte could never comprehend the situation. Georgina was a greedy witch and Theo didn't have any money, so why betroth her to Arthur? Why not find him an heiress? It hadn't made any sense.

Every woman was expected to wed, and with them not having dowries, Theo had assumed Arthur would be her only chance, that no one else would ever want her, so she'd glommed onto him. It had been a deranged decision and Charlotte couldn't ignore her idiocy.

Theo's choice had created a rift between them, but it was carried on by Charlotte. Theo tried to remain in touch, tried to maintain their fondness, but Charlotte wouldn't gad about as if nothing bad had happened.

The hours she'd just spent with Polly had her remembering how much she'd cherished her bond with Theo. Charlotte was lonely, endangered, and afraid, and when she reached London, she would behave better. She would apologize for being horrid and would beg Theo to forgive her.

Theo would forgive her. Charlotte had no doubt at all.

She slipped into her room, and to her surprise, a fire was burning in the hearth and the lamp had been lit. Someone was in the dressing room and, figuring it was a housemaid, she went over and peeked in. When she realized who was standing there, she could have fainted from shock.

"Lord Dartmouth! You can't be in here. What are you thinking?"

"There you are! Where have you been?"

"I had supper in the nursery with Polly."

"It didn't occur to me to search for you there. I guess I should have."

There were hooks on the wall and Charlotte's paltry collection of grey gowns were hanging on them. It was a motley display, evidence of the sorry state of her finances. Once in her life, she'd had a beautiful wardrobe commensurate with her position as the daughter of a rich importer, but it had been years since she'd wallowed in that high condition. She'd fallen very far from her prior, lofty perch.

"I hate your clothes," he said. "You look hideous in grey and you resemble an unhappy nun."

She chuckled. "If you keep complimenting me like that, I'll get a big head."

"You already have a big head. You're overly proud and you blurt out what's on your mind—even if the listener doesn't care to hear it. It means you are sassy and impertinent."

He was decked out in formal attire, a black velvet suit, a blinding white shirt, his cravat stitched from the most delicate Belgian lace. His dark hair was slicked back with a fragrant pomade and tied with a ribbon. His fingers were covered with expensive rings, as if he'd raided the jewel vault.

There was no sign of the common fellow he'd pretended to be at Fog Bay. That man had strutted about in leather trousers and scuffed boots. He'd sailed off by himself in his skiff, and when he was bored, he'd let Polly beat him at chess. He'd flirted with Charlotte and it had fueled a desperate yearning she couldn't tamp down.

She'd learned not to dream or yearn though. What was the point? Their amour was futile, but she couldn't stop wishing she could have him for her very own. Why couldn't it transpire?

She hadn't been raised to be a countess, but she'd definitely been trained to run a large house and manage a huge staff. Other than her temper and unruly attitude, she possessed all the traits a man of his station sought in a wife. And she suspected she could wind up loving him too. Wouldn't that be splendid?

She was sure, after he grew weary of being a bachelor, he'd wed a debutante with perfect bloodlines. She'd be aloof and detached and they'd have a typical aristocratic marriage. How could he want that? He seemed so vibrant and stimulating to her. Why couldn't he make the unusual choice and be content with a girl who would delight him every minute?

He'd previously apprised her of the spot she could occupy in his world. She could be his mistress, but that route was a road to disaster. If she agreed to his lewd proposition, their affair would be very brief, and in the end, she'd be destroyed.

The wiser option would be to avoid him, but that was impossible. She planned to tarry at Dartmouth for one more day, then she'd continue on to London the day after that. She would never see him again, which was the only sane conclusion, so why wasn't she protesting the fact that he'd snuck in?

She ought to kick him out and lock the door behind him, but she couldn't imagine ordering him to depart. Her time with him was ticking away and she wouldn't deliberately cut short their fraternization. He wouldn't let her anyway.

"I'll scrounge up some prettier garments for you," he absurdly said.

"No, you won't. Don't be ridiculous."

"You're not a servant. You're my special friend and special guest and you should be able to join us when we socialize."

Her vanity flared. "I will admit that I would enjoy it."

"I had the maids dig out some old gowns from a trunk in the attic. They're not the height of fashion, but with some minor stitching, they'll be fine." His lazy male gaze wandered down her torso. "You're so slender. They may need you to try them on, so they can be altered correctly."

"Would you listen to yourself? You can't arrange a new wardrobe for me, and besides, I'm leaving on Wednesday. It's silly to have your servants waste any energy on fixing me."

He scowled. "Where are you going on Wednesday?"

"Have you talked to your mother as to whether she'll meet with me?"

"Yes, tomorrow at two. You'll have a private audience with her in my library."

"If she answers my questions about Polly in a satisfactory way, my visit here will be completed. There won't be a reason for me to remain."

"You're heading to London?"

"I've explained this before, Lord Dartmouth. I'm not a lady of leisure, so I have to begin hunting for a job. I recognize that it's difficult for you to comprehend the financial hazards of a person like me, but I can't loaf and dawdle."

"Why are you all alone? Don't you have a sister and stepmother?"

"Yes, but I won't stay with them one second longer than I have to."

"Why is that exactly? You've never clarified the problem."

"I didn't tell you because it's none of your business."

"Humor me. Your father is deceased, yes? Why didn't he provide for you? Why are you in such dire straits?"

"Apparently, my tediously-organized parent didn't bother to draft a Will, which I never understood or believed, and I have been at my wicked stepmother's mercy ever since. I've had some hard years."

He'd been on the other side of the room and he crossed over to her. In three quick strides, they were toe to toe, their bodies crushed together.

"You just arrived at Dartmouth," he said. "You're not leaving so soon."

"I have to."

"You'll go when I decide it's time and I will escort you to town. Don't even think about riding on the public coach."

"You've developed an odd fascination with regard to me and I have no idea why. Have I told you that you're mad?"

"You might have mentioned it on occasion and you're supposed to call me Win, remember? Not Lord Dartmouth."

With that, he dipped down and kissed her. She should have shoved him away, but she never would have. He brought such excitement into her pathetic existence and she couldn't resist him. Her life later on would be so dull without him in it. Why deflect his ardent advances? She needed his attention like she needed air to breathe or water to drink.

He'd pressed her against the doorframe, so she could feel every delicious inch of his masculine torso. Her feminine parts were on fire, encouraging her to commit acts she'd always regret.

She wasn't entirely clear on the physical aspects of amour, but she had a general notion of what transpired. She grasped the conduct a man sought from a woman and she'd assumed she was morally inclined. Her mother had turned out to be a depraved doxy, so Charlotte struggled to show—by her every word and deed—that she wasn't like her in even the smallest way.

He was touching her everywhere, his curious hands roaming over her, setting off sparks of desire she couldn't quell. She was weakening and there was a quiet voice in her head saying, Why not succumb to passion? What could it hurt?

But that had to be the Devil urging her on and she'd been raised to know right from wrong. She didn't dare misbehave with him. It could only lead to tragedy. Lest she travel in a perilous direction, she broke away and eased out of his arms.

She'd confused him and he asked, "Why did we stop?"

"You overwhelm my common sense."

"Aren't I lucky then?"

"I'm eager to ruin myself, merely because it would please you."

"You should try to please me. I'm very spoiled and it should be your dedicated goal to furnish what I want."

She snorted with disgust and walked out of the dressing room and into the bedroom. It placed her next to the bed, and before she realized his intent, he tiptoed over, lifted her, and tumbled them onto the mattress. He rolled them, so she was on her back beneath him and he was stretched out atop her.

It was a dangerous position for her to be in, and with any other man, she might have been alarmed, but he was grinning, his eyes alight with merriment, as if he'd played a great trick on her.

"Isn't this better?" he inquired.

"No, and you're being a bully. Let me up."

He pretended to ponder, then said, "I don't think I will. I'm comfortable right where I am."

He kissed her again and the embrace went on forever. She should have mustered her fortitude and slithered away, but she was tantalized by him and couldn't rein in her worst tendencies.

When would she ever have a chance like this in the future? She doubted she ever would, so why not relent and revel with him? They were overly cordial. Why not push the boundaries of their friendship?

As she debated, it occurred to her that the Devil's voice had grown louder, and she was searching for justifications that would permit illicit mischief. Would she allow herself to be tempted?

She had no illusions about him and his ostensible fondness. Despite how he flattered and cajoled, he craved one thing from her, and it was the one thing she couldn't give him.

She drew away, and he stared down at her, his expression vexed. She wasn't acting as he'd expected and he didn't like to have his will thwarted.

"You're frowning," he said. "What is it now?"

"I've told you this over and over: You overwhelm me and I won't surrender what you're so anxious to have."

He smirked, looking very sly. "You'd like it. I promise."

She scoffed. "You're a scoundrel, so you would say that."

He slid onto his side and draped her over his chest, her ear over his heart, so she could hear its steady beating. She'd never previously snuggled with a man in such an intimate fashion, and it was the most perfect moment of her life so far.

They were silent, and his mind was racing, but she couldn't imagine what thoughts troubled him. Eventually, he said, "It's draining for me to visit Dartmouth."

"Why would it be? It's such a beautiful property. It should be very relaxing."

"My mother is here and she's difficult. Plus, it stirs memories of my brother, Holden. I'm sad over how my relationship with him collapsed."

"I'm quarreling with my sister too. Perhaps it's simply the path for siblings. Maybe we're not destined to get along."

"Why are you quarreling with her?" he asked.

"She betrothed herself to our stepbrother. I loathe him and her decision incensed me."

"What's his name? Is he a Cronenworth?"

"Yes. It's Arthur."

He flinched. "Arthur Cronenworth? Gad, I met him at my club in London. He's a notorious wretch. What is your sister thinking?"

Charlotte grumbled with dismay. "If I'd known you were acquainted with him, I'd never have admitted a connection. Now, you're aware of why I'm so reticent about sharing any of my history. Who would be keen to claim him as kin?"

"He's an addicted gambler, isn't he?"

"Probably. I haven't lived around him in years, so I can't guess how many vices he's developed."

"If your sister weds him," he said, "won't she be imperiling herself? In my opinion, gamblers don't stop until they're beggared."

"Ooh, please be quiet. You're forcing me to recollect every issue that plagues me. You snuck into my room, and I shouldn't be thrilled about it, but I am. Don't wreck this marvelous occasion by raising topics I can't bear to discuss."

"You should mend your rift with your sister. I have experience with sibling regret, so I'm qualified to counsel you on the subject. What if something awful happened to her before you ended your spat? You'd never forgive yourself."

"I agree and it's the main reason I have to hurry home. I miss her and I hate that we're estranged—because of Arthur! He's not worth so much discord."

"He's definitely not."

"She and I were always so close. Our childhood was hard and it felt as if it was just the two of us against the world. I'm amazed we're able to function as adults."

"Why was your life hard? Was it because of your mother running away?"

"Aah! You've heard about that?"

"I don't mean to distress you, but I believe the whole kingdom has heard about it."

She popped up on an elbow and glowered at him. "Don't ask me about it. It was a hideous scandal and I would be too mortified to talk about it."

He smiled in a kind manner. "I hope you'll tell me about it someday. When you'd like to provide some details, that is. It couldn't have been easy."

She snickered her assent and nestled down. "You have no idea."

After a bit, he said, "This is nice."

"Yes, it is, but it's very reckless too. What if you were observed when you were skulking in?"

"My servants wouldn't dare judge me for any conduct I perpetrated."

She chuckled. "You're deranged if you imagine that's true. They judge you constantly, but you're too oblivious to notice."

He chuckled too. "Once you leave Dartmouth, you won't ever see any of them again. If they learn I was in here with you, it won't matter. You won't be around to suffer their rude glances or snide comments."

"Ha! You've conceded that they'll denigrate us. They'll conceal their disdain from you, but they'll be eager for me to note their disgust."

"Forget about them," he murmured. "You make me happy."

"I'm glad. You make me very happy too."

"I wish we could stay together like this forever."

She sent a fervent prayer winging to the heavens, that magic would strike, that he'd realize he couldn't live without her, and they'd wed. It was an insane plea, but she tendered it anyway.

He yawned, then shook himself. "I'm drowsy, so I suppose I should be going."

"You can't doze off in here."

"I'd like to sleep with you. If you'd be my mistress, I could join you in your bed every night."

She tsked with offense. "Just when you seem to be wonderful, you spout off with a perfectly dreadful remark. It wounds me that you have such a low view of my character."

"It's not that I have a low view. It's just that you'd be lucky to glom onto me."

"Vain beast," she muttered.

He sighed and shifted away from her and he slid to the floor and stood by the bed. She was lazily sprawled, as if she were a harem girl waiting for her master. He studied her, committing her features to memory.

"Can you ride?" he surprised her by inquiring.

"Yes, and I love horses, but I don't have a proper outfit."

"We could devise a suitable garment. Let's ride tomorrow. How about at ten? I'll take you on a tour of the estate."

"That would be completely inappropriate, so no thank you."

"Why would it be inappropriate? I'm rich and important, and I'd like to show off my property, so you'll gush over how fortunate I am."

"I am currently a schoolteacher, which is one short step above a servant. You and I were friendly when we were isolated at Fog Bay, but at Dartmouth, I can't be your companion."

"As always, dear Charlotte, it's up to me. Not you."

She was about to leave for London and he was correct that it didn't matter if she flirted with him. She would never return, so she had no reputation to protect with his staff. She stewed, debated, then said, "I haven't been on a horse in ages. If I can find some clothes that will work, I would be delighted to tag along."

He laughed. "I knew I could wear you down. You're such a milksop. If I expended some genuine effort, I could manipulate you into giving me anything I wanted."

"Not anything, " she retorted. "There are some things you can't ever have, despite how you whine and nag."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Very sure."

He leaned down and braced his palms on the mattress, and he was very close, his eyes searching hers, his lips just inches away.

"What will I do after you've left me?" he asked, as if he was truly worried about it.

"What will I do?" she countered. "I'm not too proud to admit that I'll miss you very much."

"I've grown accustomed to having you around, so I suspect I'll miss you too. I'll meet you in the foyer at ten."

He delivered a final kiss, and it was so sweet that she nearly burst into tears, but he pushed away and went to the door. so he didn't see them. He walked out and she eased down on the pillow.

She would trot about with him in the morning, then confer with his mother in the afternoon. The next day, she would depart. Wouldn't she? Could she drag herself away from him? She couldn't imagine it, so what would become of her? After they parted, how would she bear it?

She forced herself off the bed and headed to the dressing room where her faded nightgown was hanging on a hook. For a moment, she traced her fingers across the worn fabric. He kept claiming he'd buy her clothes, that he'd like to improve her situation. She was so desperate to let him proceed that she felt as if the universe was testing her moral fiber.

She'd been presented with everything she'd ever wanted—a handsome beau, an affluent existence—but she could only obtain them through a lewd liaison. The legitimate liaison, that being marriage, was dangling just out of reach. Matrimony between them was a fantasy that would never transpire.

She unbuttoned her drab dress and donned her nightgown and she didn't need a maid's assistance. Her attire was simple and plain and it furnished stark evidence of how poor she was. It embarrassed her and made her wish she could be a woman he might have treasured.

What if her prior status hadn't vanished? What if her mother hadn't run away? What if Georgina hadn't appeared on the scene? What if her father hadn't died? What if Charlotte had wound up a wealthy heiress with a fat dowry?

What might her condition be instead?

It was too galling to ponder the answers to those questions, so she trudged to the outer rooms, banked the fire, blew out the lamp, and climbed into bed. It was very quiet and she was all alone—with just her thoughts and her impossible dreams.