A Secret Affair (8 page)

She took a deep breath. She might be about to tell a little white lie but it was for the best. She would spare Charlie an awkward conversation. “That’s what I wanted to speak with you about last night, actually,” she said. “I was hoping you might give me some advice on how to bring Sir Stuart to scratch.”

CHAPTER 16

Charlie nearly ripped his coat and hat from the hapless butler’s arms. He shoved his arms through the sleeves of his coat and pushed his hat atop his head before making his way out into the cold, muddy street in front of Frances’s town house.

Friends
?

Had he heard her right or had Frances Birmingham just told him in no uncertain terms that she wanted nothing more to do with him than being bloody friends?

This from a young woman who’d chased him about half of last week seeking a kiss. Now she wanted to be friends? It was downright embarrassing. Clearly the kiss they’d shared hadn’t affected her one bit. She’d been asking him to see if they were compatible, and it turned out, she’d felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. While he’d been feverishly unable to strike the memory of their kiss from his mind, Frances had clearly crossed him off her list and moved on to the next bloke.

Sir Stuart Walters to be precise.

And here, like a fool, Charlie had been convinced she was pining for
him
. She wasn’t pining at all. She’d been waiting to let him down gently.
Capital
.

Good God. It was too much. And now he’d have to face her again soon at Jordan’s engagement party, not to mention the wedding itself.

Charlie strode to his carriage, hefted himself inside, and slammed the door shut. He was a bloody fool, chasing around a young, unmarried female. What had made him come visit her today? He hadn’t seen her at the Kidwells’ rout and he’d … bloody hell, he’d missed her. He’d wanted to spend time in her company it seemed. He couldn’t forget that kiss. And now here he was completely set back on his heels by a slip of a girl gently informing him that she wanted nothing more to do with him than friendship.

Bah. Friendship.

He crossed his arms roughly over his chest. Very well. If friendship was what she wanted, friendship was what she’d get. He’d bloody well been fine before Frances Birmingham had bid on him at the bachelor auction, and he’d be perfectly fine again.

But he was unaccustomed to being the one who was rejected. He was usually the one letting a lady down as gently as possible. Like his unfortunate interlude with Lady Harcourt the other evening. Now the tables were entirely turned, and he didn’t like it. Not one bit.

How was it possible that Frances didn’t want him? It couldn’t have been the kiss itself. Very well. Perhaps that thought was a bit arrogant, but he’d never been in this situation before. It made him question everything he knew. He’d never had any complaints about his kissing, just the opposite, actually.

Fine. Perfect. Capital
.

He was a grown man and would not react like a child who didn’t get his favorite toy. He would be perfectly adult about this. He and Miss Birmingham would be in each other’s company enough since his brother was marrying her closest friend. Charlie might as well get on with the business of befriending her. If that’s what she wanted, that’s what she would get. No trouble at all.

But he might just take another opportunity to tempt her with his kiss.

CHAPTER 17

Three days later, Charlie was no closer to being friendly with the elusive Miss Birmingham than he had been last week. It was maddening, really. He’d made a very gentlemanly gesture and escorted her to the Hadleys’ Venetian breakfast. They’d discussed politics, art, travel. She’d made him laugh by telling him stories about her incorrigible cat.

Over the last few days, he’d come to the conclusion that Frances was a one-of-a-kind sort of girl. She was witty, charming, funny, and self-effacing. She was sweet but didn’t brook impertinence. She was loyal but not to the point of foolishness. She was selfless with a healthy dose of practicality that drew Charlie in a way he didn’t care to examine.

And most frustrating of all, she continued to keep her distance. She treated him like a … friend. A bloody boring friend. He’d tried to get her alone a time or two in an attempt to kiss her and change her mind. He could be downright seductive if he set his mind to it. But each time he’d even so much as suggested they spend a moment or two alone, she’d changed the subject or gone off to speak with someone else or just given him a … friendly … smile. It was maddening, actually. Crazy-making. And Charlie was quite through with it.

To make matters worse, she’d been spending quite a lot of time with Sir Stuart, that sop. Tonight Charlie had met Frances at the Ambersleys’ ball, and he intended to confront her about the entire affair.

He stalked over to where Frances stood. She was laughing with a group of people, including the odious Sir Stuart. She wore a simple butter-colored gown that brought out the shining golden highlights of her hair. “Miss Birmingham, might I have a moment of your time?”

She looked up, the pretty blue of her eyes clouding with confusion. “Wh … why, certainly, Mr. Holloway.” She must have seen the intense look on his face. She didn’t question him. Instead, she excused herself to the little group and gathered her skirts in her hand to allow Charlie to lead her away. He gave Sir Stuart a smug smile.

Charlie led Frances out into the corridor and down to the end of the hallway where a giant palm provided a measure of privacy. “Wherever are we going?” Frances asked, as she followed him to the shadowy corner.

“Where we can speak privately,” Charlie answered.

Once they were hidden behind the palm, he spun her away and turned to face her, shoving his hands in his pockets. He took a deep breath. “Look, Frances, I know of no other way to say this without just coming out and saying it.”

She nodded, confusion still darkening her eyes to midnight-blue. “Yes?”

Damn it. He turned away from her, paced back and forth, then turned to face her again. “Did you or did you not enjoy our”—he lowered his voice, despite the fact that they were quite alone in the corridor—“kiss?”

Frances’s hand flew to her throat. “Why, I … Yes, I did.”

He had to smile at her forthrightness. She might have slapped him for being such a cad, but instead she’d just answered the question. Honestly, he hoped. He couldn’t help the little smile of masculine pride that spread on his lips. “Good.”

“I liked it very much,” she continued. “And I suppose I’ve never thanked you for it.”

Charlie’s head snapped up. “Thanked me?”

“Yes, I’m certain it must have been quite a chore for you but it was, well, it was truly romantic and wonderful, just as I hoped. And now that I’ve had such a romantic kiss, I find I am quite able to move on and—”

“Move on?”

“Yes. I’m certain you’ve noticed my interest in Sir Stuart. He’s Mama’s first choice.”

“Sir Stuart? You must be jesting. You’re far too good for him.”

She laughed. “Now I believe you are jesting. Sir Stuart may not be as good-looking as your family, but the truth is, I’m not beautiful like Annie and Lily.”

Charlie paced again. He wanted to hit something. Sir Stuart Walters was a complete milksop. But how could Charlie say or do anything about it? It wasn’t as if he were prepared to declare himself. No. Nothing like that.

He didn’t even know now why exactly he’d dragged her out here. He’d just been so bloody frustrated by her intent to relegate him to the role of friend, and now here she was, looking beautiful and driving him mad with her intoxicating sweet scent. And she was informing him that she had intentions on Sir Stuart Walters instead of him.
Capital
.

“I’m sorry I never thanked you properly before,” Frances added. “But I do hope you’ll put in a good word for me with Sir Stuart.” Then she giggled. “Well, not about …
that
.”

Charlie summoned a wan smile. “No. Of course not.”

“You won’t mind if I get back to the ballroom, will you, Charlie?” she asked. “I believe Sir Stuart was just about to ask me to dance.” She gave him a conspiratorial grin and Charlie felt as if he’d been punched in the gut.

“By all means,” he replied.

She turned to go.

“Frances,” he called, not even certain what he was going to say before he said it.

She turned back to face him, her lips parted, one curl poised fetchingly above her eye brushing the rim of her spectacles. She looked breathtakingly lovely. “Yes?”

“I just wanted you to know that I quite liked it, too … our kiss, I mean.”

She bobbed her head. “Thank you very much. I must admit, I quite hope Sir Stuart is half as good a kisser as you.”

She raced away and Charlie watched her go. Sir Stuart Walters? Her mama’s first choice? How could that be? And how could she think she was on a par with Sir Stuart? Frances may not have the classical good looks of her friends, but there was something about her bright blond hair and sparkling blue eyes. Her spectacles. Something about her spirit. More than anything, it was her obvious zest for life and penchant for silliness. Over the last few days, he’d learned she hummed for no reason, sang with no provocation, and danced at every opportunity. Frances might not be one to turn heads with her looks alone, but when coupled with her charm, she was downright enchanting. Not to mention that kiss she’d given him; he’d felt it all the way down to his … toes. She was certainly far too lovely and unique to waste herself on the likes of Sir Stuart Walters. The man might be a knight, but still.

Charlie glanced around. He’d dragged her out here and ended up saying absolutely nothing. What was there to say? What could he say? Her heart was set on Sir Stuart. Charlie wanted to snap the bloody palm tree in half.

Damn it. Now he was jealous.

CHAPTER 18

Frances drew her fingertip along the windowpane, tracing the pattern of the raindrops slowly sliding down the glass. She sighed.

“What’s wrong?” Annie asked from behind her. They were in Annie’s bedchamber at Lord Colton’s town house, and Annie and her maid, Mary, were busily sorting and inventorying Annie’s trousseau.

“Oh, nothing,” Frances replied. “I was just thinking … I suppose I shall be married by spring.”

Annie dropped the chemise she was folding, and her mouth fell wide. “Married? Whatever do you mean?”

“Mama says she and Papa expect Sir Stuart to offer for me before Christmastide.”

Annie hurriedly picked up her skirts and rushed over to Frances, while Mary picked up the abused chemise and folded it, shaking her head.

Annie braced her hands on both of Frances’s shoulders. “Fran? You don’t sound happy. Are you? Tell me the truth. I thought a proposal from Sir Stuart was what you wanted.”

“Yes. Yes. Of course I am. Sir Stuart is handsome and ever so kind, and we get on famously.”

“And?”

“And well, I just always thought it would be so much more … you know? Romantic.”

Annie’s pretty mouth fell into a half-frown. “It’s not romantic with Sir Stuart?”

Annie’s hands dropped from her shoulders and Frances turned to face the window, wondering at the knot that had formed in her chest. “Not … especially. I mean, Sir Stuart takes me riding in the park and comes to the house to call, but, he’s never.…”

“Yes?” Annie prompted, nodding.

“He’s never…” Frances glanced at her friend. “He’s never mentioned love.”

Annie let out her breath and pulled Frances down to sit in the window seat beside her. “Have
you
mentioned love, Fran?”

Frances shook her head. Why did she feel like crying all of a sudden? “No.”

Annie patted her knee. “It’s not so unusual. One doesn’t always fall in love that quickly.”

“Didn’t you fall in love with Lord Ashbourne while you were staying at his country house? In less than a week?”

Annie bit her lip. “Yes, well, everyone is different. Jordan and I were together every day. He threw a ball for me. It was all quite romant— Oh, never mind that. Each situation is unique. You may just need a bit more time to get to know Sir Stuart, that’s all.”

Frances nodded. “Perhaps you’re right.”

Annie glanced at Mary and then lowered her voice. “Has he kissed you?”

Mary’s head snapped up, and Annie gave her a wide grin. “Oh, do pretend you didn’t hear this,” she said laughingly to the maid. To Frances, she whispered, “Don’t worry, you know Mary. She won’t remember a bit of this an hour from now.”

Frances smothered her smile. Mary’s unfortunate memory problems made for a great deal of trouble on the maid’s part and a great deal of mischief on Annie’s.

“Go on,” Annie prompted. “Tell me, has he kissed you?”

Frances’s cheeks burned. “No. Not once.”

“You must remedy that,” Annie replied. “Remember the butterflies? If he’s not the one, you need to find out, and better sooner than later.”

Frances considered Annie’s advice. Hadn’t that same logic been exactly why she’d asked Charlie to kiss her? It would prove true for Sir Stuart too, obviously. “Yes. Yes, you’re right, Annie. That’s all I need to do, isn’t it?” She managed a smile.

“Absolutely.” Annie clapped her hands.

She lowered her voice. Even with Mary’s memory problem she didn’t want the maid to overhear her next words. “I must admit. It’s a bit difficult when I’m still pining a bit over your future brother-in-law, even if he isn’t interested in the members of my sex.”

Annie winced. “I’m so sorry.”

Frances smoothed her skirts. “Ah, listen to me. That is neither here nor there, is it? Besides, Charlie and I have become fast friends. Now, do you truly think if I kiss Sir Stuart, I will know?”

“Oh yes,” Annie replied with a bright smile. “If you don’t suit, you will not feel the butterflies. Trust me.”

Frances blew out her breath. Annie’s theory stood to reason. Frances may have acknowledged the butterflies winging through her insides when Charlie Holloway kissed her, but that didn’t mean he was the only man who could make her feel that way. Perhaps even bigger, grander butterflies would take flight when Sir Stuart kissed her.