Captive (14 page)

She turned and offered her cheek for Lion’s kiss, then opened her arms wide to Charlotte. “Come to me, child,” she said. “I want to welcome the young miss my grandson has chosen to present him with his heir.”

Denbigh shot Charlotte a warning look. She snapped her mouth shut on whatever correction she
had been about to make to the duchess’s pronouncement and allowed herself to be fondly hugged. The duchess held her out at arm’s length and looked her over with a discerning eye that Denbigh was sure did not miss a thing. He would have given anything for five minutes to repair the chit’s dishabille.

Blond curls had slipped free from the ribbon that supposedly tied her hair in place at her nape. Her hands were dappled with paint from the fence around the garden in back of the town house that he had caught her whitewashing. And her skirt was dusty across the front from lying on the floor of the library, her legs up in the air, reading a book.

In addition, her lips were swollen from his kisses and her cheeks were rosy and she looked thoroughly delectable, as though she had just stepped out of his bed. He hoped his grandmother would not notice any of that.

Charlotte had forgotten to curtsy to the duchess, and she was staring up at his grandmother without the least deference to her exalted station. He groaned, but kept the sound to himself.

He was astounded to hear his grandmother say, “She will do, Lion. She will do very well, indeed.”

Were they both looking at the same person, he wondered? Maybe his grandmother’s eyesight was failing.

“You should have told us, Denbigh,” his grandfather said, holding his chilblained hands out to the
fire that was always kept burning in case he should come visiting his London residence unannounced. “It is an important day when a man chooses his bride.”

“I was afraid that Lady Alice had put you off women permanently,” his grandmother said in her no-nonsense fashion, as she led Charlotte over to greet his grandfather. “I’m glad to see I was wrong.”

“But Grandmama, I—” He realized he could not tell his grandparents the truth, that he had no intention of marrying Charlotte Edgerton. Under the circumstances—having caught the two of them
in flagrante delicto
—they would insist he go through with the marriage. Honor demanded it. He would have to pretend that his engagement was real. At least until he could come up with another husband for Charlotte.

He realized the vixen was enjoying his discomfort immensely. His grandfather put an end to that when he said, “Go stand beside Denbigh, and let me see the two of you together.”

Charlotte crossed and stood at his side, the smile gone from her face, replaced by wariness.

“She’s a little bit of a thing, isn’t she?” the Duke of Trent observed.

“I’m not tall, sir, if that’s what you mean,” Charlotte said.

“Did you hear that, Lizzie?” his grandfather
said to his grandmother. “The chit called me ‘sir’! I like that. Familiar address is good for family, I always say. None of this ‘Your Grace this’ and ‘Your Grace that.’ Come here, girl, and give your new Grandpapa a kiss on the cheek.”

Charlotte’s face relaxed into a relieved smile as she gave the old man a hug and a kiss. “I’m glad to meet you at last, sir. It will be nice to have another Papa. I lost mine, you know.”

“I heard Edgerton had died,” the duke said. “Always liked your father.”

“Did you know him, sir?”

“Certainly. Why do you think he sent you back to us?”

Charlotte shot Denbigh a questioning look. “I thought it was a mistake, sir.”

“No mistake, my dear Charlotte,” the duchess said. “Your father was a close friend of the family.”

“What Lizzie doesn’t like to admit is that she almost married the man!” his grandfather said with a chortle.

“Really?” Charlotte said, her eyes wide with wonder. “I might have been your daughter, madam.”

“You might have been,” the duchess agreed. “But this is so much better,” she said with a smile. “I’ve had all these lovely years with Arthur, and I can still have you for my granddaughter.”

The duke harrumped.

The duchess laughed.

Charlotte grinned.

Denbigh sulked. If anyone had ever wondered why he kept his distance from his grandparents, they would only have to witness this scene to understand. The Duke and Duchess of Trent did not act like any other duke or duchess he knew. They had embarrassed him as a boy when he brought his friends to visit. People expected dukes and duchesses to be remote and haughty. His grandparents were as open and friendly as the local innkeeper and his wife.

His friends always came away from holiday visits saying what “good’uns” his grandparents were. But he could not help wishing they were not quite so eccentric. He had avoided his grandparents as he grew older and shouldered more responsibilities, because he never knew quite how to act with them. He liked to follow the rules; they were forever breaking them.

Maybe that was why Charlotte got along so well with them. And why he had found it so difficult to deal with her.

“Lady Charlotte, someone is waiting to see you in the kitchen,” a footman announced.

Charlotte had already started for the door of the drawing room, when Denbigh called after her, “Where are you going?”

“I’m supposed to meet my new maid before supper.”

“Your new maid? What’s wrong with the one you have?”

“Nothing.” She crossed back and laid her fingertips soothingly on his crossed arms. She looked up at him and said, “Yesterday a woman came begging for scraps at the kitchen door. When she told me she had once been a lady’s maid, I thought I would hire her to help.”

“You can’t hire every beggar off the streets, Charlotte,” Denbigh began. “She—”

“She’s in a family way, Lion. I can’t turn her away. You don’t really mind, do you?”

When she looked up at him with those green eyes, earnest and innocent and anxious for his approval, Denbigh found he could not tell her no. Even though servants were usually
fired
, not
hired
, when they began to show signs of increasing. Of course, leave it to Charlotte to get things backward, “This is the last time, Charlotte. From now on, let my steward do the hiring.”

“I will.” She turned and ran toward the door.

“Walk, Charlotte,” he admonished.

She slowed down, but not much. At the portal she turned and said, “Thank you, my lord. I know Sally will be grateful for your generosity.”

Denbigh shook his head. Charlotte Edgerton would never be a proper lady. Unless he wanted to end up buckled to her for the rest of his life, he had better find her another husband.

Charlotte had tried for nearly a week to see Denbigh’s point of view, as she had promised Olivia, and met with frustration at every turn. He was to be her escort to the theater that evening and had already dictated how she was to dress—in white; when she was to appear downstairs—precisely at eight; how she was to act upon their arrival at Covent Garden—demure, modest, reserved, and retiring; and what she was to say to Braddock—nothing at all, if she could manage it.

“He’s given me a half-dozen orders, at least,” she said as she paced Olivia’s room. “And he expects all of them to be obeyed to the letter. He’s high-handed, arrogant, arbitrary, overbearing, domineering, and … and … arrogant.”

“You already said that.”

“It bears repeating,” Charlotte retorted.

“Why do you persist in seeing the worst in Lion?” Olivia asked.

“Wear the jonquil gown, Livy,” Charlotte said, ignoring her question. “It picks up the gold in your eyes. The green is too … green.”

“Do you not think the gown you have on this evening is too … thin?” Olivia asked.

Charlotte ran her fingers over the fragile gauze skirt of the gown she had commissioned from a
modiste
who catered mostly to the demimonde. It was virginal white, as Denbigh had ordered. There, she was sure, all resemblance to what he had in mind ended. The nearly transparent dress clung to the shape of her body, and the bodice was cut so low it had given even her second thoughts. It was fit only for a Cyprian, a woman of easy virtue.

But she was proving another point to Denbigh.

“Of course it is too revealing,” Charlotte conceded. “How else am I to make it plain to your brother that I will make my own decisions about what to wear?” Charlotte tugged at the bodice, but it covered no more skin than before.

“I thought you were going to try to get along with Lion,” Olivia said.

Charlotte snorted. “We’ve given the appearance of getting along so well that, if I’m not careful, your grandparents will have me married off to your brother before the season is over.”

“They like you, Charlie. It’s only natural they want you to become a part of the family as soon as possible.”

“I’d love having you for a sister, Livy. It’s your brother I can do without.” When Olivia shot her an exasperated look, Charlotte changed the subject. “Are you nervous about tonight? You look so calm. You haven’t seen the duke all week. Aren’t you the least bit anxious about seeing him again?”

Olivia gave a tremulous laugh. “I’m terrified. Why do you think I’m not dressed yet? When I am, I’ll have to go downstairs and face him. What if he has changed his mind? What if he no longer wishes to court me?”

“How could he not want to court you? I’ve told you over and over what a rare catch you are, Livy.” Charlotte reached for the jonquil silk and held it ready for her. “Here. Let me be your maid. It’s half past eight. The sooner you’re dressed, the sooner we can go. I’m dying to see a play with real actors. Aren’t you? I’m sure I won’t be able to take my eyes off the stage.”

“No one else in the theater will be able to take their eyes off of you in that scandalous gown,” Olivia said.

“Do you think some of the gentlemen might show an interest in me?”

Olivia laughed. “Count on it. During the interval,
they will come to the duke’s box to present themselves. All you have to do is sit and wait.”

“Even though I’m engaged?”

“There are many satisfied to be a
cicisbeo
, a man who keeps company with an engaged lady. And there are others, rakes, who will want to see if they can steal a kiss, now that you are engaged.

“And there are the curious, and Lion’s friends, who will want to meet you. From them all, you may find one you like.”

“That sounds easy enough,” Charlotte said. “I think we should already be downstairs when the duke arrives, don’t you, Livy? That way we can keep our escorts from getting into an argument over nothing and throwing gloves in one another’s faces.”

“You’re right, of course. My brother and the duke won’t need an excuse to fight. They have reason enough already.”

Once Olivia had the right incentive, it didn’t take any time at all for her to finish her toilette.

“Wait, Livy,” Charlotte said before Olivia rose from in front of her mirror. “My new maid, Sally, gave me some things she said would aid your appearance.” Charlotte used a hare’s foot to dust sandalwood rouge over Olivia’s cheeks. Then she dampened a colored paper and dabbed the resulting red stain across Olivia’s lips with her finger.

“All done,” she said.

Olivia looked in the mirror and frowned. “You don’t think it is too much?”

“I don’t know,” Charlotte answered honestly. “At least now your whole face isn’t as white as a ghost.”

Olivia groaned and urged Charlotte out of her bedroom and down the stairs.

Charlotte got the anticipated response from Denbigh when she appeared in the drawing room arm in arm with Olivia.

“You’re late,” he said from his chair by the fire when he heard the door open. He angled his head to look at her and roared, “Charlotte!”

She had figured out long ago why his nickname was Lion.

He leapt to his feet, ogling her with disbelief. “What in heaven’s name are you wearing?”

“A white gown, as you requested.”

“You know I had nothing like … like that … that wisp of muslin in mind,” he stuttered out.

Charlotte left Olivia’s side and crossed to where he stood, his legs widespread, his hands militantly perched on his hips. She noticed he didn’t take his eyes off her indecent décolletage until she was standing directly in front of him. The tips of his ears were red when his eyes finally met hers.

“That dress is—”

“Beautiful on her,” Olivia interrupted. “Don’t you think so, Lion?”

Charlotte dutifully twirled in a circle. The dress did little to conceal her assets. Denbigh’s color was high when she faced him again. “Do you want me to change into something else?” she asked.

He tugged at the snow-white cravat that Theobald had tied in a precise Mathematical. “Knowing you, whatever you replaced it with would not be an improvement.” He reached out to gather up a bit of thin muslin from her sleeve and rubbed it between his fingertips.

His silvery eyes locked with her green ones, and Charlotte shivered as though it was her flesh he was caressing.

“Do you want to marry me, Lion?” she asked in a voice too quiet to be overheard by Olivia.

“You know I do not,” he said stiffly.

“Then I must find another husband,” she said. “I think this dress might help.”