Lady Whistledown Strikes Back (32 page)

So Herbert did have an ounce of intelligence. “I haven’t done anything behind your back.”

“Hm. Next you’ll be trying to buy those idiotic paste necklace baubles.”

Ha. If he only knew. She carried her idiotic emerald bauble in her reticule tonight, just because it made her feel a little scandalous and free. “You seemed to admire the one Lady Ibsen wore.”

Color stained his cheeks. “Nonsense. But I didn’t come here to argue with you. Let’s find our box and order dinner. The fireworks are supposed to be spectacular.”

“So I’ve heard.”

With Alice close behind them so they wouldn’t be separated hi the crowd, they pushed into the main clearing at the center of the Garden. If possible, the rotunda and pavilion were even more crowded than the periphery. The one good thing Charlotte could say about the massive crowd was that at least it created a little warmth; the evening was quite cool.

She’d worn the pink gown with the rosettes that Sophia had given her. Of course her parents had disapproved of the low neckline and the eye-drawing material, but she had to admit that she’d never felt more sensual and alive. All she needed to make the evening completely perfect would be to have Xavier by her side instead of Herbert.

“I’ve got us a prime box,” Herbert went on, as though they hadn’t been disagreeing about anything.

“I daresay we’ll have the best seats of anyone at the Gardens.”

“How lovely,” she returned. “I’m a bit hungry. Shall we take our seats?” “Of course.”

Already the
faux
French and British soldiers were lined up on opposite sides of the field, awaiting their cue to begin the battle. Closer to the rotunda both Prince George and the Duke of Wellington had taken seats, though with the crowd around them she would wager that they wouldn’t see much of the fight.

By the time the footmen arrived with platters of their paper-thin slices of cold chicken and ham, it was nightfall. The orchestra in the main rotunda began playing, and she sat back to watch as, with a crash of cymbals, the gas lights hung along the walks and in the trees all went on simultaneously.

Charlotte joined in the applause, still eyeing the huge crowd for a familiar, handsome face. Nothing. Her whole life had felt like this, she realized, accepting mediocrity and all the while waiting for something—someone—exciting to come along and make everything better. Maybe it was time for her to stop waiting.

“Before the battle begins, I need to freshen up,” she said, rising.

“Someone will take our box,” Herbert complained, scowling. “Stay here. Alice will accompany me. I’ll be right back.” Shortly after she stepped down from the box she heard the flurry of trumpets announcing the commencement of battle.

Everyone began surging toward the field, calling encouragement and clapping with excitement.

“We’ll miss Waterloo, Miss Charlotte,” Alice said, crowding close to her.

She opened her mouth to answer that she didn’t care, when she saw him.

Wearing black and gray, Xavier stood at the entrance to the darkened Druid’s Walk, gazing at her. Her heart sped. He’d come.

“I need a breath of air, Alice,” she said. “Why don’t you wait right here against the fence, and I’ll be back in a moment.”

“I can’t leave you alone here! Lord and Lady Birling will sack me!”

“They’ll never know. I promise. And this way you can watch the battle. I’ll be fine. I promise.”

“Oh, Miss Charlotte, this is not a good idea.”

“It’s a wonderful idea. Wait here.”

Still looking terribly uneasy, her maid nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Charlotte received a few curious looks as she crossed the pavilion, but she scarcely noted them. Tonight she didn’t feel like herself. Tonight she felt like someone wild and reckless and free, someone who would leave her attendant to go walking along a dark path with a handsome rake.

“You look lovely,” Xavier said in a low voice as she reached his side.

“My cousin Sophia gave the gown to me.”

“It suits you.”

“I feel half naked.”

Faded cobalt drifted down her low neckline and back up to her face again.

“Not nearly naked enough,”

he murmured.

My goodness.
He had that predatory look in his eyes, the one she’d seen in Hyde Park when his kisses had practically devoured her. Charlotte swallowed.

“I’m glad you came.”

“I want you to walk with me,” he said, his gaze intent on her face. “But I also want to warn you. If you join me, nothing will ever be the same again. So choose carefully, Charlotte. I’m certain Beetly’s waiting for you in his box. He’s safe. I’m not.”

“I’ve been safe my entire life, Xavier,” she returned, then forced a nervous smile as she gazed down the path past his shoulder. “Other than the fact that it’s dark, what’s so spectacular down that way, anyway?”

His lips curved up in a slow, sensual smile. “Come and find out.”

They weren’t alone along the Druid’s Walk. In several dim alcoves along the path, above the nearby sounds of battle, she could hear whispers and the unmistakable sound of lips touching lips. Her mother would have an apoplexy if she knew her daughter was visiting one of Vauxhall’s infamous dark walks, much less in the company of Earl Matson.

They rounded another curve, the gloom lit only by sporadic fireworks signifying cannon fire. “Are you sure you want to miss the reenactment? You weren’t there for the original, you said.”

“That’s the past,” he returned, guiding her beyond a low overhang. “I’ve recently discovered a new hope for the future.” He meant her. If her heart beat any faster, it would fly from her chest. This was where she needed and wanted to be, and he was the man she needed and wanted to be with. “How far are we going?”

His soft chuckle sent a shiver down her arms. “Just here.” They angled off the path to a small glade set off from the rest of the Gardens by artfully hung blankets. He’d been planning. “What if someone sees?” “I’ve taken precautions. Wilson?”

“Aye, my lord.”

She wasn’t surprised to see one of his footmen standing at the edge of the trail, gazing back in the direction they’d come from. “How long have you been planning this?” she asked, hoping her voice sounded less nervous than she felt inside.

“A few days. I’ve been thinking about it since we met, however.” Inside the shelter of the blankets he faced her, drawing her into his arms. “I told you I was a good strategist,” he murmured, tilting her face up to kiss her.

Charlotte moaned, let the soft pull of his mouth send her heart soaring. With no one to see, no one to interrupt, they could do as they wanted. She knew what he wanted; her. And she wanted him as well, with a strength and passion that a few weeks ago she would have thought she didn’t even possess. Still,

if her parents found out….

“Is this wise?” she whispered, shivering as his mouth moved slowly along the line of her jaw.

“No. But I can’t help myself. Forget everything outside of this place, Charlotte.

Just be with me. If you want to.”

“I want to.” So badly, it would hurt to walk away. She remembered the bauble in her reticule and pulled it out.

“Lady Ibsen recommended this to me,” she said unsteadily.

He took it from her fingers. “Jeanette? When?”

“A few days ago. Herbert said it was tawdry, and she said that was the point.”

A slow smile curving his sensuous mouth, Xavier fastened it behind her neck, then drew his fingers down along the length of chain to where the emerald rested between her breasts. “Not quite,” he whispered, moving behind her.

“What do you—”

Her gown loosened and then slid from her shoulders. Gasping, Charlotte held the front up over her bosom.
What was she doing?
She’d gone insane, obviously. But any thought of flight vanished as he stopped in front of her again for another deep, satisfying kiss. As if of their own accord, her fingers relaxed, and her gown slid to her feet.

From the distant shouting and cheers and explosions, the Waterloo reenactors and audience seemed to be having a fine time, but she doubted it could compare with hers. Herbert would probably begin to wonder where she was, unless the bright lights distracted him, but she didn’t care. Not tonight, not now. Not with Xavier.

All that stood between her and the night breeze was her thin shift. She expected to be cold, but as he slipped his fingers under the shoulders and softly peeled the cotton down her arms, she was only aware of heat and excitement and arousal. His kisses grew harder, more demanding, and she swept her arms around his shoulders to pull him closer.

“Xavier,” she panted, kissing his throat as he’d kissed hers, “I refuse to be the only naked party in this.”

He moaned. “I want you,” he breathed, allowing her to push his jacket down his shoulders. His cravat followed, sinking to the ground in a wilted lump. With his gentle tugging her shift crept down her shoulders, exposing her breasts and then her belly and her legs to the dim moonlight and flashes of fireworks.

Xavier tapped the emerald bauble again where it hung heavy and cool now against her bare skin. “Now that is how you should always wear it.”

His deft fingers brushed across her breasts, and she gasped again, arching toward the pressure. “Good heavens.” Xavier chuckled, rolling her nipples between his thumb and forefinger. “Do you want to sin tonight, Charlotte?”

“That’s why I’m here.” She drew another unsteady breath. “But please hurry, because I don’t want someone to stop us before…” She wanted to say
before she could be satisfied,
but .that sounded completely wanton and scandalous.

She tugged his shirt free of his trousers and ran her hands up the warm skin of his chest. Smooth, and

yet she could feel the steel beneath. His muscles jumped beneath her touch, and she realized that she affected him as much as his touch affected her.

With her help he pulled the shirt off over his head, and then he lowered them both to the blanketed ground. It excited her even more to know that he’d gone to such lengths to be with her. She wanted to ask what would happen tomorrow, after his male lust had been satisfied, but as he shifted her onto her back and then took her left breast into his mouth, she didn’t care what might happen after tonight. She felt hot and coiled inside, growing tighter and tighter, waiting for something only he could provide.

His suckling deepened, and she wrapped her fingers into his tawny hair, pulling him harder against her. The faint mewling sounds she made hardly sounded like her, but none of this was like her. With his free hand he undid his trousers and shoved them down, then leaned down along her to kiss her deeply again.

His arousal felt big and hard against her thigh, and she coiled still tighter inside. “Xavier, now,” she demanded, shifting uncomfortably.

He nudged her knees apart and settled between her legs. “Say you’ll marry me,” he demanded, his own voice shaking at the edges.

“But I—”

“I don’t care what anyone else thinks, Charlotte,” he interrupted, easing forward so that she could feel

him pressing intimately between her legs. “Say you’ll marry me.”

She could barely form a coherent thought, much less a coherent sentence.

“Yes,” she rasped, rifting her hips.

Slowly he thrust forward, entering her. Charlotte yelped, but he muffled the sound against his own mouth. “Shh. Relax, my sweet. Just relax.”

The pain subsided, and he resumed his slow slide deep inside her. Nothing she’d ever felt could compare to this— so … satisfying, and yet leaving her wanting so much more. “Xavier.” In a moment he began to move, his slow, steady rhythm drawing her tighter and tighter. With a loud cheer the fireworks exploded into a celebration of faux victory. She moaned in time with his thrusting, while faded cobalt, nearly black in the dimness, gazed closely at her. Fireworks, cheering, heat, sweat, the weight of his warm, muscled body, filled her until with a surprising rush she shattered. “You belong to me,” he growled, following her into release. “Me.”

For several long moments Xavier didn’t want to move. In advance the plan had seemed abysmally

stupid and desperate. Actually planning a rendezvous and securing a secluded glade for it. But then

she’d appeared, looking for him, and it had worked.

While his breathing and heart slowed to normal and before he became too heavy for her, he buried his face in lavender-scented hair. This was where he was supposed to be; not at Waterloo gaining glory at the expense of thousands of lives, not sitting alone in Farley Park wishing Anthony were there to shoulder the burdens of the estate and title, not sitting in the smoky dark wagering or sinning with someone just so he wouldn’t have to face going home alone.

Charlotte brought something into his life, something he’d known he lacked but had never been able to put a name to. In her company, with her in his arms, he felt… content. And indescribably happy.

The pavilion’s main orchestra began playing Handel’s
Music for the Royal Fireworks,
and more multicolored rockets began shooting into the sky. They’d been here too long; Charlotte’s escort would be missing her. The problem, Xavier reflected, was that he didn’t want to give her back, even temporarily.

“I don’t suppose we could live here in Vauxhall Gardens,” she said, echoing his thoughts as she slowly ran her hands along his back. “Like Robin Hood and Maid Marian?”

He chuckled as he reluctantly shifted off of her, sitting up to run a hand through his hah”. “It’s tempting, but it seems a bit extreme.”

“I suppose so.”

She shivered a little, and he reached over to grab her shift. “We need to get you back before you freeze

to death.”

“Being in Herbert’s company doesn’t precisely warm my heart,” she returned.

At the edge of frustration in her voice he leaned in and kissed her, long and deep. “That won’t last any longer than tonight,” he said. “You made me a promise.”

Soft brown eyes met his gaze. “Short of my complete ruin, I don’t see how my promise will persuade

my parents.” Charlotte brushed her lips against his throat. “It probably would have been better if you’d never noticed me.”