Midnight Temptations With a Forbidden Lord (18 page)

He inched back into the shadows, never so unsure of himself in all his life.

Chapter 10

A romantic opera spurs foolish lovers into rash decision making. There were two notable absences at the opera during the second act. One Lady C
^____
disappeared for more than a quarter hour. And would you believe that Lady H
^____
never returned to her box for the second half of the opera? That is quite odd considering her companions were still present.
—The Mayfair Chronicles,
July 1846
Dear Lord Marquess,
Should I describe my daily activities or would you prefer an accounting of everyone here and who I think they might be smitten with? I’m not sure what else to say other than … I have been thinking about your suggestion. I cannot thank you enough for your assistance with my … predicament.
C
My dearest lady,
It would do you well to take lessons in letter writing. Still using “Lord Marquess”? I certainly hope the person handling your letters is discreet. My last two days have been spent in idyllic amusement: a picnic in Hyde Park with my children, then dinner and cards at a friend’s. Sadly, my daughter convinced … No, rather she coerced my son and me to sit at tea with her this morning. I wasn’t forced to wear an apron; my son, on the other hand, will certainly be traumatized at the very thought of tea with his sister again. Did I mention that the other guests were a porcelain creation from Paris—very sophisticated—and a brown bear wearing a dress that hails all the way from Russia?
T
Dear T,
I haven’t quite decided how I should address you in my letters. “Lord Marquess” seemed most natural since you appear larger than life to all the ladies who cannot spot a rogue at twenty paces. I on the other hand have proved much wiser than my age might suggest. I do wish I could have attended your tea party, only I would have made you put on an apron. How can you truly play along without stepping into the role completely?
The only idyllic pleasures to be had at present in this dreadful heat are walks in the garden with my dearest friend and Mr. T
^____
. The man is always three steps behind us—I fear we’ll have no time to ourselves because of his constant presence. He’s an odd character, but kind to my friend, so I cannot complain about his poor attempts at poetry.
Your friend,
Char
My darling C,
You really must be more imaginative than “T.” Perhaps I will start calling you Lotte? Mayhap my given name is best. So long as you do not start quoting from
Tristan and Iseult,
unfortunately where my name derived from—my mother’s favorite story or some rot.
Is there no gossip to be had yet? Already a week has passed, and not one scandal has been printed in the rags. I’m almost disappointed. Perhaps I should have attended.
T
Dear T,
What happened to being discreet about our names? If you address me as Lotte, I’ll be forced to address you with an equally horrible rendition of your name. I have a strong aversion to Lotte. Lady H
^____
used to call me Little Lotte as a child. I felt like one of her corgis when she called to me in her shrill voice.
Char
“To whom are you penning another letter?” Ariel leaned over Charlotte’s shoulder.

Charlotte turned to her friend. They had escaped to Charlotte’s room to have an hour to themselves—an hour without Mr. Torrance hovering close at hand. “You can’t guess?”

“Oh, let me have a look, then.” Ariel slid the parchment from the desk so she could read the correspondence. “You are using tales about our childhood to seduce your marquess?” Her friend tsked. “You must be a temptress if you are to succeed in the plan we devised for you.”

Charlotte took the paper back from her friend. She hadn’t told Ariel that the marquess had refused to be caught in a compromising situation. And she definitely hadn’t told her friend that he’d offered marriage.

“I’m working my way around to that. These things take time, Ariel.”

There was an excited gleam of challenge in her friend’s eyes. “Let me help you pen something fabulously scandalous.”

“For a young lady with a mother that is the paragon of all that is virtuous, you should be—”

“More prudent in life?”

Charlotte grinned at her friend. “No. Just a little more innocent than you are.”

“Well, it’s a good thing we befriended each other at so young an age, otherwise I might have turned out exactly like my mother.” Ariel visibly cringed.

“And that would have been such a waste of a brilliant mind.” Charlotte pushed the paper toward her friend and stood from the vanity that faced the open window in her room. “You can replicate my handwriting. Sit.” She motioned to the now empty chair. “We’ll write it together.”

Having Ariel write her correspondence, at least this once, helped Charlotte put distance between her and the marquess. She was developing a
tendre,
which simply wouldn’t do. It was those damnable kisses that had started her feelings in that direction. In fact, that first kiss had changed everything between them.

“How is he supposed to take you seriously, when you compare yourself to Mama’s corgis?”

“But it’s the truth. And I really can’t allow him to address me as Lotte. So it stays. What do you think we should write next?”

“What has he said to you in previous letters?”

She didn’t want to mention that he had talked openly about his children right from the start, which was silly on her part. She truly was developing an attachment to him. Worse, she hadn’t even been able to tell Ariel that she’d been well and truly kissed by the marquess, and on two separate occasions.

She wasn’t sure why she had kept that a secret, but she didn’t want to tell anyone about what had transpired because she was still trying to make sense of it all. Maybe Ariel could make better sense of it than she? What Charlotte needed to do was detach her feelings from those kisses and not think of the marquess as a suitable match. She pressed her fingers to her mouth and sat on the edge of her bed. But what if those kisses had meant more to him, too?

Ariel looked up at her, tapping the top of the pen against her lips. “You should talk about wanting to see him again.”

“He’ll get the wrong impression.” She flopped back on her bed and stared up at the sprigged white canopy. “What if I tell him that his correspondence is in competition with Mr. Warren’s? Would the attention of another man draw his interest to me?”

“That might well work. But of course it’s a complete lie since I know for a fact you’ve received no correspondence from Mr. Warren. Why don’t you tell him about the letter your father sent?”

She squeezed her eyes shut and threw her arm over her eyes. She hated to think about that letter. It had been short, concise, and demanding. If she told the marquess that her father was moving up the announcement of her engagement, what would he do? She’d already turned down his offer of marriage—not that he’d properly thought through what he was asking. He couldn’t have really wanted such an outcome.

“I’m not ready to talk about my father’s demands,” Charlotte said. “I wish I could convince Papa how wrong he is to rush this.”

“But your impending marriage to Mr. Warren is precisely the reason you befriended the marquess—he’s to help you stop your engagement.”

“Neither of us have come up with a way to end the engagement. He won’t publicly ruin me. I’ve practically asked that of him outright.”

Ariel gasped. “I cannot believe you were so frank with him and that he said no. He’s damaged so many other reputations.”

“Are you so sure about that? His name is tied to the scandals in the rags, but I can’t think of one woman he’s been associated with—not by name.”

Ariel tapped the pen against the edge of the table. “You know, you’re right. How odd that we didn’t realize that sooner.”

“Not so odd, he has children out of wedlock. They live with him.”

“My mother mentioned that not long ago to one of her friends.” Ariel turned in the seat and looked down at the letter. “You should move on from the name drivel and write ‘I long for your company, someone who understands me completely.’”

Charlotte cringed at the very thought of putting something of that nature in the letter. “Absolutely not. He would think someone had hit me over the head if I wrote in such a desperate tone. We must think our words through carefully.”

Ariel tapped the end of the pen against the table. “May I see his last letter to you?”

Charlotte’s first instinct was to hold it back, keep it private. It was addressed to her and not Ariel. And to share the correspondence she’d received to date felt like a betrayal to the marquess. Although why should it feel like that?

“You don’t want to share his letters, do you?” her friend said.

Charlotte pushed herself up on her elbows. “It’s not that.”

Ariel’s mouth dropped open in shock, as though something had suddenly dawned on her. “That is precisely it. You are interested in the marquess for more than just the plan we devised.”

Charlotte started to protest, but not much more than “I’m not—” made it past her lips.

“We’ve known each other practically our whole lives. You cannot finagle your way out of this. What precisely has happened since our visit to the zoo? You’re withholding some pertinent information.”

“Nothing has happened. I’ve merely grown to respect the marquess for his…”

His kindness? For the kisses she thought about far too often? For his refusal to ruin her even though he insisted it was to save his own head? She knew better than that; he wanted to protect her.

“Oh, my. He’s kissed you, hasn’t he?” Ariel threw down the pen in her excitement at discovering Charlotte’s secret. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”

“Am I so obvious?” Charlotte was horrified that she was so easily read. She covered her face with her hands, embarrassed.

Her friend sat next to her on the bed with a bounce. “What was it like?” Ariel’s voice was dreamy.

“I was taken by surprise.” She really had no desire to share details of her kiss with anyone, but this was her best friend. “It was wonderful, Ariel. It was so much more than I imagined.” She fell silent. She was giving away too much of her feelings.

Charlotte took a deep breath. She needed to stay detached, as though the kiss hadn’t mattered, because she didn’t want her friend overanalyzing the situation. It didn’t feel right to share something so private, especially when Charlotte was still sorting out her feelings about the kiss. Especially since he’d offered marriage—and his proposal was far more tempting than Mr. Warren’s.

She began to wonder whether or not she could marry the marquess. It would be a grand solution to her predicament, but she wanted to marry for more than necessity. She wanted to be swept off her feet and to fall madly in love with the man who offered for her hand. Realistically, though, that dream wasn’t likely to come true.

“When did this happen?” Ariel prompted her again.

Should she lie and say it happened at one of the two events where they’d met the marquess or tell her friend what she’d been up to in the evenings, sneaking out of her house in a cloak to disguise her? The truth was better, because she realized the impossibility of lying to her dearest friend.

“He was testing me. I think he wanted to see if I would back down if he treated me more intimately. I did ask him outright to ruin me.” She looked away from her friend, unable to meet her gaze.

“Yet he’s told you he won’t put you in a compromising position,” her friend mused. “We put him on the list because he’s smart and known to be kind. I think he has more morals than my mother can imagine.”

“You can’t say a thing, not even hint at this secret, Ariel.”

“Do you trust me so little? Is that why you didn’t tell me?” Ariel frowned.

“No, it’s not that. I was just surprised by the kiss and I wanted to sort out my feelings before telling you. I wouldn’t have kept that information a secret indefinitely.”

“Your
feelings
?”

Charlotte was revealing far too much. But now that she’d said that, she’d have to explain what she meant. “Before your imagination runs wild, I think I need to clarify what happened.”

They both lay back on the bed and turned to face each other. “I visited him under cover of night, about two weeks ago. I surprised him; he honestly never expected me to show up at his house.”

“You went to his house?” Ariel’s eyes were wide. “Have you gone mad?”

“This is why I haven’t told you anything yet. He was—believe it or not—the perfect gentleman.”

“Yet he kissed you,” her friend pointed out.

“He was testing my resolve. Nothing more.”

“So you’ve said. But I think there’s more to it than that. What was it like?”

“I can’t really describe it. One minute we were talking, and before I knew what was happening, his arms were around me and our mouths were fused together.”

Ariel sighed, as though picturing it. “How long did it last?”

“Long enough for his sister to interrupt us.”

“He has a sister?”

Charlotte nodded. “I had no idea, either.”

“Oh, I wonder if I can find out from my mother what her story is.”