The Baron Next Door (Prelude to a Kiss) (16 page)

Quite a lot, actually.

And who said they couldn’t be friends, even if there could never be more? She bit her bottom lip, thinking of the incredible kiss they had shared last night. Even now, hours later, her belly did a little flip just thinking about it. It had been so heart-poundingly all-consuming, it was almost impossible not to want to experience that again. Not to imagine his lips descending onto hers, or his hands pulling her closer, or his tongue slipping into her mouth.

She swallowed, trying to rein in her thoughts. If they were to be friends, they certainly couldn’t go kissing like that again.

Still, as determined as she was to preserve their friendship, she couldn’t help but wonder: Would one kiss ever be enough?

A
fter half a decade of doing very little for anyone—himself included—Hugh savored the blossoming warmth that suffused his chest as he walked toward Dering’s house.

If anyone could help sway the damn-fool selection committee, it was he. As if the man’s rank, social reach, and easygoing charm weren’t already enough, Hugh knew that he was already an admirer of Charity’s music.

Luckily, the viscount was at home, and in short order Hugh once again found himself in the dark and masculine room that served as Dering’s study. It was impossible not to think of Charity, for the last time he was here, she had very nearly gotten them both in a heap of trouble.

Although the thought of being discovered in a compromising position seemed quite a bit less offensive than it had at the time. He swallowed against the odd emotions that particular thought shook loose and smiled in greeting to his old friend. “Dering, thanks for seeing me.”

“Of course, of course,” he said, extending a paw in greeting. “What can I do for you, my friend? Still planning on coming to the theater, I hope?”

“Yes, I plan to be there.” At Dering’s invitation, he took a seat in the same chair he’d claimed last time.

“Good to hear. I must say, this city seems to be agreeing with you. You look much restored from even a week ago.”

“Indeed.” The city was agreeing with him. The waters were better than he could have hoped for, and the company was proving to be surprisingly captivating. Charity’s expressive gray eyes and cinnamon hair flashed to his mind. How could someone so wrong for him be so appealing? Was it
because
he had no business being with her that he seemed to be unable to free his mind of her?

Looking his friend in the eye, he said, “I was wondering if you might be of assistance to me. If you are willing, of course.”

One dark brow raised in mild interest. “A favor? I’m properly intrigued. Let’s hear it.”

Suddenly unsure of how to even present the issue without sounding as though he had more interest in it than he should, he adjusted his position in the overlarge chair and lifted his ankle to rest on his knee. “As you know, I am renting a townhouse that is adjacent to Lady Effington and her granddaughter.”

Interest flared in Dering’s brown eyes. He did nothing more than nod, but Hugh found himself hesitating, trying to come up with the right words. “I happened to discover, quite by accident, that the selection committee of the Tuesday-night recitals has turned Miss Effington and her trio members away.”

Dering tilted his head to the left. “Turned them away?”

“They claim they have overbooked the event. After witnessing Miss Effington’s distress, I imagine she is deeply upset by the lost opportunity.”

“I see,” he said, crossing his arms. His dark brown jacket pulled at the seams, despite its generous cut. Hugh fleetingly wondered if the man still only boxed to keep in shape, or if he had taken up some other activity. His biceps were as thick as tree trunks these days.

“I wonder,” Dering said, one corner of his wide mouth tilting upward in barely perceptible amusement. “How does one stumble on such information by accident?”

“Unfortunately, I happened upon her when she had just received the letter. Needless to say, there were a few tears involved.”

Dering sat up straight. “Charity was crying?” Any amusement was eclipsed by the scowl darkening his face. “That is something. She’s fairly even-tempered, that one.”

Hugh bit his tongue. In his experience, Charity was anything but even-tempered. He’d seen anger, upset, laughter . . . passion. He pressed his lips together, hit anew by the memory of their embrace.

Rubbing his palms back and forth, Dering seemed to be debating what to do about the new information. “I wonder, why did you come to me?”

Hugh shrugged. “I know you’re a friend of the family. Seemed a damned shame that all their practicing should be for naught.” The words were impressively neutral, given the wealth of turmoil the music had caused. “I suppose I thought it was unfair, and someone should do something about it.”

“So why not you?”

Laughing, Hugh said, “I am. I’m telling you.” Coming to his feet, he offered a careless shrug, meant to convey a distance from the situation that he didn’t feel. “Do what you will with the information. I’m sure she’ll survive either way.”

Dering stood, his frame towering over Hugh. “I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, I feel I should warn you.”

With careful nonchalance, Hugh raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“If you have any interest in the girl, speak now. Otherwise, I can’t promise I won’t decide to pursue her myself. I’ll admit, she is quite a lovely and accomplished young woman.” He shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “A man could do far worse.”

Hugh’s attempt to remain disengaged faltered, and he took a slow, deep breath before saying, “You old dog. I had no idea you were interested.”

Dering’s smile grew. “Neither did I. Things have certainly changed since she was a freckle-faced, whip-thin, carrot-haired girl.”

It took all of Hugh’s willpower to force himself to smile back at the man. Dering would be a perfect match for her. He was wealthy, heir to an earldom, well liked, and a longtime friend of her family. If Hugh wanted the best for her, then shouldn’t Dering’s surprise announcement make him happy?

“I wish you the best, old man,” he answered, giving him a sound whack on the shoulder for good measure. And if he suddenly felt as though he’d taken a punch to the ribs, then he would just have to live with it. He knew a little something about living with pain.

*   *   *

“Well, my dear, don’t you look positively divine tonight?” Grandmama smiled as Charity floated into the drawing room, swathed in a cloud of diaphanous pale blue silk. She wasn’t generally one for jewels, but the double strand of pearls dropped with tear-shaped aquamarines that her father had gifted her with on her eighteenth birthday seemed the perfect touch.

“Thank you. As do you. That color lavender was just made for you.” With her silver hair coiled into an elegant chignon at the back of her neck, and her exquisite diamond-and-amethyst necklace lying perfectly across her collarbone, she looked as lovely as a painting. Charity cocked her head, realizing that her grandmother actually looked better than she had since before she became sick several years earlier. Her cheeks were tinged a pretty pink, her eyes sparkled merrily in the candlelight, and her shoulders were almost completely straight.

Happiness took root deep down inside her at the thought. Bath was exactly the right place for them just now. Even though Charity had been
un
selected by the selection committee, and the fact she still wasn’t sure what to think about the situation with the baron, Charity could say without a smidge of doubt that coming here had been the right choice.

She pressed a light kiss on Grandmama’s cheek. There was a time when they weren’t sure if she would recover; Charity wanted to be certain to always savor their time together now. Stepping back, she said, “Shall I ring for the carriage?” She started for the bellpull.

“Oh no, dear. I forgot to tell you—we’re to ride with Lord Cadgwith.”

Charity froze. “Lord Cadgwith?” She couldn’t hide her surprise. “The baron is going to the theater?” The sentence came out with the same incredulousness as if she had said
The baron is going to the moon?
After their discussion, she didn’t think he would ever participate in any of the larger gatherings.

Grandmama chuckled. “You needn’t sound so shocked. It turns out we shall both be Lord Derington’s guests tonight, and the baron kindly offered. He is so very courteous. Don’t you think?”

“Yes, of course,” Charity murmured, utterly distracted. Hugh was going to be joining them tonight? And sitting across from her in a small carriage, with nothing but scant inches and Grandmama’s not so watchful eye separating them? Butterflies fluttered to life in her belly, their wings beating a staccato rhythm that matched her heartbeat.

Not
the way one was supposed to feel about a friend.

But then, one didn’t generally know the taste of a friend’s lips.

Glancing to the clock, her grandmother gestured for the door. “Come along. He said he would be ready anytime after nine, and it is already ten after.”

The butterflies escaped the bounds of Charity’s belly and spread up her chest. What would they say to each other? She put her fingers to her lips, heat seeming to graze them even now. Though she agreed with him that they had no compatibility whatsoever, it didn’t stop her heart from pounding all the harder at the thought of being near him.

By the time they reached the front door, Charity was nearly light-headed with the anticipation of seeing him again. Silly, stupid, unwise, but out of her control. She wanted to see him, plain and simple. The butler opened the door for them, and all at once her eyes found him.

Hugh.

He was standing beside the sleek black carriage, wearing a well-fitting gray jacket and a handsome pair of bone-colored pantaloons that highlighted his long legs. He came to attention when he saw them, and though he smiled sweetly to Grandmama, there was no mistaking the heat in his gaze as he turned his attention to Charity. The butterflies multiplied, careening around her entire body.

He waited until they reached the carriage before bowing. “Good evening, ladies. It would seem I am to be the luckiest man in Bath, escorted by two such fine women.”

“Oh, do go on, my lord,” Grandmama said, chuckling gaily. “Such flattery, when you know full well you’ll be turning heads, so handsomely turned out as you are.” Putting her hand out for his assistance, she carefully ascended into the darkness of the carriage.

When she was properly settled, he turned back to Charity. She worked to calm her breathing. He was as sharply dressed as any of the
ton
’s most sophisticated men, but there was a certain no-nonsense air about him that prevented him from looking foppish. He was all male confidence and quiet composure—a heady combination.

Holding his hand out to her, he said, “Good evening, Miss Effington.”

She swallowed. “Good evening, Lord Cadgwith.” Her voice was as even and proper as his, despite her rioting nerves. Licking her lips, she lifted her hand to his, allowing her gloved fingers to slide against his with a deliberateness that a casual observer might not think anything of, but that she knew he had to notice. “I’m so glad you decided to come out this evening.”

Did she imagine the almost imperceptible tightening of his fingers? She couldn’t be sure, not with the way her body was reacting—or, rather, overreacting—to his touch.

“As am I,” he murmured, guiding her to the step.

She reluctantly stepped up, unable to delay the inevitable parting of their hands. Was it terrible of her to want to prolong their touch? All too soon he released his hold, allowing their fingers to slip apart. The carriage rocked as he ascended the steps and joined them inside, taking the backward-facing bench.

Their eyes met in the shadowy light of the lanterns hanging just outside the window. As much as she loved her grandmother, she suddenly found herself wishing the woman anyplace but here.

*   *   *

The short half-mile distance to the theater was inordinately long, not only because of the traffic clogging the road, but because of his hyperawareness of Charity’s small form only a few feet from him.

Her grandmother kept up a steady stream of conversation, her voice overloud in the small space, but not unpleasant. For the most part, however, her gaze was focused on the busy street beyond the window. That freed Hugh to steal many surreptitious glances at his little redheaded companion. She looked especially lovely tonight. He loved the way her auburn hair just touched the nape of her neck, right at the curve of her shoulder. Her skin was pale and smooth, with light freckles creating a constellation across the exposed expanse of her shoulders and collarbone that his lips longed to map.

When he glanced up, his eyes collided with hers. She unapologetically watched him in the swaying lamplight, boldly meeting his gaze. She didn’t smile to negate the intimacy of their shared regard. But then again, neither did he. He couldn’t have, not when his heart was pounding with the memory of his lips on hers. Of her body pressed against his chest, and his arms wrapped around her slender waist.

“Isn’t that a shame, Lord Cadgwith?”

He snapped his attention back to Lady Effington, at a complete loss as to what she was talking about. “Dreadfully so,” he said, assuming she was looking for his agreement.

She nodded approvingly. “I just don’t see how they couldn’t have found a few minutes somewhere for the girls to play. It’s not as though they have a mail coach to catch.”

Ah, the recital.
Hopefully, Dering would get it worked out, but he wasn’t about to say anything to them. If the viscount was able to fix things, then he deserved the credit, and if he wasn’t, then Hugh wasn’t going to raise their hopes for nothing. “I agree. The organizers have no excuse for such shabby handling of the issue.”

“Indeed,” she said, nodding once. “And I sincerely doubt that any of the other musicians were better than our Charity.”

“Grandmama,” Charity admonished kindly, though her voice was raised in deference to the older woman’s hearing. “There’s no reason to disparage the others’ talents. It was merely bad luck that we were the last to register.” Disappointment lurked in her eyes, even as she smiled to her grandmother.

God, he hoped Dering was able to work something out. He was counting on the man to come through on this.

Waving a dismissive hand, the dowager said, “Yes, of course. I just feel they shall be missing out on one of the best England has to offer.”

Charity chuckled then. “Says the musician’s grandmother. Worry not, we three musicians will still play, even if not for the festival.”

Lady Effington smiled and patted Charity’s skirts. “As you should.” She turned her attention back to the window, humming quietly under her breath. Hugh doubted she even realized they could hear her.