To Bed or to Wed (5 page)

“Sounds like your whole family has trouble bonding.” She sucked in a breath. “I apologize. That was horrible of me to say.”

Jamie hooted with laughter. “Truer words have never been spoken. We’re mostly strangers in this family. We’re good at it, I suppose. No sense changing now.” He planted an elbow on the table and grinned. “I’ll wager if any woman could break my starchy, reclusive uncle, it’d be you. I imagine you’d turn all of us around and manage us into better people. Care to take up the challenge?”

There he went again, saying she excelled at managing or bossing. Charlotte sighed.
How very unflattering. On the other hand, she was merely taking command of her own life. “Oh, I’m not certain that would be a good idea.”

“It would be a capitol idea. If there were any two people in need of a match, it would be you and Uncle.” Jamie grinned and his brown eyes twinkled.

“Don’t rush your—or my—fences.” She dropped her gaze. Now, had he given her a snifter of brandy and dared her to drink it, she would have easily given in to the challenge. Chasing the marquess was something else entirely. “I’m certain there’s a perfectly solid reason why your uncle remains unattached. I have no wish to disturb his carefully crafted solitude.”

“I’m so glad,” Bethany added. She followed the statement with a nod. “If what the gossips say is true, he’s not fit for any lady, what with his temper and all. Who knows what else he’s capable of?”

“Indeed.” But the idea wouldn’t leave Charlotte alone. What sort of woman would be able to tame the alleged Ravenhurst beast?

The conundrum bedeviled her all day
as she attempted to read while escaping the silly little outings Jamie had planned for his guests, then it continued to grip her mind through dinner and the cozy games of whist afterward. Her imagination wouldn’t stop dwelling on what surely had to be the tragic life of the Marquess of Ravenhurst. For her own entertainment, she’d invented a torturous past, a failed romance and a haunting for good measure. Her penchant for Gothic tales had now colored him in her fantasies.

But what is the reality?

She peered down the darkened staircase. Nothing in the house moved at this hour of the evening, and why should there be activity? Proper ladies and gentlemen had retired to their rooms. Socializing had been over for at least an hour, and now, as it approached midnight, the only people who might be about didn’t have altruistic motives in mind. Was Jamie skulking through the corridors on his way to meet with his lover? She shook her head to clear the thought.
Really, I need to find something else to fixate on.
As a faint glimmer of golden light danced at the end of one hallway, Charlotte grinned. Someone else was still awake, and if her luck held, it might prove to be the marquess.
Please don’t let it be Jamie making use of the room.
She didn’t think she had the strength to bear witness to another of his assignations. The marquess had not joined the party for dinner, but neither had his sister, which she found strange. Did neither one care about Jamie?

Since she’d been too preoccupied with inventing scenarios for him, she hadn’t changed clothes from dinner. Now, taking her skirting in hand, she slipped down the stairs, careful to keep her steps measured and her focus on the wavering golden illumination. When it vanished, she bit her bottom lip to keep from groaning with disappointment. If
the marquess was the owner of the light, where had he gone? At the bottom of the staircase, Charlotte paused. One way led toward the drawing room as well as a parlor while the other branch led to… what? She hadn’t had the opportunity to traverse the passage as of yet, and Jamie hadn’t seen fit to give his guests a tour.

She took a few steps then paused. Uncertainly circled her mind like a horse on a loop. If she did find the
marquess alone and happened to engage him in conversation, if someone else should come along and catch them together, unchaperoned, there would be hell to pay. Her spine tingled. Depending on who it was, would she and the marquess be demanded to wed? Poor Mother would never live down the scandal… or let her forget it either.

With a snort, Charlotte continued down the unexplored hall. She pushed away the thought as silly musings of a wild imagination. She had no intentions of marrying anyone, let alone a brooding gentleman who may or may not possess a sordid past. Her slippers whispered on the hardwood. Just when she thought about turning back, the glimmer of light returned and flickered as if someone walked in front of the lamp. She crept toward an open doorway near the end of the corridor. Her heartbeat raced. Her mouth went dry. Was it him? What would she do if she peeked into the room and it wasn’t?

Blasted curiosity. Felix was forever telling her it would get her into trouble. Perhaps tonight would be that time.

The clearing of a masculine throat within the room drew her onward. She paused at the doorframe with her back pressed flushed against the wall.
Dear heavens, I cannot intrude… can I?

“For the love of all that’s holy, woman, come in and be quiet about it.” The
marquess hissed the request. “And shut the door behind you. I’d rather not be trapped in parson’s mousetrap due to spies or the carelessness of a stubborn female.”

Charlotte’s heart dropped into her stomach then that organ lurched into her toes. Surprise held her captive, but she stumbled into the room and
, with shaking hands, followed instructions. Once the latch clicked on the lock, she turned around to face him. “First of all, I want it to be entirely clear that I did not intend to spy on you.”

“I cannot abide liars, Lady Charlotte, and you are most certainly one right now.” He gestured toward a leather-bound arm chair that sat in front of his massive cherry wood desk. “Sit.”

She ignored his comment while moving across the floor then settled into the chair. Obviously a study, the bookshelves lining one wall were of the same wood as his desk and filled with books on a wide variety of topics and reflected masculine tastes. Crystal and glass decanters of various liquors and wines rested atop a credenza behind him. A few ledgers lay stacked meticulously at one corner of his desk. A collection of papers occupied another. “Why are you hiding in here?”

“I do not hide.” Annoyance hung in his baritone voice.

“I rather doubt you slunk in here, shrouded in darkness, merely to work. Tenant issues and account books are not that exciting. Also, you’ve said it yourself. You’re hiding.” She raised her gaze to his and held it, undaunted by the distaste in his expression. “Now who’s resorting to telling falsehoods, Lord Ravenhurst?”

He twisted a signet ring around his left pinky finger. “Yes. I
’m hiding—from my sister. The woman is a veritable menace at times, and her nagging at me for personal reasons rankles.” He narrowed his eyes. “Do me the honor and call me Nathan. The title is a mouthful. For once in my life, I’d like to be known as something other than my position in Society.”

Did the yoke of responsibility weigh on his shoulders as it did with Felix? Some of her fear faded. He was merely a man, after all, trying to navigate his way in the world. “I don’t know why I should do anything for you as rude as you were last night.” She folded her hands in her lap, pleased she’d overcome her initial anxiety. “However, since I like the sound of your name, I’ll make use of it only if you drop the ‘lady’ from my address.”

“Done.” He tapped the desktop with a forefinger. “Why are you here, Charlotte?”

Flutters loosed in her belly at the sound of her name from his lips without the formality. “Truthfully?” When he nodded, she let out a quick sigh. “I came looking for you.”

“To what purpose?” In the lamplight, his eyes gleamed golden brown.

What was their natural color?
His eyes had the power to mesmerize. She fought a blush. “No particular reason I suppose, only that you made an impression last night and part of me wants to know why you’re so bullish to everyone.”
Dear heavens, wouldn’t Mother die of embarrassment to see me now?

“Ah, I see. You think to be the brave woman who will ride to my rescue, show me understanding and suddenly I’ll bear the secrets of my soul to you, thereby becoming a
normal, functioning member of Society again. Is that it?” The last ended with a near snarl, making him much like the beast Jamie had likened him to.

Her cheeks burned. It was almost as if he’d looked into her soul, snagged her intentions and now mocked her with them. Charlotte swallowed, mostly to stall for time than to assuage her dry throat. “I… well.” She chewed her bottom lip. “Perhaps.” Above everything, she wanted to know why he was so vastly unapproachable, but she honestly thought if they could talk, or she could exert enough charm, she could draw out his troubles or perhaps befriend him. She rather suspected he didn’t have very many close contemporaries. Why she cared eluded her. “I apologize, my lord.”
Despite her musings, her stomach clenched and warnings rang in her ears. Perhaps this wasn’t the best of ideas.

“Another lie. Have you forgotten you and I had words in the maze last night? I know you have more mettle than that.” He stared hard at her, his expression never softening. “Try again.”

“Fine.” If he wanted to come the crab with her, so be it. “Yes, I came to lure you into conversation in order to understand you. It’s been my experience when men are grumpy, there is usually a perfectly logical explanation as to why.”

“So, my disposition is only a conversation away from being changed, is that it?” Nathan rose. At his full height and from her position, his presence filled the room. Not exactly threatening, he was certainly menacing, even more so when he stalked around his desk toward her. “Pray, tell me how you intend to
fix
me.”

Charlotte’s pulse accelerated. Her breath stalled. Just before he arrived at her chair, she sprang to her feet. “I do not wish to fix you. I merely want to figure out why you hide yourself away, why you run from every attempt of acquaintances or family members to befriend you.”

“Why should you care? You know nothing of me except the tales I suspect Jamie was all too eager to feed you.” He advanced while she retreated. In the anemic candlelight, his eyes flashed but his expression remained dark with anger or annoyance. “Unless, you are the fortune hunter I accused you of being last night.”

“Absolutely not.” Charlotte fled, but the closed door blocked her escape route. In the seconds it took to turn and face the perturbed
marquess, he’d closed the distance and stood a foot away from her. “What I told you last night was the truth. I have no interest in position or fortune.” She pressed her palms against the door, moving them over the smooth wood in search of the latch. This encounter with Nathan was much different than the last. Yes, he’d been in the boughs with her then, but not like this. Not as if he’d like to rip her apart for merely engaging him in conversation.

“Yet you came into my study, alone, and in the middle of the night. You tell me you’re not interested in my worth, and it would stand to reason the title doesn’t tempt you either.” He leaned into her, so close
her breasts would brush his chest if she took a deep breath, and rested a hand on the door to one side of her head. “Perhaps you’re after something much baser and more physically satisfying than being linked in name.”

Charlotte gasped at the implication. “How dare you!” She raised a hand to slap him for the insult, but he easily caught her wrist in his free hand. “I have no designs on you at all.”

If her heart beat any faster it would burst from her body. She stared up at him, well and truly trapped between him and the door. His apples and cedar scent flooded her nose, but it was the angry set to his sensuous mouth that held her immobile. What would a kiss—a real kiss—from such a man feel like? She shook her head. That was a wildly inappropriate thought, especially at the present time. “My only wish is for friendship, or perhaps companionship if you can bring yourself to bend so far to acknowledge such a thing.”

It might have been her imagination, but one corner of his mouth tipped in the beginnings of a smile. It didn’t bloom into full being. “I don’t need your false sympathy or your pity for why I am the man I am.”

“I’m not giving you pity.” She attempted to pull her hand free of his. He kept her in a tight grip. “And there are other ways of keeping yourself from humanity than acting the injured bear, you know. It’s quite uncomfortable for those around you who love you. Why not seclude yourself from the world instead of subjecting us all to your bad humor?”