Midnight Temptations With a Forbidden Lord (10 page)

He looked over her shoulder, watching out for her even now. It was obvious the marquess didn’t want Charlotte to be discovered, which surprised her considering his reputation.

“I’ll bid you adieu,” he said.

She fingered the lace edge of her sleeve, regretting that her interlude with him was so short. “What a shame it is that we can’t have a few more moments without anyone noticing. I do hope to see you soon, my lord.”

“Likewise.”

“I look forward to your correspondence,” she said as she turned away from him.

She hoped that he would turn and sit facing his family before Genny could take note of his presence. However, her cousin didn’t turn to look for her until Charlotte was nearly upon them. Mr. Warren held out his hand for her to take, so he could assist in seating her.

“Thank you, Mr. Warren.” Her sudden civility had him halting and eyeing her quizzically; in fact, he seemed momentarily taken aback.

Before he could comment, his gaze strayed behind her. “Our ices have arrived.”

Mr. Warren took each glass from the shopkeeper and handed one to Charlotte and one to Genny. Once he had his in hand, he sat across from Charlotte, resting his back against the tree trunk, stretching his legs out in repose. Charlotte had never seen him so relaxed since they had been introduced a month ago. Perhaps he was warming to her just as Genny said he would. She nearly snorted at the ridiculous thought.

“I’ve been looking forward to indulging in ices since you suggested it,” Charlotte said.

Genny looked at her with distrust gleaming in her eyes. Had Charlotte sounded far too chipper? She was in high spirits. Her plan was finally set in motion now that her letter was delivered to the marquess.

“I have been looking forward to this, too,” Genny said. “But now I wonder if we could switch ices. I’m craving something a little more tart.”

There were no words to express how appreciative Charlotte was. “I’d be delighted.” As they switched glasses, Charlotte smiled sweetly at Mr. Warren. “This is a nice change from our usual routine.”

“I’ll be sure to offer more variety in the future, Lady Charlotte.”

“I had hoped you would join us at the opera, Mr. Warren,” Genny said.

Charlotte couldn’t care less about Mr. Warren’s attendance and wondered briefly if the marquess would be there.

“We will be seated with the Carletons,” Charlotte added, hoping he disliked them as much as her father seemed to.

“I have already said that I dislike opera.”

Perfect, she thought with another genuine smile, because she had given the marquess her itinerary for the coming week.

“That’s a pity. I do love the stage in any shape or form.” If she married him, she had a suspicion that he’d ban such frivolous activities. “Will we see you at any engagements this week?”

“None, I’m afraid. I need to attend to business matters.” His gaze veered off and seemed to be caught by someone in the crowd behind her.

Charlotte wanted to turn and see what had so thoroughly snagged his attention, but she couldn’t do so without being obvious. Was he looking at the marquess? She’d purposely put her back to his party so she wasn’t tempted to look over at his group. Would Mr. Warren have heard that she’d danced with the marquess at the duchess’s grand ball?

“Such a shame we won’t see more of you, Mr. Warren,” Genny said. She, too, noticed that his gaze was focused elsewhere.

When he returned his attention to Charlotte, his eyes pierced right through her. There was a flash of …

Longing?

No, it couldn’t be.

Whatever it was, it was not directed at her, for the brief vulnerability vanished and he was back to his usual annoying self. “We’ll have our usual ride through the park this week. We must keep up appearances.”

“You are intentionally short to me.” She couldn’t stop the words from coming any more than she could stop her hand from fisting the spoon in her hand.

“Charlotte!” Her cousin gasped.

She stared at her cousin, ready to retaliate against her, but blinked her eyes, took in a sharp breath, and pasted a smile on her face. At least she held back from flinging the contents of her glass all over Mr. Warren’s smug expression. Why did he enjoy goading her so much? What had she ever done to him to incite such disdain, such dislike? Charlotte was well loved by everyone she knew—except him, of course.

“I’ll not pretend to like you, Mr. Warren. My father seems intent on our match. I can only assume it’s for political reasons. Whatever reason you have for agreeing to it, I wish you would simply cease. It would save us both a lot of trouble.”

“My lady,” he said, rubbing the side of his face with his hand. “I didn’t mean to give you that impression. This is hardly an appropriate conversation to be having, so let us leave now and start off on a better note the next time we see each other.”

He stood, took Genny’s hand and lifted her to her feet, and held his other hand out to Charlotte. There was an air of concession about him. His shoulders weren’t held back as rigidly as they normally were, and there was a kindness in his expression that wasn’t usually present—although she did not trust it.

Nor would she stoop so low as to take his hand for assistance. He leaned over at her refusal and took her elbow regardless.

He whispered in her ear, “It’ll do you well to remember that I hold all the cards in this courtship. Do not displease me or make a buffoon out of me again.”

She yanked her elbow away and glared at him. “You would do well to remember that my will cannot be trampled by your bad temper.”

She bustled past him and headed toward the carriage, forcing her cousin to catch up while Mr. Warren went about collecting their things and having someone take their ice glasses away.

Before she could climb into the carriage by herself, Mr. Warren set his hands about her waist and lifted her inside. She turned to further reprimand him on his conduct, but he was already walking around the back of the carriage to find his way to his own seat.

She glanced at the crowd around them. The only person to note their leaving seemed to be the marquess. His brows were drawn low and one fist curled around his stylish cane so hard his knuckles had turned white. He watched her leave as his children helped the young woman he sat with fold their blanket.

Was he so attuned to her now that he worried for her welfare? Had he seen all that had transpired between her and Mr. Warren? She hoped he had. It would do him well to be pushed into helping her. Her gaze snapped away from the marquess’s as the horses jolted forward with a quick command from Mr. Warren.

*   *   *

“I’m sorry you saw him here. I should have waited till he left before packing up our picnic items.” Bea cupped her hand around Tristan’s arm as she spoke quietly enough that Ronnie and Rowan and others around them couldn’t hear what she said. “Let it alone, Tristan. You’ll accomplish nothing if you confront him here.”

“He’ll pay for what he’s done to this family, Bea.” He tapped his cane on the lawn in annoyance. “Destroying his good standing will be the only thing worth accomplishing this season.”

Warren’s carriage jolted forward, carrying Lady Charlotte. Their gazes snapped as she left Berkley Square and then he was forced to return his attention to his family. He fingered the small letter in his hand and slid it into his vest pocket. He was eager to read the contents, impatient to see what secrets Lady Charlotte revealed on the pages.

“Forget about him. He’s not worth the grief.”

He was still watching the carriage from the corner of his eye—not a smart idea as half the ton was scrutinizing him as he mingled in polite society with his children in tow.

He turned his back on his foe and the intriguing lady he wanted to learn so much more about, and helped his family gather up the items from their picnic. Warren would pay for his misdeeds. And it would be sweet revenge to win over the lady set to be
that
man’s wife.

Chapter 7

Mr. T
^____
was out and about in the company of a female relation. A lady not often in society, not since her engagement with that scoundrel Lord M
^____
was called off last summer. Friendly and ebullient as ever, the poor creature was still shunned by all but one man lurking in the shadows watching her. Dare I say it almost looked to be Lord M
^____
himself?
—The Mayfair Chronicles,
May 1846 Tristan locked himself in his study and looked at the parchment he’d taken from Lady Charlotte’s palm. Had she known he was going to be out with his family? Or was it happenstance that had them meeting in so public a setting? She hadn’t seemed put out by his children’s presence. He should care less about that, but for some reason her opinion of him mattered since he’d revealed the truth to her.

He slid an opener beneath the wax seal fashioned in the form of an ibis. The intoxicating scent of rose water that had been dabbed on the letter wafted up to his nose as he unfolded the parchment. It started: “Dear letter holder.” Smart on Lady Charlotte’s part. Should the letter contain any information that might compromise her, she’d not be easily identified.

I really don’t know what has propelled me to pen such a letter as this, but it must be done because I feel as though I have not swayed you completely to my favor. Since our very first meeting, I knew that we could benefit from each other’s company. Though you might think otherwise, I believe that we are kindred spirits with a similar attitude toward society as a whole. I do not wish to be a mere subject, a marionette for others to master, but instead I aspire to be a woman who cannot be controlled by those who consider themselves superior to all others.
Tristan put the letter down. How was it that someone so young could be so aware of the machinations of society? Intrigued didn’t come close to describing what he felt. He read on:

I attend a few more events before the annual Carleton house party is upon us. However, I do not expect your presence since you are rarely seen attending social functions during the season. I’ve taken note of you because I believe you can help me accomplish something that will forever guarantee my independence from society. Are you asking yourself why you should help me at all? Well, the scandal will be simply decadent, and I think you will be unable to resist such temptation.
But really, I might as well get down to the essence: I know that you stand on the opposing side of my father where politics are concerned; and while I don’t pretend to understand all that happens in such matters, I do know that my father will lose sway if his daughter is not brought to heel. Even though my father dotes upon me, he has made a grave decision, against my wishes, to marry me to a man I loathe.
I will not trap you in a marriage neither of us wants, but I do think you are the key to my freedom from the bonds that will smother me over time. I am sure we can see eye to eye in this matter, and I look forward to your response. I attend the opera tonight, should you wish to make an appearance.
Tristan tapped his finger against the pages as he set them down on his desk. There was nothing damning in the letter. Should it end up in the wrong hands, the words would mean nothing. Stuffing the missive back in the envelope, he placed it inside the top drawer of his desk and leaned back in his chair to contemplate everything Lady Charlotte had just revealed.

She was right. Her father would lose face should another man make claim to his daughter. In fact, Tristan was sure that the old man’s alliance with Mr. Warren—who held the majority of sway in parliamentary matters—might very well be lost.

A knock came at his study door.

“Enter,” he called out.

Bea poked her head inside. As usual her lips were pursed in a tight line.

“You’re a welcome sight, Bea.” He stood and motioned to a chair across from his wide mahogany desk.

“I just wanted to see if you were all right.” Bea sat, curling her feet under her, as she was wont to do. “You seemed so enraged earlier that I thought it wise to check up on you.”

Tristan raised one brow. “Enraged? It wasn’t so bad as that.”

“You cannot act foolish where that man is concerned.”

“When am I ever foolish?”

“I’ll counter your question with another: are you planning something questionable?” Her earnestness had him smiling.

“You know me better than that, Bea. Have I not been a bloody pillar for you all these years?”

“You’ve done more for me than I deserved.”

Tristan drummed his fingers on the edge of his desk, annoyed. “Nonsense. You are my sister, questionable parentage or not.”

“I can never have the same status as you, Tristan. My name was ruined when our parents died.”

He did not share a mother with Bea, though they’d been raised to believe they were blood related and of equal status.

“That doesn’t give anyone the right to mistreat you, Bea.”

His sister looked away from him and toward the window. “You know I lost a lot of faith in myself when those letters were found.”

He nodded, even though she wasn’t looking at him. He, too, had lost a lot of faith in everything he thought he knew. Why did it always seem that when you thought your life was figured out, something would propel you in an unexpected and unanticipated direction?