Midnight Temptations With a Forbidden Lord (15 page)

No, that thought wasn’t right.

She should thank the woman standing before them, because she’d just ensured Charlotte would not find herself ruined by the marquess.

It was the woman from Gunter’s. Her dark hair was down and braided over one shoulder. She was in her nightgown and robe. She looked at odds with staying and leaving, but her gaze traveled between Charlotte and the marquess with interest.

“Bea.” The marquess’s voice was deeper than usual, slightly breathless from their activities. It made Charlotte feel marginally better that he seemed just as out of sorts by what had happened as she was.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt…”

Charlotte eyed her suspiciously. Had she not meant to disrupt their kiss, she would have turned right back around and left them to their own devices—or vices, as it were—in the kitchen. Goose bumps rose along her arms at the thought. Charlotte should be praising this woman for her timely intervention. That kiss might have been an indulgence Charlotte would have liked to repeat, but it had also been wrong for so many reasons.

“I forget myself,” the marquess said, stepping around Charlotte to retrieve her fallen cloak, which he wrapped around her shoulders.

Charlotte redid the frog clasp and tied the satin ribbons together beneath. She suddenly felt the need to busy herself since she could think of nothing to say to this woman she did not know. Her face was no longer hot with embarrassment. Anger filled her instead for letting her guard down and allowing the marquess to prove that he was a practiced roué and how little defense she had against him, especially when she didn’t understand all that seduction entailed.

The woman stood her ground, a look of confusion puckering her pretty brows. She had the same blue eyes as the marquess. Perhaps she was a sibling?

“Can I bring you something once I’ve seen my guest home?”

Charlotte turned to him, unsure why he would say such a thing. She lived but two streets over and she’d found her way here, so she could find her way home, as well.

“Stay,” Charlotte said to him. To the woman he called Bea she said, “I’m sorry we met this way. Please accept my apologies for…” For what exactly? She couldn’t say for walking in on their kiss, or for being caught in the marquess’s arms when she wanted to be there still.

“I’m not one to judge, but the children could happen upon you here.”

She was looking at Tristan as she said that. But Charlotte wasn’t sure if that reminder was supposed to upset her, or to make her realize the full depth of the stupidity of her actions.

“Understood,” she said to the woman.

Charlotte nodded and turned toward the door that led to the back gardens. She didn’t want to leave from the front entrance and draw any attention to the marquess’s home. The servants’ entrance was less conspicuous. Or at least she hoped it to be.

She couldn’t look upon the marquess. Was he as angry with himself as she was with herself? Did he want to kiss her again as she secretly wanted to kiss him?

“I’ll be home later, Bea,” the marquess said, following on Charlotte’s heels.

“Tristan,” she called out. There was a measure of shock in her voice.

Tristan.
How fitting a name when Charlotte wanted to use him to end her engagement to Mr. Warren.

His hand pressed to her lower back as he pulled open the heavy wooden door. It appeared she wouldn’t escape him too easily. Perhaps she should act as though the kiss had never happened, otherwise everything would become awkward between them.

When the cool night air and a wall of fog wrapped around them, he said, “I’m sorry. Rest assured my sister will say nothing about discovering us. I would trust her with my own life.”

Charlotte turned to him. “I’ve already forgotten she was there.”

Her voice sounded defensive to her own ears. The marquess smiled and pulled the hood of her cloak up to obscure her identity.

“I will remind you another time of what precisely transpired between us tonight.”

“I’d rather you wouldn’t.”

She brushed past him, not quite sure she was going in the right direction with fog sitting heavily in the air all around them. He pushed through the clouds of white ahead of her and reached up to unlatch a gate. At least she’d been heading in the right direction.

“The fog will aid us in getting you home without discovery.”

“I made it here undiscovered. I would have remained in the shadows till I was safely back in my own home.”

“What kind of man would that make me, if I let you walk the streets alone at the midnight hour?” The marquess clucked his tongue and shook his head in a scolding fashion.

She snorted and couldn’t help but tease him. “Despite what many might think, you really are a gentleman.”

“I like to believe so.” He puffed up his chest and smoothed one hand down the front of his jacket.

She nearly laughed. He was having fun at himself to put her more at ease.

“You’re not anything like what I imagined.”

“Is that so?”

“I thought you would be different somehow.”

“I may still prove to be the rogue you so desperately desire me to be.” The tone of his voice was darker when he said that—was he disappointed that she had painted him in such a way?

She needed to change the subject of their conversation. Dissecting what was between them was unsettling; especially after the kiss they’d just shared. She needed time to think about all that had happened.

“I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“I suppose you’re too young to have read her woes in the rags.”

“Scandal runs in the family, does it?” she teased.

“Her story isn’t mine to tell.” There was an edge of protectiveness in his voice that brooked no argument. So she wisely left it alone.

“You’re a very interesting man,” she observed aloud.

“You think? No different than my peers, really.”

“Yet you go about society as though no one matters.”

“That is where you are wrong.” They turned onto Grosvenor Street. “Don’t describe me as heartless, my lady, when I
do
care about the things that matter most in life.”

When he didn’t seem inclined to continue, she prompted him. “What kinds of things…?”

“My children, my sister, Jezebel, my closest friends. Is that enough to appease your curiosity?” he said drolly.

She looked at her toes peeking out from beneath her dress and cloak as they walked. She should be ashamed that she had asked; of course he cared about his family, how could she ever assume or think otherwise? “You make me feel shallow.”

“We are merely at different stages in life. And I certainly can’t blame you for wanting to dissolve your engagement.” He took her arm in his and patted her hand.

“My cousin reminds me often that I’m lucky to have caught Mr. Warren’s attention. Though it’s being arranged by my father.” The betrayal of her father could not be forgiven, not while Papa was willing to ruin the rest of her life to make one small political alliance. Shouldn’t she mean more to her father than to be a mere pawn that would be stolen by the first piece to cross over her square on a chessboard?

They stopped walking. Her house was close, and because he wasn’t cloaked as she was, he would have to retreat into the fog before long.

“I’ll be fine going up to my house alone, my lord.”

“Do not walk the streets unescorted again. You don’t know what dangers lurk in the shadows. And you’re far too precious to subject yourself to any kind of danger.”

“My maid escorted me to your house.”

He smiled at her and reached beyond the hood of her cloak to cup her chin in his hand.

“Will I see you again before I go?” Her voice was wistful and she wished she didn’t sound quite so eager to see him again, but it was too late to take back the question.

“Something can definitely be arranged,” he replied earnestly. “You’re here for a while yet.”

She gave him a smile, not that he could see it beyond the hood of her cloak, but his thumb brushed over her cheek and across her lips, stopping her breathing once again.

“Write me another letter to let me know.”

“I’ll only pen another note if you promise to return the favor,” he said.

Her eyes widened. She opened her mouth to ask if he honestly wanted her to write to him again, but his thumb pressed over her lips.

“Shh,” he whispered. “I’d kiss you good night if I thought we could remain unnoticed.”

Tendrils of light from the gas lamps and the moon that shone bright above them were trapped in the fog swirling around them, and for the briefest of moments, they could see each other clearly. There didn’t appear to be anyone around, and she was tempted to throw him off his game by giving him another kiss, but she didn’t dare. Not after what had happened in his kitchen. Really, she might not be able to stop at simply a kiss.

“I’ll be attending the opera tomorrow,” she informed him.

“Alas, I have a dinner engagement I cannot break.”

She was crestfallen by this news. But it was for the best.

“What are we doing, Lord Castleigh?”

“Does it matter so long as we are enjoying each other’s company?”

“I suppose not.” She stepped out of his reach and stared at the servants’ entrance where she would steal into her own home like a thief. She didn’t want to go, but remaining out here with his lordship was also impossible.

“Good night, my lord,” she finally said, and turned away from her very own midnight temptation.

Chapter 9

A stream of correspondence between two prominent households has been noted. All that’s left to figure out is whom the letters are being passed between and how illicit the words contained within might be.
—The Mayfair Chronicles,
June 1846
Dear Lord Marquess,
At your request, I’m penning you a letter—hopefully the first of many. What should I detail for you? My daily activities of late are all rather dull. I still haven’t had word on the particulars of our next meeting. Surely you won’t keep this lady waiting in suspense for your next move?
Ever the victor,
C
Dearest C,
One day is simply not enough time to plan what I have in mind. I shall send you the details once they are worked out.
And it was nothing more than beginner’s luck that saw you nearly a victor—I feel I should remind you that our game never officially concluded; therefore, no victor can be named.
I would also like to draw your attention to my very unoriginal address. Really, you must be more discreet.
Lord Marquess
P.S. I’m very interested in your mundane daily tasks.
Dear Lord,
If you wish for me to be original and discreet, perhaps you should not sign yourself as, well, yourself in your correspondence with me.
There is no such thing as beginner’s luck. It’s what poor sportsmen tell themselves when they cannot outwit a worthy opponent.
Lady C
P.S. My morning was spent being fitted for new dresses.
Madam,
I think I prefer “dearest Lord Marquess” to your most recent salutation. I will show you that beginner’s luck is very real. Now stop distracting me with these rose-scented letters of yours while I make arrangements for us to meet once more.
Lord Marquess
Sir,
If you wish to drop formal salutations, then I, too, shall do so. You are taking too long to make arrangements and I grow impatient for your next move. Perhaps we should bring out an hourglass to hurry you along at a pace I would be more content with? Need I remind you that I will be leaving Town in a few days’ time?
Lady C
My dearest, most gracious lady,
Impatience is a failing of youth. Allow me some time, and I promise to make the wait well worth your while. Now, tell me what you’ve done to keep yourself busy—when you aren’t driving me insane with a constant stream of parchment.
Lord Marquess
She did not respond further, which oddly enough agitated him. Perhaps something had taken her away from her pen and paper. Hopefully that something wasn’t another carriage ride around Hyde Park with Warren. Tristan smacked his hand against his desk, tossing his pen in the process. The man had no chance with Lady Charlotte, so the thought of him taking her around in his carriage shouldn’t have this effect on him.

He was annoyed by his own idleness and his indecision as to how precisely he should handle Lady Charlotte. Why was he courting her as though she were a match? A friend, definitely, but she had already turned down his offer of marriage. And if he were truthful with himself, her refusal did vex him a great deal.

Was he truly ready for a wife? Or did he just not want to give up Lady Charlotte to a man like Warren? He shrugged to himself, unsure. He had plans to make for this evening. And Lady Charlotte would not be informed because he intended to surprise her yet. He could picture her smile and it prompted him to leave the house before the lady in question had a chance to send him another letter and further delay him in doing what needed to be done.

*   *   *

Mr. Warren was waiting for Charlotte in the drawing room. Why in heavens was he calling upon her now? They rarely tarried indoors and Charlotte had assumed that was so he could declare his ownership of her and warn off any other suitors that might fancy the idea of courting her.