Midnight Temptations With a Forbidden Lord (8 page)

Rowan sat next to him, his plate filled with eggs, toast, and little potato wedges that Cook prepared in a fryer. Tristan stole one from his son’s plate.

Rowan pouted his bottom lip. “Papa, why did you do that? Aunty Bea has a plate of stinky fish for you—”

Tristan raised his forefinger to his lips to shush his son too late. Now his sister was on to the mischief he’d already caused this morning.

“Tristan!” Bea admonished. “If you tell them what you dislike, I’ll never be able to get them to eat certain foods again.”

“It’s probably better they don’t eat the herring.”

“I’ll eat it, Aunty Bea,” Ronnie said, and took her seat next to Bea, pointedly taking a kipper and placing it at the side of her plate.

Bea gave her a hug around the shoulders and let her eat her meal. He wanted to bet a shilling that his daughter would cry off and say she was too full to eat it come the end of breakfast time. He did nothing of the sort and smiled to himself instead.

“You know it’s about time you married,” Bea said.

They were back to this, were they?

“I haven’t found a woman that I like enough for such a task.”

“Task? You make it sound like an exercise.”

“It most certainly is. You have lived with me your entire life. You know I’m very particular about a lot of things.” His sister had brought this up the last time they’d spent family time together over the Easter holiday. “You are awfully insistent that I do this.”

“You should still find a wife.
You
can have more children before you’re too old. I wouldn’t mind looking after them as I have Ronnie and Rowan.”

Ronnie let out a cry of excitement and bounced in his chair. “I want a little sister, Papa. Can I have one? Please? I’ve always wanted one.”

“And why shouldn’t it be a brother?” Rowan said between mouthfuls. “You are already bossy enough. I need someone to stand up for me.”

“I wouldn’t have to be bossy if you did what I told you to do.”

“Papa,” Rowan protested.

“Children.” Tristan’s command was firm but gentle. “There is no sense fighting over this. When the time comes, we’ll discuss it as a family. Now finish your breakfast. The faster your lessons are completed, the sooner we can go to the park.”

They both ate with added gusto. Tristan picked up his coffee, drained the contents, and made his way over to the breakfast platters. Perhaps his sister was sad she couldn’t have another child now that she had retreated from society. The members of the haute ton thought Bea was unfit for marriage because of her questionable parentage. No one knew about the boy being hers, though.

Tristan was approaching his thirtieth birthday, and his sister was right in saying that he should settle down and marry. Perhaps Lady Charlotte could fill the role of wife? He nearly laughed out loud at the idea, but managed to hold it back as he spooned a few potatoes onto his plate. Lady Charlotte would sooner run to the next degenerate for aid in her ruin than consider the idea of marriage to him.

Sitting back down at the table, he looked across at his sister who was explaining how to properly hold the knife and fork to Rowan.

He could never marry someone who didn’t accept his family exactly as they were. He wouldn’t make any other arrangements, his children would always be around, legitimate or not. His sister, too, because he loved her just as fiercely as he loved Rowan and Ronnie. Could Lady Charlotte accept his life as it was?

Oddly enough, he mulled over the idea a while longer: marriage to the young lady might be a perfect solution for them both …

*   *   *

Charlotte tucked the letter she’d penned into her bodice, not sure what she would do with it. Goodness, she wasn’t sure why she had written a letter to the marquess, but she felt she needed to prove her continued interest in him after last night’s disastrous end. She was afraid she hadn’t hidden her shock well enough. But in all fairness, how was she supposed to react after his bold announcement that he had children?

Children.

And the fact that they did not have a mother could only mean one thing …

She would not think about
that
right now.

Steeling herself, she gingerly walked down the stairs of her townhouse, holding her dress up so she didn’t trip. Genny was directly behind her. They were set to
enjoy
the afternoon air with Mr. Warren. And though her stomach protested the very idea of spending a beautiful afternoon with this particular man, she put on her best fake smile and greeted him cordially with a tilt of her chin.

“Good day to you, Mr. Warren. I’m so pleased the weather has turned around in favor of our carriage ride through the park.”

“You are as bright as the sun, my lady.” Even a compliment from him managed to sound like an insult.

With her back to him as he handed her up into the carriage, her smile pinched into a look of disgust. Why did Mr. Warren want to marry her if he was going to come into his own wealth when he took the Fallon title? Her cousin was right. Her fifty thousand pounds wouldn’t matter once the earldom was his. So why not take a more biddable wife?

All she could come up with was that there must be a political alliance between Mr. Warren and her father. Did they plan to join forces in Parliament? It didn’t matter right now; what mattered was putting on a pleasant expression as they rode through the park.

The ivory-colored carriage was open, with a small leather seat that sat no more than one person in the back and a bench in the front that was fit for only two. She would have to bump legs with Mr. Warren for the next half hour.

His grays were hitched up to the carriage, their manes braided and heads held high. How cruel to make a horse stand in such an unnatural position. This display of wealth and brutality was yet another reason for her to despise him.

With her cousin sitting behind, and she in the front, Mr. Warren came around the other side and stepped up into the carriage using the axle of the wheel.

“Since the rain has subsided and the day has warmed brilliantly, I shall take you ladies for ices after our ride.”

“That would be so kind of you, Mr. Warren. I’ve not had an ice this season; it’ll remind me of my youth.” She had to turn away from him to roll her eyes.

Genny grasped the back of Charlotte’s seat, leaned forward to point out someone on the path, and jabbed her in the back. Charlotte flinched and glared at her cousin. Genny pointed an admonishing finger at her.

True, Charlotte was being mean, but that couldn’t be helped. A better use of her time would be to find out what Warren’s plans were so she could better avoid him over the coming week. “What are your plans this evening, Mr. Warren?”

“Nothing terribly exciting. I have some personal business to attend to.”

“You won’t be present at the opera then?”

They were going to be seated in the Carleton box tonight. She hadn’t been to the opera since they’d settled in Town for the season.

Mr. Warren flicked the horses’ reins, putting them at a trot. “I’ve never been a fan of stage dramas.”

“What
do
you like?” she said under her breath.

He heard her—not that she was trying to be unheard—and gave her a dissatisfied glare before returning his gaze to the road ahead.

He turned his grays down the path that led into the park. It wasn’t as busy as normal, probably because the mud from the earlier rain dirtied the walking paths. If the sun stayed out, and the day continued in this fashion, she’d have to drag her cousin out here later for a decent stroll. Without Mr. Warren to interfere.

“Life isn’t about amusements. It’s about hard work,” Mr. Warren said firmly.

This had to be a new record for their interactions; disagreement had sparked in less than five minutes of being in each other’s company. Why did Mr. Warren want to marry her when he obviously disliked her? It was a question she was dying to ask, and she might have done so had her cousin not been seated directly behind her. She’d have to wait for another opportunity to ask him precisely what she wanted, consequences be damned.

“I can’t imagine a life without amusement,” she said, hoping he interpreted her precise meaning: she would dislike marriage and a life with him.

“You’re young yet.”

Charlotte huffed out a breath and faced the road. The man was impossible. He cut her down at every opportunity. Shouldn’t he extend some of his respect and kindness to her if he was such a good friend of her father’s?

The lace shawl slipped from her shoulders, and a draft brushed against her upper back. She looked over the side of the carriage, saw the tall wheels kicking up dirt. If she dropped the shawl, it would muddy and catch up in the wheel. Was the slip of material around her shoulders enough to stop the carriage and end their drive through the park?

Genny tucked the shawl back over her shoulders and gave Charlotte’s arm a reassuring squeeze. Had her cousin read her thoughts?

Conversation at a standstill, her cousin spoke: “I’m glad the weather let up for our afternoon ride, Mr. Warren.”

“Yes, I couldn’t be more pleased. The grays haven’t been out nearly enough since I purchased them.”

“It would be far kinder to let them run in the country. The cemented and cobbled roads must be hard on them,” Charlotte felt the need to point out.

“Never fear, Lady Charlotte, they are well cared for.”

“I wasn’t suggesting otherwise. It just saddens me that their heads are pulled up so high, and they are forced to walk on such hard ground. It must be a great strain on their bodies to walk so unnaturally just so one can be fashionable. All those fripperies you so dislike are fully on display in this instance.”

There was a tic at the side of his jaw where he clenched it. She swore she heard the grinding of his teeth for a moment before he let up and gave her a forced smile. “We will have to agree to disagree, Lady Charlotte.”

“Indeed,” she said with a tight smile on her face. She wanted to stamp her feet like a three-year-old. The man was infuriating, snobbish, and unpleasant. “About those ices, Mr. Warren? I find I am rather parched now that the day has warmed.”

“My thoughts exactly,” he said, and turned his horses back on the path toward Berkley Street. “Gunter’s should be busy with the sudden increase in the temperature.”

“Especially since it seems no one is strolling about the park today,” Genny said before Charlotte could interject with another caustic remark. “I’m sure the foot traffic and riders in the park will increase once the last puddles of rain dry up.”

“I don’t doubt it for a moment, Miss Camden,” he said.

Arriving at Gunter’s, they saw it was as they’d predicted—a full house. People spilled out onto the lawn in the park across from the shop since all the chairs and tables set up outdoors were filled.

As Mr. Warren came around to help her and her cousin from the carriage, Genny grabbed her sleeve and drew her close to whisper, “Do keep a civil tongue.”

Charlotte faced her cousin. “I have tried for civility, but the man is determined to disagree and argue with me at every turn. He dislikes me as much as I do him, Genny. I don’t understand why he’s agreed to marriage in the first place. Surely he can tell my father to find another husband for me as he would be terrible at it.”

Her cousin let out a frustrated groan, and then put on her brightest smile. Mr. Warren put his hand up for Charlotte to take. There were far too many witnesses for her to ignore his gesture and jump down on her own, so she braced herself against having to touch Mr. Warren at all and gave him her gloved hand without really returning his hold. Even touching him made her skin crawl and her lip curl in distaste.

“How kind of you, Mr. Warren.”

His hand spanned her waist and hip, surprising a small squeal from her. Every bone in her body stiffened the moment he touched her. When she raised her head to stare at him, she didn’t fail to notice the many patrons sitting on the close-clipped lawn where the carriage was stopped, watching everything that transpired between them.

The blighter.
The intimate touch had been intentional. With a satisfied grin, he stepped around her to aid her cousin next, not offering the same display of ownership that he had with Charlotte.

She fumed. She thought of a thousand things to say, but they could never pass her lips, no matter how desperate she was to call him a cad or a scoundrel and share her opinion with the world around her that Mr. Warren was not a man worthy of any lady’s company. “Loathe” wasn’t a strong enough word for what she felt as she forced her smile back on her lips and widened her eyes so they were bright and beguiling and not pinched in anger.

She would play this game of
courting
a while longer.

“Thank you, Mr. Warren,” Genny said for them both.

Mr. Warren took Charlotte’s arm and led her safely across the wide, busy road where carriages and men on horses clipped along at a quick pace and urchins and passersby strolled away from the mud-strewn road, men near the curb and women toward the shops.

By taking her arm, Mr. Warren made his claim on her clear to all those who were present. This was very different from a simple ride in his carriage, though. True, that too reeked of courtship, but his actions today made it seem as though she approved because she could not defy him publicly. And Gunter’s being one of the few places a lady could visit without a chaperone in public with a man who was not her relation didn’t help matters. The gossips would be busy saying her name tonight. She had no desire to read her name in the rags next to his; she had envisioned another man’s name with hers.