She finished her lemonade and returned to the center of the garden party. Lady Jane and Elizabeth now sat a bit apart from the ladies, and Charlotte smiled brightly as she joined them. Lady Jane shifted on the bench to make room for her, then continued her description of the gown she’d ordered the day before.
"Madame Fochet suggested a most unusual coral silk that nearly duplicates the color of my hair,” she told them. "I had serious doubts but allowed her to make it up into a new design. I am going to wear it to the Swathmore ball. Wait until you see it," she clapped her hands together as though she could contain her excitement if she held them together tight enough. "Wait until Lord Chalmers sees it." She blushed as her words revealed her interest in the tall fair-haired peer who had asked her to dance at Almack's the previous Wednesday.
It wasn't until Charlotte saw Lady Millicent strolling with Lord Bascomb that she noticed Lady Anne walking with Lord Clarehaven. Knowing that the duke disliked both men's rakish ways, Charlotte suspected Anne flirted with the appearance of danger because she considered her brother overly protective. Anne was far too sensible to encourage the attentions of a libertine but, considering her own experience earlier, Charlotte wondered if she should warn Anne how vulnerable a woman was to a man's strength if he refused to behave as a gentleman should.
LATE AS IT WAS WHEN they returned from the Westbrook ball the next night, Charlotte found she couldn’t sleep. Lady Westbrook had engaged a quartet to play the occasional country dance and all the guests mingled with good cheer, but Charlotte had noticed small details to the conversations that she'd failed to pay attention to before.
Prior to the incident at Lady Ridley's, she’d been flattered with the interest she'd seen in her dance partners' eyes. Now that same interest made her uncomfortable. Quickly stifled laughter and hushed whispers made her wonder if they discussed her or her family. Did she read too personal a stake in the unending shuffle of petty gossip that was the underlying purpose of routs, card parties and balls? She felt exposed and vulnerable and she didn't like the feeling one bit.
The downstairs clock struck three and she cast aside her coverlet in disgust. If her mind wouldn’t shut down without help, she would help it. The library downstairs had a full shelf of bound sermons. Perhaps reading some would soothe her peace of mind. Or at least, put her to sleep. After donning slippers and her flannelette wrapper, she lit a candle and crept downstairs.
The library fire had been banked for the night, but the room still held a bit of warmth along with the comforting smell of paper and parchment. Unlike many libraries, this one had not been filled to impress the eye with matched leather sets of imposing sounding tomes. Not that there were not impressive titles to choose from, but it was obvious that they had been acquired for the knowledge contained rather than for impressing guests. Fine leather, course leather, and pamphlets of heavy paper all combined to provide a topic of interest for anyone and everyone. Anne, when she'd taken them on tour of the house upon their arrival had whispered, "The naughty books are on the top shelf behind the books on agricultural science."
Raising her candle, Charlotte stepped to the bookcase flanking the fireplace where she remembered seeing the sermons. She started to pull one from the shelf, but the memory of Anne's whispered words made her stop. Naughty books? What made them naughty?
She glanced up at the far wall. The shelves reached to the ceiling, far above her, but a library ladder rested along its track on the right side of the far wall. Charlotte tried to control her curiosity, but the spark had been lit. How naughty? Did they detail scandalous behavior? Did they reveal what happened beyond kissing?
Her mind flashed back on Lord Dalton's brutal kiss and how he had shoved his tongue into her mouth making her gag both literally and figuratively. At the same time, she remembered the sensations she'd experienced when Wolverton had kissed her awake. He, too, had opened his mouth to hers, his tongue inviting hers to tangle with his in a dance of sensation and pleasure. How different those kisses had been from one another. She looked up at the top shelf again. Had reading naughty books taught the duke how to make her feel pleasure instead of revulsion? What could they teach her? Before she could change her mind, she shelved the sermon then moved the ladder to the left and climbed until she could reach the top shelf.
CHAPTER 13
Back in her room, Charlotte's eyes rounded as she translated the French text that explained the meaning of terms she had never heard before. Wavering candlelight lit illustrative drawings beside the descriptions that made her blush even as they made her feel oddly unsettled.
She turned the page and dropped the book in shock. Surely not. She picked up the book again and carefully studied the illustration. The artist must have exaggerated the dimensions of the man's organ in order to draw it clearly. She had once inadvertently seen a man rising nude from the river near her home and he had most certainly not been of the same proportions shown in the book... nor had it appeared rampant.
She turned another page and gasped to see a new drawing, this time illustrating a man lying atop a woman whose bare limbs wrapped around his back and his man part pressed into her most private place. Well, that answered that question.
A soft footfall in the hall made her aware that the staff were stirring. Dear heavens, was it that late? She closed the book and tucked it under the covers with a flush of guilt. What if the maid discovered her reading such a book? What if anyone caught her reading the book? She couldn't return it to the library in the light of day, nor, if she were honest, did she want to return it until she had read further. It embarrassed her at the same time as it fascinated her. Where could she hide it until then? She dared not get up to find a place lest the maid enter to light the fire, so she slid it between the bottom of the pillow and its embroidered slipcover, then lay back down to feign sleep.
A knock on the door, then Elizabeth's voice woke her. "Charlotte? Are you ill? You never sleep this late."
With a start, Charlotte saw that the shadows from the window light were short and the light as bright as noon. A check of the mantle clock confirmed it was half past noon and she sat up as disoriented and groggy as if she not slept– which she hadn't. Not until the early break of day.
"I am fine," she assured her sister when she opened the door and peeked in. "I did not fall asleep until late."
"Is something bothering you?" Elizabeth crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. "I thought you rather quiet last night as though your mind was distracted."
Charlotte had not had an opportunity to be alone with Elizabeth since the incident with Lord Dalton and she suddenly needed to warn Elizabeth about him and the chance that their current access to the upper reaches of society might be brief. Much as she hated to admit that she feared the censure that would rise in the opinion of most of the families with whom they had been introduced, Charlotte knew she dreaded that moment.
"I was," she admitted. "A most distressing incident occurred yesterday at Lady Ridley's party. Fortunately, nothing came of it and I believe the problem is controlled for now, but you need to know what happened."
Elizabeth's eyes widened and she reached out to take Charlotte's hand. "Tell me."
So she did, leaving out her childhood secret. She didn't know if she could ever admit to anyone how she'd spied on their neighbors, then not revealed the truth of what she witnessed... and Dalton would certainly not make that public.
When she got to the part where Lord Dalton had attacked her claiming their relationship to gypsies made her unworthy of respect, Elizabeth's face paled. Charlotte quickly made it clear that he'd managed no more than a brutal kiss before the duke had pulled him away and she'd fainted. Relating the story aloud, her anger grew again.
"It isn't right." she finished. "Uncle Rafe is an honest man. He doesn't deserve to be seen as a thief or swindler simply because he and Aunt Lily travel the country and own no land. I know it is shocking that she ran off to marry someone so much lower in status, but they love each other,
and they did marry. And we don’t deserve to be deemed wantons because Aunt Lily married him."
She turned to Elizabeth, her voice tight with frustration. "Anne thinks she knows our background, but she laughed at the idea that we could be related to gypsies. Perhaps we should arrange to go home. Papa will understand."
"He might understand,” Elizabeth agreed with a sigh, "But he would be disappointed that we didn’t stand up for the family. We knew when Aunt Poppy offered to sponsor our Season that we were unlikely to be invited into the highest levels of society, but it didn't stop us from coming." She chuckled, then continued. "Yet here we are, guests of the ever proper and upstanding Duke of Wolverton.” Her smile stretched into a grin. "And Sarah assured us the wolves in her dreams were friendly."
The last bit surprised a laugh from Charlotte, and she hugged Elizabeth before climbing out of bed. "I am glad we are family," she said with conviction. "And we know family is more important than anything... especially misguided rules and spiteful gossip."
As soon as Elizabeth left her to dress, Charlotte wrapped the book in a shawl and tucked it into the traveling bag at the back of the clothes closet. Further edification would have to wait until late afternoon since they were to view an exhibition of art at the museum with a small party of Anne's friends in little more than an hour. Mindful of the time, she rang for the maid.
When they returned, she retired to her room on the pretext of a nap and locked her door before retrieving the scandalous book to further explore the mysteries it solved. Some images made a certain sense, but others made her suspect the author's understanding of human dexterity was greatly flawed and to wonder at the brazenness of his imagination. Whether probable or not, whether possible or not, Charlotte appreciated the thoroughness of the book to her education regarding men and women. It made noticeably clear exactly what would have happened if Lucien had not arrived when he did, and exactly why society insisted men and women not be allowed time alone together before marriage.
She’d also appreciated the fact that she needed to return the book to the library as soon as possible. She’d waited until everyone was abed after they returned from the Pomphrey rout. Once the house had quieted for the night, she slipped down the stairs and into the library, book still wrapped in her shawl.
Charlotte slipped the naughty book behind the thick tome on modern methods in cattle breeding and stifled a giggle. She understood a great deal more about human breeding than she had before climbing this ladder the night before.
She hid the evidence of her education behind the cattle book where she’d found it the night before, then descended and shifted the ladder back to the right side of the wall. She let out a breath, relieved to have completed her task without anyone the wiser. She turned to leave as the door opened and Wolverton stopped in obvious surprise.
Blast.
"I THOUGHT YOU'D RETIRED." Lucien took in the sight of Charlotte, again in night rail, though this time with a pale pink quilted wrapper adding a moderate layer of propriety to her dishabille. It didn't matter. Her backlit form had been burned into his memory and no salute to propriety was likely to erase the image any time soon... if ever.
"I had,” Charlotte admitted, "But– I couldn't sleep. I remembered seeing some books of sermons..."
"If anything will put a person to sleep," he acknowledged with a slight smile, "it is a book of sermons." He stepped over the threshold and placed his lamp on the reading table in the center of the room before studying her face. "I hope your difficulty in sleeping isn’t because of Lord Dalton's crude behavior yesterday. I noticed earlier that you looked a bit heavy eyed. Were you unable to sleep last night as well?"
"I confess I did not sleep until nearly dawn,” Charlotte said as a pink flush rose from the neck of her night clothes and she looked away. "Perhaps I should have tried sermons last night."
He crossed to where she stood and took her hands in an attempt to soothe her. He could see she'd been far more frightened than she admitted. Dalton's so you like it rough flashed in his memory. Fury rose to realize what those words might mean. "Charlotte?" he probed carefully, "Did anything...more...happen before I intervened?
Now her face blossomed deep rose and her eyes closed. "No. He kissed me. That is all."
"I hope he didn’t make you afraid of kisses." He stroked the back of her hands with his thumbs. "While a lady is not encouraged to kiss anyone but her fiancé, I wouldn’t like to think you’d be afraid of such intimacies once you have accepted an offer. Not all kisses are brutal."
The pink became scarlet and he felt the sudden jump of her nerves. "I know," she whispered. "Yours were not."
Dear God save me from virgin confessions.
His voice tangled in his throat before he managed to choke out, "I'd hoped you wouldn't remember that. I assure you I meant only to wake you–"
She reached up and touched a restraining finger to his lips. "I know," she whispered again. She lifted her face until the lamplight revealed her clear gray eyes and added, "It made a difference, you know."
"A difference–?"
"You and he are different men. He is repulsive and his kiss repulsed. You are not and your kiss made me want more."
Lucien froze, stunned by temptation.
I pray to God and the devil answers.
"That is a dangerous thing to say to a man." His voice barely made it past the constriction of his throat. "It tempts him to give you more."
She said nothing, but her eyes shimmered with the curiosity that plagued his dreams and kept him half aroused just to know she might be in any room he entered.
She swallowed and he watched her throat work. He wanted to taste the fine skin, to stroke his tongue along the tender spot at the base of her ear, the edge of her jaw, the corner of her lips—plump, luscious lips. He closed his eyes to shut out the temptation and tamp down the flaring heat that melted his conscience and tempted him to teach her all that could happen beyond kisses.
He opened his eyes again when she released a broken sigh. She licked her lips.
“Would you kiss me again?”
He lost the battle with his conscience, lowered his mouth to hers and feasted on the glory of her mouth. Soft and pliant, the warmth of her body melted the rest of his resolve. He cupped her bottom to pull her higher and tighter against him until he pressed, hip to hip, the intimate dip at the top of her thighs. Heaven.
She made a pleased sound and wrapped her arms around his neck.
"Relax your mouth," he coaxed, "Let me taste you."
She opened her lips, then met his tongue with a tentative exploration of her own that made him groan with the pleasure of it and press her hips tighter to his.
That elusive scent of wildflowers floated up from her skin and he broke the kiss to run his tongue along her jaw to that tempting spot where the skin was most sensitive. Her breath hitched and her fingers curled into his hair pulling him closer. She touched her lips against his neck, then stroked her tongue along his skin in imitation of his caress. He took her mouth again in a deeply searching kiss that made his heart pound, his lungs seize, and his body throb. Her mouth was magnificent. Delicious.
The clock struck the hour and his conscience struggled against the pleasure of the moment. He wanted to resist mindful intrusion, but the spell cracked, and he eased his embrace. When Lucien finally raised his head, he recognized the alteration in those beautiful gray eyes. Innocent curiosity had been replaced with a new awareness that made her interest all the more tempting. Her pulse matched the frantic beat of his heart, her panting breath was as shallow and agitated, her skin as flushed. Her nipples pebbled the soft cloth of her night clothes.
She was glorious.
And no longer as innocent as she should be.
Cold sanity washed down his spine. Dalton had shown her the brutal side of lust, but he, Lucien, had introduced her to the hunger of passion. If he didn't stop now, he would ruin her as surely as his father had ruined Tristan's mother.
He se
ttled her back on her feet and stepped back. "We must cease this. I should not have taken your words as invitation. I beg your pardon."
LUCIEN'S SUDDEN RETREAT left Charlotte bereft and slightly disoriented. His hands had held her so tenderly while he'd inundated her senses with his kiss, but now supported her forearms while she worked to breathe normally. His words penetrated her understanding, and she raised her eyes to his. "Invitation?"
She took a step back and folded her arms across her waist. "I did not– I didn't mean for you to..." Her hands clenched and she took a bracing breath. "It wasn’t an invitation.”
His features tightened, his expression more severe than she'd ever seen it. Moments before his gaze had burned with heat, now it chilled the fiery emotions he'd kindled. She refused to pretend she didn’t see the implication.
"Anne said you objected to us when we were introduced because people questioned our family’s past. Those were the same reasons Lord Dalton cited before he tried to take advantage of me. But that doesn’t make me a wanton."
"That was never my impression." Lucien moved to the fireplace where he leaned against the mantle. "My objections at the time were based on concern for Anne's reputation through association with someone whose name I knew only through vague rumor." His hand lifted in a dismissing gesture. "Once I had the particulars of your history, I knew the rumors were nothing more than village gossip and ignorant superstition. As for your gypsy uncle, my man of business verified that he is both skilled with horses and scrupulous in his dealings."
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