She whirled around and realized her mistake immediately, for now she was pressed against his broad chest as he enclosed her in an unwanted embrace. He smelled of some strong cologne, which seemed to rouse her from her stunned state, and Charlotte wrinkled her nose at the effeminate scent. “Unhand me this moment!”
The captain only smiled lazily, in what Charlotte suspected was a practiced flirtation. “Now, Charlotte, we are come to a reckoning, are we not?” he asked, his long lashes lowering.
“We have come to no such thing,” she said, vainly pushing her hands against his chest. She could feel her hair, never too solidly anchored, coming loose with her excursions.
The captain laughed softly. “Oh, you are a lovely maid, and will make me a lovely wife,” he whispered. He lowered his head, and then his mouth was on hers. He was not rough, nor was he unskilled, but Charlotte found his kiss distasteful, the intimacy an invasion of her person. She shoved again at his chest to little avail, for the captain was not budging.
Perhaps he thought her resistance feigned or the result of an innocence that he would gladly tutor. Whatever his reasoning, the good captain obviously thought so much of himself that he could not imagine a woman disliking his attentions, and he had no intention of letting her go. Realizing that, Charlotte ceased her struggling and stiffened instead, clamping her jaw shut tight and dropping her hands to the sides of her rigidly unyielding body.
“You forget yourself, Stollings,” a man said, and Charlotte knew a giddy relief as she recognized the voice. Stollings stopped kissing her, and although he did not release her, he loosened his hold upon her. Charlotte took the opportunity to step out of his embrace and draw in a deep breath. She wanted nothing more than to throw herself into Max’s arms, and for some absurd reason, she felt tears threatening.
“Wycliffe? This is none of your affair,” Stollings said. Obviously, he was not as easily cowed as Roddy had been. Charlotte glanced at Max. His face was composed, his breathing even, but the slight twitching of the long fingers in his right hand gave away his anger.
“I believe it is the duty of gentlemen everywhere to protect innocent young women from the unwanted attentions of upstart cits,” Max said smoothly, a wealth of insults in that one sentence.
“Now, see here, my lord,” Stollings protested. “For your information, this woman is to become my wife!”
Charlotte watched Max’s fingers move again, almost imperceptibly. His jaw clenched, and his great brown eyes narrowed as his gaze traveled over her. Dismayed to have that anger turned upon her, she nearly trembled.
“Is that true, Miss Trowbridge?” he asked.
Frantically avoiding that intense regard, Charlotte looked from Max to the man at her side, who was smiling smugly at her, and she was at a loss for words. Despite his forward actions this evening, Stollings had been one of her foremost suitors. Well-favored and even-tempered, he had seemed less objectionable than the rest, and if she refused him now, she would have even fewer choices. The weight of her responsibilities pressed down upon her, threatening to choke the life from her while she struggled for an answer.
“Well, Miss Trowbridge?”
Charlotte’s eyes flew to Max. Darkly handsome and elegant in his understated attire, he was far more attractive than the younger man at her side. And tonight he was revealing a glimpse of a fiery spirit at odds with his usual placid demeanor. Charlotte wondered what else he hid beneath that quiet exterior. If only she could discover all his secrets...
She forced her attention to the captain. Flashing her a careless grin, he was obviously well aware of his charms. Too well aware of them, Charlotte noted. So many of his movements were studied—designed to show off his dashing profile or his white teeth to their best advantage—that it was hard to see beyond them to the man inside. Yet, somehow, Charlotte suspected that there was very little of substance under the captain’s dazzling surface.
He certainly had no interest in literature and would be appalled to hear of her studies. He was what he was—brave and handsome, and very proud of both. Charlotte wondered briefly if he would continue his flirtations after they wed, and she tried to shake the image of a philandering husband from her head.
After all, the captain offered her his name and a comfortable living for her and her family, and she simply must consider those advantages. How could she weigh them against the man himself and find him wanting? She would have a lifetime to probe his depths, admire his much-vaunted looks...and grow accustomed to kisses that left her cold and miserable.
“No,” Charlotte managed to squeak. “It is not true.”
Charlotte felt, rather than saw, Max relax. She turned to Stollings, who was staring at her in utter disbelief, and put a hand on his arm. “It was very kind of you to offer, sir, but at this time I am afraid—”
Max cut off her pretty speech. “All proposals should be presented to your papa, Miss Trowbridge, as Captain Stollings is well aware, I am sure. And you can rest assured that he will be informed of the liberties you have taken with his daughter,” Max warned.
“Now, see here, Wycliffe,” Stollings sputtered. He looked as though he was going to grab her arm, and Charlotte moved swiftly away from him even as Max stepped forward to intercede, his dark brows drawn over narrowed eyes. “This is none of your affair, and I would appreciate it if you would take yourself off, so that we may discuss this in private.”
“And I would suggest that you take yourself off, so that the lady is not accused of any impropriety,” Max said. “I am sure your devotion to her includes holding her reputation in the highest regard.”
Stollings drew himself up to his full height, although he was still much shorter than Max, and took an aggressive stance. “By what right do you interfere?” he asked. “I warn you, my lord, that I find your interest in Miss Trowbridge rather suspect.”
Charlotte had to stifle a gasp, for Max looked more murderous than she had ever imagined he could. His normally quiet-looking countenance was black with fury. “I certainly hope you are not trying to sully the lady’s good name, for then I would have to call you out,” he said slowly. Even as Charlotte reeled in shock at the threat, she realized that Max had given the captain the opportunity to demur.
Stollings had no intention of forgoing the challenge, however. “Name your seconds,” he hissed.
“Lords Raleigh and Wolverton will call upon you to make the arrangements,” Max replied. He appeared to have regained control of himself, and was smiling grimly.
She glanced at the captain, who sent her an accusatory look, as if she were the author of all his troubles. Then he tossed his blond head and strode from the room with as much dash as he could muster under the circumstances.
Charlotte bristled. Stollings had a lot of nerve to blame her when he was the one who had schemed with his sister to pounce upon her. It was not her fault that Max appeared to rescue her, nor was it her fault if the captain got himself embroiled in a challenge.
A duel! Charlotte felt a momentary qualm, for she certainly did not care to see anyone hurt, especially dearest Max, who had rushed to her rescue. She resisted an urge to fly into his strong arms and rain kisses on that handsome visage. Instead, she stood still, not nearly close enough to him. “Thank you, Max,” she said softly.
She was unprepared for his response. He whirled on her, his fine mouth drawn tightly, his dark brows heavy over turbulent eyes.
“You are a fine piece of work!” he snapped. “Your appalling lack of self-control astounds me! Have you no sense of honor, your own or your father’s? Did you truly come to London for a husband or to spread your thighs for every snot-nosed gallant in town?”
Charlotte drew back in horror, his words piercing her to the bone. Then she reacted instinctively. She kicked him as hard as she could in the shin.
“Ow!” Max yelped and reached toward his injury while Charlotte watched with pleasure.
“That is for your filthy talk, my lord Wycliffe!” she said. Then she kicked him just as h
ard in the other leg with all the force of her righteous indignation. She heard the low curse he uttered and saw his face flame with fury, but she ignored his response. “And that is for thinking such things about me!”
As angry as she was, Charlotte was hurt, too, stung that he could believe the worst of her, and she felt the misery that had been building up in her all evening press behind her eyelids. She had to get away before it broke loose, embarrassing her further, and she turned to flee.
She did not get far. “Damn it, Charlotte!” Maximilian said. He grabbed both her arms and spun her around to face him.
“Let go of me! And...and stop that dreadful cursing!” Charlotte scolded as the tears threatened to spill.
Maximilian looked at her in stunned confusion. Was this the same woman who had calmly admitted to kissing Roddy Black for the sake of “experience”? Caught in the same situation with Stollings, she was striking out at him, and now... Now she looked likely to weep at any moment. Maximilian was bewildered, and he did not like it. Women were such strange, illogical creatures. Of course, he had always known that, for his mother was a perfect example of the species.
“Are you trying to tell me that you were not expanding your horizons again?” Maximilian asked, skepticism heavy in his voice. Charlotte did not answer, but just looked up at him helplessly, her green eyes awash, her luscious mouth drooping. She looked miserable. “Do you deny kissing that overweening coxcomb?” he asked, giving her a little shake.
“I do not have to answer to you, my lord. And what is more, it makes no matter to me what you believe!” she said. “Let go of me! I hate you and I hate London and I want to go home.”
Maximilian seized upon the suggestion. “Then go home,” he said. “I will take you myself,” he added magnanimously, while he mentally played out his schedule in his head. Could he take off a few weeks to safely deposit Charlotte back at the vicarage?
She struck him in the chest with her fist. “I cannot go home until I have a husband, and now what am I to do? Oh, I wish I had been born ugly as a post!” she wailed.
“Hush,” Maximilian said. Wrapping his arms around her, he drew her close. Although giving comfort was foreign to his nature, he found the embrace oddly affecting. “I am certain that your papa will not mind if you return home. He loves you very much.”
“I cannot,” Charlotte mumbled into his chest. “They are all depending on me. Papa, and the boys, and Jane, bless her, who is no great beauty. Carrie might have Mama’s looks, but it will be years before she is old enough, and by then it will be too late! I must...” She sobbed into his waistcoat as if the world were at an end.
Maximilian felt a wrench in his gut. He would much rather see the feisty wench who kicked him in the shins than this melancholy creature. “I will take you home, and I will work out something with your papa,” he said softly.
Charlotte shook her head. “I will not have you unhappy,” Maximilian said firmly, and he meant it. The words drew a lopsided smile from her, and he felt encouraged. “And stop calling me ‘my lord.’ I thought I was Max.”
“Max,” she whispered. The word weaved itself around him like a breath of smoke, sweet and heady, drawing him to her like some siren’s song. She had lifted her face, and the tracks of her tears glistened on her pale skin like starlight in the darkened conservatory.
Something inside him moved, and without a thought for caution or aught else, Maximilian took her face in his hands and kissed her wet cheeks. He tasted the salt on her lashes, pressed his mouth to the springy curls that escaped along her hairline and met her lips, luscious, warm and innocent, despite all her foibles. His thumbs stroked her jaw, his fingers wrapping around her neck where her hair brushed against his knuckles. He did not care where they were; he did not care about anything but the woman in his arms.
Her lips moved against his tentatively, like a child taking its first steps, before parting. His tongue accepted the invitation and slid inside. He could feel her hands clutching the lapels of his coat for dear life, then the first gentle forays of her tongue, imitating his own. Dear God... They met, entwined in a primeval union, and Maximilian felt a great, swelling surge of desire. He wanted her—all of her. Now. Here on the floor of the conservatory, among the hot, exotic blooms.
Her breasts, creamy and white, glinted in the lamplight, begging for his touch, for his mouth. Maximilian moved a hand to her shoulder and felt skin like the finest silk under his touch. It would be so easy to push down her sleeve, to slip his fingers inside her bodice. She was his for the taking, soft, sweet and light, as fresh as springtime, as earthy as the lush buds that surrounded them.... He was losing his mind.
With rigid discipline, Maximilian withdrew his lips from hers. For a long moment, he simply held her hard against him, then he pressed a fierce kiss to her forehead. Was he trembling like a schoolboy? “I beg your pardon, Charlotte,” he whispered hoarsely. “Forgive me.”
Forgive him? There was naught to forgive except his defection. “Max...” She was losing him, she could feel it. And it would always be this way. He would always retreat because of what he was, honorable and fine, and she would have him no other way. He released her.
“I did not kiss Stollings,” she said, wanting him to know that truth, at least. “His sister led me in here on a pretext and then left me, and he was trying to persuade me to, but...”
“And I am no better than he, am I?” Max asked, his face taut.
“No! Do not compare yourself to him,” Charlotte protested. “You were comforting me.”
“Is that what it was?” Max asked. He laughed humorlessly. “Very well, then. I believe you are sufficiently comforted. Now, tuck up your hair and try to appear composed. I will leave by the other door.” She turned to go, but he stopped her with a clearing of his throat.
“And, Charlotte...” She turned. His brown eyes were wide and mocking. “Try to keep yourself out of any man’s arms, including mine—” Maximilian paused, looking both apologetic and rather rueful “— especially mine, for any reason.”
CHAPTER NINE
Charlotte was tempted to throw herself upon Max’s mercy and beg him not to go through with the appointment at dawn, but she knew him well enough to spare both Maximilian and herself the indignity of such pleas. All she could do was stand in the copse facing the empty field where the duel was to take place.
It had been easy to discover the time and place of the meeting. Her other suitors were prevailed upon to tell her what they knew, but even they were not certain what would happen. Although the prevailing attitude was that Maximilian would shoot Stollings dead, some thought the captain’s military experience would serve him well. He, they believed, would kill his lordship.
Charlotte gripped fingers white with strain and prayed that neither one would be hurt. Although it was chilly, she felt sweat dampening her chemise under her gown and cloak. It contrasted sharply with the chill of the dew that seeped through her slippers.
The sound of horses and the rattle of a carriage made her duck farther behind the trees, and when she peeked out again, she could see both Maximilian and Captain Stollings separated by a span of cropped grass. Each spoke quietly to the men she knew to be their seconds, and each appeared to be maddeningly calm.
Charlotte knew a moment of outrage. How could these men be so stupid as to try to put bullets in each other and not feel a qualm about it, while she was quaking with agitation? Not wanting either one to be hurt, her anxious gaze flew back and forth between them, but her eyes kept lingering on the taller figure closest to her. Max.
She stared at him. Tall, straight, and elegant, he moved with cool grace, as unruffled as if this were how he spent every morning. Charlotte was not so unaffected, and she choked back a cry as he took his position. She heard a voice, and then, as if in a dream, she saw Max turn, aim and fire. The blast of his pistol, deafening in the dawn silence, was followed quickly by another.
It all happened so fast that the scene took on an air of unreality. Char
lotte raised a hand to her mouth fearfully as she waited for some sign that Maximilian had been hit, but he did not move or flinch, and the breath she had been holding released itself in a rush.
Her eyes flew to the captain. He was still standing, valiantly clutching his shoulder while he shouted something that was lost on the wind. Then his seconds closed in about him. He must have been hurt, but not badly, Charlotte realized.
Relief that neither man had been killed made her dizzy, and Charlotte closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she recognized Lord Raleigh striding to Maximilian along the line of trees that hid her from sight. “A flesh wound only!” he said. “Deuced good aim you have, Wycliffe, as always.”
Charlotte must have made a noise, some strangled sound of gladness, because Raleigh and Maximilian immediately looked toward the spot where she was standing. She stepped out.
“Charlotte!” Maximilian said, frowning with disapproval.
“Miss Trowbridge!” Raleigh said, grinning with pleasure. “Come along, and we shall take you home. Best not dawdle here, dueling being against the law and all that,” he added, motioning her to them.
Charlotte moved briskly to Max’s side and stole a glance at him. The set of his dark brows told her he was not happy to see her, but he walked along with her to the waiting carriage. Although her presence at the dawn meeting was, she knew, the height of impropriety, Charlotte did not care. She could not have waited at home, worrying herself sick and wondering if he was hurt. Let him scold her all he wished about society’s rules; there were some that she simply could not follow.
The Wycliffe coach was waiting, stationed near the copse, and Charlotte was only too glad for the opportunity to return to her cousin’s home in comfort. When Maximilian helped her inside and slid his tall frame in beside her, she sighed, letting her tense limbs relax into the luxurious cushions.
Instead of taking the opposite seat, Raleigh remained on the ground, holding the door. “I say, Wycliffe, you will see Miss Trowbridge home, won’t you?” he asked, grinning. “I really must get some rest. Much too early to be up and about, you know.” Without waiting for an answer, Raleigh slammed the door, leaving them alone in the carriage.
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