“Very well, my lord,” Hoskins said, his expression grim.
“Max,” Charlotte chided, digging her fingers into the sleeve of his shirt. He gazed into her face, floating amid a cloud of blond hair, and he realized that he had not even touched her hair, the hair that he had longed so often to caress. It was billowing about her, soft and inviting, while his own hung down his back in disarray.
Had he even noticed her tresses? Maximilian could not recall, for the recent episode in his bed bore no resemblance to his usual thorough, gentle lovemaking. Mindless, uncontrollable passion such as he had never known before had driven him to behavior he could hardly condone. The truth came to him bitterly.
Were it not for Hoskins, he would have deflowered Charlotte. And not during a long, luxurious night of wedded bliss, but in a hurried moment of lust while both of them were fully dressed. Disgusted with himself, Maximilian nodded at Hoskins.
“Very well,” he said. “As the lady wishes. You may remain in your current position in my household. And, Hoskins?”
“Yes, my lord?”
Maximilian glared at his butler, as if daring him to react. “We would have your felicitations, for Miss Trowbridge and I are getting married as soon as possible.”
“Very good, my lord,” Hoskins answered, and to his relief, Maximilian saw no hint of censure in the butler’s eyes.
“Good,” Maximilian muttered. “Then let us understand each other. I will escort Miss Trowbridge back to my mother’s town house.”
Maximilian watched the butler’s gaze flick to his stockinged feet, and he cursed under his breath. Although certainly not a dandy, Maximilian prided himself on his impeccable appearance. And yet he had nearly left the room in nothing but his shirt and breeches. Maximilian suspicioned that he might as well toss that pride out the window, along with his dignity, now that Charlotte was to be a permanent fixture in his life.
Although galling, somehow he could not mourn the loss of such things when he looked at Charlotte’s mouth, ripe and red from kissing, curving into a tender smile. With uncharacteristic spontaneity, Maximilian reached out to push a swirl of springy hair away from her face. It felt soft and delightful under his palm. “What wonderful hair,” he whispered.
Maximilian saw the quicksilver shadow of surprise cross her lovely features. “You cannot mean it.”
“Of course, I do,” Maximilian answered. “When we are married, I shall expect you to wear it down for me.” He squeezed a thick mass of it between his fingers and drew in a deep breath at the realization that desire was throbbing through him again.
“When we are married,” Charlotte said in a husky whisper, her green eyes glittering darkly on his own locks, “I shall expect you to wear yours down for me.”
Maximilian stepped back, the air between them much too ripe with promise for his peace of mind. “I shall be just a moment,” he said, a bit too heartily. Then he sat down and grabbed one of the boots that Levering had laid out so neatly. He pulled it on with something less than his usual aplomb, while attempting to ignore the ache in his groin.
Hoskins cleared his throat. “Perhaps Miss Trowbridge would care to wait for you to join her in the drawing room,” he suggested.
“No, thank you.” Charlotte’s careless answer made Maximilian grin, and he glanced up to see her walking around his bedroom as though it were the most natural and comfortable of environments. She seemed very much at home among his personal effects, Maximilian noted as he tugged on his second boot. The thought warmed him somewhere deep inside.
“Oh, Max! This looks like...” Charlotte’s words trailed off as she held up the drawing that Jenny had sent him.
“Me?” he asked ruefully.
Charlotte burst into that wonderful laughter of hers while he stood up and searched for a neckcloth. All his life, he had been dressed or assisted by a valet, but now he was beginning to see some advantages in doing for himself. He liked Charlotte’s company. When she was near he felt...loved? Cherished?
Maximilian grimaced at his own foolishness and told himself to be sensible. Charlotte had admitted that she held him in some regard; she had not declared her undying devotion. Nor did he expect her to voice such sentiments. Such delusions were better left to those in need of romantic fancies.
Love? What rubbish! He had never seen any evidence that the emotion existed. With a vicious yank, he pulled off the neckcloth, which refused to tie properly, tossed it to the floor and drew out another. He was startled to see Charlotte, out of the corner of his eye, reach down to retrieve the errant piece of material. Something about the gesture tugged at his heart.
She placed the white linen on his dresser and came to stand next to him while he looked into the mirror. No wonder he could not tie his usual mathematical! Charlotte was holding up the drawing beside him and smiling wickedly. “Yes, I do see a resemblance.”
Maximilian choked back a laugh and tried once more to finish his toilet.
“I think the large head is especially telling,” Charlotte noted.
Maximilian let the neckcloth drop from his fingers and turned his startled gaze upon her. “Are you saying that I think too highly of myself?”
Charlotte laughed again and put a steadying hand upon his chest. “Oh, Max!”
“Well?” He demanded an answer. He had always considered himself the most modest of men. He neither preened in dandyish clothing nor lorded his wealth and title over others, so her playful accusation stunned him.
“I admit that you are sometimes a trifle too proud, but I have great hopes for your improvement,” she teased. Her eyes were brimming with affection that took the sting from her words. “Oh, Max!” To his surprise, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly, crushing his second attempt to tie a decent knot.
Hoskins cleared his throat again, and they both turned to look at the butler, who stood in the doorway like a solemn male duenna, eyeing their display with disapproval. Muttering imprecations too low for Charlotte to hear, Maximilian disentangled himself from her embrace and swiftly redid his wrinkled neckcloth in the simplest of arrangements.
“After your less than flattering comments, I suspect that you had a hand in your sister’s completion of my portrait,” Maximilian said over his shoulder. He strode toward the bed, where his waistcoat had been laid, only to find it crumpled beyond redemption. Refusing to let his thoughts drift to the reason for its condition, he rifled through his wardrobe for another and thrust it on hurriedly.
“Then it is Jenny’s drawing!” Charlotte said. “I thought it seemed familiar. Jenny sent you a picture?” The odd note in her voice made him glance at her. She was looking at him with a wondrous expression on her lovely features and a gaze that seemed to pierce his innermost self. Maximilian grunted and slipped into his coat.
Finally, he was dressed. It was, of course, well past his scheduled appearance for breakfast, and he felt the distinctly unusual sensation of impatience nagging at him. The ritual of his toilet seemed far too lengthy when Charlotte was waiting for him. He walked to her side, took the paper from her fingers, stuck it back in the frame and held out his arm for her to take.
“Let us be off, then, before Sibylle raises the alarm about your absence,” Maximilian said, giving her a crooked smile. They passed their self-appointed chaperon, Hoskins, and headed down the stairs.
They had not even reached the bottom when Maximilian noticed the approach of his secretary, carrying a sheaf of papers with a harried air. Wilkes stopped dead and gaped at the sight of Charlotte descending with his master. The slip in his employee’s manners irked Maximilian, but he ignored it, pressing on as if young female visitors were a commonplace feature of his household.
“Good morning, Wilkes. We will have to postpone our meeting until later,” Maximilian said, as he moved past his secretary. “I am going to escort Miss Trowbridge back to my mother’s, and upon my return, I plan to leave for Casterleigh immediately. Please notify the staff and have Levering begin packing at once. C
ancel all my engagements in town indefinitely and—”
“No!”
Maximilian, with Charlotte on his arm, was nearly to the door when he heard his secretary’s shout. He turned in amazement.
Wilkes, white-faced and wild-eyed, was rooted to his position at the foot of the stairs, clutching the sheaf of papers to his chest in a death grip, while Hoskins looked on with an astonished expression.
“I beg your pardon?” Maximilian asked.
“No! I will rearrange your schedule no longer, my lord,” Wilkes said, his voice trembling with the force of his emotion. “When you took me on, I thought we were of like minds, methodical, punctual and orderly beings, but I can see that we are no longer in accord. In the past few weeks, a change has come over you, and not for the good! You have missed appointments, ignored reports and tossed my carefully composed schedule to the winds! Look at you. You have begun to rush about, always in a hurry, in a manner wholly beneath your station.”
“Now, Wilkes,” Maximilian began. He decided to placate the man. Despite his outburst, Wilkes was a good secretary, and Maximilian did not care to lose him. “I admit there has been some upheaval of late—”
“Upheaval!” Wilkes laughed in a high, strained voice. “It is pure anarchy, my lord. Anarchy brought about by that...that female!” He pointed a bony finger at Charlotte.
Maximilian felt his hand twitch as anger surged to the fore. Anarchy, was it? With a great effort of will, he stilled his fingers and swept the room with an assessing glance. The footman who stood attendance at the door was gaping like a schoolboy in the most amusing fashion, and Hoskins, poor beleaguered Hoskins, appeared apoplectic. It was certainly not business as usual. Maximilian felt his lips quiver.
Charlotte, her green eyes huge at the charges, was nevertheless patting his arm as if to calm him, and he lightly slipped his palm over her hand in acknowledgment. The signs of change were all about him, but they were for the good because, for the first time, his household was humming with life, laughter and...warmth.
Turning his attention to the principal actor in the melodrama, Maximilian saw a skinny, bespectacled fellow possessing more studiousness than humanity. And he was extremely glad that the man no longer reflected himself. Throwing back his head, Maximilian laughed at his secretary’s words. “If this is anarchy, then so be it, Wilkes. Good luck to you in your new position. May you find an employer as humorless and orderly as yourself!”
Maximilian turned with an elegant flourish and looked at his butler. “Hoskins, please see to readying for my departure. And then sit down, man. You don’t look well, by half.”
* * *
As Charlotte had anticipated, no one had raised the alarm over her absence. In fact, Sibylle, who was just coming down from her toilet, obviously had no idea that Charlotte had left the town house unescorted to pay a call upon a gentleman.
“Maximilian! How nice to see you.” Sibylle fluttered toward him and pressed her cheek against his in what Charlotte imagined was supposed to be a kiss, although she had seen Kit buss the dog with more enthusiasm.
“How can you be out and about at this wretched hour? You are positively inhuman, and you, too, dear,” Sibylle said, eyeing Charlotte. “Our country girl is always up early and looking so fresh-faced, too, odious creature. Have you breakfasted? Come, join me.” The dainty woman indicated with an airy wave that they should follow her to the dining room.
Charlotte saw the telling movement of Max’s fingers and put a restraining hand upon his arm. It was just as well, for his brows were lowered over dark eyes that glittered with the urge to take his mother to task. “I apologize, Charlotte, for entrusting you to such negligent care,” he said stiffly.
“Now, Max,” Charlotte said, squeezing his arm. “No harm was done.”
For a moment, he just stared at her. Then his lips moved crookedly, and Charlotte knew he was remembering the extraordinary events that had occurred this morning in his bed. “That, my dear, is a matter of opinion.”
Charlotte flushed crimson and dropped her gaze, suddenly embarrassed by what had happened. It had all seemed so exciting, so glorious—the things Max had done to her and the way he had made her feel—that she had never wanted it to end. The look on his face when she had touched him there, when he begged her to... The recollection was enough to set her heart pounding at a furious pace.
She wanted to see him like that again, to hear the groan that rose from deep in his chest as he spilled his seed—and she wanted him to be inside her at that moment. Charlotte realized that she would have gladly given herself up to that final, irrevocable passion with no thought to the consequences, but at the same time, she recognized that Max might not appreciate her wanton desires. She clasped her hands together before her. The palms were moist. “Do you regret...it?” she asked, her voice low and unsteady.
She had barely spoken when she felt his fingers under her chin, forcing her to meet a gaze that was soft and glowing. “Never,” he whispered huskily. “I regret only my own appalling lack of self-restraint.” A rueful smile tugged at the corners of his mouth at the words with which he had once accused her.
Then he nodded toward Sibylle’s figure, disappearing blithely into the dining room, and his mouth tightened. “But what if you had gotten it into your stubborn head to go to some other man’s home? Who would have stopped you? Who, indeed, would have noticed you gone?” he asked scornfully, his grip on her chin tightening.
Charlotte was dismayed by his anger, even though she knew it was prompted by concern for her. She put a palm to the side of his dear face, willing him to understand. “I would never go to any other man’s home! Tell me you know that, Max.”
“I do not know it,” he said, turning away with a sulky grimace. “First there was Roddy Black, then Stollings, then Burgess and God knows who else! One of the best reasons I can think of for this marriage is so that I may be relieved of the burden of protecting you from every besotted gallant in London.”
He looked so much like one of the boys grumbling about his chores that Charlotte nearly laughed. “I am sorry about Roddy. I only kissed him out of curiosity—and to tease you, you know,” she admitted. “The other mishaps were not my doing, however, and I do not care for your intimation that I got myself attacked by the captain and abducted by the baron simply to cause you inconvenience.”
Max appeared unconvinced by her disclaimers, and Charlotte took a deep breath before speaking again. “I swear that, although I have often wanted to visit you, it has never crossed my mind to go to any other man’s residence. And I would certainly never let any other man touch me. Tell me you know that, at least,” she said, indignant that he could possibly think otherwise.
His gaze slid over her, openly assessing, before he spoke. “I know it.” He answered so solemnly that Charlotte felt relieved. She was not anxious to wed a man who did not trust her. Nor did she want him to believe that her easy capitulation in his bed was the result of anything but her special feelings for him—and him alone. Charlotte stared at him, trying to tell him with her eyes what she hesitated to voice.
He returned her look with such warmth that she felt giddy. “I knew it the minute Stollings complained about your kisses, but I have never understood why. Why, Charlotte?”
Charlotte shook her head, unable to say the words that he might scorn. “It has always been you, only you, since I set my eyes upon you at the vicarage,” she whispered. Her admission seemed to spark something in the brown eyes that traveled over her, and suddenly the very air seemed to fission with unexplained heat.
Only the appearance of Chevalier stopped them from coming together and kindling the blaze between them right there in the hall. Charlotte was dismayed to notice that her hand was trembling when she took Max’s arm, and she hoped, as thoughts of the morning’s events flashed through her mind, that Max did not plan on a long engagement. Then she turned to him suddenly.
“What do you mean Stollings complained about my kisses?”
C
HAPTER SIXTEEN
When they entered the dining room, Sibylle was being served eggs and barely glanced up at them. “Sit down, Maximilian. I stand on no ceremony at my breakfast table, as Charlotte well knows.” She flashed a pretty smile that Charlotte acknowledged with a gracious nod.
Then Sybille paused to frown slightly at her son. “I hope you have no intention of tossing eggs at one another, however, for I do not care for the mess. Personally, I cannot see the enjoyment in such endeavors, but la! I have never understood you, Maximilian. I want you to know,” she added, sending him a pointed glance, “that I am ordering a new carpet today and sending the bill to you.”
Charlotte choked back a laugh before she was struck dumb by the prospect of endless nights ahead with the man who took a seat across from her. She pictured his mouth on her skin, licking the champagne from her body, and she wondered if Maximilian was thinking of the same thing.
He was. Charlotte saw it in the heated gaze that settled upon her and, thrilled and mortified at the same time, she could not hold his eyes but looked at her plate.
“You will undoubtedly be pleased to know that your rather haphazard duty as a sponsor is now over,” Maximilian said, accepting some toast from a servant. “I plan to take Miss Trowbridge back, at once, to Sussex, where we will be married as soon as arrangements can be made.”
If he was trying to rattle his mother, he succeeded, although Charlotte noted that the woman was not quite as shocked by the precipitate announcement as she had been to find her son cavorting in a champagne bath the night before.
Sibylle’s eyes grew wide, and her dainty hand dropped the utensil in her hand. “You do not mean it?” she asked, glancing from one to the other. Charlotte smiled, although Max did not. “But of course you mean it! You never jest. But this is wonderful news!”
Charlotte released the breath she had been holding unawares, glad that Max’s mother was happy for them. The woman often seemed so heedlessly thoughtless that Charlotte had not known what to expect. Charlotte’s relief was short-lived, however, for Sibylle soon revealed the reason for her excitement.
The Vicar's Daughter Page 22