by Julia Quinn
“Why not? You always do.”
“Charlotte, I’m trying to be sympathetic. Pray don’t throw insults at me.”
That surprised her. “Sympathetic? In what way?” She slid off the bed to her feet. “You mean that you might permit Xavier to call on me?”
“Our situation hasn’t changed, daughter. I mean that I might speak to your father about discouraging Lord Herbert. If you truly would rather be alone than married to him.”
“I truly would,” Charlotte said vehemently.
“You understand that you may not have another opportunity to marry. Each year you remain single, your chances will decline a little further. And don’t rest your hopes on Lord Matson. Whatever his interest in you, as you said, he has other choices. You won’t.”
“Mama, don’t think I haven’t considered everything you said every day for the past year. I know who I am, and I know that I don’t take young men’s breath away. And Herbert will never see me any differently. If I ever marry, I would hope that it would be to a gentleman who, if he doesn’t see me as beautiful, at least doesn’t see me as dull.”
The baroness rose. “And how does Lord Matson see you? Or do you have no idea of that, either?”
Charlotte smiled. “He says I have fine eyes.”
“I’ll speak to your father.” Lady Birling walked to the door and pulled it open. “If he agrees, Lord Matson may call on you here. You will not go anywhere with him, and he will not court you in public. Not until this mess with Sophia has blown over, anyway. Is that clear?”
Her heart beat so fast that for a moment Charlotte thought she might faint. “Very clear,” she answered, doing her best not to grin. She would at least get to see Xavier again.
By the time Xavier made his daily afternoon call at Birling House, he was revisiting his kidnaping plan. It had been twenty-four hours since he’d spoken with Charlotte, and he felt stretched tighter than a bowstring. By now he’d given up trying to figure out what it was about her that drew him, but he could no more stay away than he could stop breathing. Anthony was probably having a good laugh at his expense right now.
He tapped the knocker against the door. As it opened he held up the bouquet of red roses, ready to hand them and his card over to the butler when he was once again refused entry. Instead, the liveried servant stepped back.
“If you’ll wait in the morning room, my lord.”
For a moment Xavier thought he’d called on the wrong house. Recovering himself, he followed the old man into a small, comfortable sitting room and watched the door close. Perhaps Lord Birling meant to lock him away—but no key turned in the door. He gripped the flowers and paced to the fireplace and back. The baron could warn him away again, but he would return. And he would keep returning until Charlotte herself told him to go away.
The door opened again. As he faced it, Charlotte walked into the morning room. He was halfway across the floor before he registered that her maid had entered behind her. Cursing silently, Xavier brought himself to a halt. She was there; he didn’t care whether she’d come accompanied by circus performers.
“Good afternoon, my lord,” she said with a curtsy.
Inclining his head, he finished closing the distance between them at a more sedate pace and handed her the bouquet. “Good afternoon. I…trust you are well?”
“Yes, thank you. Won’t you have a seat?” She lowered her face to the rose petals, glancing up at him from beneath dark lashes. “And thank you for the bouquet,” she continued, handing them to her maid, who backed to the doorway and passed them off to a footman.
She seated herself on the couch. He wanted to sit beside her and take her hand, but whatever this was, it appeared they were to act with propriety, and so he took the chair directly opposite her. “You’re most welcome.”
“May I offer you some tea?”
Xavier sat forward a little. “What the devil is going on?”
Her lips twitched. “You are to be permitted to call on me.”
His heart flip-flopped. “I am? Then what—”
“But there are rules.”
“Rules,” he repeated, settling back again. “What rules?”
“I cannot leave the house in your company, and you may not be seen pursuing me in public.”
“May I be seen dancing with you in public?”
“No.”
“Then I suppose kissing you is out of the question.”
Color flooded her cheeks. “Yes, it is.”
“Why the change? Not that I’m complaining, of course.” Actually he did have a few complaints, but since they now seemed able to converse, he supposed the rest could wait a short time. A very short time.
“We were in Whistledown.”
He nodded. “I saw, blast that woman—whoever she is. What did you tell your parents?”
“That I’d gone to the park to meet you.”
Xavier lifted an eyebrow. Something had obviously changed for the better, and if he had to guess, he would say it had much to do with the fetching young woman seated across from him. “You simply told them?”
“Yes.” She lowered her voice. “They made me a bit angry.”
“It seems to have worked to our benefit.”
“Partially, at any rate.”
“And Lord Herbert?”
Charlotte grimaced for a moment. “He’s not to know, either.”
This agreement seemed to be even less advantageous than he’d thought. “So I’m not considered a serious suitor. And then once your engagement is announced I simply go away?”
“Xavier, they know I don’t wish to marry Herbert, but my father insists that your intentions may not be…sincere, and that my chances at matrimony in the meantime shouldn’t be ruined.”
After he’d won her once and for all, Xavier intended to have a little chat with Lord Birling about underestimating the value of his daughter. Before he could win her, however, he would obviously need to receive permission to at least dance with her in front of other people, damn it all.
“It’s a lot of rules,” she continued, glancing at him and then away again. “After all, there are other single wom—”
“I can tolerate the rules,” he returned sharply. “I can even tolerate damned Herbert. But I am sincere in my intentions, and I will make your father understand that.”
“You are?”
“Of course I am.” Relenting a little, he forced a smile. “After all, I learned a great deal about strategy in the military. I don’t pursue a campaign unless I have a good expectation of succeeding.”
“And all this because I defended Lord Easterly?”
A chuckle escaped his lips. “That turned my head in your direction. My ears and eyes and mouth took care of the rest.” As had his heart, he was beginning to realize, but making her aware of how special she was remained a difficult enough prospect without his frightening her to death with declarations. Hell, hearing him say it aloud would give him an apoplexy. Xavier the rakehell falling for a quiet, restrained, witty, intelligent female.
Her lips quirking, she glanced at her maid. “I admit I have felt the effect of your mouth, my lord,” she said in a low voice.
This looking and not touching was going to kill him. “You haven’t begun to feel the effect of my mouth, Charlotte,” he murmured. “And you’re causing my patience with this nonsense to shorten considerably.”
She gazed at him for a moment. “You’re completely serious, aren’t you?”
“About you? Yes, I am.” He knew what she was asking, and he knew what his answer meant. To his surprise, though, it didn’t unsettle him in the least. Rather, he felt…complete. And content. Or he would, if he could figure out what in damnation it would take to get her parents to agree to take his suit seriously.
“I apologize if I sound incredulous, Xavier,” she continued slowly, “but my father had to go out and find Lord Herbert when they decided I needed to marry. No man has ever pursued me. I—”
“Until now,” he interrupted.
Charlotte looked down at her hands for a moment, then gazed at him again. She always looked him in the eye, he realized. He liked that about her—in addition to the other things he was swiftly coming to appreciate about her character.
“My older sister, Helen,” she said after a moment, “is stunning. She had suitors practically climbing through windows to court her. And much as I love Helen, I have to say that I noticed things—the way she hated reading, couldn’t bear to discuss anything but gossip and fashion, wouldn’t attend the theater unless escorted by someone she wished everyone to see accompanying her—she knew how to be popular, and well-liked, and nothing else interested her.”
“It’s a common theme among young ladies,” he returned, reflecting that he’d known dozens like her sister, and no one like her.
“But not for me,” she countered, as if reading his thoughts. “None of the things that interested her, interest me. And I think I told myself that my refusing to play those games was the reason I never had any gentleman callers. But I know the truth. I’m not stunning, and I’m not exciting. And I…I want to be certain that you aren’t in pursuit simply because my parents’ suspicion of your motives has made this some sort of challenge to you.”
He smiled slowly, unable to resist running a finger along her cheek. “You are a challenge. And please don’t blame me because a shipload of very stupid men looked at you once and declared you uninteresting. I looked at you twice, and I saw what you are.”
Color crept up her cheeks. “And what is that?”
“Mine.”
“Xavier—”
The baron and baroness swept into the room with enough speed that they’d probably witnessed him caressing her. Damnation. Straitlaced, and spies. He couldn’t imagine a worse combination.
“Good afternoon, Lord Matson.”
He stood, sketching a bow. “Lord and Lady Birling. Thank you for allowing me to converse with Charlotte.”
“We remain unconvinced of your intentions,” her father said bluntly, “but Charlotte won’t come to her senses without proof of your passing interest.”
Beside him, she stiffened. At least she seemed to notice now her parents’ low opinion of her desirability—and at least now it annoyed her. “Lord Matson knows all about the rules,” she said tightly, “and he’s agreed to follow them.”
No, he hadn’t. “I’m afraid that you are going to be disappointed, my lord,” Xavier replied, wondering what they would do if he offered for her on the spot. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—take the risk, however. If they refused him, as he was fairly certain they would, he’d be put in the position of defying them directly. While he had no qualms about that, he knew that Charlotte would.
“Charlotte is practically engaged to Lord Herbert Beetly,” her mother put in.
“You’ve made that clear, my lady. With all respect, she has neither been proposed to, nor has she accepted any such offer. She is therefore available to be courted, and wooed.”
The baron actually blinked. “True, I suppose, but if you are sincere, you are also late to the race. I have confidence in Lord Herbert and his impeccable character. I am much less certain about you.”
“You won’t have any doubts by the time I’m finished.” He would have pushed harder, but Charlotte’s face had grown pale, and she practically shook with tension. Xavier took her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. “I have a few errands to run. I’ll call on you tomorrow, Charlotte.”
“Xavier.”
He could feel her pulse beneath his fingers, hard and fast. That encouraged him, far more than her parents’ obvious disapproval could lower his hopes. As he strode past the Birlings and out their front door, he made a silent vow to himself. He would marry Charlotte Birling. And from then on, anyone with an unkind word for her would have to answer to him.
Chapter 7
Lord Matson continues to face resistance in his pursuit of Miss Birling.
But is it Miss Birling who is doing the resisting, or the young lady’s parents?
Given Lord Matson’s fine form and figure, one can only imagine that it is the elder Birlings who are proving to be anti-romantical. Miss Birling is made of stern stuff, to be sure, but surely not that stern.
LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 14 JUNE 1816
“I thought we had an agreement.” Charlotte paced back and forth in front of her mother’s writing desk. “Lord Matson was supposed to be allowed to call on me.”
“Charlotte,” Lady Birling replied, setting aside her pen, “he has been allowed to do so.”
“Then why haven’t I seen him?”
“Lord Matson is obviously a man with many business and social obligations. I told you that we doubted the depth of his commitment to you. And better to discover that now, before the gossips can make it look as though he led you on and then tired of you.”
That thought had occurred to her from time to time, especially at night, alone in her bed, but in the daylight her penchant for reality thankfully won out. “How can he tire of me when we never see one another?”
“Perhaps he has done so already.” Her mother gave an obviously forced smile. “Now, don’t you have a luncheon today with Melinda Edwards? You shouldn’t be late.”
Charlotte hid a sudden frown. Over the past few days she had been frighteningly in demand. She’d attributed it to her mention in Whistledown, but friends, relations, her mother, all seemed to require her presence for eating or shopping or strolling in between drizzles. Now she abruptly began to wonder whether her parents were attempting to keep her out of the house so that Xavier couldn’t see her. He’d been given permission to call on her, but no one had said she must be home to see him. Drat. “Melinda sent over a note this morning begging off,” she lied. “I believe she has the sniffles.”
“It’s this atrocious weather.” Lady Birling stood. “We don’t want you coming down with anything. Why don’t you go upstairs and get some rest?”
A short time alone to think up a strategy seemed a very good idea. “Yes, Mama.”
Not certain whether to be angry at the machinations going on around her or elated that Xavier might not have been avoiding her, Charlotte made her way upstairs to her bedchamber and sat in her reading chair. Beethoven jumped into her lap, but after a glance at the pensive look on her face, changed locations to the windowsill. So that was how her parents meant to deal with Xavier. Give their permission, make her unavailable to him, and then push Herbert into making a proposal without delay.
Her window rattled. With a yowl Beethoven leapt down and scooted under the bed, while Charlotte whipped her head around. Clinging to the window frame, a scattering of flower petals and pollen across his hair and shoulders, was Xavier.
“Let me in, Charlotte, before I break my neck,” he muttered, his voice muffled through the glass.
Gasping, she unlatched the window and shoved it open, grabbing an elbow to help haul him through the opening. “What in the world—”
Sprawled on the floor, he pulled her down across his lap and kissed her hard and deep. Charlotte sank into his embrace. Her mother might call it a fantasy, but she was finding it real enough. And so intoxicating that she could hardly bear not being able to see him.
“Hello,” he said after a moment, running a thumb across her lower lip.
She blinked, trying to pull herself back into a logical realm. “What are you doing here?”
Now he was stroking her fingers, concentrating on each appendage as though it were something precious. “I called at the front door first,” he said in his low drawl, “but your butler said you had an influenza and couldn’t be disturbed. You’re not ill, are you?”
It was a terrible lie to tell, especially to someone who’d lost a family member to the same illness. “No, I’m not ill.”
Relief touched his face. “Good. But why have you been avoiding me, then?”
“How can I avoid you when you’re not about?” she returned.
He gazed at her. “I’ve called on y
ou every day. You’re the one who’s been elsewhere. Hence my trellis-climbing today.”
Charlotte drew a breath. “You’ve called every day?”
“I told you I would.”
“They told me you hadn’t been by. And I’ve been…sent out visiting with everyone. Even aunts I barely knew I had.”
Slowly Xavier nodded. “It seems some people are so convinced we don’t suit that they’ve been attempting to force reality to match their convictions.” Brushing her cheek with gentle fingers, he kissed her again.
“But it didn’t work. You climbed up my trellis.” Enveloped in his embrace, Charlotte carefully brushed some of the flower refuse out of his tawny hair.
“And nearly broke my neck. It doesn’t look as though anyone’s used it as a ladder before.”
She smiled. “No one has.”
“Well, if this nonsense continues, I’m going to bring some carpentry tools with me next time and make some repairs.”
Charlotte could imagine it; Xavier slipping into her bedchamber, into her bed, in the middle of the night, while her parents thought they’d successfully thwarted any encounters at all. Warm damp started between her thighs, and she shifted closer to him, sliding her arms around his shoulders. “That would be nice.”
“I suggest you not move around like that,” he said, his voice more strained. “I’m not here to ravish you. Not this time, anyway.”
She had no idea what to say to that. It sounded very wicked, and it sounded as though her parents were going to have to take stronger measures if they wished to keep Lord Matson away from her. Of course first they would have to find out that he’d begun calling on her in a more direct manner—and she had no intention of informing them.
“So your parents gave permission for me to call, then made certain you wouldn’t be here to see me, all the while telling you I must not be interested.”
Charlotte drew a breath. “They’re not…evil or anything, you know. They think I’m becoming too attached to you, and that you don’t return the sentiment.”
Xavier lifted an eyebrow, realizing that he was perfectly content to sit there on her floor with her for the rest of the day. For the rest of his life. “They’re wrong.”