Myriad emotions flickered across Marian’s face. “Let me understand this. You said you woke because of the . . . tonic?” Marian stared at her expectantly, clearly unable to name the tonic for what it was—what Charlotte alleged it to be.
Charlotte had no such compunction.
“Yes. The aphrodisiac woke me. I was in . . . agony. I left the room to see Nora.” She nodded to her sister. “I thought if anyone could help me it would be the person who poisoned me in the first place.”
Nora rolled her eyes at her choice of words.
“Why do you think this tonic was an . . . aphrodisiac?” Marian spit out the final word as though it were something foul on her tongue.
And that vexed Charlotte. Why should it be so difficult for Marian to say it? To utter the mere word? Charlotte was the one who had endured it. Who had gone through the anguish of it and compromised herself with Kingston. Multiple times.
Charlotte angled her head sharply. “Oh, I am fairly certain. For no other reason would I have ravished your husband’s brother in the corridor last night.”
Silence met her declaration. The loud kind of silence one could actually hear.
Marian cleared her throat. “Nathaniel’s stepbrother? Kingston?”
Could I be talking about anyone else? She bit back the sarcastic reply and instead nodded.
“Oh, he’s a handsome chap,” Nora blurted. “Bit of a rogue, from what I understand.” Her eyes danced as though this was clearly an enhancement of his character and not a detraction.
“Nora!” Marian reprimanded. “That’s neither here nor there.”
Nora twisted one shoulder up in a shrug. “I think it’s a little bit . . . here.”
Marian ignored Nora and continued, “And when you say ravished . . .”
Charlotte expelled a breath. “I launched myself at him and used him to . . .” This part she did not even know how to explain. The words were not even in her sphere of knowledge. Her face burned in mortification.
Trust Nora, of course, to speak what was on her mind. “Are you still a maid?”
Marian grasped her arm. “Did he hurt you?”
“No. He was very restrained.” She gave a hoarse croak of sound that weakly resembled laughter. “Certainly he didn’t have to be. I was very . . . eager.” Humiliatingly so.
“Are you a maid still?” Nora repeated, her eyes alight in a way that did not reflect any disappointment if she was not. In fact, perhaps there was even a fraction of . . . hope in her gaze.
“Yes, I am, but I thoroughly disgraced myself. I seduced him for my own needs—”
Nora frowned and shook her head, tossing back an errant golden curl that bounced over her eye. “But you’re still a maid. I don’t understand.”
“How can you be so well versed in science and anatomy and not understand?” Charlotte bit out.
Nora’s expression remained ever perplexed, her forehead creasing in confusion. “How could you have used him for your needs and still remain a maid—”
“Not now, Nora!” Marian snapped. “I will explain it all to you later.” As a married woman, Marian clearly had no such trouble understanding. She stepped forward to take both Charlotte’s hands in her own. She squeezed them comfortingly. “You are certain you were unharmed?” Her gaze flitted searchingly over Charlotte’s face, and she had no doubt Marian would go to battle for her. If Charlotte even intimated that Kingston harmed her, Marian would have his head.
Charlotte nodded firmly. “He did not hurt me. I am fine. Better. Much better than I was last night.” Thank heavens for that.
Marian visibly swallowed, and her thumbs pressed down a little deeper into Charlotte’s hands. “Do you want me or Nathaniel to speak to him?”
“No!” she blurted. “That will make more of it, I fear.”
She wanted it to be nothing. She wanted it never to have happened at all, which was unrealistic, she knew, but she didn’t want her sister or Nathaniel confronting Kingston when she only wanted to minimize the entire encounter.
“Very well.” Marian nodded slowly, clearly digesting that. “Can you tell me what the tonic made you . . . feel?”
“Indeed,” Nora seconded.
“I felt feverish . . . so very overheated. I was breathless and I ached. When I happened upon Kingston in the corridor, something just came over me.” She shook her head, mortified at the memory. She didn’t bother mentioning the pond. She couldn’t bring herself to share the extent of her wantonness. What she had done in the library was bad enough. “I had these wild impulses I couldn’t resist.” She shook her head. Even as close as she was with her sisters, she could say no more than that. No more description than that. Her shame ran too deep. She buried her face in her hands. It would be appalling even if she wasn’t betrothed to Billy. But she was. She was betrothed to a good and decent man.
She was awful.
Marian’s arms were suddenly around her, holding her in a tight embrace. Even Nora was there, coming up behind them and patting Charlotte on the back. “Do not torment yourself. You didn’t do anything irreparable. Everything will be fine.” Marian pulled back to look at her, a resolute fierceness in her eyes. “Kingston is leaving this very morning. He will be gone from here. You don’t have to see him. You can forget him. You’ll be married soon and all of this will be but a dim memory.”
Charlotte nodded, comforted. A shaky smile chased her lips and she breathed a little easier. It was just as when they were little and Marian always took charge, always made everything better.
“Yes,” Charlotte agreed, the rigidity in her shoulders lessening.
“And,” Marian added, casting a reproving look to their youngest sister, “Nora will never use that combination of ingredients again. Will you, Nora?” This last bit she demanded with a fair amount of emphasis.
Nora blinked. “Um. Yes. Yes. Of course.”
“Nora?” Marian said her name again, clearly unconvinced from Nora’s less-than-firm assurance.
“What? I’m a scientist.”
“You’re an herbalist,” Marian corrected.
Nora scowled, clearly in disagreement.
Even Charlotte had to admit, her baby sister was more than an herbalist. Scientist might not be far off from the truth. And after last night . . . mad scientist might be a more apt description.
“You’re an herbalist,” Marian insisted.
“Of course I am curious to see if this was a one-time anomaly or whether repeating the dosage would result in the same outcome.”
“No.” Charlotte shuddered at the notion of enduring what she had to endure last night all over again.
“Rid yourself of such ideas at once! Have you any idea how badly last night could have gone for Charlotte? Fortunately, she wasn’t hurt. Nor was she ruined. Let’s put this behind us, and that means you will forget all about that dangerous little tonic of yours!”
Nora ducked her head. “Very well,” she said grudgingly.
Satisfied, Marian moved her hands down to smooth out the invisible wrinkles in her skirts. “I’m sure the carriage is waiting downstairs. Shall we be off?”
Charlotte swallowed against the thickness in her throat at the prospect of seeing Billy and his family this morning. Her actions the night before cast a dark shadow. It would be some time before she felt like herself again.
It didn’t matter that they didn’t know. She knew. She would know always that she had been intimate with another man. She had not even kissed Billy, but she had mounted another man—a stranger!—and worked herself into a frenzy over him.
“Charlotte? Are you coming?” Nora stood hovering in the doorway, looking back at her questioningly.
Charlotte shook free of her disturbing thoughts. She had to do this. It would be just as Marian said. Fine. Everything would be fine.
Kingston was gone. Last night had not been her fault. She had not been in possession of herself. Her faculties had been impaired. Her actions had not been her own.
She would forg
et all about it. Put it behind her. Forget and forgive herself.
Starting now.
Chapter 9
The service had already begun when Charlotte, settled comfortably in her pew, was alerted to his arrival.
A ripple of murmurs started behind her, but she dutifully kept her focus on the front of the church. Her reckless ways were behind her. She was herself again. Proper. Modest. A rule follower. The type of person who paid attention in church and tried to incorporate the lessons preached into her daily living.
A shadow fell over her and she looked up to observe Kingston standing in the aisle, staring down at her with those deep, impenetrable eyes.
She blinked several times as though that would clear her vision.
Kingston was here.
Standing in her church. Beside her family pew, looking down at her expectantly.
He was not supposed to be here. Her sister had said he was departing this morning.
He cleared his throat and arched an eyebrow, motioning with a flick of his fingers for her to make room for him.
There was scarcely any room in the family pew—certainly not enough to fit his significant person—but that did not stop him from squeezing himself in directly beside her. Thankfully she was seated at the end of the pew so he did not raise many eyebrows as he sat. The congregation would merely think he was joining his brother’s family in the Warrington pew, where he belonged.
For a fraction of a moment she resisted, shoving back at him, determined that he not have his way in this, but then she realized to refuse him would only create a scene and half the village of Brambledon was sitting at her back. She scooted as close as possible to Nora, ignoring Nora’s wide-eyed questioning stare that she felt on the side of her face.
“Good morning,” he whispered close to her ear. The skin there immediately turned to gooseflesh.
She clutched a handful of skirts in her lap and tried to ignore how closely he sat beside her. His entire left thigh was aligned with her own. It was indecent!
Indecent was what you did to him last night. She swatted the voice aside.
“What are you doing?” she managed to get out from scarcely moving lips. The vicar was looking directly at them.
“Is it not obvious? I’m attending church this fine morning.”
Church? Him? He did not strike her as a churchgoing individual.
“I thought you were departing today,” she murmured from the corner of her mouth, staring straight ahead, feigning great interest in the vicar.
“Had a change of heart.”
Change of heart?
She pressed her lips into a tight mutinous line. She would not give him the benefit of a reaction. Not here, not now, at least.
Not later either because that would require the privacy of a conversation, and she vowed there would be no private conversations between them. That seemed most inadvisable.
Thankfully, the vicar focused his attention on the congregation at large. She held herself stiffly, willing the minutes to pass quickly, hoping that she appeared unaffected with the duke’s sinful stepbrother beside her.
Only, was he the sinful one? Last night he had been the victim of her attentions.
It was a shaming thought. Even if she had been a slave to the tonic’s power and not herself.
She was achingly conscious that her betrothed and his family sat only one pew behind her. She could almost imagine she felt Mrs. Pembroke’s eyes on the back of her neck.
The sermon ended and they all rose from their seats. She could not put space between herself and Kingston fast enough. She quickly crossed in front of him, closing her eyes in one hard blink as their bodies brushed.
“In such haste?” His voice reached her ears alone.
She ignored him to reach the Pembrokes. Anyone watching would merely think her eager to join her soon-to-be husband.
Billy was waiting for her in the aisle. He offered his arm and she accepted it, returning his smile and trying to squash the surge of guilt she felt for her dalliance with the man only a few feet behind them. The cordial was to blame. She had not been in control, and it would never happen again.
They’d both agreed to that. More or less, he had agreed. So what was he doing here tormenting her?
They quickly merged with the other bodies leaving the church.
She permitted Billy to lead her outside, where his parents waited with the carriage. She usually took tea with them after church. She’d promised to do so today. She would take comfort in the familiar, in the security of her life’s rituals.
Still . . . she could not stop herself from risking a glance over her shoulder for Kingston. She caught a glimpse of him—of those bourbon-colored eyes fixed on her before he disappeared from sight, lost in the church crowd.
When Kingston stepped out into the afternoon sunshine, Warrington was leaning against a tree, waiting for him with his arms crossed and his lip curled in derision.
“What are you still doing here?” he demanded baldly, squinting at him with his usual dislike.
Kingston shrugged and strode past his stepbrother.
Warrington followed, and they moved off to the side, away from the milling people, several of whom nodded eagerly in the duke’s direction.
Warrington even managed to smile back at several of them, tight as though that smile looked upon his face.
“Brambledon agrees with me,” Kingston murmured.
Warrington narrowed his gaze on him. “You’re a bloody liar.”
With their history, the brusque words should not have come as any surprise. The duchess was not here to moderate their exchange, after all.
His stepbrother continued, “What game are you playing at here, Kingston? Is there someone after you? An angry husband? Someone you cheated at cards—”
“I’m no cheat,” he rejoined, experiencing a flash of anger. There was no love lost between them, but Kingston had never revealed himself to be a dishonest sort. He’d always known Warrington never cared for him, but perhaps until this moment he had not quite understood how low in esteem he actually held him.
Warrington merely arched a dark eyebrow, unperturbed by his apparent offense. “Angry husband then?”
He felt a fresh stab of annoyance that quickly went away and turned to uneasy discomfort when he considered how he had spent the previous evening—with this man’s sister-in-law, doing all the wicked and depraved things one never did with a proper lady. “Is it too much to believe I find myself enjoying your hospitality?”
Warrington snorted. “Yes.” He glanced toward the church, where his wife stood chatting with a small crowd of people. She tossed back her head and laughed in delight at something someone said. They seemed a mismatched pair—the curmudgeon duke and the laughing young woman. She was far too delightful to be his wife.
“Well, then not your hospitality. Rather your lovely wife’s hospitality. She’s been quite welcoming.”
Warrington’s sharp gaze studied him distrustfully then. “You haven’t designs on my wife, have you?”
“What? You don’t trust your bride?”
“Oh, I trust her implicitly. Only I won’t have you coming at her like a letch. If you do that, then I’ll have to thrash you.”
He chuckled. “Rest easy. Contrary to your allegation, I’ve no affinity for married women and I would not insult your charming wife in such a way.”
He stifled a wince. No, he would insult her in another way . . . by dallying with her sister.
Seemingly appeased, Warrington fell to silence. In the growing warmth of the afternoon, they watched the villagers mingle and start to disperse from the churchyard.
Kingston searched for Charlotte. He’d lost sight of her when she dove from the pew and latched herself on to young Pembroke.
He spotted her across the churchyard with her arm linked with her fop of a betrothed.
He frowned as they joined his insufferable parents. Together, the four of them made their way toward one of the waiting carria
ges.
He nodded in their direction. “Where is your sister-in-law going?”
Warrington followed his gaze. He shrugged. “To take tea with the Pembrokes.”
Charlotte didn’t speak as she was escorted forward. He watched her lips. That mouth he held in such acute fascination did not move. Not in speech. Not in smile. Unlike her companions.
Mrs. Pembroke talked nonstop. The old dragon’s husband called out to someone across the churchyard with no thought to decorum, or that he was likely bursting the eardrum of his wife beside him.
“Not exactly charming people.”
From the corner of his eye, he noted that Warrington lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “That’s Charlotte’s burden. She’s made her choice, and it’s to be the Pembroke lad.”
“He’s a dullard.”
“Her choice,” he repeated.
“She should make a better choice,” he said, feeling and thinking dark things.
She disappeared inside the carriage and Kingston felt the ridiculous urge to give chase. To stop the carriage and wrench her from it and save her from herself.
She deserved better. He’d only been in her company a short time and in the company of her betrothed an even shorter duration, and yet he knew that.
That mouth of hers deserved to smile. The passion inside her ought to be let out, and that fop wasn’t the man to do it.
“By God.” Warrington broke into his musings. “It’s her.”
His gaze snapped back to the duke. Only the duke wasn’t looking at him. His focus was fixed on the departing carriage.
“What do you mean?” he asked warily.
“She is the reason you’re still here. Charlotte.”
Instantly he realized his mistake. He should never have asked after the chit. Nor should he be staring after her like an abandoned puppy. Warrington was far too observant. Kingston had made his interest in her much too obvious. Ah, bloody hell.
“Nonsense,” Kingston lied, doing his best to keep his tone light and easy. Too much denial would not be the thing either. “I only met her last night.”
The Virgin and the Rogue Page 8