“You should never do that,” Nora scolded.
Wrinkling her nose, Charlotte set the cylinder back down.
Her sister moved about the room briskly, snipping some herbs with a pair of scissors where they hung near her window. With a sprig in her hand, she moved back to her worktable and began to grind it with mortar and pestle, biting her lip in concentration.
Charlotte moved to the window and peered outside through the collection of herbs. Rolling green parkland stared back at her as she contemplated the mire her life had become. Clearly, Mr. Kingston appeared in no haste to depart, despite her hopes.
She released a breath and spun around to face her preoccupied sister. “Clearly, I should kiss him,” she blurted.
Of course she should. It seemed so overdue now. Especially after her interactions with Kingston.
Normally, she would have happily waited until her wedding day. Partly because decorum dictated she wait . . . and partly because she had felt no overwhelming compulsion to kiss William.
“Kiss who?” Nora blinked and looked up from her mortar and pestle.
Charlotte puffed out a breath in annoyance. “William, of course. The man I am betrothed to marry. Who else would I be talking about?”
Nora looked at her mildly and shrugged. “Never quite certain with you these days. Who can tell?”
“Oh! The cheek of you! You know the only person I dallied with is Kingston, much to my regret! I would never do so again. And it wasn’t my fault. If it was anyone’s fault, it was yours.”
Nora cocked her head to the side consideringly. “Is that true, necessarily? Would you have assaulted dear eighty-year-old Chester in the corridor if he were the man you happened upon? I do believe a modicum of basic attraction is likely necessary.”
“Likely necessary? You have no notion if that’s true.”
Nora looked at her crossly. “I’m working on figuring that out. Perhaps you should take some responsibility and stop blaming me?”
Charlotte curled her hands into fists at her sides.
Her sister had no notion, no concept, of the power within that tonic. It was concerning. Her sister had created a powerful tonic and she appeared to lack all respect for that fact. In that regard, she was very like Samuel. He had no appreciation for the tonic’s capabilities either.
“There are so very many things wrong with what you just said, Nora. Firstly, I object to the word assaulted.” However close to accurate it might be. “And I don’t think we know enough about your infernal tonic to be making any assumptions. For all we know I very well could have pounced upon Chester.” She nodded even as the idea of seducing their ancient butler struck her as ludicrous. She could not imagine doing to him the things she had done to Kingston.
Nora looked skeptical. “I think you are attracted to Kingston and it has naught to do with anything I did.”
“Rubbish!” Charlotte’s face burned. It was almost as though Nora knew of her encounter with Kingston beside the pond and her complete lack of inhibitions.
It felt like salt in the wound, and seemed to only encourage Kingston’s voice in her head.
You are looking at me as though you would like to continue where we left off at the pond. You’re looking at me as though you can still taste me . . . the way I can still taste you. With the morning light on your skin. The summer air wrapped around you.
She’d been playing those decadent words over and over in her mind and that certainly didn’t help matters.
“The only man I should be talking about kissing right now is my betrothed,” Charlotte insisted. William should be the man to fill her thoughts, not Kingston.
Nora nodded slowly. “Of course. Naturally. William. You should kiss him.” The words were coming from her mouth, but Nora did not seem especially enthusiastic or even sound very convinced at the suggestion. “I can’t believe you haven’t done so already. If I were betrothed, you can be assured I would have sampled my fiancé’s lips by now. I mean, not that I ever plan to get married.”
“You might change your mind on that score.”
“Doubtful. It’s not necessary. I need not wed for position or income.”
Charlotte nodded. That was true enough. Marian had wed well—remarkably well. Doing so had afforded them the power to choose their fates.
“You might marry for love,” Charlotte suggested.
“As you are?” Nora quickly shot back, shaking her head ruefully.
Charlotte couldn’t find her tongue to respond to that, but fortunately she didn’t have to. Nora continued, “There’s no man with patience enough for me . . . and no man I would find more interesting than the task of working in my lab or herb garden.”
She had no doubt her sister spoke the truth, and she envied her self-assurance.
“Still . . .” Nora angled her head and looked heavenward thoughtfully. “If I was betrothed I would most certainly have done a certain amount of exploration, starting with my betrothed’s mouth. I wouldn’t wish to climb into the marriage bed completely ignorant, after all. For research’s sake, it would be necessary. I would want to guarantee that what was to come is satisfactory.”
Charlotte felt her face heating. Thanks to Kingston, she would not be slipping beneath the sheets of her marriage bed in ignorance.
“For goodness’ sake, Charlotte. You’ve been sweethearts all your life. Well,” she amended with a considering pause, “I actually can believe it.” She grimaced. “Mama Pembroke probably advised him against it. Kissing before marriage . . . that old dragon would frown on such a thing.” She tsked. “He does seem to excel at following her bidding.”
Charlotte did not feel up to arguing the status of William’s biddableness to his parents. She knew he could take a stand when necessary. He’d offered to elope, after all. Only she had not accepted his offer.
William was simply a respectful son. It spoke well of him. Things would be different once he and Charlotte were married and living in their own house.
A long stretch of silence filled the chamber as Nora continued working and Charlotte considered the task of kissing Billy. William.
No. Not a task. It wasn’t a chore. Kissing the man she would spend the rest of her life with was not a burdensome chore. It was something she looked forward to doing.
When and where and how . . .
The potential logistics whirled through her mind.
“Are you sure you want to?” Nora asked idly as she added a pinch of the pink powder into her mortar.
Charlotte bristled. “He’s my betrothed. Of course I want to kiss him. I chose him.”
And because she chose him, because she was going to marry him and share a bed with him, she’d best get accustomed to the notion of kissing him. As well as doing other things with him—the manner of things she had done at the pond with Kingston. And beyond that.
A traitorous shudder ran through her body.
Blast it. She should not be shuddering at the idea of intimacy with her husband-to-be.
In all truth, she had not considered the physical side of marriage until Kingston came along.
Perhaps that had been naïve of her . . . to not contemplate the marriage bed with her future husband. Now, however, matters of intimacy plagued her and kept her from sleeping. The problem, of course, was that William was not the man she was thinking about in these scenarios, and he should be the man.
He should be the one.
She had to make him the one.
“Do you truly?” Nora persisted, remaining doubtful.
She sighed in exasperation. “Truly what, Nora? Do I want to kiss him . . . yes, I—”
“No,” she cut in, her gaze intent on Charlotte. “Do you really want to choose him? To marry him? I mean . . . that’s forever, Char. There’s no coming back from that. Once it’s done, it’s done.” She shook her head somberly.
Charlotte swallowed thickly and glared at her sister for cutting to the heart of it so quickly. She was sincerely starting to hate the way Nora insist
ed on questioning her and prying so deeply into her thoughts. Why could she not be supportive and accepting like Marian? Why must Nora make her doubt herself?
“Yes,” she snapped. “I really do believe he is the one.”
It was already done. She’d agreed. She’d said yes. If you didn’t want to marry William, you should have never accepted his offer.
At any rate, how did one reverse such a course once it had been set?
Simple. One did not. Not without a great deal of awkwardness and shame and scandal. It was not done. Not if one possessed a shred of decency.
Nora considered her for several more moments before arriving at, “Very well then. Perhaps you simply need some courage. I mean, if I had to kiss William I would need some, er . . . encouragement in that endeavor.”
Charlotte looked at her blankly. “Encouragement?”
Nora elaborated. “Come, come. Don’t be obtuse. You know my meaning . . . the tonic?”
“Again?” Charlotte demanded. “You want me to endure that wretched misery again?”
“It ended well enough the last time.”
“Did it? Did it end well, Nora? Truly?” The last time had resulted in Charlotte seducing the duke’s black sheep of a stepbrother. Theoretically, it had led her to seducing him twice. Their encounter at the pond could only be attributed to Nora’s infernal tonic, after all.
Nora, however, didn’t seem to sense her outrage. Or she didn’t care, which was probably closer to the truth.
Charlotte took a steadying breath. “I don’t need your potion to kiss the man I’m going to marry. Take your witchery elsewhere.”
Nora sniffed. “I don’t appreciate being called a witch. Especially since witches have a habit of being burned at the stake historically. I’m a scientist, Char. Not a witch.”
“Well, I don’t need your particular brand of science interfering in my life. I can kiss my fiancé without your assistance. The old-fashioned way shall suit me just fine.” She wagged a warning finger.
“Very well then. So when do you plan to launch this old-fashioned seduction of yours? His mama scarcely leaves you two alone as it is.”
Charlotte shrugged. “I said nothing of seduction. Merely a kiss. And I have not thought that far along yet. The next time I see him shall be as good a time as any, I imagine.” She nodded decisively. “Yes. Yes, indeed. The next time I see him.”
“If you can get him alone.”
“I can get him alone,” she retorted, a touch defensively. “We often take strolls alone, as you well know.”
Nora made a humming sound rife with skepticism.
It only made the determination burn hotter in Charlotte’s chest.
Kissing William seemed rather important right now. Critically important.
More important than ever.
In all her intimate encounters with Kingston, they had not kissed. Incredible as it seemed, they had somehow managed to skip that part of intimacy and had instead jumped headlong into a firestorm of passion.
She had not kissed Kingston.
Her mouth tingled as if it heard the thought and now wanted to change that fact.
Treacherous lips.
There would be this, at least. She had not given her first kiss to Samuel. That was still hers yet. Hers to give. Hers to choose with whom to share. At long last. Her first kiss would be with William.
This one thing she would reserve for her future husband . . . the way it ought to be done.
Chapter 15
Charlotte failed.
She couldn’t do it.
The opportunity presented itself when William called on her for afternoon tea. His mother and grandmother accompanied him as usual, but they remained in the drawing room whilst she and William took a turn about the gardens.
Marian was the far greater draw to Mrs. Pembroke anyway. It didn’t matter who her sister used to be. She was the Duchess of Warrington now. That was the only thing that mattered.
Aware of her mission to kiss William, Nora joined them for afternoon tea as well. A rarity. When the Pembrokes called, she usually concealed herself somewhere and didn’t emerge until they’d departed.
Intent on helping Charlotte, Nora had come prepared, clearly ready to distract Mrs. Pembroke by sharing her letters. Her sister knew that woman’s weakness well. The moment Mrs. Pembroke learned Nora was corresponding with an army colonel who happened to be a kinsman to the Duke of Birchwood, she was riveted as Nora relayed the contents of their correspondence.
It was remarkable. Charlotte knew those letters to be full of boring material, mostly consisting of medical jargon between Nora and the colonel, but Mrs. Pembroke leaned forward as though Nora was reading the most titillating gossip from the latest scandal rag.
The colonel had read a paper Papa published and reached out to him, but too late. Papa had already passed away, but Nora had answered his letter, and the two of them had been writing ever since.
Nora’s colonel was vastly interested in pain mitigation just as Nora was. It was natural, Charlotte supposed, as he had witnessed so many soldiers sustain ghastly injuries in wartime. He hoped to alleviate their suffering. If Nora wasn’t working in her laboratory, she could be found penning a letter to him.
In any case, Mrs. Pembroke was very preoccupied thanks to Nora. Charlotte and William wouldn’t be missed.
The tall garden hedges were convenient, shielding Charlotte and William from prying eyes, if any happened to be about, as they strolled. They had just passed a lawn of wildflowers Marian had planted the previous season. She had thought the stretch of grass could use some color, and instead of keeping it the same perfectly manicured green as before, Marian had followed in Mama’s footsteps and planted a variety of seedlings.
That was her sister, always pushing boundaries and being extraordinary. Oh, very well, planting wildflowers mightn’t be extraordinary, but it was one piece of the whole that made up her extraordinary sister.
Marian could have married when she was eighteen if she set her mind to it, but she had instead chosen to become a governess and leave their small corner of England and see the world. She had only returned out of necessity upon Papa’s death.
Charlotte was not so bold. She knew that.
That was why she and William were perfectly suited. Two dull creatures. Neither one extraordinary in any way. Both content to lead a tamely quiet life in Brambledon.
Samuel intruded on her thoughts then, as he did so often.
She had a flash of them together—entangled against the library wall. Then of Samuel’s head buried between her thighs in the bright out of doors.
Nothing tame or quiet in either one of those scenarios.
Perhaps a little excitement was acceptable. At least in regard to intimacy. A token amount of excitement was acceptable. She could have that with William hopefully.
And yet when she turned to face her perfectly matched betrothed in the privacy of the garden, she could not bring herself to initiate the much-planned kiss. She lifted her chin, urging herself to stretch to her tiptoes.
He was a gentleman. They were betrothed. He would be receptive. The simple act would not offend him.
She was overthinking the matter. She simply needed to do it. Get it done.
And yet planting her lips on his felt an unnatural task. She could not do it. It would be like forcing herself to quit breathing. It was most disturbing.
He must have read some of her alarm. He patted her hand nestled in the crook of his arm in an almost paternal manner. “Is anything amiss?” he asked as they turned and headed back toward the manor house.
She glanced at him from beneath her lashes.
He was so close. Close enough to kiss if she so chose. If she could simply gather up her nerve and do so.
Except, apparently, she did not choose. She could not do it.
She did not choose William.
Her stomach twisted in on itself. If she couldn’t bring herself to kiss the man, how could she marry him?
/> It was most troubling. She could almost visualize Nora nodding smugly at her. Perhaps it was time to consider that she and William might not be as well suited as she had always thought.
She faced forward again and gave an affirming nod of her head as they approached the back of the house. “Everything is splendid.”
The word splendid failed to ring convincingly even to her ears.
Apparently William thought so, too. He stopped and turned to face her, taking her hands in his.
She ducked her gaze to stare down at their linked hands. It was the most familiar they had ever been. She frowned. She had known him all her life and this was the most intimate act ever shared between them.
“You seem distracted of late, Charlotte.”
For some reason she felt surprise over his observation. William had never been the most perceptive soul. Even as children, he viewed everything at surface value. He never dug too deeply, never dared to pry into her feelings. If she wasn’t willing to volunteer information, he never probed. She’d thought she liked that about him. He was uncomplicated, and she preferred things to be uncomplicated.
Except everything felt suddenly complicated.
She gave his hands an encouraging squeeze. “I’m fine.”
He stared back at her dubiously.
Tinkling laughter drifted toward them, floating on the air. Charlotte turned as a pretty maid emerged on a path leading to the kitchen. She recognized her as one of Cook’s assistants.
The girl wasn’t alone, however. Samuel walked beside her, his arms bulging impressively in his jacket as he carried a basket full of vegetables, presumably for Cook’s assistant.
She did not think most gentlemen could be bothered to help a servant. Certainly, he was not like most gentlemen. She already knew that much about him. Even in their short acquaintance, she judged him to be kind enough to assist a female of any station.
And yet she couldn’t help wondering . . . was he helping this particular servant because she was pretty?
A flash of jealousy rushed through her. She fought back the hot wave of emotion. It was wrong. She had no right to harbor such feelings in relation to him.
The Virgin and the Rogue Page 13