Still, her gaze followed the pair avidly. They had not yet noticed Charlotte or William. They talked amiably, their words undetectable across the distance. Charlotte’s face burned to think their conversation might be half as suggestive as what passed between Charlotte and Samuel.
The girl laughed anew at something he said, reaching out and brushing a hand along his arm.
The hot blade of jealousy forced a small whimper from her throat. Senseless, she knew. Inappropriate. She had no right to feel jealous of Samuel.
“Charlotte?” William queried.
She didn’t turn to look at him. No, she froze, prey caught in a hunter’s sights as Samuel’s gaze found her just then.
He’d spotted her.
She swallowed, forcing back any further sound.
William followed her gaze. He lifted a hand in greeting. “Hello there, Mr. Kingston,” he called out cheerfully, oblivious to the tension stiffening her. She resisted the unladylike impulse to kick her betrothed for calling attention to them. He was only being polite.
Samuel paused, his gaze skimming over William before coming to rest on her. He missed nothing. Certainly not their joined hands. His eyes narrowed there. She attempted to swallow again, but a boulder had inconveniently taken residence in the middle of her throat.
She sniffed and squared back her shoulders. How dare Samuel look so very . . . disapproving? She was doing nothing wrong. At least nothing wrong to Samuel.
Poor William was the one she had betrayed.
She was merely standing with him, her husband-to-be, her hands very chastely clasped in his. It was completely acceptable.
Except . . . it felt wrong.
Across the distance, Samuel’s bourbon eyes took measure, probing, making her suspect he knew her feelings. Ridiculous, of course. He couldn’t read her mind. He couldn’t know of her intended kiss.
The kiss that had never happened because she couldn’t do it.
She couldn’t force what was not there.
She’d dallied with another man but could not bring herself to kiss William. How was that fair to William? Guilt plagued her.
Clearly her betrothal was a damaged thing . . . now she simply had to decide if she needed to officially end it. What was the proper thing to do here?
“Mr. Pembroke. Miss Langley,” Samuel called in return with a nod of his dark head. A tremor bolted through her at this first sound of his deep voice.
His manner was utterly circumspect. Laughable, when she considered how very not circumspect he had been with her on almost every occasion.
Those bourbon-hued eyes clung to her before returning his attention to the eager young maid beside him. The girl beamed up at him as they resumed their way toward the kitchen.
And that was it.
She stared after him, feeling unaccountably . . . dismissed.
The wretch.
“Charlotte?” William inclined his head toward the house. “Shall we return to the drawing room?”
“Yes. Of course,” she hurriedly answered, looking away from Samuel and the cook’s assistant. The girl was welcome to him. He was a bachelor, after all, and virile. She knew that firsthand. If he was interested in another female—a female who wasn’t her—then all the better. Perhaps he would cease his inappropriate advances on Charlotte. Yes, indeed. That would be welcome.
If the thought produced a little pang in her chest, she ignored it.
Facing forward, William tucked her hand in his arm again with a small pat and went up the winding steps that led to the drawing room balcony.
Soon she was seated in the drawing room again, surrounded by the Pembrokes and her sisters, the same unkissed woman she had been when she departed for her stroll with William. Her shoulders slumped.
She could not kiss William.
All was not well.
Chapter 16
Kingston had scarcely taken three strides down the corridor from his bedchamber when his stepbrother materialized before him.
“Kingston?” Warrington’s voice matched his somber expression.
In fact, his stepbrother’s tone and mien reminded him of when he had been called into the headmaster’s office as a lad.
He crossed his arms and lifted his chin once in a semblance of a nod, not about to be daunted. “Lying in wait, were you, Your Grace?”
“A word, please?”
Kingston had retired to his room after spotting Charlotte with Pembroke—holding hands. The pair of them had been holding hands. A growl rumbled from somewhere deep inside his chest. Even now, remembering it, seeing it in his mind, made him feel . . . hell. It made him feel.
The sight of them together in such an easy, familiar way had caught him like a blow. It shouldn’t have. She and the lad were betrothed. He knew that, but somehow he continued to forget it. Because it was something he wanted to forget.
Mere hand-holding should not have jolted him so much. Not when he had done far more intimate things with Charlotte. He had no right to feel this possessive toward her . . . but he felt it nonetheless.
Warrington strode ahead and opened one of the double doors leading into the library. He entered the room, clearly assuming Kingston would follow.
With a glance up and down the empty corridor, he sighed and followed.
Warrington was waiting, facing him. “Why are you still here?”
“Do you want me to leave?”
Warrington took a breath and released it. “No. I’m not saying that.”
He was not saying that because his wife did not wish him to say that. The young duchess was much too hospitable and Warrington was much too in love with her to go against her in this.
Warrington continued, “I can understand the impulse for you to stop over for a night or two, but I don’t understand why you are here.”
Kingston nodded. Stopping in at Warrington’s on the way to some house party or another wasn’t new. Certainly, he had done that on occasion. It was not uncustomary. Curiosity would prompt him. Or convenience.
This time was different, though.
Those days were gone. This visit was different. This time he had stayed longer than a night or two.
From the perplexed look on his stepbrother’s face, Kingston knew he was aware of that, too. It was that difference that had precipitated this awkward conversation.
Warrington continued, “Why did you come here? Why are you still here?”
Staring at the stepbrother with whom he had never felt any real special closeness, the strange truth welled up inside him. “I suppose I came here looking for something.” And running away from something.
“And what is that?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Except in that moment Charlotte flashed across his mind. He had not come here looking for her. But he had found her.
He had found her and he didn’t want to leave.
Not yet.
“Not very helpful, that.” Warrington frowned.
Arms still crossed in what he knew appeared a defensive stance, he gazed into Warrington’s far too perceptive eyes.
“I have to say it,” Warrington added rather ambiguously.
“What is that?”
“She is betrothed to be married, Kingston.”
A long stretch of silence fell between them. Warrington didn’t need to elaborate on his meaning. They stared at one another wordlessly.
“I know that,” Kingston finally replied.
“Do you?” he asked in clear doubt.
Kingston gave a single stiff nod.
“She is a nice woman,” Warrington added.
”Nice?” He laughed shortly at that. “And I don’t deserve nice, huh?”
It was Warrington’s turn to laugh. “Since when have you wanted nice? I did not think that was among your interests.”
Kingston glanced away, thinking about that for some moments before looking back to his stepbrother. “I’m not like him, you know.”
Warrington studied him keen
ly, understanding his reference. “I didn’t think you cared one way or another what I thought.”
He shrugged. “I’m not him.”
Warrington nodded slowly. “If you’re not your father, then you will leave her alone.”
Because his father wouldn’t.
He smiled. “Touché.”
If his father wanted something, he went after it until he got it. No matter who he might hurt, he would always get his way.
Warrington stepped past him. “You know I’m right. You’re not made for drawing rooms and afternoon tea and ladies with chaperones and dance cards and controlling papas.”
“Because I’m his son?” he growled. “Because Norfolk is my father?”
“Because you’re you.”
“You’ve changed,” Kingston charged in a hard voice. “You met your duchess and you changed.” It could happen. It did happen. Priorities shifted. People changed.
The duke hovered in the threshold, looking back at him with a single arched eyebrow. “Is that what you’re saying? Have you met your . . . duchess, Kingston?” His lips quirked in a decidedly unamused manner.
Kingston said nothing.
His stepbrother nodded slowly. “I didn’t think so. Keep away from her,” he announced. “It’s for the best. And perhaps you should leave sooner rather than later. I see no point in you staying on here any longer. Do you?”
He didn’t wait for Kingston to reply. His answer wasn’t important, after all.
Turning, he departed the library as though the matter were decided. Clearly, in Warrington’s mind it was.
It seemed in Warrington’s mind . . . Kingston was already gone.
Chapter 17
Charlotte buried her face in her hands and moaned.
The Pembrokes had departed and she had wasted no time following Nora into her chamber to apprise her of events. “I could not do it, Nora. Clearly, it’s not in me. I can’t be anything other than . . . than . . .” She stopped, groping for the right words as she motioned to herself.
“Frigid, cold, repressed, drab,” Nora easily supplied. Too easily. “Let me make you a cup of chocolate. You always enjoy that.”
Charlotte tracked her sister resentfully as she moved about her chamber. “I was going to say chaste. None of those wretched words you’re so quick to toss at me. I’m too chaste.”
Or at least she had been. She frowned, recalling herself in Samuel’s arms. Chaste was not what came to mind at that memory.
Nora gave a noncommittal grunt as she poured chocolate into a cup, tendrils of steam curling up on the air enticingly. “Let’s not argue the point. Here you are.” Nora placed the steaming cup in Charlotte’s hands. “Drink this. It will set you to rights.”
Charlotte drank from the cup, savoring the rich sweetness. “Thank you.” Nora was right. The warm chocolate did make her feel better.
“Good?” Nora asked as she returned to one of the worktables.
“Yes.” Charlotte nodded and sighed, rubbing at the tightness in the back of her neck.
“You’re putting too much pressure on yourself. You’ve liked William all your life.”
“That is true,” she agreed.
“Certainly, he’s a bit spineless when it comes to his parents. He only offered for your hand after Marian married Nathaniel and once his parents granted approval.”
Charlotte frowned at those unwelcome reminders.
Nora continued, “Eventually you will recall whatever it was about William that enchanted you in the first place, I am sure of it.” She fluttered a hand in the air.
Enchanted? Charlotte did not think William had ever enchanted her. They’d been in nappies when they first met. She could not remember not knowing him. Oh, all this was making her head ache.
She finished off her chocolate and lowered the cup into her lap. “You’re terrible at giving words of encouragement. You know that, don’t you?”
“Nonsense.” Nora strode forward to collect the cup from her. “I’m bright and encouraging and cheerful.” She returned to the table and faced Charlotte from across the room. “In fact, I am so encouraging that I am willing to do things for you even you yourself won’t do.”
An uneasy feeling came over Charlotte. “What do you mean?”
Nora started tidying the table in front of her, avoiding her gaze in a reticent manner. Nora was many things, but not reticent. Never that. “You should not have any difficulty managing that kiss now.”
“Nora!” She launched up from her chair, her heart pounding a painful beat in her chest. She pressed a hand there, directly over her heart, as though that would ease the pain. “You gave me the tonic? Again? Tell me you did not! Tell me!”
Nora shrugged and waved toward the window. “If I were you I would start for William’s house. Perhaps take a carriage—”
“You expect me to go out there into the world under the influence of the tonic? What if I became afflicted as I did last time? En route to William’s?”
Dear heavens! That agony was to come again? The torment . . . the loss of herself . . .
The realization very nearly brought her to her knees.
“Oh, it won’t be like the last time. Not at all. I gave you half the dosage as before. I’m not that careless.”
“But you are! You are careless,” Charlotte charged. “You did it to me again!”
Nora went on, “It shouldn’t be nearly as overwhelming as before. Just enough to boost your confidence.” She bit her lip in contemplation. “Still, just the same, I would not go to William’s on foot. I shall accompany you, if you wish. Yes. That’s probably advisable. I should like to observe you at any rate, document your symptoms as they appear.”
Charlotte advanced on her, pointing to herself, tapping the center of her chest in angry motions. “Was this even about me? Or is this about you? Am I merely an experiment to you?”
It was Nora’s turn to look outraged. Color stained her cheeks. “Charlotte! I take exception to that. I’m trying to help you. You’re the one complaining that you can’t bring yourself to kiss William. You said you wanted to kiss him. I was merely trying to help you in that endeavor. Documenting your response is just smart science. Now.” She lifted off her pinafore and hung it on a nearby peg with efficient movements. “Shall I call for that carriage to be brought around?”
Charlotte shook her head fiercely, so angry, angrier than she had ever been. “No. No, I’m not going after William.”
“Now you’re just being stubborn, Char. This is what you wanted—”
“No,” she said sharply. “This is not what I wanted. I did not want it to be like this. I did not want to have to be drugged with a love potion to simply kiss the man I’m going to spend the rest of my life with. It should not be that way.”
Nora looked at her thoughtfully. “You’re right, of course. It should not be that way. Perhaps you should ponder that long and carefully and ask yourself why you’re marrying a man you cannot stomach to kiss.”
Charlotte flinched and then swallowed back an angry sob.
Nora’s expression was faintly pitying, and that only made her angrier. She did not want anyone’s pity.
Charlotte charged from the room, slamming the door after her in a rare fit of pique. She told herself that her anger stemmed from what her sister had done . . . and not her parting words.
Charlotte was committed to William. She had given William her word. She had said yes . . . There would be no changing her mind now over something so shallow as . . . as kissing.
Or could she?
How did one even go about calling off an engagement?
Her stomach took a deep dive. It was the first time she had allowed herself to seriously consider the possibility of not marrying William. The queasiness was understandable. Breaking off an engagement would be an ugly business. The prospect alone would make anyone ill. Anyone who cared for their reputation, and Charlotte always cared about such things. She always cared about doing what was right and expected.
<
br /> A great breath released from her lungs at the idea of not marrying William . . . of being free. Free? The word gave her a start. Was marrying William the opposite of that then? The opposite of freedom?
The Pembrokes would be furious and wish her to suffer for the humiliation. She had no doubt of that. His parents were every bit that spiteful and vindictive. And there was the matter of William. She had no wish to hurt him.
She hastened down the corridor, anxious to be alone in her chamber with her maelstrom of thoughts. She had to rid herself of the crazed notion of calling off the wedding. That was simply not done. Not done at all.
She also wanted to be safely tucked in her bed before the aphrodisiac ran thickly into her blood.
If Nora was to be believed, the torment shouldn’t be as extreme this time. There was that, at least.
Up ahead the doors to the library opened.
She smothered a groan as Nathaniel emerged. She had been so close. She’d almost made it to her room without encountering anyone.
She pasted a smile on her face, a greeting on her lips withering into a croak as Samuel appeared, following close behind him.
Blast. Despite how distant he and Warrington appeared, they were together. Samuel had quit the maid’s company apparently.
“Charlotte,” Nathaniel hailed upon seeing her.
Her voice called back with a decided lack of enthusiasm. “Good day, Your Grace . . . Mr. Kingston.”
“How was your visit with the Pembrokes? I’m sorry I could not join you.” Nathaniel almost looked sincere as he said that.
She fixed her gaze on her brother-in-law. “It was lovely,” she lied. “You were missed.” She plucked at the collar of her gown. “It’s rather warm, though. I thought I would rest for a while in my room until supper.”
Not untrue. That was her plan. She was going to strip down to her chemise and slide between the cool sheets, and there she would stay until the effects of the tonic subsided. Hopefully it wouldn’t take very long.
“Ah, yes, this summer is dastardly hot.” He snapped his fingers. “You should take your sisters and go for a swim in the pond.”
“The pond?” she echoed numbly, sensing Kingston’s scrutiny on her face. No doubt he was recalling when they had visited the pond—every wicked moment of it. Pinpricks danced down her spine as those memories beset her.
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