“Yes.” Warrington nodded. “It’s just the thing for a day like today. You ladies could take a maid with you to stand watch and make certain you are not intruded upon.”
She nodded back at him, swallowing thickly. “What a . . . providential idea. Perhaps we will do that.” She continued to nod as though she were truly considering the prospect, which she was decidedly not.
“Very good.” He glanced at Kingston. She still refused to lift her gaze off the duke. She would not give Kingston’s much too tempting and distracting person her attention. “We shall not keep you any longer, Charlotte. See you at dinner?”
“Yes,” she eagerly replied, her face flushing. She might not be willing to look at Samuel, but she felt his gaze crawling over her like a swarm of ants. At the sensation she pressed the back of her hand to her cheek, testing its warmth. Dear heavens. Was the tonic already at work? Her body tingled all over.
Nora had promised she’d reduced the dosage. Certainly it wouldn’t be at work this soon.
Then the duke and Samuel were gone, leaving her alone and feeling relieved. She’d stood in proximity to Kingston and scarcely looked at him.
Her chest rose and fell on sharp breaths. She hastened inside her bedchamber, closing the door behind her and collapsing against it. She was safe. Alone in her bedchamber, where she could forget all about her brush with Kingston in the corridor and combat the influence of the aphrodisiac.
It would not be like the last time. It would not be like the last time. It would not be like the last time.
The refrain gave her some comfort, even as she tugged free the fichu from her bodice and cast it aside so that her skin could breathe.
Leaning against the door, she fanned her chest. Locusts droned steadily on the air through her parted balcony doors. They’d been afflicted with swarms of them recently. This infernal summer. When would it be over?
A light knock vibrated the door at her back. “Miss Langley?”
Oh, no.
Not him. Just the sound of his voice made her tremble.
“Go away,” she growled, turning her face into the door and speaking directly into the wood.
“Open the door, please. I’d like a word.”
“Whatever you have to say, you can say it through the door.”
“Come, come, Charlie. Let’s be civilized and not speak through doors.”
She yanked the door open, indignation burning through her. “I’ve told you not to address me so familiarly . . .”
Her voice faded away as she observed how very close his face was to hers. She could detect those tiny flecks of gold in his bourbon eyes. And the laugh lines about his eyes. The lashes surrounding those eyes were ridiculously lush and long.
She should have suppressed her outrage and never opened the door to him.
Her gaze dropped to his lips and, of course, her mind drifted to kissing. Naturally. It had preoccupied her so much of late. She had thought she would kiss William today, after all.
She had thought that, but she had been wrong.
“Are you well? You seem a little flushed,” he remarked.
Her hand shot to her face, brushing against first one cheek and then the other.
“I am quite well. I just wanted a moment to myself.” Before she became swept away from the effects of the tonic.
“You’re staring at my mouth. Is there something on it?” He grazed his thumb along his bottom lip, and everything inside her seized and tightened.
“Just studying it for research purposes,” she muttered, her hand gripping the edge of the door.
“Research purposes?” He looked bemused. “Sounds as though there is a tale in there.”
“Quite so,” she agreed, glancing up and down the corridor, aware that talking to him thusly was not ideal. If a staff member happened upon them, eyebrows would raise. Still, she could not bring herself to shut the door.
He angled his head inquisitively. “Care to share?”
“I merely thought I would finally be putting my lips on someone else’s today.” She nodded to his face, her gaze still fixed on his lips.
He smiled almost playfully and pointed to his lips. “My mouth?”
“Ha! No. No. Not you.” She sent him a reproving look. “William.”
“William?” His levity faded. He no longer looked amused.
“Yes. He is my betrothed. It is time we should kiss.”
He blinked. “You’ve never kissed him?”
“No. Not yet. I was just getting around to it.” She deliberately avoided thinking about how they could have kissed at any point in the past year, since they resumed their courtship and became betrothed.
“What’s the delay? Haven’t you known him all your life?”
Now he sounded like Nora. “Yes. I have. And there’s no delay. It simply hasn’t happened yet.”
“Why not? As you said, he is your betrothed.”
She shifted uneasily on her feet. “As I said, I plan to—”
“Perhaps you don’t want to.” Had he been speaking to Nora?
“Of course I want to,” she said hotly. “We are getting married.”
“Ah. Yes.” He nodded with exaggerated sobriety. “Perhaps you do not want to do that either.”
“Now you go too far, sir!”
“Sir is it? What happened to Samuel?”
“You are not Samuel to me. You are not anything to me,” she insisted indignantly, fighting against the burn eating up her chest to her throat and face.
Even as the unkind words passed from her lips, she felt a stab of remorse. They were rude. Mean, even. Rudeness and meanness went against her nature, but it felt dangerous not to say the words.
It would be dangerous to do anything other than push this man away.
Except she had not run him off.
He still stood before her.
He stared at her intently, as though she had not just hurled hurtful words at his head.
She fidgeted uncomfortably. After a while, he asked quietly, “What are you so afraid of?”
Immediately, a reply popped into her mind. This. You. Everything.
Of course she didn’t utter those outrageous things. She didn’t dare admit them out loud. That would beg other questions. Questions like why.
If she answered why then all would be revealed. All would be exposed. She would be exposed . . . lost.
“You can’t want this . . . You can’t want Pembroke.” He shook his head and dragged a hand through his dark hair, sending the locks flying in every direction. He looked distressed and that plucked at something inside her. “He hasn’t one fraction of your passion or mettle. You’ll perish from boredom if you marry that man.”
Passion? Mettle? She sucked in a ragged breath. He described her in such a way . . . like no one ever had, and a little flutter zigzagged through her chest upon hearing him say such a thing. His description more fit Nora or Marian. Not Charlotte. Never her.
“There’s nothing wrong with boredom,” she defended. “Why must it be such a sinful little word? Why must everyone expect that all their days be full of entertainment and diversions?”
“You possess far too much spirit to be content with that dullard.”
“I’ve known William all my life. We are quite suited.”
“Liar. You. Me. We are suited.”
She felt her eyes widen. “Rubbish.”
“Shall I remind you then?” he challenged, a glint entering his eyes. “Refresh your memory?”
She held up a hand to ward him off. “That’s not necessary. I don’t long for excitement of the variety you offer.”
“More lies,” he hissed. “You do long for it.”
She shook her head. “You do not know me. I’m not what you think. It was the cordial. It was an aphrodisiac. It altered me. I—I’m not that creature.”
“Rubbish,” he fired back at her. He stepped so close she could taste a hint of brandy on his breath. “No aphrodisiac flows through your veins now. No tonic dilate
s your eyes or sends your pulse fluttering at the base of your throat.” His gaze drifted there then, to the area of her throat that she had exposed when she tossed aside her fichu. “That’s all you, love.”
“Don’t call me that,” she bit out in a voice far sharper than she had ever spoken. He managed to bring out the worst in her.
“What? Love?”
She nodded. “It’s indecent.”
He laughed lightly and the sound washed ripples across her skin. “I’m not a decent man, but then you know that. You know firsthand—”
“I told you, the cordial—”
He moved suddenly then, seizing her wrist and lifting it between them. His thumb pressed against the inside of her wrist. “Your pulse. It’s racing under your skin. That has naught to do with the bloody cordial you drank nights ago.”
She winced. Not because of his fingers on her pulse point. Indeed, no. It was because of the cordial he referenced.
The one she had just swigged.
Certainly it was the reason his lips looked so incredibly tempting and she could only think about kissing them. About pressing her lips to that mouth of his.
Blast it! She had been doing so well resisting him . . . in working to put their unfortunate liaison behind her.
She cleared her throat. “Actually . . .”
“No. Give me no more residual-effects nonsense.” A hot flush of color stained his cheeks and she knew the excuse offended him. “It’s convenient, is it not?” He dropped her wrist as though the touch of her also offended him. “And how long do you think these residual effects will last and you might be able to bear responsibility for this . . . ?” He motioned back and forth between then with a wave of his hand. “Between us?”
She shrugged lamely, unwilling to explain she’d just consumed the tonic yet again. It was madness. The height of absurdity. As was explaining her sister had tricked her into consuming it.
He would never believe her. She could scarcely believe it herself. How had she come to find herself in this position again? “Who knows? Days? Weeks?”
He nodded with a slight narrowing of his eyes. “Then I suppose I will have to remain here for that long.”
Her heart jerked and stuttered within her chest and she wasn’t certain if it was with dread or excitement. “What?”
“Well, I can’t very well leave you in your present condition unattended in this house. You could fall on any hapless man. A manservant or, God forbid . . . Warrington.”
“I would never dare assault my brother-in-law. What do you think me?” she demanded in affront.
He shook his head and said with heavy mockery, “Oh, but you give the cordial great value. Its effect on you can’t be trusted. Surely I’ll be useful to keep around should you become overcome with lust again. We’ve already tested the waters, so to speak. What does it matter if we have another go or two?”
Another go? The cad!
She squared her shoulders. “It does matter! I’m betrothed to another man . . . a good and decent man.”
This gave him only fleeting pause. He dropped the matter of them “having another go,” though. Instead, he said, “Until you are married, we can’t leave the men in this household unprotected from your advances during that time. It’s not the responsible thing to do. You certainly don’t want to accost someone.”
He stared at her with wide eyes and she was reminded that he didn’t believe in the aphrodisiac. He thought it was utter nonsense. Clearly he mocked her.
She mocked him in return. “So this is you being considerate?”
He lifted one shoulder in a shrug.
“Your concern is misplaced,” she managed to get out even as she battled the wake of prickling warmth his gaze left on her skin. It had begun. Arousal tingled through her body.
She started to close the door, determined to place a barrier between them while she still could.
While she still possessed the power of will to do so.
His voice stopped her. “Why won’t you admit the truth?” His voice rumbled through her. His expression was quite serious now. All levity and mockery gone.
She winced at his choice of words . . . for the truth was what he would not accept.
The truth being that the tonic flowed in her blood even now. But it was pointless to profess.
He would not believe her.
Even now she felt a stirring low in her belly.
She stared up at him, mesmerized by his bourbon-hued eyes.
She gave her head a single swift shake, commanding herself to turn away from him.
A kiss had been the business of the day. Or rather, it was supposed to have been. But it was not supposed to be with Samuel.
Honor demanded it not be with this man. Not ever.
Chapter 18
Not this man. Not him.
The mantra rolled through Charlotte, and she wrapped the words around her mind, armoring herself with them.
Samuel’s gaze crawled over her features, flitting from her eyes to her mouth and back again. She read the hunger in his eyes. She’d seen it before. He wanted to kiss her, but still, he did not inch forward. He did not close the gap between them.
He made no advance. No movement.
He waited on her.
His proximity was breaking her down bit by bit. As was the blood raging in her veins.
“Charlie,” he whispered, coaxed, and it was her undoing.
She closed the distance, pushing off the edge of the door and claiming his lips with a little whimper that was part anguish, part defeat and part triumph.
Her fingers dug into his shoulders, clinging to him. She had no idea what she was about. She most assuredly lacked skill. Enthusiasm certainly did not equal prowess, but, oh, the taste of him did inflame her. Or, rather, inflame her further.
Her lips moved, caressing, exploring the shape of his mouth: cool, firm, but soft. She had not expected that. Young, virile men did not bring forth notions of softness.
She pulled back and stared dazedly into his bourbon eyes. “As far as first kisses go, that was pleasant.”
Even as pleasure hummed through her she felt a pang of regret. A sense of guilt as she gazed into his face. She’d just bestowed her first kiss on this man whilst she was betrothed to another.
“Oh, that? That was not a proper kiss.” His eyes glinted. “I can’t have you thinking that, now, can I?”
He leaned in and this time he delivered in bold fashion. There was no withholding himself as he planted his mouth on hers. His arm looped around her waist and hauled her in.
She didn’t even mind the strain in her calves as she stretched onto her tiptoes. Her fingers curled into the fine broadcloth of his jacket as she hung on for dear life. His arm around her waist tightened as he kissed her deeper. Tasted her thoroughly with his lips and tongue. Grazed her with his teeth.
She internally cringed. A proper and honorable lady would not do this. She would not put herself in this scandalous position, and yet here she was wholeheartedly surrendering herself to this kiss over her pangs of guilt.
Clearly, things were going to be different after this. Even in her dazed and aroused state, she realized that.
She accepted that.
She should have considered where they stood—who he was, who she was . . . and that they were quite exposed to public view.
Except like her good judgment, such realization was elusive.
A small gasp penetrated the delicious fog surrounding her. She peeled her lips from his and searched the corridor for the source.
Her sister—the wrong sister—stood there, eyes wide, mouth agape. “Marian,” she whispered, dread pooling in her stomach.
Marian looked back and forth between them, as though she could not quite believe what she was seeing. “Charlotte. Mr. Kingston,” she greeted in turn, a sharp edge to her voice that was very unlike her even-tempered self.
Charlotte swallowed quickly, fighting against the sudden lump that had lodged in her throat. She disen
gaged from Samuel, sparing him a quick glance, certain he would be looking with mortification or apology to her sister. He was not.
Samuel’s gaze was trained on Charlotte’s face with what was becoming familiar intensity. He didn’t look to her sister at all and Charlotte realized it was because he did not care.
He did not care that they had been caught in a compromising position—a situation made all the more awkward and untenable because she was promised in marriage to another.
A promise she could not keep.
She’d been tiptoeing around the conclusion for a while, but now there was no denial. This was the final straw. After this, she could not continue on with William.
She must end the betrothal posthaste.
The words whispered across her mind and jarred her because she felt an immediate surge of relief.
“Charlotte,” Marian said again, louder, the reprimand sharp in her voice.
Samuel still did not move. He did not look away from Charlotte. She felt his gaze on her like a palpable thing, wrapping around her.
He was waiting for word or deed from her.
Marian’s presence did not affect him, and Charlotte wondered if he was accustomed to this. Was he accustomed to his scandalous interactions with females being interrupted?
Charlotte nodded to him. “You’d best leave now.”
He hesitated, his gaze on her still questioning.
She offered a tentative smile, hoping to convey reassurance. “All will be well. I’m fine.”
Strangely, she meant that.
Charlotte suddenly felt confident that all would be well. She would talk to her sister. And though it would be difficult, she would talk to William, too. She’d explain her change of heart. But not because of the tonic. The tonic brought her to a state of arousal. It did not obliterate her ability to apply logic. It didn’t alter her lack of feelings for William. She had never felt any overwhelming excitement to marry him.
Somehow that mattered now. Before, she had not thought much about her feelings. About the need for affection . . . for passion with your partner. Now she did.
Now feelings mattered. Now affection and passion for her future husband signified.
The Virgin and the Rogue Page 15