All his planned speeches flew out of his head. Breath failed him. So he just signed her card and departed in search of an iced drink and some cooler air.
Once recovered, he laughed at his foolishness and realized he must dance with other ladies, too, or someone might notice his particular attention to Charlotte. But it was a torment to do so, and an enormous relief when the waltz he’d booked with her arrived.
She was noticeably aloof as he took her fingers in his, making him worry she’d not recognized him, after all. Or was she punishing him for something? For not seeking her out these last few weeks, perhaps?
If only she knew how much he’d longed to do so. But he’d steeled himself against the temptation to do anything more than just watch her occasionally from afar, to make sure she was in no danger. If the two free traders had recognized her as the woman in their cave, they might well be watching her, too. The idea horrified him.
But as much as he’d like to spend every waking hour watching over her, he’d had but few moments to spare. Thankfully, autumn was closing in and winter drawing near, thus the window of time safe for Napoleon to invade was finally narrowing. Once the winter storms set in, the government watchers around the coast could stand down—Boney would never trust his fleet to the Channel in bad weather. But for now, there was still a big chance of invasion, and the French could decide any moment to take it. He needed to find the rest of those damned beacons before it was too late.
But a crowded ballroom was not somewhere he could explain all this to Charlotte, to gain her forgiveness for neglecting her. Hoping she’d soften when he touched her, he took her in his arms, but her body felt stiff, like a wooden doll’s.
He hated her remoteness. And he didn’t like dancing with a mannequin. He needed to do something about it.
So as the first chords of the waltz were struck, he leaned in close and whispered, “I want to feel you between my thighs again.”
Chapter Thirteen
Charlotte completely lost control of her feet at the outrageous declaration Lord Beckport murmured in her ear.
“Forgive me, madam! I’m so sorry, sir, how clumsy of me!”
Her partner’s delectable mouth quirked up. He was enjoying her confusion, curse him.
She was already struggling to cope with the way he held her—lightly, but a little too close to be proper.
“Tell me,” he said, “do you as a rule tread on all the other dancers when you waltz?”
She could smell his cologne and feel the kiss of his breath stirring her hair as he spoke.
“Only when offered lewd suggestions by an unforgivable rake,” she returned.
Where his hands touched her, her body felt alive, and she sensed every movement of his muscles beneath her fingertips as he swept her through the steps with absolute precision.
“And is this, perchance, a common occurrence?”
“Wretched man. Of course it isn’t. You did that on purpose.”
“That wasn’t exactly my reason.”
Strength—and supremely masculine confidence—emanated from his every pore.
It was a wonder she wasn’t swooning, or trampling on more toes. Her heart thundered so loud she could barely hear the music.
He whirled her expertly past Mama and Aunt Flora, and she prayed she wasn’t making too much of a spectacle of herself. She mustn’t call too much attention to Rafe—but then, he should have thought about that before speaking to her with such wicked intimacy.
She tossed her head at him, then wasted an extremely superior expression behind the anonymity of her mask. If only she could think of an incisive put-down—anything to remove the smirk from those tempting lips.
She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of asking for his reason.
Instead, she said, “Is it not dangerous for you to seek me out so publicly? Or have you now completed your…er…task? Is it now known that Rafe Pomeroy, Earl of Beckport, is amongst us?”
“No. I am still Mr. Seabourne.”
Ah, so he had remained in the area. Why, then, had he not sought her out? After that kiss, she’d rather expected something more.
“Aren’t you afraid of being spotted by my mother?”
“I’d understood you persuaded her to keep silent. I assume you knew me right away, though. Or do you flutter your fan at every gentleman who casts an eye in your direction?”
Bother. She had been observing him since he claimed his dance. How irksome of him to notice.
“I was unaware I was fluttering my fan,” she said. “It wasn’t intentional, or aimed at you. I was probably swatting a fly.”
He threw back his head and made a muffled sound behind his mask. She couldn’t help but smile. His fingers pressed her waist, and he pulled her even closer, making it hard to breathe.
Unbidden, her mind strayed back to the sensual dream she’d had—except, this time, instead of Justin it was Rafe pressing his naked body against hers.
The music had to end soon. His touch was exquisite torture.
“Come outside with me afterward,” he whispered.
“I cannot.”
“Are you afraid of me?” The dark eyes behind the mask glittered at her.
“Not at all. My only fear is for my reputation. I have it on good authority that you’re a rake.”
“Not anymore. And don’t forget you already risked your reputation with that ill-advised elopement.”
“That was a mistake. For which I’ve been duly punished.”
“So you will never sin again?”
The way he said “sin” made her quiver with yearning. “I did not sin! Not the way you mean it.”
“How do I mean it?” he asked softly. “Surely, you’re too innocent to know.”
Frustration—of more than one kind—boiled up in her. The temptation to dig her fingernails into that powerfully masculine shoulder until he yelped was hard to resist. As was the urge to run her hands over the flesh exposed by his Greek tunic. His feet and ankles were bare. Heavens. Was he wearing anything under that tunic?
A lump of anticipation lodged in her throat, and she had to cough several times before she was able to say, “The dance is ending now, so make your bow and let us part.”
“Will you come outside?”
“No.”
“Later, then, in your garden. I’ll wait for you by the laurel bushes.”
He was not a man who gave up easily. But what exactly did he want with her?
“I shan’t come,” she assured him.
“If you don’t,” he said, releasing her slowly, “you’ll never know the answer to your question.”
What question? He couldn’t read her mind, could he?
Before she could collect her scattered thoughts, he bowed to her, strode off through the crowd, and was quickly lost from view.
She wafted back toward her friends, barely aware of where she was going. A few moments later, she found herself in a seat—with no particular memory of having sat down—not only fanning herself vigorously, but being fanned by others.
“Oh my goodness, who was that gentleman?” asked Thea. “Did he speak to you? What did he say?”
“Charlotte, are you in need of the salts?” inquired Hester.
“Or a sip of nostrum?” Aunt Flora suggested helpfully.
Thank heaven Mama was out of the room—she’d have read the situation in the blink of an eye. She still might, if Charlotte didn’t make a gargantuan effort to pull herself together.
“No, thank you,” she said. “Please don’t fret about me. I’m a little discomfited by the crush, but I’ll be fine directly.”
“Had you better sit out the next few dances?” Aunt Flora asked.
“Well, maybe a couple.”
“But don’t renege on our host,” Hester advised. “It would be frightfully rude.”
“Where did he mark your card?” Aunt Flora queried, taking her wrist and perusing the little rectangle of ivory. “You’re not due to stand up with him for a good half hou
r. Plenty of time to cool down and eat. There’s a very good peppered ham on the buffet table.”
“I don’t see Lord Culverdale about,” declared Thea. “But Lady Culverdale is dancing over there.”
“He’s probably at cards or smoking a cigar on the terrace or drinking port,” said Hester. “A proper host would never leave his own ball.”
“I’m sure he won’t let Charlotte down. Ah, here comes Lucinda with some of the ham,” said Aunt Flora.
When Charlotte’s turn about the floor with the Earl of Culverdale finally came, it could not have been more different from her dance with Rafe. Their host arrived just after the music started, so they had to force their way into the crowd of dancers and try to catch up. Culverdale’s hands were chilled, and he was out of breath before they even began the dance. Which might have accounted for the fact that he didn’t engage her in conversation—which, as patron of the ball, he might be expected to do.
It brought a wry grin to her face to think how warm she’d felt in Rafe’s arms, compared with how cold she felt in Lord Culverdale’s. She hoped, for the sake of his wife, that he didn’t have some torpor of the blood. Whereas Rafe had felt stunningly alive and full of vigor, this man gave off as much vibrant energy as a cadaver in a tomb.
Another irksome fact was that his shoes were depositing a gritty substance on the dance floor. Her silk slippers crunched on something like salt, or more likely, sand. How could he have come across sand in the middle of Dorchester, unless he’d taken a moonlit gallop to the nearest beach? But she really didn’t care what he might or might not have been up to.
She’d rather think about Rafe’s invitation. Should she go to him? He’d be taking a risk coming to her house tonight. Why put himself in danger? Perhaps the danger was now past and he wanted to let her know.
Even so, they really shouldn’t meet. Not after Mama’s unequivocal veto. Besides, Charlotte fully expected to be exhausted from the night’s exertions, wanting nothing more than to collapse into bed.
Rafe was a presumptuous rake, undeserving of her worry. It would serve him right if he waited outside the cottage for hours and was chilled to the marrow. That would be his own fault, not hers.
He’d promised her nothing, given her no good reason to want to see him. He’d only teased and taunted her, and made lewd remarks. What did it matter if he was bravely hunting down felons instead of living an aristocratic life of ease? That made no difference to her.
She’d be wise not to meet with him.
She must find him immediately and tell him categorically not to come.
She scanned the crowded ballroom, then strode purposefully around it like a cat in search of prey. She investigated the buffet room, poked her head into the card room, and through the main entrance doors. She even went up to the balcony for a better view of all the guests. To no avail.
In fact, she hunted for him for almost half an hour.
But Rafe had completely vanished.
Chapter Fourteen
“What a splendid evening, don’t you think, Charlotte?” exclaimed Mama as they rattled their way home in the hired carriage. “The Culverdales have performed a major coup. From now on, they can do no wrong in this neighborhood, mark my words.”
“I felt sorry for Dorothea Daniell,” said Aunt Flora. “She’s such a delightful young lady, yet she had barely a name on her card.”
“Ah, but how full was dear Charlotte’s!” her mother said. “You must be exhausted, child, and your slippers worn to threads.”
Charlotte didn’t give a fig about her slippers. She rubbed at the side of her face where her now discarded mask had chafed, her mind in a whirl. Her heart was clattering like a bird-scarer, and no thought, breath, or movement, could calm it down. Far from relaxing into exhausted sleep, she knew she’d toss fitfully about, wrestling the urge to peep out the window to see if Rafe was waiting below.
Or worse, climbing up the trellis.
She would have to go down to the garden as soon as the rest of the house was abed and tell him to go away directly and not annoy her again.
Having made this resolution, her heart gradually reverted to its usual rhythm, and, once they arrived home, she was able to say her good nights with such composure, no one could have guessed she had an assignation planned.
No, not an assignation. Just a brief meeting to set things straight.
The clock had struck three before the household was quiet enough for her to go downstairs. She changed into an old gown and wrapped a voluminous shawl about her shoulders, to make it quite clear she had no interest in stoking Rafe’s desire, and took from her dressing table the small bottle she’d hidden behind the mirror.
She softly unbolted and opened the kitchen door, sending some animal scurrying away amongst the lettuces. The bright moon edged the laurel leaves with silver as she crept around the side of the house to the shrubbery below her bedroom window.
Though she thought her movements completely silent, a shadow immediately detached itself from a dark patch of foliage and strode toward her. She halted and raised her head, ready to tell Rafe in her most quelling tone that he must leave at once.
But she’d barely opened her mouth when he pressed his lips ardently to hers.
Her struggle against him was short-lived…and would have been pointless in any case. The man gave no quarter. She surrendered to his kiss until she felt she was drowning, until all willpower had left her, and he was the only certain thing in the world holding her up. He pulled her close against his body, until she felt her very soul had melted and joined with his.
“I must insist—” she attempted when he lifted for a breath.
“Hmm?” His mouth was on hers again, moist and hot, and his hands grasped her shoulders, holding her in place.
She brought both hands up to his chest and pushed, eager to say her piece, but her treacherous lips clung to his, refusing to be torn away from the exquisite sensations he evoked.
With another great summoning of effort, she forced a gap between their bodies and gazed up at him, her fingers lodged in his lapels.
As she tried to marshal her thoughts into the rejection she meant to administer, she saw he was no longer in his Grecian costume. When had he found the opportunity to change?
“My lord,” she managed at last. “I insist you leave at once. I came only to tell you that, and bid you good night.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I’ve waited this last hour for you, and I want to ensure my time wasn’t wasted.”
“And what, exactly, do you mean by that?” she asked, and immediately wished she hadn’t.
“Let me demonstrate.” He pulled her against him again. This time he didn’t seek her lips, but instead found the lobe of her ear. As he suckled and tugged at it, his fingers began to lightly stroke her neck, sending ripples of sensation across her skin.
She was pressed against the whole hard length of him, feeling his every movement reverberate through her, awakening an avalanche of feelings and making her pulse race.
As his fingers and lips lulled her into a sensuous daze, her hands stole up his body of their own volition, under his jacket, grazing his muscled rib cage beneath the thin linen of his shirt. The shirt was loose—he must have changed in a hurry.
Dare she caress the flesh beneath? What response would it provoke?
She soon found out.
“Little witch!” he exclaimed, releasing her earlobe, only to plunder the exposed skin below her throat.
Her head went back as she arched her neck, reveling in the soft brush of his mouth across her skin. Her breasts pushed shamelessly against his chest.
As he kissed his way up her throat and nipped at her lower lip, his hand slid her shawl down, then hooked itself in the shoulder of her gown.
Too beguiled by the teasing movements of his lips over hers, it was a moment before she realized he’d skillfully freed one breast and cupped it in the warmth of his palm.
Her heart flew to her throat, and stopped. H
er whole body stilled, all her attention centered on his hand.
She should pull away, slap him, scream for help! His mouth had left hers, so she was free to call out, and she was free to move away, but her traitorous fingers dug into the expanse of his back and refused to let go.
A deep sigh escaped her as his lips touched her breast and roved over the skin. Oh, what delicious wickedness! Her other breast felt the touch of the cool night air, too, and she marveled at his skill, at the way he had, in a few brief moments, dared more with her than Justin ever had.
His fingers gently pinched one nipple, his teeth the erect bud of the other. Pleasure surged through her, like a huge wave crashing on the strand. Her knees buckled, and she flung her hands behind his neck to stop herself from crumpling to the ground.
After teasing and suckling her into a frenzy of expectation, his lips met hers again. She kissed him back ravenously until her tongue was saturated with the taste of him. Her body felt as if it were no longer her own. He was now its master, and like a child’s stringed puppet, she responded to every skillful touch, every movement of his practiced fingers.
Just when she felt her surrender was complete, he abruptly drew away and pinched the bridge of his nose. It looked like self-rebuke.
Clearly, he regretted what had just happened.
“Sir, you make a mockery of me,” she said, her heart squeezing as she wrestled her gown back over her shoulders.
“No, I assure you,” he said. “I was obliged to hire a horse tonight, so it’s not one I’ve had time to get used to. Just a moment’s unpleasantness. It will soon pass.”
Which reminded her. “Rafe,” she said, reaching into her pocket and withdrawing the small bottle, “I brought this for you.”
He twirled it between his fingers. “What is it? I can’t read the label in the dark.”
“It’s the visiting doctor’s remedy against summer rheum. I thought it might work against a sensitivity to horses, too.”
He chuckled softly. “Thank you. I’ll try anything that stops me sneezing at an inopportune moment. Trust me, I’ve no wish to rouse the entire Allston household while I’m seducing you.”
A Perilous Passion Page 9