by Jenna Jaxon
“But you said—”
She sighed. “He draws the line at the extreme of physical intimacy, although he has no compunction about kissing and caressing me, a bit more . . . energetically than we just did.”
“Huh.”
“An arousing experience, to say the least.” Wrotham had aroused her instantly in the library and on the veranda, and on the staircase in the church, if truth be known. “I fear that if he attempts to persuade me one more time, I am liable to be so carried away by his ardor, I will acquiesce and accept him.” God, it was true. Having tasted the likes of Kersey and Fernley, she needed no other inducement to choose Wrotham.
Alan stared at her, a tic jumping near his left eye. “Even though you do not wish to marry? Can you not find another man who will warm your bed without requiring matrimony as the price?”
She stared directly into his eyes. “That seems to be rather hard to do these days.”
He growled and snared her hand, holding it still against the warmth of his leg. “You will consider him as husband but not me? For the first time I need a wife, Charlotte, not a mistress.”
She winced at the word, though it was only the truth. “Indeed nothing seems to exist in-between. There is no way to enjoy one another fully without the need for more.”
“What if you find you want more?”
The question took her completely by surprise. She hadn’t contemplated the possibility of wanting more of him. Wanting marriage. She’d thought no further than the initial passionate conquest. Could she propose the same thing to Lord Wrotham? The notion tantalized her. Now that Alan was hell-bent on marriage as well, she’d need to find another man with whom to tryst, or choose between the two she’d already approached. And between the two, Wrotham held many more charms than Kersey.
If Wrotham had not already begun to woo Georgina. The thought acted like a dash of cold water in her face.
“Then the morning after I would accept your proposal and be happy.” The words came automatically, as Charlotte fought to bring her focus back to the man beside her.
But the wind had shifted.
Faced with the choice between Wrotham, Kersey, or the other few men she’d met at the end of the Season, there was no choice really. If truth be told, she’d known before she came to London who she desired and hadn’t wanted to admit it. Hadn’t wanted to acknowledge that she might want to give up her freedom for another man. She could fool herself no longer. She had no more longing for Lord Kersey than she had had for Lord Fernley. A shiver went through her. She would consult Georgina as soon as she arrived home. If Lord Wrotham were still free, she would see if she could persuade him anew. If not...
Alan unwound the ribbons and clucked to the bays. They stepped out, prancing into a trot as they raced back to find a few more vehicles had joined them. Charlotte nodded to several acquaintances, though they did not stop until the horses drew up in front of Theale’s town house. A groom came up to hold them and Alan handed her down the steps.
“How long are you in London?” he asked, holding her waist lightly.
“Almost no time.” She hastened to make that clear. She wanted no more calls from the Earl of Kersey. “Less than a week, I’m afraid. They have had to push back the harvest because the crops are so poor from the cold and wet. But I am determined to be there for my first ingathering as mistress of Lyttlefield.” The thought filled her with a sense of purpose and contentment. Her fields.
“I am likewise engaged with the business of the earldom for the next several weeks. I will be visiting all my properties, using London as a base.” He paused, as if thinking, calculating. “Will you be in London or Kent by the middle of October?”
“In Kent assuredly, for the harvest and celebration afterward. I don’t plan to return to London until the middle of the Season.”
“That is right, you mentioned in the library that your second house party would be held at about that time. I hope I am invited this time.” His lascivious grin set her teeth on edge.
Lord, she’d forgotten that bit of madness, born on the spur of a very dangerous moment. “Yes, so good of you to remember.” She forced herself to continue. “It would be lovely if you could attend.” She’d almost rather have a repeat of the Fernley performance.
“I will look forward to it with the utmost anticipation. By the end of the party I hope we will be able to reach an understanding.” He licked his lips. “I will be counting the days until I see you again. Think of me, will you?”
He kissed her hand, lingering over it so long she had to repress the urge to squirm. With a bow, he climbed up and took the ribbons. A quick shake set the team to their paces. As soon as the curricle turned the corner, she wiped her hand on her skirt and strode into the house.
Tomorrow she’d return to Kent and seek out the Earl of Wrotham. One way or the other, she would make the man declare himself. A wave of dizziness made her grab the newel post as she remembered the last time he had done so. After all that kissing, her legs had been so weak the library wall couldn’t hold her up. Oh, to be kissed that way again. Very well, this time they would come to an accord, even if it meant relinquishing her hard-earned freedom.
Chapter 17
Nash knocked on the door of Lyttlefield Park, still pondering his invitation to tea with Lady Georgina. Except for church services, he’d not seen her since the evening they’d spent at the Stokes dinner party, talking about banalities while he plucked up the nerve to ask if Charlotte had been to London.
He’d been busy with matters having to do with the estate. The harvest was in full swing at last, although it would be a dismal one this year. The poor stand of wheat barely needed gathering, but it had to be done. According to Alfred Smith, this year would hold the distinction of latest harvest on record.
Neither had he solved the problem of the robbers, whose attacks had become less frequent but more daring. Throughout all these calls on his time, he still thought daily about Lady Cavendish.
Fisk answered the door and showed him into the drawing room, just as on the first day he had met Charlotte here. He’d thought of her as Charlotte ever since her slip on the steps of the tower had given him the excuse to call her by her first name. He hoped soon he would be allowed the privilege in truth instead of in secret.
The woman who awaited him there today, however, could not have been more different from his lady. Lady Georgina Kirkpatrick stood perhaps five feet tall, no bigger than a child really. Her tiny figure and effervescent attitude toward life enhanced this youthful aura. The bright auburn hair and green eyes—so like Charlotte’s, his mind insisted—and the sprinkle of bran across her nose completed the fresh face. Dressed in a lovely pink-and-white-striped day gown that accented her luscious figure, Lady Georgina appeared a marvelous mixture of youth and maturity.
“Lord Wrotham. How kind of you to come. Let me ring for tea.” Georgina pulled the bell and Fisk entered the room as though he’d been standing guard.
“Yes, my lady?”
“Bring the tea, Fisk, please.” Composed as any London hostess, Georgina smiled at Nash and indicated a seat on the sofa. “Won’t you sit down, my lord?”
Nash returned her smile and sat. “Thank you, my lady.” Nash paused, then plowed ahead. “How have you been, Lady Georgina? It has been too long since we met.”
Georgina laughed. “We saw one another at church on Sunday, my lord. Scarcely three days ago.”
He shook his head and glanced away. “I meant more than just a nod at church. We haven’t spoken since the Stokes dinner party in August.”
“A lack I am seeking to remedy today.” The butler entered with the tea tray. After he deposited it on the table, Georgina poured.
“Milk or sugar?”
“Sugar only, please.”
She smiled, added the required items, and handed Nash a cup. “You have been well also, I trust?”
“In excellent health, thank you.” Time to leap past this banal conversation and get to the reason he’d
accepted the invitation. “I noticed Lady Cavendish did not attend church this Sunday past. I hope that does not indicate she is unwell.” Perhaps the reply to that innocent question would answer his more burning one.
“No, Charlotte was in fine fettle when she left on Saturday. She’s gone to London to meet Jane and enjoy some of the Little Season.” She looked brightly at him, unaware of the dagger she’d thrust into his heart.
He dropped his gaze to stare dully at the teacup cradled in her hands. Damn. He’d known it was inevitable she’d go to London. The possibility she was meeting Kersey there turned his stomach. If so, there was nothing he could do about it, despite the letters he would surely receive from Lord Grafton or his own fears for Charlotte’s reputation. He could not leave with the harvest nigh upon them and the robber gang still unchecked.
If only he’d been able to woo her properly before she left, he might have managed a better proposal than that slipshod affair in the library. The problem had been persuading her to talk to him. If he called at Lyttlefield, she was out or indisposed. At the Stokes party she had acted afraid to speak to him, practically barricading herself with old Lady Penelope in the corner of the drawing room after dinner.
“Lady John, that is.” Georgina broke in on his thoughts. She pouted her lips and frowned comically. “I do wish we could all be just Jane and Charlotte and Georgina.”
“You may call me Nash, my lady.” The words came automatically to his lips, his mind still churning at the information of Charlotte’s departure. Had she gone to Lord Kersey’s bed rather than marry him? The earl’s vengeance seemed mild in comparison to the devastation of having lost his chance with his daughter.
“And you must call me Georgina, or Georgie, as the others do.” She beamed at Nash. “I feel ever so much more at ease when I can address someone by a name rather than a title. More tea, Nash?” Her eyes twinkled when she said it.
He nodded, distracted for a moment by her charm and lively demeanor. She should enjoy all the entertainments in London during the next Season. He’d be surprised if she wasn’t quite the rage in the spring. A question tugged at his mind. “Why did you not accompany Charlotte, Georgina? Did you not wish to enjoy the Little Season as well?”
She poured more tea into his cup and moved the sugar dish closer to him, all the time avoiding his eyes. “I actually enjoy it here more. There is peace and quiet and a chance to rest without . . . feeling guilty.” Georgie finally lifted her gaze to his. “The truth is, I pretended to be ill the morning we were to leave. I pled a megrim, which I have suffered from on occasion.”
“So you wished to remain in the country? I’m sure Charlotte would have understood that.” Nash dropped two lumps of sugar into his cup and stirred. He raised the tea to his lips, savoring the fragrant aroma of the blend before putting the cup to his lips.
“I wished to meet with you, Nash, without Charlotte’s knowledge.”
Nash had to fight to keep from spewing tea all over his hostess. His mouth on fire, he took a deep breath and swallowed. The burn traced a path into his belly, where it seemed willing to stay.
When he could speak, he asked, “You wished to talk to me?” What on earth might Georgina need to say that she didn’t want Charlotte to know about? Was this invitation some sort of ploy to compromise him into marriage? He’d noticed Georgie’s partiality at the house party, and she’d seemed very attentive toward him the other times they’d met as well. They might indeed suit. If not for Charlotte . . .
“Yes, and I’m going to be rather forward, Nash. Are you in love with Charlotte?” Georgina tilted her head expectantly.
His breath stopped. So fortunate he had not drunk more tea. This woman, in her own way, was as unconventional as her friend. Not his experience with ladies at all. Did all widows behave this way? He put the cup back in its saucer and rose. Pacing to the window, he stalled for time to figure out the reason behind such an outrageous question and how to answer it.
After discarding several scurrilous replies, he decided to simply tell the truth and shame the devil.
“Yes, Georgina, I am in love with her.” To say it so baldly made it sound like a confession. “I haven’t always wanted that, but then, love does not always come from the head.” He tried to keep some of the bitterness from his voice. A losing battle at best. “She refused me, did you know that?” A glance at her showed a slow nod. “And she would not let me even talk to her before she left. I suspect I know what that means.”
Georgina sipped her tea and shot him a peculiar look through narrowed eyes. “I wonder if you do indeed, Nash. But continue.”
He sighed and seized a cut-glass tumbler from the sideboard. Something stronger than tea was necessary for this conversation. A quick survey of the sideboard revealed no spirits. Damn. He set the glass down again. “You said she is in London. I suspect I know who she plans to see while there.”
“I would be surprised if you did not.”
With a mumbled curse, Nash threw himself back down into the chair. “Then I suppose it does not matter at all whether I love her or not. She has made her choice. I cannot take a complete wanton to wife.” It was on the tip of his tongue to add, “No matter what her father wants.”
“I’m sure Charlotte is not as shameless as you believe.” Georgie sipped her tea, looking thoughtful. “Until just before her trip to London she was completely disinterested in Lord Kersey.”
“I suppose she received the name the ‘Wicked Widow’ for completely innocent reasons?”
“Actually, she did.”
His mouth must have fallen open in astonishment because Georgina laughed and pushed it closed.
“Lord Kersey took advantage of Charlotte’s inexperience at a public entertainment. That is how he managed to take her away from you in the first place. She’d only attended one or two balls before her wedding and none afterward. He led her astray and she followed. Fortunately, nothing came of it, save that silly nickname.” She met his eyes steadily. “I believe she has a deep regard for you too, Nash.”
Their heated encounter in the library surfaced effortlessly. That kiss had all but undone him. A minute more and passion would have overtaken them, for she had protested not a jot. Passion, therefore, didn’t seem to be the problem.
“It is not her regard for me that creates the difficulty, Georgina. Her desire to be a free woman trumps anything she may feel for me.” The agonizing truth became clear to him. Charlotte did not fear he would be unkind or an unskilled lover or a bad provider. His attributes mattered not at all. “The institution of marriage itself is her enemy. One to which, I fear, she will not surrender.” He smiled kindly at Georgina, a melancholy stealing over him. “So, you see, I am left with a dilemma. I need to marry and produce an heir to inherit my title. As Charlotte refuses, I must take another woman to wife.” He stared into green eyes that widened as he took her hand. “Have you thought about that, Georgina?”
Her hand trembled in his and he rubbed his thumb over the white knuckles.
“Yes, I have.” She dropped her gaze to her lap, silent for so long Nash began to shift in his seat. Had she gone into shock? He chaffed her hands, trying to bring warmth back into the cold little fingers.
A profound sadness settled over his heart, but he disregarded it. If Charlotte would not be his countess, did it truly matter who would? He liked Georgina. She would make a good companion, an excellent wife. Just not the one he wanted.
Finally, he slipped two fingers under her chin and tipped her head back until he could see her beautiful face, so pale the bran that dusted her nose and cheeks stood out like dark stars.
He gathered his courage, looked deep into her eyes, and asked, “Then will you marry me, Georgina?”
Chapter 18
“Have some more of the gooseberry tart, Georgie.” Charlotte offered her the last bite then sat back, watching as her friend shook her head and sighed contentedly. Charlotte had returned home late last night and could scarcely contain her curiosity about
Georgina and Lord Wrotham.
“I could not hold one more berry.” Georgina smiled and sipped her tea. “You should have it, Charlotte. You’ve barely eaten anything. I should not have asked so many questions, but you’ve had such adventures in London I am quite jealous. However, as you’ve described them in such detail, I almost feel as if I had been there with you.”
Charlotte toyed with her teacup, pushing the handle to and fro. “I do wish you had been, my dear. I would have relished your company. But we will have a visit there together after the harvest, with lots of shopping. We must start in good time to outfit you for the Season.”
“Now, Charlotte—”
“We have been over this, Georgie. I am determined you will eclipse every woman in the ton next spring.” She gripped the cup’s handle. “Unless, of course, you have decided to marry before then.”
Her friend made no response other than to smile and sip her tea. The girl had said nothing about Lord Wrotham since Charlotte’s return, and her silence on the subject was driving Charlotte to distraction. Had something transpired while she had been in Town? Her pulse beat hard and fast, wondering what she would do if Wrotham had indeed declared himself.
“Now you must tell me what you have been doing since I left. Did . . . did you have any callers?” Charlotte tried to appear nonchalant and failed miserably.
“Yes, I did have several, who helped me pass the time quite well. Lady Fitzroy called the day after you left. She was all in a dither about . . .” Georgie continued, laughing animatedly about the local baronet’s wife and her feud with her neighbor, Mrs. Lawson-Smythe.
Charlotte made herself pay attention, although she couldn’t help but wonder who else Georgie had seen this past week. If Lord Wrotham had come, would she even tell her? But her friend couldn’t know about her interest in Wrotham. Could she?
“And then, of course, I asked Lord Wrotham to tea on Tuesday.”