London's Best Kept Secret

by Anabelle Bryant

  “A ride through Hyde Park.” He watched her delighted surprise, and the tightness in his chest eased considerably. “I’ve already had the phaeton readied. If you’d like to fetch your pelisse, we can leave straightaway.”

  “Oh.” Surprise shone in her eyes. “I’ll only need a few minutes.” She hurried from the room with a quick glance over her shoulder, as if she doubted his sincerity or worried he might change his mind.

  In wait, he scanned the sheet music on the rack beside a carbon pencil poised halfway through a notation. He appreciated how she made sense and melody from the dancing symbols, his relationship with numbers a less fanciful pursuit. He lowered the cover over the pianoforte keys and strode to the paired windows overlooking the sparse gardens behind the house. He’d never given thought to the land’s development. Business dealings were confined to the club or within the offices involved by the transactions. He rarely entertained, and were he to have a guest, it was never someone who would take the time to admire a flower garden. It would all need to change with a wife and extended family. This week he would consult a variety of groundskeepers to hear proposed plans for the area directly behind the house, as well as the narrow path that led beyond the property. Faxman could confirm the appointments. He mentally listed the tasks to be accomplished and, lost in these arrangements, was surprised when Charlotte found him in the same place, her bonnet, gloves and pelisse donned for their excursion.

  “This is unexpected.” Her wide blue eyes sparkled as she again viewed him in question.

  “I’d say it’s about time we got on with this courtship.” He almost chuckled.

  “Courtship?” She shook her head, and the ribbons on her bonnet mimicked the movement. “We’re married already.”

  He did chuckle this time, her expression that endearing. “I doubt we’re the first to rearrange the natural order of things.” He extended his elbow for her to slip her hand through. He hadn’t touched her since they’d kissed and wondered if contact would pacify his randy longing or further ignite it.

  The latter proved true.

  With that unsettling thought, he escorted her through the foyer, passed Hudson, who crimped an eyebrow in approval, and out the wrought-iron gate to his phaeton, in wait at the curb. His team nickered as he handed Charlotte into the carriage. Apparently, they agreed with his plan as well.

  Dearing House was situated in close proximity to the square, and Charlotte often walked the few blocks with her friend Amelia, now Lady Scarsdale. He’d learned from Hudson, a few days earlier, Amelia had visited recently, and that the duchess remained in London for a limited time. Perhaps he would suggest they plan a social call or other pleasing diversion. His mind spun with ways to light Charlotte’s face with additional smiles. Had he believed it so simple, he might have approached their marriage with improved finesse instead of overthinking the diabolical consequences of his underhanded manipulation.

  He climbed in and left all condemnation at the curb.

  Much as expected, the park was abustle with those who wished to be seen, the gravel drive crowded with buggies and gigs jockeying for prime position. He’d purposely had the phaeton outfitted so they might do the same. With a slap of the reins, he sent the team into the fray, maneuvering with eloquence until the horses cantered along the path, and the steady pace afforded them the opportunity to converse.

  “It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?” Charlotte darted a glance around the brim of her bonnet before she looked to the roadway. Several passersby nodded as they proceeded in the opposite direction.

  “Indeed the weather is favorable.” He paused, his mind at work to produce some type of conversation beyond the mundane. “I glanced at your music arrangements and marvel at how you make heads or tails of the notes.” They stalled for a moment, stuck in a bit of congestion.

  “I’m sure I’d think the same of your documents, although I’d enjoy learning more about your maps. I find that subject intriguing.”

  “I will make a point of sharing a discussion, then.” The phaeton jolted forward and he instinctively clutched Charlotte’s hand, anchoring her to his side until the carriage wheeled forward smoothly. “Look there.” He transferred the reins to one fist and indicated a barouche parked along the cobblestone curb. “We’re too far to gain notice or I’d introduce you, but there’s the carriage of a business associate and his wife I admire.”

  “Are they friends of yours?” She shifted on the seat, her head canted to the side, interest palpable.

  “Only acquaintances, though the man and his work are popular throughout London. The gentleman operates a lucrative investment business well-known for intuitive profit. He foresaw the invaluable use of the mousetrap long before other London financiers had put on their suspenders.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes flared, the thick fan of lashes aflutter as she blinked and turned to face him. “Do you wear suspenders?” Her voice came out whisper-soft, and he angled closer to hear the words.

  For a brief moment, he considered kissing her. Damn, her mouth was tempting. “Not unless you want me to,” he answered, and convinced himself to refocus on the roadway. It would present the biggest scandal to be seen kissing in Hyde Park, no matter the lady at his side was his wife. Still, he stole another peek.

  She appeared equally as distracted, though she continued their conversation while he adjusted his position in an effort to break his body’s command otherwise.

  “What a fine man. I admire him already.” She twisted to catch a last glimpse backward.

  Dearing straightened his shoulders. He’d like to hear his wife say the same of his person.

  “Perhaps I’ll have the chance to meet the two of them another time.”

  “I imagine you will, once we begin to accept invitations about town.” He didn’t need to turn to know Charlotte wore a smile.

  Yet that ever-present awkwardness soon became a third person on their outing. They rode along in silence a long moment, and concerned the perpetual plague of inelegance would intrude on their progress, he scoured his mind for a suitable topic, surprised when he produced the ideal tease.

  “I’ve been thinking.” His voice danced with the words, though he did his best not to look in her direction. “I should like us to have a dog.” He caught his tongue between his molars to keep a grin contained. “A strong, protective animal.”

  “For the stable?” She pulled in a tight breath, as if she feared his answer.

  “No, not at all. A hound cannot provide security if it’s not in the house.” Unable to resist, he darted a glance to her profile, partially obscured by her bonnet, though he noted the jaunty tilt of her chin. “Wouldn’t it be pleasant to have a spaniel asleep at your feet by the fire or keeping you company under your piano while you practice? A friend as well as a protector. So many breeds are loyal and vigilant. A large foxhound or heeler would be a smart choice. They’d chase down any mouse or wayward nuisance on the property.” He might have heard her gasp, her cheeks pinkened and eyes on the sky. Damn if she wasn’t fetching when she was nervous. He only wished he could spend more time looking at her instead of the road.

  “I’m fonder of cats,” she managed in a whisper.

  “Are you, now?” The bays accomplished a narrow turn and he leaned into the sway, his upper arm unintentionally brushing against her shoulder. “I’m not sure I knew that.”

  His comment seemed to fortify her reply.

  “There are a great many things you don’t know about me.” She turned, the soft curve of her lips an invitation no doubt.

  “And I look forward to discovering them, each and every one.” His voice dropped low, as if he shared something confidential, and she flushed deeper when she realized his gaze had settled on her mouth. The clip-clop of hooves on cobbles peppered the air, the ambient noise of the park seemingly apart from the little world they’d created.

  “No secrets.” She exhaled deeply and touched his forearm with her glove. “We should have no secrets from each other.”


  “No secrets, then, my lady, on my honor.”

  The intensity in her eyes spoke more forcefully than her words, and he flicked the reins harder than necessary, making a promise he knew to be a lie. If he could win her heart, perhaps he could—

  Too soon, the moment was lost. A cloud drifted over the sun.

  “Dearing.” Two majestic stallions, raven black and fancifully adorned with braided manes and expensive leather harnesses, aligned with the phaeton. “I cannot believe my eyes, and I haven’t a sip of brandy yet today.”

  “Lindsey.” Dearing greeted the earl, his brows lowered in warning. “Mallory.” He was again reminded of why he seldom took his carriage through Hyde Park, where one might be forced into conversation with the likes of Mallory, Adams or another unsavory lord. He immediately rued the loss of the unexpected intimacy he’d shared with Charlotte. “Lady Dearing, may I introduce Lord Mallory, a business acquaintance.” As an afterthought, he added, “You’ve already met Lindsey.”

  * * *

  Charlotte greeted the two men on horseback, though her mind lingered on the pleasant ride she shared with her husband. They’d flirted and teased, or at least she believed they had, until his sobering mention of acquiring a dog. Then she’d inwardly panicked. A dog wouldn’t do. Her kitten remained hidden, and while Shadow was somewhat easier to contain in her youth, eventually the cat would have the run of the house. Adding a dog to the mix would be disastrous. Other than that prickly subject, their conversation had proved effortless.

  What had transpired within the boundaries of their relationship to bring about this change? She couldn’t reason a cause but was not foolish enough to overthink it. Perhaps they were finally growing comfortable in each other’s company.

  When he’d captured her attention and agreed to no more secrets, his eyes had glimmered with something intimate and forbidden, as if he promised things she could hardly imagine. It was a wonder her brain functioned at all. Every glance he lent in her direction made her stomach knot tighter. But oh, it was a good sensation.

  She assessed his profile as he engaged in lively conversation with Lords Lindsey and Mallory. Her husband’s face was cast partially in shadow by an interloping cloud, but there was no mistaking his handsomeness by the very definition of the word. He possessed strong bone structure, a proud angular jaw and dark brows that seemed to make his eyes that much more piercing. No wonder he commanded control within all business negotiations. His masculinity caused her to melt. What would an adversary see?

  What a fine stroke of luck Dearing and her father had met with unusual circumstance and not gone nose to nose in a competitive financial transaction. Father was a softhearted, convivial man who would have lost. Somehow, she knew that to be true. Not to suggest her husband was ruthless or underhanded. The opposite seemed evidential. His powerful presence was alluring instead of overbearing. She felt safe, protected, and she wouldn’t trade that feeling for all the world. Now if she could only convince him to love her . . .

  With unexpected urgency, the bays lurched to the right, unseating her for the briefest moment as a sleek gig whipped past on the outer lane, a high-pitched feminine squeal dislodged in its brisk wake, the laughter strangely reminiscent of her sister Dinah’s. Whoever the driver, he had little regard for others, maneuvering his vehicle at breakneck speed along the crowded path. This sudden interruption broke apart Dearing’s conversation, and the men said farewell shortly after. The remainder of the ride was less eventful, though when she returned home, her husband proved he had decidedly different intentions.

  Hudson had barely stepped away from the foyer when Dearing hauled her against his chest and dragged her toward a recessed alcove. She giggled, much from the surprise of his actions and the thrill of his arm wrapped like an iron belt around her waist. So she hadn’t imagined the reverberant tension between them as they sat properly atop the phaeton’s bench.

  “You wicked temptress.” He nuzzled a few kisses against her cheek before he withdrew far enough for her to focus.

  “Milord?” The word was mostly question. Out of habit or befuddlement, she’d forgotten his recently imposed rule.

  “Jeremy,” he corrected before he captured her mouth, her sigh lost to his kiss. But he wasn’t finished speaking as he angled across her lips, his words a silken murmur trailed down the sensitive skin of her neck. “Endearing as hell. That’s what you are.”

  “Mmm.” Stringing words together seemed beyond her capability at the moment and she willed her tongue to cooperate, to say something, anything, to acknowledge how much she enjoyed his affection. Too late. Her husband demanded her mouth’s attention, distracting her tongue with a more pleasant endeavor.

  The kiss turned wildly heated in the span of a gasp. Somehow, all the pent-up frustration and anticipation of the past weeks, months, culminated in a profound force beyond her comprehension. It was as though they couldn’t draw close enough, kiss deep enough. She was giddy, excited and somewhat dizzy all at once, and the persistence of myriad questions beleaguered her still.

  “Charlotte?”

  She shivered when he said her name, still unaccustomed to the sound of it. And too his voice had gone rough, a husky, intimate tone, which caused her body to react as if the word stroked over her skin.

  “How long is your hair?”

  Perhaps he’d experienced the same condition. He managed the question, though she never felt the kiss break. With a desperate vestige of restraint, she answered in a murmur, “To my waist.”

  This time it was he who groaned.

  “I must see it.” His fingers slid up her neck, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in their wake. Pins began to fall, and she pulled away to regain her wits, far too aware they remained in the front foyer.

  “Here?” She managed just the one word of objection. Perhaps she hadn’t reclaimed her balance, or worse, sought his permission to behave scandalously.

  “Come abovestairs with me.”

  He appeared overcome. Delightfully so. A condition she’d never witnessed in her husband and likely unfamiliar to him as well. Still, his low tenor did strange things to her insides, the thrumming resonance unlike any music she’d created, and she fought mightily against the temptation to capitulate.

  But why shouldn’t she?

  He was her husband. She was his wife. This was the way of things.

  Still, so much remained unsaid.

  And undone.

  Yes. Too much remained undone. And she yearned to get to the doing part.

  She smiled, and the bright spark in his gaze acknowledged her agreement to his intimate suggestion.

  “Will you come to my chambers?” She sounded a seductress and the forbidden idea caused her pulse to race harder.

  “As my lady wishes.” He paused then too, before he reached forward and placed his palm to her face. He cupped her cheek and tilted her chin for a slow, penetrating kiss that seemed to promise every carnal fantasy imaginable. Her knees threatened abandonment and she leaned into his strong support, much to his approval.

  A sense of urgency ignited the air and they clasped hands, silently moving to the stairs, where their hurried steps created a symphony of thud and scuffle against the treads. Charlotte didn’t look backward or forward, trailing behind Jeremy’s lead, their arms extended as if he tugged her along despite she went willingly.

  They reached the door to her bedchambers and she paused, slightly out of breath from their rush, or perhaps the invigorated cadence of her heartbeat and the impending promise of what was to come. He paused as well and gently released her grasp before he turned, hand on the doorknob, a half smile on his lips as he opened the door.

  “Shall we?”

  “Oh, yes.” She nodded and stepped over the threshold.

  Chapter Ten

  Dearing closed the door and threw the latch. He wasn’t some green lad fresh out of school with youthful lust and exaggerated fantasies, but damn if his heart beat hard enough to bruise the wall of his chest. The amusing t
hought that Charlotte had forgotten about the kitten provoked another layer to his enjoyment. When would she realize?

  Not a second later, she stepped back and whirled to face him. Apparently, she’d just remembered.

  “What’s the matter?” He fought to keep a grin contained. “Is something wrong? You’re as jumpy as a cricket.”

  “I . . .” She sucked in a breath, her expression conflicted, “thought I saw a shadow.”

  “No one’s here but the two of us.” He glanced toward the connecting door. “But if you’d prefer, we can move to my rooms.”

  She needed no other encouragement, and in a swish of skirts she stood before the door, waiting for him to lead them forward. The extra moment seemed to provide time enough for her to regather her bearings.

  “Peculiar how this door hardly gets use.”

  Her remark pricked his curiosity. Did the minx realize he’d visited her rooms? Good thing he’d left the knob unlocked. “Indeed.”

  His bedchambers held a comfortable warmth that aligned with the heat within his veins. Several lanterns lit the interior as the heavy draperies were closed, and the maid had left an adequate fire burning.

  Somehow, through the simple course of paying close attention and initiating agreeable conversation, he’d lost the reins of control. A ride through the park had become a race with patience. By the time Lindsey and Mallory had approached, he could barely keep a thought in his head aside from the desire to return home and strip Charlotte bare.

  Damn the vivid remembrance of her silky delicates and what was beneath.

  Now, at last, they’d come upon their moment. One that should have occurred ten months before, on their wedding night.

  An assertive knock reverberated within the room and he was startled, lost in the prospect of bedding his wife. He should ignore it altogether. Or dismiss Hudson or whatever servant dared to execute inexcusably poor timing.

  “Will you answer the door?” Charlotte watched him closely, and he heaved a long breath of patience despite a frisson of irresistible energy humming through every cell of his body.