Char gripped her skirt and moved amongst the crowd toward her aunt. A Forrester? Even her own mother could not have foreseen such a coupe. But Kat? No. She was too vivacious, Jenny too quiet. But Prim? She would be perfect for the third son and brother of a duke.
Naturally, there had been dreams of such a match, but the Taylors were only large land owners. They had no title, no blue blood, no real hopes of marrying into such a distinguished family, even though they had been neighbors for years. Love was the only thing that might precipitate such a match, but she didn’t see how that was possible.
She must try, though.
When she reached her sisters, Prim and Jenny were whispering to each other behind an ivory fan. Her aunt was gossiping with the Dowager Duchess of Sterling, Mr. Forrester’s mother. Such opportunities must be taken advantage of.
Prim saw her first and reached for her hand. “Did you see who’s dancing with Kat?” she asked.
“He’s asked each of us to dance.” Jenny was the youngest, all of seventeen, and showed her immaturity with the slight squeal of her voice.
“Don’t talk his head off. Don’t leer. Don’t be anything but charming, intelligent young ladies,” Char said.
“He was very nice,” Prim said.
“Oh, and isn’t he glorious?” Kat said.
Other than Char’s first cursory glance, she hadn’t really noticed him except for his height, which all the Forresters boasted.
“He’s in public, he must be nice. But you, Prim, you must be next to dance with him and you must remind him he needs a wife.”
“And how am I to do that? I’ll be lucky not to trip over my own shoes.”
“Be yourself.”
Char understood Prim’s anxiety, and she wished Mama was present to direct this opportunity. Mama had more practice and was certainly better at scheming. Char glanced toward Kat to see her laughing, mouth open. Oh lud, what was she saying to the man?
And what was Char doing? Was she becoming as calculating and manipulative as any ton matron? She felt giddy with possibilities, not at all like her thoughtful self.
As the dance drew to a close, Char glanced around to see that several young ladies and their mothers had drawn to the edge of the dance floor. Joshua Forrester attracted a crowd, like bees to honey.
But he was with Kat, which meant he would find them. Or his mother.
When the orchestra completed the set, the two small groups came together, opening as Mr. Forrester returned Kat to the safety of her family.
“You don’t seem to have lost your step,” his mother said.
“They are always opportunities to dance, no matter where in the world one finds oneself. And you, Miss Taylor, are a most adept partner.”
“Thank you,” Kat said.
“And I must introduce you to my oldest niece, though I am sure you must remember her, being closest in age to yourself,” Lady Beckham said.
Char did not want the attention. She wanted him to notice her unmarried sisters. Widows were very far down the eligibility list.
“Lady Charlotte Dunlevee.”
She dropped into a curtsey.
“Char? Of course. It has been too long,” he said. He tilted his head and then stared into her eyes. “You were the one who set Adam’s hat on fire.”
“I’m sure he deserved it,” she said. The odd pitter patter of attraction beat in her chest but a stern reminder that she’d had her chance made her look away. Prim was next to her, so she set a hand to the small of Prim’s back and urged her forward.
“Prim says you are to dance with her next.”
“There is an order? Oldest to youngest?” There was a teasing warmth in his gaze and something electric when he turned those eyes upon Char.
The crowd pushed in on all sides. The conversation seemed like a hive of humming bees, but all of Char’s attention was captured by Joshua—they might have been the only two in the room. Did the others notice?
“Dunlevee? You are married to Arthur? Or his brother?” His eyes squinted a bit as he thought about it.
“Arthur, yes. I was. He passed away two years ago.”
“My condolences. Perhaps Mother told me and I forgot.”
“I am sure I did. Or I meant to,” the dowager duchess said.
“I went to school with Arthur, and his brother, for that matter. Mother, do you wish to find a comfortable spot to sit?”
He was solicitous, turning all of his attention to his mother.
“Yes, my boy. Come along, Lady Beckham. I see Lady Carvelle and we have much to discuss.”
And just that quickly, Char’s hope for a match between the Forresters and the Taylors vanished into the crowd. Beside her, Jenny and Prim stared as Joshua walked away.
The night seemed interminable, but Jenny and Prim found Char again to report that, yes, Mr. Forrester had indeed danced with them. Char had seen him dance with several other incomparables too and felt a stab of jealousy that she wasn’t one of them.
“Oh, what a dream,” Kat said, as soon as the Taylors were alone. “An absolute gentleman.”
“Too bad only one dance is considered proper,” Prim said. “I thought I would faint when he whisked me about the ballroom.”
“And all I got was a line dance.”
Char remembered the hopes and disappointments of her first Season. The girls had a fair dowry but no name to encourage suitors. Beauty tempted men, but it seemed that often they were only interested in testing that beauty in darkened corners.
A noble might marry the ugliest woman in London if she had the correct name and a handsome dowry. I am being unkind, she thought.
“Why don’t you find the supper room before the next set starts?” Char said. “I will locate Auntie and see if she will sit with us.”
Lady Beckham was nowhere to be found; instead Joshua Forrester located Char, causing a strange surge of longing stabbed through her chest.
“Lady Dunlevee?”
CHAPTER THREE
“WILL YOU WALK WITH ME?” Joshua asked.
“Certainly.” Char placed her hand upon his arm. Why would he want to walk with her? They barely knew each other. Then again, he barely knew most of the women in the ballroom. He had been away from London for a very long time. “Are you enjoying the evening?” she asked, with sincere politeness.
Charming by half and more handsome than any man she’d seen in the last few years, this man was going to marry one of her sisters.
“One thing is certain: an evening during the Season never changes,” he said.
“I suppose that is true. Only the style of dress and the number of young girls looking to marry.”
“And the style of dress this year is very appealing.” He glanced, subtlety, at her displayed bosom and she heated.
They passed through a set of double doors just then. She hoped he hadn’t noticed her embarrassment. He took them to a corner and braced himself against the balustrade. She stood looking out into the garden, visible with two dozen lighted candles along the paths.
“May I ask what happened to Arthur? If I am intruding, please say so.”
“You knew he was a sporting man?”
“Of course. I spent many days with him hunting and riding. He was an excellent shot, a fine whip, and none could beat him in the boxing ring, except maybe some brute from the docks.”
“All those things were true up until the day he died. He did so love his games.”
“And?”
“He was cleaning one of his guns and a shot went off. He died within the day. His last words were ‘I’m not going to die, peach’. Then he coughed up blood, took one more breath, and he was gone.”
Char recalled their romance. Her looks had won a viscount, but aside from that, there was little closeness between the two of them. The bed sport wasn’t memorable and no children had resulted from their marriage. She did not count her marriage a success. The best she could say was that it just was.
“I am sorry. The time I spent with him
was entertaining. I considered him a friend.”
“His mother lives near Sloan Square. I’m sure she would like to see you again.”
“Perhaps. Well, the music is starting up again. Would you care to dance, Lady Dunlevee?”
“When there are so many wistful maidens waiting your return to the floor?”
“A bird in hand?”
“Does that apply to dance partners?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“I do need to mention something else, Mr. Forrester.”
“Yes,” he said. The light shined on his face and she caught her first long, intimate glimpse of him. He was as handsome as his brother, the duke. They all had tall, athletic grace and noble features, probably from some French ancestor. The combination of a strong bladed nose, high cheekbones and winged brows made them all appear powerful. And for a moment, Char wished she could hide in his valise and escape with him on his next jaunt.
“Well. It’s just that… It is widely believed that I killed Arthur.”
The silence was so cold, Char could almost believe the balustrade would crack open. It was a typical reaction and one she was well used to.
“And did you?”
Joshua was rarely surprised—a cliché, certainly, but the truth. When she didn’t answer, he speculated on her reasons for telling him and her motivations for not answering his question.
He could assume she denied it vehemently when the event had happened. He could also assume that, knowing ton gossips, her denials were met with stony disbelief. After all, her husband was dead of a gunshot wound.
And he supposed there was always the possibility she had a hand in his death, but looking at her, it seemed impossible to believe.
“As I said, the music is playing and my dance card is empty,” he said.
She laughed. “You only need walk through those doors to find a bevy of candidates who would gladly endure your loathsome embrace.”
Lady Dunlevee had an interesting sense of humor. “But what about you? You’re free.”
“Have you ever danced with a murderess before?”
“I don’t know. Will I have danced with one at the completion of this set?”
For the second time she didn’t answer, instead saying, “Shall we?”
When they came through the double doors, he felt and saw it—the side glances, the furrowed brows, the unasked questions. Well, he would give the old biddies and pompous doubters something to talk about.
“A waltz?”
“Don’t hold me too close. I don’t need another scandal.”
Neither did he, but he swept her into the dance nonetheless. He’d been glib about his ability on the ballroom floor, but he did have to envision the dance steps in his head as he led her through a few turns.
It was through the third turn that he glanced at the woman in his arms. She was staring at his cravat, he thought.
“I’ve always found that old scandals are easily forgotten amidst the shadow of new ones.”
“Do you have any idea the number of indiscretions that have occurred in the past two years? I’m still considered a pariah, by anyone’s measure.”
“But you refused to bow to the pressure of ton scrutiny. It might help if you said you weren’t guilty when asked.”
“And this is something I must do the rest of my life? I’m not a liar. If I say it once, should that not be enough? Or is it that I must say I am innocent to every person who asks for the rest of my days?”
“Did you do it?”
“No. I did not.”
“I believe you. Now, we never need to speak of it again. Unless it is your wish.”
Once more she hid in her silence. Her only communication was the burning sensation on his upper arm where her hand rested. Her eyes were closed, her long lashes resting against her rosy skin. She seemed mesmerized by the gentle swirl of the dance and the soothing cadence of the orchestra music.
He was recklessly mesmerized by the widow Dunlevee. Marriage was one thing, and the room full of eligible debs waited in line for him. Widows, however, were good for something altogether different.
His gaze traced her check and jaw, then the shell of her ear. Behind her ear was the dark spot of a beauty mark. An identifying mole.
Joshua missed a step.
“I’m sorry. It seems I am a bit rusty.”
The misstep happened quickly; he recovered and Char only glanced up.
“So tell me, Lady Dunlevee, what do you do with your free time?” Aside from pose naked for French painters.
She laughed. “Currently, I am devoting all my time to finding husbands for my sisters. You wouldn’t be available for the rest of your life, would you?”
The violin coda sounded and the twirling couples came to a stop with the end of the music. Char slipped from his embrace and clapped, her gloved hands barely making a sound.
“Thank you, Lady Dunlevee. It was most enjoyable renewing your acquaintance.”
“You’re welcome.” Instead of walking away, she reached for his hand. “I am certain your mother is over the moon, now that you are home.”
“Which reminds me, I must collect her forthwith. Walk with me?”
She wrapped her arm in his. “Lead on, sir.”
“Might I ask you a personal question, Lady Dunlevee?”
“You called me Char when you were fifteen.”
“And you called me a ‘giant horse’s bottom’ once.”
“So you do remember. I thought you’d forgotten all about those youthful happenings in the country.”
“I wouldn’t say forgotten. It is just there have been so few catalysts to help me remember.”
“Such a shame. We did have a lovely childhood, you know. Granted, it was mostly because of the time we spent exploring Long Leaf. But you wouldn’t remember most of that. I seem to recall Oliver and Nicolas being the culprits in our misadventures. You have no idea how sad we were when Oliver went off to be a soldier.”
“Mother was too.”
“You were going to ask me something?”
“Hmm. I’ve forgotten what it was.” Well, he hadn’t forgotten, he just decided that the Carlisle ballroom was not the place to ask.
“Then I have a question for you.”
He raised a brow, encouraging her.
“Have you recovered from the duel in Paris? The ton half expected you to die, you know. Rumors were flying about for a week, until someone claimed to have seen you walking, well limping, I think they said, along the Avenue de Champs-Elysees.”
He grit his teeth, giving her a tight smile. “I am fine. The situation was…rather delicate.”
“So there was a married woman involved?”
“Not in the way you are insinuating.”
Nearly in the way she was insinuating, though. The tale might have turned out differently had he…
“It seems we both have things we’d rather not recall.”
“Indeed.”
He was happy to explain the situation to anyone who would understand and not repeat his words verbatim to every stranger. He understood Char’s hesitancy.
Joshua hoped Mother was prepared to depart. He was already feeling the heaviness of a long night of forced conversation. Throbbing had started anew in his side and thigh. And he really did not want to entertain the thought of marriage to one of the lightheaded fluffs with whom he’d danced.
And then there was Char Dunlevee. Curiosity about her kept his mind occupied and he barely talked with his mother in the carriage ride home; instead she chatted incessantly and didn’t expect him to answer in return. She talked of everyone but Lady Dunlevee. That would all change once Char’s secret was revealed, because secrets never stayed secret for long.
CHAPTER FOUR
THREE DAYS AFTER THE BALL—he did not want to seem too eager—Joshua knocked at the door of Dunlevee House, a four story townhome near Bedford Square, only to be snidely informed the Lady Dunlevee no longer resided at the house. Of course! What family
wanted their son’s assumed murderer to continue living under their roof?
Perhaps the new heir, Viscount Dunlevee, had requested she find her own lodgings.
Ah! It was beginning to make sense. Widowed, forsaken, perhaps in financial jeopardy—she’d turned to an illicit yet profitable means to supplement her lifestyle.
Well, all the pieces didn’t fit together perfectly, but he could see a pattern.
During those three days, his memories of Long Leaf, the neighbors, and his childhood stirred, leaving behind a strange unease. The elder Taylors were more of a fixture in his memories than the Taylors’ daughters. They were virtual strangers after all these years, yet he experienced a strong, visceral reaction to the idea that one of them might be on the verge of catastrophe.
He clapped his hat upon his head and remounted his horse. He was going to rescue Lady Dunlevee whether she wished it or not, for he knew no proper lady would willingly succumb to such an illicit escapade.
The ache in his body should have been enough to remind him that he did not need to intervene in Lady Dunlevee’s life. And was she really so obtuse? Or insane? She was hanging on to her reputation by a thread. One indiscretion, one discovery, and she would be ruined totally. Not to mention what it would do to her sisters.
Yet he couldn’t stop himself.
White’s, a club at which he’d been long absent, beckoned with quiet conversation, a hot meal and hopefully a reading paper. Perhaps there was still time to ruminate over his desire to assist Char Dunlevee. If she needed money, he meant to help.
Later, he was welcomed into Lady Beckham’s sitting room as if he were the duke. The room was decorated in pleasant greens and golds with several seating areas. The group was clustered near the cheery fire.
Three of the Taylor sisters were present and all curtsied quickly. Lady Beckham nodded a cool acknowledgement.
“Mr. Forrester,” she said. “So good of you to come. I think you know Lord Worthey and Lord Rennold.”
He greeted them and acknowledged Worthey and Rennold, who stood next to each other; Joshua took a spot near the mantle. The woman he wanted to see was noticeably absent.
Seven Nights of Sin: Seven Sensuous Stories by Bestselling Historical Romance Authors Page 30