“A half hour, mind,” Lady Jepstow said, shading her eyes with one hand while she waved with the other. David wasn’t sure which was more blinding—the sun or Charlotte’s outfit.
They set off for the park, David tilting his head to one side to avoid another feather mishap.
“Thank you for the drive, Lord David,” Charlotte said. She sounded hesitant, not her usual direct self. Was it the kiss?
“You are welcome. I wanted to take my brother’s horses out. I don’t drive a phaeton in India.” The pair of horses were matched in color as well as in stride—the same brown as her eyes, he thought. Only he didn’t think he would mention that to her. Your eyes, they are the same color as these horses’ hides. Gauche-mat, indeed.
“What do you drive when you are at home?” she asked. She sounded more like her usual self, now that she was asking questions. But, so help him, if she tilted her head in her questioning way, she might poke his eye out with another one of those feathers.
“Nothing at all, actually. In India, we—that is, the British people in residence there—travel by litter. With men carrying it,” he explained.
“Even the larger gentlemen? Don’t the men complain?”
“They probably mutter things under their breath, but they do get paid.”
“You’re answering a question! This is a remarkable day, Lord David,” she said.
He kept his eyes directly ahead of him. “That’s because I am not distracted by your remarkable clothing, Lady Charlotte,” he said in a dry tone of voice. “I have to keep my focus on what lies ahead, not what is sitting beside me.”
She laughed, that delicious low, throaty laugh that did dangerous things to him. “This outfit is one of my favorites.” She twisted her head to look at him. Thankfully, the feather missed his eye. “I wasn’t sure about it, but when Sarah threatened to quit, I just knew I had to.” She laughed again.
He risked a glance at her. “Sarah is your maid?”
She nodded. “Yes, poor thing. I think I’ll have to leave her money in my will, because she will never be able to get another position after having worked for me.”
David found himself chuckling. A rarity—he was usually so good at hiding all his emotions, except when necessary for the task at hand. She made him laugh in spite of himself.
“Speaking of clothing,” she said, again in that oddly hesitant voice. “Would you mind giving me your opinion?”
“Of your clothing? I loathe it,” David responded quickly. He felt her stiffen beside him. Damn, he had gone too far, hadn’t he? He reached out and touched her gloved hand with one of his. “I apologize. ‘Loathe’ is too strong a word. It is the oddest thing, Lady Charlotte. I find I lose my words, or choose entirely wrong ones, when I am in your presence.” He squeezed her hand to make his point.
“Thank you?” she offered.
He felt the tightness in his chest ease. “Thank you. I am supposed to be good with language, and yet …” He shook his head.
“And yet you find yourself rendered speechless when you encounter me?” she finished.
He grinned and returned his hand to the reins. “Precisely. I am the tongue-tied diplomat with you, as oxymoronic as that sounds.”
“Oxymor—?”
“Oxymoronic. Something that is in itself opposite.”
“Such as the married bachelor? Or the discreet gossip?” She looked into his eyes and smiled, presumably so he’d know it didn’t hurt. “Perhaps the well-dressed Abomination?”
His lips thinned. “I regret that someone gave you that horrible nickname.”
She shrugged. “It is appropriate. Loath though I am to admit it,” she added, a sly tone in her voice.
He couldn’t help it, he laughed again. In addition to being one of the most outlandishly dressed women he’d ever met, she was also one of the cleverest.
“I am sorry. My opinion? What do you need?”
“Actually, it is clothing. Not mine, but I wish to get my friend Emma—Miss Clarkson, you met her when we first met—a gift, and I am not trusting my own taste. What color would suit her best?”
David leaned back in the seat, slowing the horses as they entered the park. “What are you planning on buying? If it is a fan or a handkerchief, I would suggest something that would go with other things in her wardrobe.” He cleared his throat. “That is, what most people would think would go with other things in her wardrobe. A cream or another neutral hue.”
She was silent as she considered. “So not poppy red? I had been thinking of a red shawl I’d seen at the shop.”
He shuddered in mock agony. “Only if you wish everyone to wake up, since your blond friend will look like a rooster in that color.”
She chuckled and nudged him with her shoulder. “Wake up,” she repeated. “Like a rooster does. You are quite clever, Lord David.”
Her words warmed him. When was the last time a woman had complimented his wit and not his looks? Of course, she’d done that as well, but it seemed she saw beyond his face and appreciated his mind.
Just as he appreciated her despite her clothing. Again, he thought of the kiss, and he wished they weren’t out in public with all of Society parading about. He wanted to draw her into his arms and kiss her senseless. Even if most people likely already thought her senseless from her clothing.
But his wanting to kiss her senseless was precisely why it was good her mother had made sure they would be in public. Even if her mother had no clue he was so inclined.
If she had known, would that have made her more or less likely to allow her daughter to go out with him?
***
When she hadn’t been thinking about the Kiss, which had reached capital-letter status in her mind, she’d been thinking about Emma’s column. She’d managed to write one complete one, and Sarah had taken care of getting it to where it needed to go. She had thoughts on a second one, but after that … well, she hardly thought the fashionably dressed cream of London Society would be interested in reading about how she had no idea of what to write.
That was boring enough for her to contemplate; she couldn’t unleash it on an unwary public.
But there was him. Just looking at him and seeing his eyes assess her, she knew he would be a useful resource. She just had to ensure he would actually answer her questions, something he’d so far proved oddly reluctant to do.
So when he actually did answer something, she felt a great big whoosh of relief unfurl in her chest, and she wanted to kiss him. In gratitude, of course.
And in lust, and admiration, and enjoyment, and every other reason she could think of. Not love; she would not allow herself to fall in love with a man who was both out of her reach in terms of looks and who would soon be out of her reach in physical terms when he returned to India.
“Ah, Lady Charlotte and—Lord David.” It was Lord Charles Silver, Anne’s brother, who had ridden up beside them on his horse. By the sound of his voice, he was surprised to find them together. Ha! Someone doesn’t think I deserve a terrible nickname, Charlotte wanted to shout in his face. Or if he did, he likes me nonetheless.
“Good afternoon, Lord Charles,” David said, inclining his head just enough to indicate who was in charge of the conversation. How did he do that?
“Is your sister here?” Charlotte asked.
Charles shook his head. “No, she is off with our mother at the museum. Mother heard that a group of eligibles were headed there to view some scandalous statues, so Mother packed up Anne and went.”
“That is hardly a kind thing to say about your sister, Lord Charles,” David said in a soft, but nonetheless lethal, tone of voice.
Charlotte slid the hand that was resting on her lap over to his arm and squeezed in silent thanks for defending her friend. Goodness, he was all hard muscle underneath his coat. Was it just by virtue of being male? Was he particularly energetic in some exercise?
She had to stop that line of thinking right there or she might just faint. After, of course, touching him all o
ver to see if he was hard like that everywhere.
Which was altogether more unseemly than just his arm. Even she knew that. Focus, Charlotte! she scolded herself.
Lord Charles was finishing saying something, probably not anything as interesting as what got David so hard. Muscular, that is.
“And we will be at the Millers’ this evening. Their family’s estate is next to ours. Will you be in attendance?”
David shot a glance at Charlotte, as if to ask her how to reply. Funny how that made her feel all warm inside.
“I believe my mother and I will be. My father prefers playing whist with his sister while we are in town. I look forward to seeing Lady Anne.”
David placed his hand on Charlotte’s, where it rested on his arm, hidden from Lord David’s view by Charlotte’s body. It felt sneaky, as though they were doing something forbidden in plain sight.
Which they were, really, by Society’s standards.
What else could they do in plain sight? They’d already kissed last night, and now his hand was touching hers, albeit through their gloves.
Today her gloves had no helpful instructions printed on them, as they had last evening. If they did, they might read Place Lord David’s fingers here. Imagine if she were to actually wear something that indicated precisely what she was thinking?
It would be all good looks and hard masculinity then. Definitely not proper.
“Good-bye, Lord David, Lady Charlotte,” Charles was saying.
David started the phaeton forward again, but with only one hand, keeping his other clasping Charlotte’s. He spoke when they were out of Charles’s earshot. “I find his sister pleasant, but Lord Charles is an ass. Forgive my speaking plainly,” he added quickly, darting another one of those complicit glances at her.
“He is an ass,” Charlotte said in a matter-of-fact tone. “He is the one who dubbed me the Abomination, so I’ve heard.”
She felt David’s arm clench under her hand.
She rushed to say, “I am not certain it was him. I mean, it could have been anybody. Even you, though it seems that we are friends, hate what I’m wearing.”
Silence as he considered.
“Please, Lord David, think nothing of it.”
He turned his face to her and gave her that quick, quirky smile, and she relaxed.
“I won’t. I promise to be a gentleman.” A pause. “With Lord Charles.”
Did he mean … “What do you mean, ‘With Lord Charles’?”
That quirky smile slid into something far more dangerous to Charlotte’s insides. A smile that seemed to indicate he knew precisely how much she’d thought of that kiss—no, the Kiss—all last night, this morning, and still in a corner of her mind right now.
How did he do that? She’d have to start writing down all her questions for him.
“Oh,” she said in a soft voice. She turned her head and gazed to the side, her heart racing. This was fun. Pure, unadulterated fun. She didn’t think she’d ever had so much fun just driving in a carriage.
“I haven’t been invited to the Millers’ event, so I won’t be seeing you this evening.”
And Charlotte had already been scheming how to get him to escort her out to the terrace again for one of those delicious kisses. Drat. “I would imagine you could just show up and you would be welcome. I mean, you are you.”
“Meaning because I am good-looking?” He sounded aggravated. Hm. “Have you ever considered that having great looks is as much of a burden as being mocked for your fashion? Worse, actually. You could choose to wear other gowns, including that dull one you had on the other evening, but I cannot choose another face.”
Her mouth dropped open, and she was rendered speechless for a moment. And then she found all the words to reply. “Are you joking? How can you possibly compare a nickname such as mine as what you might have—what would yours be, I wonder?” She tilted her head and allowed her gaze to travel all over his face—from the hint of a curl in his dark hair, to his slashing, masculine eyebrows, down past his lake-blue eyes, his proud, Roman nose, to those full, sensuous lips. “Perhaps the Beauty? Or just Adonis?”
“Mistara bhavya. Mr. Gorgeous,” he said in a soft voice, almost as though embarrassed.
“Pardon?”
“Mr. Gorgeous.” He spoke louder. “I had a nickname, back in India.”
He had a nickname. A very appropriate nickname, as it turned out. Charlotte felt her insides start to curl up in laughter. And then it exploded out of her, so hard she had to reach out and hold on to the side of the carriage so she wouldn’t fall out.
After a moment, he began to laugh, too, drawing her hand into his and slowing the horses with his other. He had a wonderful laugh, a deep, rich boom of a laugh that seemed to travel all the way through Charlotte’s body.
He had to stop the carriage entirely at one point, he was laughing so hard, and he fell against her, his hat tipping forward onto his face, making her hat turn all askew.
“Mr. Gorgeous!” she managed to gasp out before collapsing into giggles again.
At last, after they’d gotten more than a few curious looks from the Society people in the park who were not dying of laughter, their chuckles subsided, and they were silent. He still leaned against her, and she tried not to admit to herself how nice that felt.
Scratch that. She did admit it to herself, but she couldn’t find a better word than nice. And he thought he was the one who had trouble speaking.
After a moment he frowned and drew his pocket watch out to look at the time. “I promised your mother a half hour only, and it is forty-five minutes already.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Honestly, my mother will just be grateful you wanted to spend more time with me.”
He snapped his head around to look at her. “Do not disparage yourself so.” He sounded angry.
“I’m not,” Charlotte replied. “My mother is the one with that opinion, not me. I assume you wish to spend time with me because you asked me for a drive after we shared a wonderful kiss—oh,” she said, putting her hand to her mouth. “I suppose it is far too direct to speak about something like that, isn’t it?”
He leaned over and took her hand away and brought it down to rest on his thigh.
His very hard thigh.
Oh, goodness. Or more appropriately, oh badness.
“Your directness is why I like spending time with you.”
“And,” Charlotte continued, “there is no reason you would have to spend time with me, so I am entirely certain it is because you enjoy my company.”
He winced, briefly, as though in pain. Charlotte made to draw her hand away, but he wouldn’t let go.
“Precisely.” He cleared his throat. Honestly, would no one learn that throat clearing only meant something big was about to be announced?
“I will see you at the Millers’, then, if you think I will be welcome.” Actually, that was not all that big an announcement, was it?
She was learning all kinds of things by being with him. Not the least of which involved kissing. And announcements, both big and small.
They arrived back at Charlotte’s house, and she waved him off when he made to dismount and help her out of the carriage. One of the footmen waiting at the door helped her down. She stepped onto the pavement and turned around to look up at him.
“Thank you for a wonderful drive.” She lowered her voice so only he could hear. “Mr. Gorgeous.” And she walked into her house, very aware he was looking at her back, hoping he was thinking about the woman within and not her “loathsome” clothing.
Her mother practically leapt on her as she entered. “Do not take your coat off! We are going straightaway to the museum!”
Charlotte’s smile wobbled. “The museum?” Because even without having spoken to Anne’s brother, she would have known why her mother wished to go there. Lately, the only places her mother would go to involved the possibility of eligible men—unmarried bachelors, that was.
No wonder she wanted to s
ee her daughter married off; she had to make all kinds of excursions to ensure Charlotte was on display. It didn’t mean she should jump at the first offer made to her—because, ugh, Mr. Goddard—but it did make her feel sympathetic toward her mother.
“Yes, Lady Silver and her daughter stopped by directly after you left with Lord David. Such a stunning man, by the way. You’ll have to tell me all about the drive. But it seems that there is a recent fad among the young men to view the statues, and they were heading there straightaway. So we are going too.”
“And if I am tired?” And want to spend the next few hours replaying the time spent with Mr. Gorgeous in my head?
“You can be tired later. Right now, we are going to the museum.”
Charlotte barely had time to straighten her feathers, which thankfully remained intact after all the laughing, before being bustled into their carriage and heading off.
Who would have thought young men would want to view statues, of all things?
***
“I can see why they want to see these,” Anne said to Charlotte as the two stood in front of a very naked, very attractive, young lady. Made of stone, of course, but still. Very naked.
“I can’t believe we haven’t visited before. Very enlightening,” Charlotte replied, moving to a male statue. He had a stone fig leaf covering his most male part, but the rest of him was wonderfully nude.
Did David look like this naked?
Goodness, she wished she could find out. Merely for comparison, of course.
“Lady Anne, Lady Charlotte,” a voice said, just directly behind Charlotte. She and Anne whirled about to see Mr. Smeldley, one of the unmarried bachelors her mother was so keen on.
“Mr. Smeldley, how nice to see you. You are appreciating the art?” Charlotte said, gesturing to one of the very naked woman.
He turned a shade of red Charlotte thought was the color of at least one of her gowns. “Yes, apparently the art here is quite lovely.” His eyes darted to the statue, then he cleared his throat. “That is, it is edifying.” More throat clearing. “I like the statues.”
“As do we, Mr. Smeldley.” Poor man. If he had to explain his wish to view naked women any further, he might explode. “Are you attending the Millers’ this evening? Lady Anne and I will both be going. It is important to balance out more studious ventures—such as visiting a museum—with more frivolous things, such as going to parties. Don’t you think so?”
What Not to Bare Page 9