David snorted and downed the rest of his drink. He could feel its effects already, the slow relaxation overtaking his body as the alcohol swirled through him. “It could be. Woman, or women. Louise is still out there, remember.”
Gotam looked puzzled. “What? I thought you were talking about Louise. Weren’t you?”
David felt his face flush and knew it wasn’t from the alcohol. “Uh,” he began, only to stop as Gotam’s expression showed he’d figured it out.
Damn.
Gotam tilted his head back and began to laugh, laugh so hard, the chair creaked and David was momentarily concerned it would collapse.
Of course, that would stop Gotam’s laughter, so perhaps that was not a bad thing.
“The Abomination!” Gotam choked out, in between guffaws. “She has twisted you inside out, and you don’t know what to do,” he said. “Mr. Gorgeous and the Abomination. It sounds like something for the stage.”
“Don’t call her that,” David said through clenched teeth.
Gotam’s laughter subsided, and he raised his eyes to his friend’s face. His own expression fell. “You actually are bothered, aren’t you? Hell, David, what did you do?” His voice showed the concern David knew was there all the time, though Ox seldom revealed it, not unless there was a moment of crisis.
He’d last heard that tone when he’d been banished from India.
David clasped his hands at his knees and leaned forward in the chair. “I was thoughtless. I panicked, and I was thoughtless.”
“You panicked?” Gotam asked in a surprised tone of voice.
David nodded.
Silence.
“Over a woman?”
David nodded again.
“Interesting.”
Gotam still looked concerned, whereas normally he’d already be making jokes. Which revealed to David just how unusual a situation it was. As though he didn’t already know that himself.
“So what are you going to do about it?”
David spread his hands out in front of him. “I can only apologize and try to explain why it happened.”
“Will you get the chance? From what I have heard—servants gossip, you know, even around the brown foreigner—the lady is quite stubborn. Starting with her fashion choices, of course, but beyond that.”
Would he get the chance? She hadn’t seemed in the least as though she were amenable to even speaking with him. She’d been as close to rude as a young lady could get. Closer, actually, judging by the response of the presumed betrothed beside her.
And he still wasn’t certain how he felt about her, just that he was definitely piqued now that it seemed others had discovered the diamond within the coal. Even if the coal was garbed like an inebriated cockatiel.
But he did know, for certain, that this was not the way he wanted to end their … whatever it was. With him being abrupt and dismissive, and her being hurt and confused.
So at the very least, he needed to apologize. And apologize well enough that she actually believed him.
And he no longer felt like a scoundrel.
***
“She’s here.” Gotam popped his head into the salon an hour or so later, after David had finished another healthy, Gotam-sized slug of brandy.
“Louise?”
Gotam rolled his eyes. “Not her, the other one.”
It wasn’t possible. But Gotam was still looking at him with that aggrieved, post-eye-roll expression on his face, and he heard the murmur of Charlotte’s unmistakable tone in the hallway, so … “Show her in, then.”
He rose and raked his hair back off his forehead, and sat back down again. Only to spring back up when she walked in the room.
She was still wearing what she had been earlier, some mishmash of colors and patterns, and all sorts of ribbons and ruffles.
And somehow, it didn’t matter. All he could see was her face.
Her eyes—those earth-brown eyes—looked at him with a mixture of pride, sadness, and anger.
Her hair had gotten disheveled, and one strand hung down around her chin, a brave ribbon still clinging to it.
Her hands—she’d already removed her gloves, clever girl—were curled around her reticule, clutching it as though she might bash him in the head with it.
Which might be what she was planning, he didn’t know.
“How are you, Charlotte?” He cleared his throat. “Lady Charlotte,” he corrected himself. It felt odd to call her by her formal title when so much had happened between them, but he didn’t want to do anything that might make her angrier. “Would you care to sit?” He gestured to the chair, the ricketiest one, and allowed a tiny smile to tug at his mouth.
She emitted a soft sigh, then sat, an audible thump as she planted her feet and her backside at the same time.
He sat, too, remembering what she’d said about his towering over her.
“What is it you wanted to show me?” she said in a sharp, quick tone. “I was going to wait until I saw you at some convenient time, but then I kept thinking about it, and wondering just what you wanted, and it was driving me crazy, and so I told my mother I was going to view the statues at the museum again, and she didn’t even blink, she is that desperate for me, and so here I am, and what do you have to show me?”
He felt breathless, and he wasn’t the one who had spoken for what felt like an hour or more. Leaning forward, he reached across the space between them and took her hand. Her bare, ungloved hand.
That she had thought to remove her gloves before she arrived both touched him and let him know that things were not entirely lost between them. Of course, she wanted to ensure he would not be distracted in any way, but still. It felt … tender. Like something they shared that no one else knew about.
He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. And kept his gaze fastened on the movement, knowing he was terrified of what he might see in her eyes if he looked at her face.
“Well?” she prompted.
“I lied.”
“What about? Having another appointment last evening or having something to show me?”
“Yes,” he replied, feeling as though a band across his forehead was tightening. “About everything.”
“So why?”
“Where do you want me to start?”
She yanked her hand away and stood up, which meant—gentleman that he was—he stood, too, but he didn’t start pacing the carpet as she did. Those tiny flowered slippers going back and forth, back and forth, on the equally flowered carpet.
It was a veritable greenhouse in the salon.
“I just want to know.” Her voice was so low it was almost a whisper. “I just want to know,” she said again, “what you feel about me. Why you left so suddenly. Why I feel so terrible now.” She looked at him, and he saw her eyes were sparkling with tears.
And felt as awful as he’d ever felt in his entire life.
Was this what it felt like to begin to care for someone?
He turned and put his elbow on the mantel, leaning his forehead on his hand. He cleared his throat, at which point he could have sworn he heard a soft chuckle behind him. She was … laughing?
“I didn’t wish to hurt you. In anything I did—we did—together. I don’t know how to say it, but I just want to say that I’m so sorry.”
There was a long, long silence. So long he wondered if she had wandered off or fallen asleep.
“Well. Thank you for saying you are sorry. I am sorry as well. I suppose I should be going. Since you lied again and have nothing to show me.” It sounded very much like she was trying not to cry. First laughter, then crying—he had dealt with hysterical women before, but Charlotte didn’t seem hysterical in a way he’d ever encountered.
“No, wait.” He turned back around to face her, just standing in front of her like one of those statues she was supposed to be seeing. Only much more clothed. “Wait, Charlotte.”
She raised her chin. How could she look so vulnerable and so proud at the same time?
; “What is it? What more could you possibly have to say to me? You’ve apologized for being an ass, and I have accepted the apology. What else is there?”
He strode forward until he was directly in front of her, so close he could see the wetness of tears on her lashes. “There is so much more.” And he knew, at that moment, that there was. He couldn’t think about the fact that he was leaving shortly, that he was basically working for her uncle, that she was practically betrothed, that the sight of her still made him lose complete thoughts entirely. He wanted to see her, to touch her, to kiss her again.
Probably he should tell her instead of keeping it all inside, shouldn’t he?
“I panicked.” It already felt better to say it out loud. “I felt as though I was becoming … fond of you, and I panicked. I … I’ve never felt like this before.”
“How?” she asked, tilting her head in that way he didn’t realize he’d already come to miss.
“I want to know you. Completely.” Her expression grew startled, and he hastily corrected himself. “I am not asking for that,” he added, even though the thought of completely knowing her, sexually, was enticing. More than enticing; almost undeniable.
But that would definitely be something worth panicking over. For both of them.
“Oh,” she said, in what sounded like an almost disappointed voice. “How, then?”
“I want to answer all your questions. I want to explore what is so different about the way we speak with each other. I’ve never shared thoughts and ideas with a lady before.” He thought about it, then continued, “And barely with any gentlemen. Gotam is my best friend, but he mostly makes fun of me. And drinks my brandy.”
She snorted. “I don’t care for the taste of brandy, so you are safe there.”
“I just … I just want to try again. Do you think you can you trust me?”
She kept her head tilted and narrowed her eyes as though she were scrutinizing him. To discover his flaws? To see if she could tell if he were being honest?
Finally, just when he was about to confess to everything he’d ever done—up to and including wanting to have long, breathtaking sexual relations with her—she bit her lip and nodded. “Perhaps.”
It wasn’t anything definitive, but he had to persevere. To hope she would forgive him. He held his hand out. “Can we shake on it?”
She regarded his hand, as though it were a foreign object. What would he do if she refused? What if she …
She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, shook her head as though annoyed, and ignored his outstretched hand. Instead, she reached her hands up to take his face and bring his mouth down to hers.
***
As habits went, it was a good habit to be in, kissing him, even though it was a habit that could come to no good—she knew that. His recent behavior told her that.
And why had she given in so readily? It was something that would bother her later on, when he wasn’t so close to her, when she didn’t have all his beauty clouding her mind.
Still, his mouth with that crooked smile, the hopeful look in his eye as he spoke, his clear worry that she would not forgive him … Well, that just made her want to kiss him even more.
Even more than she already did, which she would have thought was impossible. But if it were possible to be more than one hundred percent intrigued by the thought of kissing him, she would be. She was.
She slid her hands up his arms, which still hung straight down by his side. Unlike before, he hadn’t immediately pulled her to him, nor touched her in places she hadn’t realized men enjoyed touching.
Instead, he kissed her. Really and truly kissed her, moving his mouth over hers as though he were savoring every morsel of her lips. He nibbled at the corner of her mouth, dragging his teeth gently over her lip, then kissing where he’d nipped. He licked her lips just as softly, then widened his mouth as though inviting her tongue inside.
She did not need a second invitation.
She slid her tongue into his mouth, where it tangled with his, and suddenly the kiss was intensified. Then he did place his hands on her arms, rubbing his palms up and down them, drawing her closer with each stroke.
And she twined her arms around the back of his neck, stretching up on tiptoes to be able to reach every delicious inch of his mouth. Feeling the soft hair at his collar, how his neck moved as he kissed her.
How her body wanted to curl into him, touch every part of him, have him touch every part of her—for parity’s sake, of course.
“Oh, Charlotte,” he murmured, sliding his mouth to the tender spot just below her ear. He kissed that, too, then placed little kisses on her earlobe—surprisingly sensitive; she’d have to figure out if everyone had that reaction—and then, at last, finally wrapped his hands completely around her, clasping his hands together at her back and pulling her up and into him.
She felt how hard he was, just there, and naturally wanted to stop and ask about it—How did it feel? Why did it get so hard and rigid, anyway?—but that would mean she would have to stop kissing him, and she definitely did not wish to do that.
She did, however, start writing a mental list for future discussion.
And, because that reminded her, she moved her hands to his back, drawing up the bottom of his coat so she could slide her hands underneath. And onto his back, with only his linen—at least, it felt like linen—shirt between her and his skin. He moved his lips back to hers and was kissing her in earnest now, his tongue doing delicious things inside her mouth.
She ran her hands all over his back, then got bold and moved her palms down to his behind.
Oh, my. Unlike hers, his was all hard and round and felt incredible under her hands. She could feel each muscle move as he flexed his body to kiss her, and she just wanted to spend all day touching it.
Of course, that would be odd. But still.
He had a lovely body, that she’d already surmised, but that the individual parts would be so incredible she hadn’t predicted. She might have to argue with her brother’s favorite person, Aristotle, who said the whole is more than the sum of its parts.
Because his parts were already more than she’d hoped for.
This would all require further study—a study to which her brother, Christian, would definitely not be invited.
That moment, of course, was when he broke the kiss and pulled away from her, his breath coming fast and hard from his lungs. That her breathing was equally fast and hard was another intriguing fact.
“I didn’t intend to … to do all this again,” he said, sweeping his hand out to indicate the salon, and them, and presumably their kissing activity. “I had just meant to apologize to you for my rudeness. I didn’t say it just to lure you back into this situation.”
Charlotte felt a grin tug at her mouth as she poked him in the chest. His broad, wide chest. “Of course I don’t think that, you fool. I’m the one who kissed you. Again.” She furrowed her brow as she considered that. “Hm. I had always been led to believe that gentlemen were the ones who were most desirous of this sort of thing, but since I am usually the one who initiates it …” She considered it, feeling her smile fade. “That leads me back to thinking perhaps you do not wish for it as much as I do.”
David’s expression as he regarded her was one of lazy, sensual amusement. It sent a tingle up her spine. “Just because you have initiated our … intimacies does not mean I am not just as, if not more, desirous of them occurring. You cannot know just how desirous I am,” he said, his tone deepening.
She glanced down to where his … his self was jutting out from his trousers, and she raised an eyebrow. “I believe I do know, if certain things are any indication.”
At her reply, he blinked, then began laughing, holding his arms across his chest as though he could barely contain his laughter. When he laughed, truly laughed, not a polite Society chuckle, it was as though his entire face was in on the joke—his eyes crinkled up at the corners, his lips were smiling, and his expression was one of joy.
He put his hand out to her, placed his fingers on her arm, and drew her into his warmth, into his laughter, as he folded her in his arms and onto his chest.
His laughter reverberated through his body, and therefore through hers, and she couldn’t help but chuckle as well, even though she had only a vague clue what they were laughing about.
It felt different than it had before, when she’d been pressed up against his body. This time, it felt comfortable, as though it were a place she was meant to be, a place that was warm and welcoming. A place where she belonged.
This feeling was far more dangerous than when she had merely wanted him to kiss her senseless. But of course she didn’t listen to the voice in her head saying that; she just drew in closer, smelling his warm, male scent, feeling the soft linen against her cheek, reveling in the feeling of being held close. Of being lo—liked.
“You should go,” he said at last, when his laughter had subsided, even though he made no movement to release her.
“I should,” she agreed, even though she still held on to him, tight, rubbing her cheek on his shirt.
“Are you going to any parties this evening?” he asked, stroking her back.
She nodded. “Yes. The Silvers, Lady Anne’s family? They are having a dance. I am looking forward to it, actually.”
“As am I. Will you save a dance for me?”
As though she wouldn’t. “Certainly. Unless all the other gentlemen whom I have kissed passionately in their floral salons claim me first.”
His grip tightened. “You are joking, aren’t you?”
It was sweet how he sounded both jealous and hesitant.
She squeezed him in response. “Of course, you ninny. Do you think I would kiss anyone else when I could be kissing you?”
He relaxed; only, she felt her stomach tighten. That was the truth of it, wasn’t it? She had no desire to kiss anyone else, not at all, and this was only fleeting.
Damn.
She would have to make the most of whatever time she had with him.
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