“Before you became mesmerized by my bosom, you mean?” Charlotte’s smile was a woman’s smile: knowing and smug with just a touch of arrogance.
His brow creased. “I am not… I was not mesmerized by your bosom.”
Liar.
“Then you are ready to answer my question now?”
She was too intelligent for her own good, he thought irritably. Intelligent and beautiful and so well bred he wouldn’t be surprised if her blood ran blue; in short, the exact opposite of what he always told himself he would look for in a wife. He wanted someone quiet and shy and biddable. A woman who would manage his household, hem his shirts, and not complain when he had nary a second of attention to give. Then why in all that was holy had he offered his hand to Charlotte Vanderley?
Because she is nobility, the rational side of his brain replied.
Because you want her, the irrational side answered.
He should walk away now. Withdraw his offer, make his excuses, and never look back.
“We can leave for Gretna Green in the morning,” he said.
The lighting on the balcony was dim, but not so dark Gavin missed the slight trembling of Charlotte’s hand as she brought her fingertips to her lips. “So soon?” she asked. “Do you think that is wise?”
It had never crossed Gavin’s mind that she would have doubts about marrying him. He found he didn’t like it. No, he didn’t like it at all. “Make up your mind here and now,” he said, his tone ominously low. “I will not have ye welchin’ on a deal once it ‘as been struck. Ye hear me?”
Charlotte’s hand fell away from her mouth and settled on the railing. “You have done very well to refine your speech, but you revert to your cockney accent when you are angry,” she observed. “Do you know that?”
The woman didn’t miss a bloody trick. He hadn’t had a slip up in weeks – no, months. For three years he had taken daily voice lessons in secret to coax the guttersnipe from his voice. It took a lot to bring it to the surface, and he was less than pleased that Charlotte had managed to do so with such ease. He would have to watch himself when he was around her. Guard himself more carefully. His accent slipped when he was emotional. Emotion was a vulnerability. Vulnerability was a weakness. He was weak once, and his mother died because of it. He would never be weak again.
“Either we leave for Gretna Green tomorrow morning or we do not leave at all. Make up your mind here and now or be done with it,” he growled. “I will pay off your mother’s debts and settle her with a monthly allowance so she need never worry about money again. You may live where you like. I spend most of my time in London, but I have an estate in Hampshire and another in Scotland. You are free to travel between them at your leisure, with my fortune at your disposal. In return I ask only that you accompany me to social events on occasion, and play the part of dutiful, loving wife when the eyes of the ton are upon us.” He sounded desperate, Gavin thought with disgust. He needed to be harder. Tougher. He needed to show how little he cared. How little she meant to him, because she didn’t mean anything at all. Of course not. He barely knew her.
You know that she smells like lavender and tastes like honeysuckle.
Bloody hell.
“Is that all you will require of me as your wife?” Charlotte asked. “To stand at your side during balls and sit next to you at plays?”
“Not plays,” he said automatically. “I cannot stand them.”
Her smile was wry and fleeting. “And wifely duties of a more… intimate nature? What are your requirements on those?”
Belatedly Gavin saw that her fingers were beating a nervous staccato against the balcony railing, betraying the nervousness she did not allow to show on her face. His future wife would make an excellent card player, he thought. As long as she hid her hands and her temper. “Are you inquiring into matters of the bedroom?”
A rosy blush stole up and over her cheeks, answering his question for him even before she shyly nodded.
“As long as you are discreet, I do not care who you share your delectable little body with. This is not a love match. It is a business arrangement and as I have yet to sleep with any of my clients, you can be assured I will not come knocking on your bedroom door in the middle of the night.”
Something flickered in the depths of her eyes, so quick as to be gone in an instant, but Gavin’s breath caught in his throat nevertheless. Had she appeared… disappointed? No. Surely not. How could she possibly want a man like him? He was a convenience to her, nothing more. If the world was a perfect place she would choose a fancy nabob to marry, not a man who was raised in the gutters.
Charlotte’s fingers paused in their tapping. “But what of children?”
“Children?” he echoed, caught off guard.
“Yes. Surely you would like an heir.”
In truth, Gavin had never given much thought to children. The ones he saw were always pale, malnourished urchins with dirty cheeks and gaunt faces. In his mind he knew any child of his would never suffer the same fate, but his heart told a different tale. “No. No children.”
Her eyes widened behind her mask. “But what if—”
“NO!” he roared, startling them both with his ferocity.
Charlotte gasped and stepped to the side. Below them everything fell to silence before a woman’s high pitched giggle filled the air.
“Who is up there?” she demanded. “Come down here, good sir! I want to see your face!”
“Yes, I want to see him too!” another woman cried.
“And I!” said a third.
Gavin looked at Charlotte, but she was staring stubbornly away from him, her lips pressed into a hard, flat line and her face pale beneath the twin sweeps of rouge that decorated her cheekbones. Whatever moment may have passed between them when he held her in his arms and she tempted the very devil by running her fingers across his flesh was long gone, leaving only coldness and a peculiar sense of loss in its wake.
“I will send a carriage to your townhouse at dawn tomorrow,” he said stiffly. “The driver will be instructed to wait for ten minutes. No more, no less. If you do not show I will assume you have changed your mind, and this matter will never be discussed again.”
Her only answer was a short, clipped nod.
Gavin ran a hand through his hair, drawing the dark ends taut. He turned to go, but something pulled at him, demanding he stay. For a moment he actually considered apologizing, but the notion was so foreign in concept he disregarded it immediately. No, he did not owe his wife-to-be an apology. It was better she understand how things would be now. He would grant her as much independence as she desired, yes, but in things that truly mattered – such as children – his word would be the final say. “Charlotte, I know this arrangement may not have been what you imagined when you were a young girl dreaming of marriage, but it is practical and will suit both of our needs accordingly.” There. Simple enough, and to the point. He was rather proud of himself, until Charlotte lifted her head and he saw her brilliant amber eyes were sparkling with tears.
“You are right,” she said in an odd little voice. “This is not what I imagined. But I suppose being married to a man who will never see me as a wife is better than being married to one who wants to collect me as if I were a pretty crystal vase, don’t you think?”
At a loss for words, Gavin’s mouth opened and closed, rather like a landed trout gasping for air. He had always dealt handily with women before. Whether they wanted to or not they could not help but adore him. He could do no wrong in their eyes. Apparently he could do plenty wrong in Charlotte’s.
The urge to comfort her was as foreign to him as apologizing. Not surprisingly, he fumbled through it. “There could… there could come – come a time…”
“That,” she said coolly as she sniffed back her tears and brushed past him without a backwards glance, “was a rhetorical question.”
He let her go. Moving to the edge of the terrace he wrapped his fingers around the railing and leaned halfway over the edge,
forcing himself to stare at the ground below. It was as effective as dunking his head in cold water and he stumbled back with a gasp, his heart pounding and pulsing racing, although he could not tell if his reaction was due to his fear of heights – or the fact that he was now engaged.
Charlotte found Dianna dancing with a penguin.
She waited impatiently for the Quadrille to finish, hovering nearby like an anxious mother. When the music died away and the penguin dipped into a bow, Charlotte ducked in before Dianna could curtsy, grabbed her by the hand, and hauled her from the ballroom.
“Will you stop dragging me,” Dianna said breathlessly once they were outside. A couple who had been lounging along the marble steps hastily straightened their clothes and rushed past them, giggling madly.
Her mind spinning, Charlotte released Dianna’s arm and leaned against an enormous ivory pillar. The white plaster was cool against her flushed cheek and she closed her eyes, taking a moment to slow the beat of her heart and gather her racing thoughts.
From inside the mansion the masquerade continued, but as it was now well into the night someone had possessed the foresight to close the French doors and the noise from within was dimmed to an indistinct murmur. Outside on the front pavilion the only thing Charlotte could hear was the pounding of her own heart, but as she controlled her breathing and forcibly made herself relax it slowly returned to its regular rhythm. If only her mind could follow suit, but she was too infuriated with Gavin to think calmly.
The nerving gall of that man! To stand before her so arrogantly and tell her what she could and could not do. Why, he was worse than her mother and the duke put together! A thousand times worse, she decided furiously.
What right did he have to tell her she could not have children? True, she had never given them much thought before, but it was the principle of the matter. A marriage was supposed to be a partnership, not a dictatorship, and she feared in choosing Gavin over Crane she was merely exchanging one controlling husband for another.
Except that is not what you are really upset about, a little voice whispered slyly, is it?
No, it wasn’t.
Gavin was not controlling. Not really. A man who gave his future wife permission to seek a lover outside of the marriage bed could hardly be viewed as controlling. And therein laid the crux of the matter. Gavin did not want her as a woman. He’d said as much, straight to her face.
As long as you are discreet, I do not care who you share your delectable little body with. This is not a love match. It is a business arrangement…
A business arrangement, indeed. Perhaps it wasn’t a love match – not yet, anyways – but it was hardly a damn business arrangement, unless Gavin came alive at the touch of his other business partners. And he had. Come alive, that is. She had not imagined the way his muscles quivered and tightened beneath her fingertips, nor the mad flutter of his pulse. He was affected by her the same as she was him, and it was infuriating that he would not admit it.
There was really only one thing to do.
“I am going to marry Mr. Graystone.”
“Why, that is excellent news!” Dianna declared.
Charlotte opened her eyes to see her friend grinning ear to ear. It was a crooked sort of grin, the kind most comfortable on the lips of those who had indulged in too much alcohol. She studied Dianna more closely, noting the way she swayed lightly from side to side and the absence of her long flowing hair. Stifling a snort of laughter, she asked, “Have you lost something?”
“Yes.” Dianna frowned and turned in two quick circles before refocusing on Charlotte. “I know I set my champagne glass down somewhere and now I cannot find it. Is the masquerade over?”
“For us it is. Come along, dear. Let me help you down the steps.”
Dianna’s drunkenness was a welcome – and amusing – distraction from any further thoughts of Gavin. Taking her friend’s arm, Charlotte helped to guide her down the steps and together they weaved a broken, tottering line towards their waiting carriage.
“Please drive slowly,” Charlotte instructed the driver after he helped her assist Dianna onto her seat. Yawning hugely, the blond burrowed into a corner and promptly fell asleep. “She isn’t feeling well.”
“Aye,” the driver said, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he fought back a smile. “I can see that. Back to your residence, Lady Charlotte?”
“Yes, back to my house,” she confirmed. “Oh, and Rivers, could you take us around the back so—”
“Your mother does not wake? Yes, Lady Charlotte.” With a wink and a nod the driver closed the door and climbed up into his seat. The carriage swayed ever so slightly, there was a jingle of harness, a horse’s quiet nicker, and then they were off.
Sliding across the seat until she was next to Dianna, Charlotte rested her head on her sleeping friend’s shoulder and closed her eyes, banishing any wayward thoughts of Gavin and weddings and children from her mind, if only for a little while.
CHAPTER TEN
“My head hurts like the dickens.” Sitting up in Charlotte’s bed with a groan, Dianna wrapped both hands around her temple and squinted across the dark room to where Charlotte stood in front of a massive armoire busily yanking out dresses and dropping them into a traveling trunk. “What time is it? Where are we?”
Charlotte rocked back on her heels and pivoted to face the bed. She had been awake for the past two hours, the adrenaline and anxiety pumping through her veins making it impossible to sleep.
Somewhere between their return home and now, while she had been staring up at the ceiling doing her best to ignore Dianna’s soft snores, she made the decision to carry through with her plan to marry Gavin.
All things considered, it really was her best – and only – option. Marrying the duke was out of the question, and even though she would prefer to simply run away she could not in good conscious leave her mother indebted to Crane, not to mention the small fact that she had no skills with which to make a living.
A lady was bred and raised for one occupation and one occupation only: to be a wife and provide an heir. Barring that, they really were useless creatures, Charlotte included. She would not know the first thing about being a maid or running a shop.
No, marriage it was. For better or for worse, she would be Gavin’s wife by week’s end, which meant she had approximately seventeen minutes to finish packing, get dressed, and magically transport her heavy traveling trunk down the stairs and out the front door without waking her mother.
“Charlotte, didn’t you hear me? I asked you a question. Well, two questions. I think.” Dianna flopped back on the bed and threw an arm over her face. “Why does it feel as though a small man is inside my head wielding a hammer?”
“You imbibed in a few too many glasses of champagne last night.” Despite the dire timeline she found herself under, Charlotte could not help but grin. “You were well and truly foxed, my dear.”
Dianna sat up on one elbow and squinted blearily in Charlotte’s general direction. Her hair was a halo of messy blond curls around her face and she was still wearing her costume; Charlotte having been unable to peel her out of it before she collapsed into bed upon their return. “I was?” She pursed her lips. “I have never been foxed before. Did I enjoy myself?”
“Immensely.”
“How do you know?”
Charlotte paused in the act of plucking yet another dress from the depths of the armoire. Frowning, she held it up and tried to gauge the color in the dim lighting. Was it navy blue or plum purple? “How did I know what?” she asked absently.
“That I had indulged in too much champagne.”
“You hung out of the carriage window on the way home and burst into song.” Blue, she decided. Most definitely blue. Folding it in half, she tossed it on top of the others and reached inside for one more.
“I did not,” Dianna breathed.
“You most certainly did.” Charlotte popped out of the armoire holding a traveling cloak to her chest. “Since I was t
he one who had to pull you back inside before you killed yourself, I should know better than anyone.”
“I was a hoyden,” Dianna said, not sounding entirely displeased by the notion.
“Of the first order,” Charlotte agreed.
“Then we are in your bedroom?”
“Yes, Rivers brought us back here last night.”
Dianna muffled a yawn. “Why are you up so early? What time is it?”
“Just before dawn.” Charlotte glanced out the window to gauge the sunrise. The sky was streaked with reds and pinks, and unbidden a poem she had heard recited more than once rose to her mind:
Red skies at night, sailors delight
Red skies in morning, sailors take warning
Was the crimson sky a warning? Surely not. Mindful of the creaky floorboards she tiptoed across the room and drew the curtains closed, hiding the offensively colored sunrise from view. Charlotte had never been a superstitious sort, and she certainly wasn’t going to start now.
Everything was going to run according to plan. She was going to Gretna Green, marrying Gavin, and… well, there really wasn’t much of an ‘and’ after that, but she was confidant it would all sort itself out not because she wanted it to, but because it had to.
“Are you going somewhere?” For the first time seeming to notice the half filled trunk at Charlotte’s feet, Dianna pushed herself into a sitting position and swung her legs over the side of the mattress, dragging the blanket with her. “I am never drinking to excess again,” she grumbled. “It makes it much too difficult to think.”
“I am packing for Gretna Green.”
“Gretna Green? Why, that must mean…”
“Yes. I am marrying Mr. Graystone.”
“WHAT?” Dianna shrieked. At Charlotte’s cutting glare she meekly pressed a finger to her lips. “I know, I know. I did not mean to yell,” she whispered. “It is simply all so exciting! Leaving one man to run off and marry another. How romantic and dear. Tell me everything. Did he get down on one knee? Did he proclaim his love for you?”
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