She huffed. Men were such a bother at times.
“Jamie, how does your uncle feel about this proposed match?” Charlotte cut her remaining ham steak into small, bite-sized pieces though her appetite had fled, especially now that he’d be the topic of discussion.
Bethany’s eyes rounded. “We shouldn’t discuss the marquess.” The tendons in her neck worked with a hard swallow. “He’s already taken Jamie to task this morning. It would seem the gossips are correct.”
This time Charlotte snorted. “It’s not gossip. To my way of thinking, the man is afflicted of a bad mood all the time. Why is he grumpy today?”
Jamie rolled his eyes. “I accidentally broke a vase in the drawing room by bumping into it late last night. Apparently, the trinket had been in the family for generations.” He shrugged. “An apology wasn’t enough, so I was made to endure a two minute tirade before he took himself off.”
“Ah. I see.” Perhaps the marquess had been right about Jamie’s lack of respect. She took a sip of tea while ignoring the girl and pinned Jamie with a glare. “I’m curious about your sudden impending nuptials, Jamie.”
He shrugged, his expression neutral. “I’ve mentioned the situation to him. He told me to do what I must in order to appear above reproach. My reputation needs to be sterling once I take the title.”
“If you take it,” she reminded him. “Your uncle is youngish yet, and from the looks of things, still vital.” She fought off a blush as she remembered how his hard body had felt against hers or how warm and commanding his lips had been those heart-stopping seconds when he’d forgotten himself and returned her impromptu kiss.
“Oh please, do you really think Ravenhurst will tolerate a woman long enough to wed her and get her with child?”
“Stranger things have happened,” Charlotte defended. “Suppose he meets someone soon. If he’s well and truly enamored with her and falls madly in love, he can be married within six months.” Why she felt compelled to defend the boorish man, she couldn’t fathom. “Sooner if he’s truly motivated.”
Jamie’s hazel eyes went cold. “The man is a beast. He’s better off alone.” He waved a hand in dismissal. “No woman has wanted him thus far. He’ll die alone, and of his own fault and choosing.”
“No matter how unsavory a person is, they are still capable of love—giving or receiving it.” Except, the marquess might just be the exception to that rule.
“He’s ever so attractive. Perhaps Charlotte is correct. He may yet find a match.” Bethany sipped her tea.
“Not my uncle.” Jamie narrowed his eyes, and then an expression of disbelief crossed his face. A smile curved his lips and gave life to his boyish face. “Don’t tell me you think you can tame the savage beast, Charlotte. I thought you had more common sense than that. At least self-preservation.” The incredulity in his voice caused Charlotte’s stomach to quiver.
Why not? It could be a challenge full of adventure and excitement—not that she wanted to take up such a thing at the moment. “I don’t know what I think of him at this moment, other than he’s aggravating and quite stubborn.” And rude. And stormy. And slightly mysterious. And definitely had a story to tell…
Bugger it. Maybe she did.
Jamie chuckled and brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. “If anyone could manage him, it would be you, Charlotte.”
She frowned. “What does that mean?”
“Just what I said. In this instance, perhaps your penchant for bossing would be just the thing in this situation.”
Before Charlotte could respond, Bethany cut in. “Oh, did you meet the marquess?” Wonder hung on her question as she set her teacup in its saucer with a decided clink.
“I did, Miss Starkton. Last night.” Charlotte refused to spill the details on what transpired in the maze as it was hers alone to ponder. Her lips tingled from the fleeting remembrance of the kiss. “I also met Jamie’s mother, although briefly.” That one gave her chills of foreboding.
“Lucky girl. For all of Jamie’s fawning over me, I have yet to meet any member of his family. His mother refuses to acknowledge we might make a match, and as for the marquess, well, as soon as there might be a hint of a meeting between him and any member of the party, he scurries away as if the hounds of hell were after him.” Bethany pushed the food around her plate with her fork. “When will you take our alliance seriously, Jamie? Not many women would willingly be put in this position.”
Jamie rolled his eyes, all teasing lost. “I told you to be patient. Contracts need to be prepared.”
Charlotte’s jaw dropped. Perhaps the girl knew exactly what transpired after all. Wanting to head off what could be an ugly argument, she cleared her throat. “Tell me about your uncle. Why does he work so hard at being dark and brooding?” Even now, she swore she heard his whisper in her ear or felt the warmth of his breath on her cheek. A flutter sailed through her lower belly.
Really, Charlotte, forget about such fancy. Obviously, the man is not for you.
“Ah, the problem of my loving uncle.” Jamie shoved a piece of ham into his mouth and chewed with vigor. Once he’d swallowed, he continued, “Something happened to him in Spain. He never has revealed what exactly, and if he has to acquaintances, they haven’t shared the secret. Ever since then, he refuses to be around people or act polite. The man is incapable of showing warmth or affection toward anyone.”
“Then he was more… human, for lack of a better word, before his stint in the military?” How very odd, that in a town that seemingly thrived on secrets and gossip, no one knew or was willing to tell, what exactly happened to the marquess while in the military.
“No. For as long as I’ve known him, he’s been harsh. Some say even cruel, much like Grandfather when he was alive.” Jamie shrugged. “As long as I keep on his good side, I don’t concern myself with him. He’s shut me out too many times for either of us to bring comfort to each other.”
“How sad and somewhat depressing.” Was it the family dynamic that made Ravenhurst the way he was, or something else entirely? Had he once known a grand passion that had ended in disaster and that was why he refused to marry? Her heart raced from the mystery as well as the puzzle he represented. “How did you talk him into his house party if he detests being around people?”
He leaned back in his chair, the picture of nonchalant elegance and youth. The lock of hair fell over his brow. “Mother didn’t want the celebration in London. She doesn’t enjoy guests in the townhouse as she likes things just so. She badgered Uncle into having it here. I don’t know why he agreed, but if she says jump, he generally does.” He frowned. “Also, I think she hopes anyone of consequence will forget I’m her son, and keeping me away from London helps.”
“Sounds like your whole family has trouble bonding.” She sucked in a breath. “I apologize. That was horrible of me to say.”
Jamie hooted with laughter. “Truer words have never been spoken. We’re mostly strangers in this family. We’re good at it, I suppose. No sense changing now.” He planted an elbow on the table and grinned. “I’ll wager if any woman could break my starchy, reclusive uncle, it’d be you. I imagine you’d turn all of us around and manage us into better people. Care to take up the challenge?”
There he went again, saying she excelled at managing or bossing. Charlotte sighed. How very unflattering. On the other hand, she was merely taking command of her own life. “Oh, I’m not certain that would be a good idea.”
“It would be a capitol idea. If there were any two people in need of a match, it would be you and Uncle.” Jamie grinned and his brown eyes twinkled.
“Don’t rush your—or my—fences.” She dropped her gaze. Now, had he given her a snifter of brandy and dared her to drink it, she would have easily given in to the challenge. Chasing the marquess was something else entirely. “I’m certain there’s a perfectly solid reason why your uncle remains unattached. I have no wish to disturb his carefully crafted solitude.”
“I’m so glad,” Bethany a
dded. She followed the statement with a nod. “If what the gossips say is true, he’s not fit for any lady, what with his temper and all. Who knows what else he’s capable of?”
“Indeed.” But the idea wouldn’t leave Charlotte alone. What sort of woman would be able to tame the alleged Ravenhurst beast?
The conundrum bedeviled her all day as she attempted to read while escaping the silly little outings Jamie had planned for his guests, then it continued to grip her mind through dinner and the cozy games of whist afterward. Her imagination wouldn’t stop dwelling on what surely had to be the tragic life of the Marquess of Ravenhurst. For her own entertainment, she’d invented a torturous past, a failed romance and a haunting for good measure. Her penchant for Gothic tales had now colored him in her fantasies.
But what is the reality?
She peered down the darkened staircase. Nothing in the house moved at this hour of the evening, and why should there be activity? Proper ladies and gentlemen had retired to their rooms. Socializing had been over for at least an hour, and now, as it approached midnight, the only people who might be about didn’t have altruistic motives in mind. Was Jamie skulking through the corridors on his way to meet with his lover? She shook her head to clear the thought. Really, I need to find something else to fixate on. As a faint glimmer of golden light danced at the end of one hallway, Charlotte grinned. Someone else was still awake, and if her luck held, it might prove to be the marquess. Please don’t let it be Jamie making use of the room. She didn’t think she had the strength to bear witness to another of his assignations. The marquess had not joined the party for dinner, but neither had his sister, which she found strange. Did neither one care about Jamie?
Since she’d been too preoccupied with inventing scenarios for him, she hadn’t changed clothes from dinner. Now, taking her skirting in hand, she slipped down the stairs, careful to keep her steps measured and her focus on the wavering golden illumination. When it vanished, she bit her bottom lip to keep from groaning with disappointment. If the marquess was the owner of the light, where had he gone? At the bottom of the staircase, Charlotte paused. One way led toward the drawing room as well as a parlor while the other branch led to… what? She hadn’t had the opportunity to traverse the passage as of yet, and Jamie hadn’t seen fit to give his guests a tour.
She took a few steps then paused. Uncertainly circled her mind like a horse on a loop. If she did find the marquess alone and happened to engage him in conversation, if someone else should come along and catch them together, unchaperoned, there would be hell to pay. Her spine tingled. Depending on who it was, would she and the marquess be demanded to wed? Poor Mother would never live down the scandal… or let her forget it either.
With a snort, Charlotte continued down the unexplored hall. She pushed away the thought as silly musings of a wild imagination. She had no intentions of marrying anyone, let alone a brooding gentleman who may or may not possess a sordid past. Her slippers whispered on the hardwood. Just when she thought about turning back, the glimmer of light returned and flickered as if someone walked in front of the lamp. She crept toward an open doorway near the end of the corridor. Her heartbeat raced. Her mouth went dry. Was it him? What would she do if she peeked into the room and it wasn’t?
Blasted curiosity. Felix was forever telling her it would get her into trouble. Perhaps tonight would be that time.
The clearing of a masculine throat within the room drew her onward. She paused at the doorframe with her back pressed flushed against the wall. Dear heavens, I cannot intrude… can I?
“For the love of all that’s holy, woman, come in and be quiet about it.” The marquess hissed the request. “And shut the door behind you. I’d rather not be trapped in parson’s mousetrap due to spies or the carelessness of a stubborn female.”
Charlotte’s heart dropped into her stomach then that organ lurched into her toes. Surprise held her captive, but she stumbled into the room and, with shaking hands, followed instructions. Once the latch clicked on the lock, she turned around to face him. “First of all, I want it to be entirely clear that I did not intend to spy on you.”
“I cannot abide liars, Lady Charlotte, and you are most certainly one right now.” He gestured toward a leather-bound arm chair that sat in front of his massive cherry wood desk. “Sit.”
She ignored his comment while moving across the floor then settled into the chair. Obviously a study, the bookshelves lining one wall were of the same wood as his desk and filled with books on a wide variety of topics and reflected masculine tastes. Crystal and glass decanters of various liquors and wines rested atop a credenza behind him. A few ledgers lay stacked meticulously at one corner of his desk. A collection of papers occupied another. “Why are you hiding in here?”
“I do not hide.” Annoyance hung in his baritone voice.
“I rather doubt you slunk in here, shrouded in darkness, merely to work. Tenant issues and account books are not that exciting. Also, you’ve said it yourself. You’re hiding.” She raised her gaze to his and held it, undaunted by the distaste in his expression. “Now who’s resorting to telling falsehoods, Lord Ravenhurst?”
He twisted a signet ring around his left pinky finger. “Yes. I’m hiding—from my sister. The woman is a veritable menace at times, and her nagging at me for personal reasons rankles.” He narrowed his eyes. “Do me the honor and call me Nathan. The title is a mouthful. For once in my life, I’d like to be known as something other than my position in Society.”
Did the yoke of responsibility weigh on his shoulders as it did with Felix? Some of her fear faded. He was merely a man, after all, trying to navigate his way in the world. “I don’t know why I should do anything for you as rude as you were last night.” She folded her hands in her lap, pleased she’d overcome her initial anxiety. “However, since I like the sound of your name, I’ll make use of it only if you drop the ‘lady’ from my address.”
“Done.” He tapped the desktop with a forefinger. “Why are you here, Charlotte?”
Flutters loosed in her belly at the sound of her name from his lips without the formality. “Truthfully?” When he nodded, she let out a quick sigh. “I came looking for you.”
“To what purpose?” In the lamplight, his eyes gleamed golden brown.
What was their natural color? His eyes had the power to mesmerize. She fought a blush. “No particular reason I suppose, only that you made an impression last night and part of me wants to know why you’re so bullish to everyone.” Dear heavens, wouldn’t Mother die of embarrassment to see me now?
“Ah, I see. You think to be the brave woman who will ride to my rescue, show me understanding and suddenly I’ll bear the secrets of my soul to you, thereby becoming a normal, functioning member of Society again. Is that it?” The last ended with a near snarl, making him much like the beast Jamie had likened him to.
Her cheeks burned. It was almost as if he’d looked into her soul, snagged her intentions and now mocked her with them. Charlotte swallowed, mostly to stall for time than to assuage her dry throat. “I… well.” She chewed her bottom lip. “Perhaps.” Above everything, she wanted to know why he was so vastly unapproachable, but she honestly thought if they could talk, or she could exert enough charm, she could draw out his troubles or perhaps befriend him. She rather suspected he didn’t have very many close contemporaries. Why she cared eluded her. “I apologize, my lord.” Despite her musings, her stomach clenched and warnings rang in her ears. Perhaps this wasn’t the best of ideas.
“Another lie. Have you forgotten you and I had words in the maze last night? I know you have more mettle than that.” He stared hard at her, his expression never softening. “Try again.”
“Fine.” If he wanted to come the crab with her, so be it. “Yes, I came to lure you into conversation in order to understand you. It’s been my experience when men are grumpy, there is usually a perfectly logical explanation as to why.”
“So, my disposition is only a conversation away from being ch
anged, is that it?” Nathan rose. At his full height and from her position, his presence filled the room. Not exactly threatening, he was certainly menacing, even more so when he stalked around his desk toward her. “Pray, tell me how you intend to fix me.”
Charlotte’s pulse accelerated. Her breath stalled. Just before he arrived at her chair, she sprang to her feet. “I do not wish to fix you. I merely want to figure out why you hide yourself away, why you run from every attempt of acquaintances or family members to befriend you.”
“Why should you care? You know nothing of me except the tales I suspect Jamie was all too eager to feed you.” He advanced while she retreated. In the anemic candlelight, his eyes flashed but his expression remained dark with anger or annoyance. “Unless, you are the fortune hunter I accused you of being last night.”
“Absolutely not.” Charlotte fled, but the closed door blocked her escape route. In the seconds it took to turn and face the perturbed marquess, he’d closed the distance and stood a foot away from her. “What I told you last night was the truth. I have no interest in position or fortune.” She pressed her palms against the door, moving them over the smooth wood in search of the latch. This encounter with Nathan was much different than the last. Yes, he’d been in the boughs with her then, but not like this. Not as if he’d like to rip her apart for merely engaging him in conversation.
“Yet you came into my study, alone, and in the middle of the night. You tell me you’re not interested in my worth, and it would stand to reason the title doesn’t tempt you either.” He leaned into her, so close her breasts would brush his chest if she took a deep breath, and rested a hand on the door to one side of her head. “Perhaps you’re after something much baser and more physically satisfying than being linked in name.”
Charlotte gasped at the implication. “How dare you!” She raised a hand to slap him for the insult, but he easily caught her wrist in his free hand. “I have no designs on you at all.”
If her heart beat any faster it would burst from her body. She stared up at him, well and truly trapped between him and the door. His apples and cedar scent flooded her nose, but it was the angry set to his sensuous mouth that held her immobile. What would a kiss—a real kiss—from such a man feel like? She shook her head. That was a wildly inappropriate thought, especially at the present time. “My only wish is for friendship, or perhaps companionship if you can bring yourself to bend so far to acknowledge such a thing.”
To Bed or to Wed Page 4