“Marvelous news indeed. Your hasty retreat made me fear that he’d refused.”
Charlotte entered her bedchamber with Elizabeth on her heels. Turning to her sister, she said, “I intend to have a bath and perhaps a nap before the ball.” It should have been enough to send Elizabeth on her way, but Charlotte was not to be so lucky. She sighed when her sister lowered herself into an armchair. “Do you not have preparations to make for the ball? Surely your husband expects you home soon.”
“Never mind all of that.” Elizabeth removed her gloves and laid them in her lap. “I want to hear how Lord Grayson plans to aid you.”
Charlotte tossed her bonnet onto the bed, then strolled across the room and rang for her maid. While her back was to Elizabeth, she said, “He plans to attend tonight's ball and observe my interactions.”
“And then what?” Elizabeth asked.
Charlotte turned to her sister. “Then he will determine how best to help me.”
“You were with him for an absurd amount of time. What took so long?” Elizabeth stared at her through suspicious blue eyes. “Did he force you to beg?”
“No…not exactly. Worse, actually. He made me explain my motivation and my reason for enlisting him to help.”
Elizabeth's eyes softened and she came to stand beside Charlotte. “Are you quite certain you wish to go through with this scheme? I do not want to see you hurt.”
Elizabeth had stood by Charlotte through her heartbreak all those years ago and knew all too well what Charlotte had gone through. She did not blame her sister for harboring concerns now. In truth, Charlotte fretted as well. “I am determined to find a husband.”
“I am well aware, dear.” Elizabeth wrapped her arm around Charlotte’s shoulders. “But are you sure that you want Lord Grayson’s help with the matter?”
“There is no one better suited to the task.” Charlotte gave a bright smile. She hoped it appeared cheery, rather than one of those frightful forced ones. “Now do take your leave so that I may prepare for the ball.”
Elizabeth gave Charlotte a slight squeeze before she released her. “I will see you this evening.”
Indeed, Charlotte would see a great many people—including Damien. Her traitorous heart speed up at the thought as she watched Elizabeth depart. Would Damien dance with her? Would he think her stunning in her new ball gown? She heaved a sigh, shaking her head at the foolish pondering. He’d broken her heart. She didn’t give a fig what he did or thought now, just so long as he helped her.
Chapter 3
Damien watched as Charlotte sat along the edge of the room with the other wallflowers and spinsters. She’d been there all night, rooted as firmly to her chair as the ferns decorating the ballroom were to their pots. It was no wonder she lacked suitors when she did not so much as try to interact.
What had happened to the vivacious beauty he had once courted? She cut a lovely image in her pale ball gown, but gone were the brilliant smiles and sparkling eyes. It was no wonder the tons gentle did not approach her. Sitting there with her bored expression and straight back, she looked rather stern—not at all welcoming.
Having seen enough, Damien strolled across the expanse of the room. He would have to get her out of that chair if he were ever to help her succeed in finding a husband. He made his way through the crush, grabbing two flutes of champagne from a servant along the way.
When he reached the thrall of wallflowers, he thrust one of the flutes into Charlotte’s hand. “Drink this.”
Her eyes grew wide. “I do not want to.”
He tipped his flute against his lips and drained the champagne from it in one long draw before pinning her with his gaze. “Drink it.”
Charlotte stared back at him for a moment then did as he had, draining the contents of the flute in one long drink. Holding the glass back out to him, she said, “Are you happy now?”
“No.” He reached out taking her hand then pulled her from the chair. “You cannot sit here all night and hope to garner any attention.”
“What would you have me do when no one has signed my dance card?” she protested as he led her away from the wall.
“I don’t blame them.” Damien stopped on the dance floor and pulled her into his arms.
Charlotte peered up at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“You have not moved from that chair all night.”
“I do not recall you as being daft.”
“And I do not remember you as a cold statue.” Damien twirled her then brought her back into his arms as he led them through the steps of the dance. “You cannot expect gentlemen to apron you when you do nothing to invite their attentions.”
Charlotte pressed her eyes closed. When she opened them again, she stared directly into his. “What would you have me do?”
“To start with, you could smile.”
She gave a half-hearted grin.
“Brighter.”
Her lips parted, revealing her perfect teeth as the corners of her mouth pulled up.
“Yes, like that.” He twirled her once more. “Next, you must not sit with the wallflowers.”
“Then what do you suggest I do?”
“Take a turn about the room, go onto the veranda for a bit of fresh air, lurk around the refreshment table. For heaven's sake, do anything other than what you have been.”
She nibbled at her lower lip. “I will endeavor to try.”
“What happened to you? These things used to be second nature for you.”
She did not answer—not with words at any rate, but the faraway look in her crystal blue eyes spoke volumes. He had done more than break her heart—he’d destroyed her confidence. Damien's heart grew heavy. The last thing he had ever wanted to do was hurt her, and until this moment he hadn’t even realized how much he had.
“Charlotte.” His voice came out barely louder than a whisper.
She brought her attention back to him.
“You are a beautiful woman, and as I recall, quite capable of being charming and witty when you choose to be. You need only show it and you will have more suitors than you will know what to do with.”
She laughed, a genuine smile overcoming her. “That was very kind of you to say.”
The quartet struck the final notes of the dance. Damien swept Charlotte from the dance floor and led her to where her sister stood. He bowed. “Good evening Lady Oxford.”
“I see you have located my sister, Lord Grayson. I trust you enjoyed your dance.” Elizabeth waved her silk fan.
“Indeed, and now I am returning her to you.” Before Charlotte could release his arm and step away he leaned close and whispered, “Stay here.”
She nodded, then turned to her sister as he took his leave of them. Now that he had her away from that bloody chair, he would ensure that she not return to it. There was one way to make certain that she remained amongst the crush rather than sequestered in a corner.
Damien turned from the sisters with a plan in mind and searched the room for his intended helper. Spotting the Duchess of Goodwin, he strolled across the room.
“Your Grace.” He gave a roguish grin, dropping into a bow.
The duchess grinned, her eyes dancing. “Whatever are you doing here?”
“Enjoying the ball, of course.”
“You never attend these sorts of things without good cause. Do tell me what you are about.” She laughed before sipping her champagne.
“I never could fool you.” He granted her another charming grin. He’d not reveal his reason for attending, though. The duchess was a renowned gossip, a fact he intended to use to his advantage—not the other way around. “I hear tell that the unattainable debutante is seeking a husband.”
“Is that so?” Her Grace’s gaze swept across the room to where Charlotte stood beside Lady Oxford. “How is it that I am only now hearing of this?”
“Truly?” He raised a brow in mock speculation. “You are normally among the first to hear such tidbits.”
“Be that as
it may, I shall not be the last.” She playfully smacked her fan against his arm. “Excuse me.”
He bowed, then bit back a smile as the duchess made her way toward a pack of gossips. By night's end, everyone who was anyone in London would know of Charlotte’s desire to wed. Having done all he could for now, Damien returned to Charlotte. “A word, my lady.”
She took his proffered arm and allowed him to lead her around the perimeter of the ballroom. The instant she touched him, his blood heated.
Dammit, but the woman still had an affect him. Swallowing hard, Damien glanced at her. “I am going to take my leave. I have seen enough for one night. You are to remain standing, and keep smiling. Before long your dance card is going to fill up.”
“How can you be so sure?”
He led her back toward Lady Oxford. “Trust me…it will.”
“Won’t you stay so that you might give me more guidance?” She stared wide-eyed at him.
“You do not need any more of my help. Simply accept the dances and be yourself.” He deposited her back with her sister, then took his leave. He could not stand the idea of paying witness to all of the attention she was about to receive.
Chapter 4
“Another one?” Charlotte said with delight as she instructed her maid to place the bouquet of pink roses on her side table. Damian had been correct when he’d told her that her dance card would soon be full. In fact, she’d danced every set, not leaving the ball until after three in the morning.
And now--well, now her home looked more like a greenhouse than a London townhouse. It could hardly contain all of the flowers she’d received. Not to mention the more than a dozen invitations and callers she’d entertained today. What a marvelous change from the days prior. Hope swelled within her, for surely she would find a suitable husband soon.
How had Damian pulled it off? She’d gone from being the unattainable debutante to the most sought after, if all of the flowers brightening her family's townhouse were any indication. How would she choose from among the many suitors?
She did not hope to find love—she’d already done that years ago, and feared her heart would always be with Damian. It was doubtful she could ever love another. She resigned herself to settle for a man who she could care for, one who cared for her as well. A man who would treat her well and provide a good home. And though doubtful, perps given enough time—just maybe—love would blossom between her and her chosen husband.
However, she did wish to find a gentleman whom she cared for and who cared for her in return. Perhaps in time, love would blossom. At the least, she wished for a man who would be her companion, partner, friend, and lover. Damian would be able to tell her how to sort out the men who were truly enamored with her from those seeking her dowry or an elevated status.
You no longer need my help. His words echoed through her mind and her heart hitched. He was mistaken, she very much needed his guidance and tutelage. Even once she determined which men were genuine, she would still need to charm her chosen husband. Seduce him into an offer, into wanting to spend his life with her.
Charlotte sat down at her carved cherry wood writing desk and drew a piece of parchment from the drawer before setting it on the hard surface and taking up her quill. She would write to Damian at once to request his ongoing assistance and request he attend the Gilford musical this evening.
D,
You are mistaken to assume that I no longer need your assistance. As it were, I am as lost as ever. How am I to determine which of my suitors truly cares for me? Do attend the Gilford musical this evening so that you might help me in my endeavor--as you promised you would.
Sincerely,
C
She folded the parchment, sealed it, and then gave it to a footman with instructions to deliver it at once. There was nothing left for her to do other than prepare herself for the evening's entertainments—and hope Damian would acquiesce to her request.
Charlotte arrived at the Gilford’s musical at thirty minutes past. The performance would soon begin, and Damian had yet to appear. Every time someone entered her attention turned to the door as she gazed at the newcomers, hoping to find him.
She nibbled her lower lip as Lord Demount led her around the room. She really ought to be paying the gentleman more attention. She’d danced with him at the Brighton ball and he’d sent her a lovely bouquet the next morning before coming to call. The gentle was handsome with his aristocratic features, though his jaw was not near as chiseled as Damian's—nor were his eyes as captivating, nor his body as well-formed.
Charlotte sighed. She should not compare her suitors to Damian. It was not fair to anyone—least of all her. No man would ever come close to him as far as she was concerned. She ought to be thankful for that, for it meant that none of them could break her heart. She smiled at Lord Demount. “Tell me, what is your favorite sweet-treat?”
“I do not care for sweet foods, my lady” he replied without animation.
The silent stroll was making her half-mad. She’d try again. “How about horses, Lord Demount. Have you a favorite equestrian activity?”
“I fear not. The only use I have for the beasts is for them to pull my carriage.” He laughed.
Charlotte cringed inwardly. She found nothing humorous about his answer. Further, she could not abide a gentleman who did not care for horses. After all, she was an avid horsewoman. She supposed Lord Demount could be taken off her list of potential suitors.
Lord Demount returned her to her mother and they took their seats as the musical began. She swept her gaze over the room once more before turning her attention to the front of the room. Damian had ignored her request, and she didn’t know whether to be upset or relieved. In the end, vexation ruled.
Why agree to help her if he only intended to stir up a batch of potential suitors and then abandon her without further care? He’d proven in short order that he remained the same cold-hearted rogue he'd been eleven years ago. Devil take him, she didn’t give a fig if he helped or not.
She pushed all thoughts from her mind and focused her attention on the Gilford’s oldest daughter, who was playing pianoforte. The girl worked the ivory keys with mastery, filling the room with a haunting tune. Charlotte let herself drift along with music, all thoughts fleeing her mind.
“You look lovely.”
She jumped, startled at first by the low voice near her ear, and then by the warmth of someone breathing so near to her ear and neck. Her heart pounding, she turned and locked gazes with Damian.
He had snuck into the empty chair beside her and now sat with a lazy, roguish grin, staring at her. His cocoa eyes sparkled, alight with mischief. Charlotte swept her gaze over him. He wore a dark navy coat with black breeches, his starched white cravat standing out in deep contrast to the rest of his attire.
Peering back at him, she said, “You startled me.”
“I should do so more often.” He leaned closer. “You are adorable when caught unawares.”
Her cheeks warmed at his compliment. The devil if he did not still get to her, even after all these years. She wished she could sink through the floorboards and disappear, for surely he noticed her burning cheeks. His widening smile was proof enough.
“Hush, and do watch the musical.” Charlotte turned her attention back to the front of the room. Though she could no longer see Damian, she could feel his eyes on her. The heat in her cheeks spread across her body and her skin tingled; she dare not spare another glance in his direction.
Charlotte spent the remainder of the show attempting to ignore Damian’s nearness. When the music ended at last, she flipped open her fan and began cooling her still burning cheeks.
“Perhaps a spot of fresh air would help, my lady,” Damian said.
Charlotte turned her head toward him. “Indeed.” She looked to her mother. “Mama, might I take a turn around the garden with Lord Grayson?”
Mother smiled, rising from her chair, and Charlotte feared she may wish to join them. Pray no, for if she did Ch
arlotte would not be able to speak to him about her gentlemen callers. She forced a grin and waited with bated breath for Mother's reply.
“Very well, darling. I will meet you back here after the break.” Mother strolled toward the center aisle, leaving Charlotte with Damian.
He stood and held out his hand to assist her. “Allow me.”
Charlotte accepted his arm and he swept her from the room. Within minutes, he had led her down a shaded garden path. Though she did not wish to be vulgar, she found it preferable to spending too much time in his company. Therefore, she skipped small talk and polite topics in order to get straight to the heart of her summons. “How am I to know which of my many suitors are truly interested in me?”
“It is not like you to skirt propriety as you are. First coming to my home, and now blurting out inappropriate questions.” He gave a teasing grin. “Your Mother would be aghast.”
“Do not jest. This is serious. I do not want to make another mistake.” His attention drifted from her and she knew he’d taken her meaning. Damian had crushed her, ruined her dreams, destroyed her faith in love—she’d not submit herself to such pain again. Not willingly.
“I am sorry, Charlotte. It was never my intention to hurt you.”
She notched her chin. “Never mind the past. Tell me your thoughts on Lord Gartner?”
“He’s no good.”
“Why not?”
Damian led her down a path lined with hedges that split off to the right. “Drinks too much.”
“Very well.” She slanted her gaze toward him. “What of Lord Merrywether?”
“He’s far too lazy.”
Charlotte inhaled the sweet scent of the hyacinths they were strolling past. Surely there were worthy gentlemen among her callers. She glanced again at Damian and asked, “Lord Rutherford, Lord Barton, Mr. Larkford?”
“No, no, and certainly not.” Damian shook his head.
Charlotte could not help but laugh. “Pray, tell me what issue you take with those gentlemen?”
Earl of Grayson: Wicked Regency Romance (Wicked Earls' Club) Page 2