Lady Charlotte's First Love

by Anna Bradley

  Julian stared at her, shocked. He tried to feel triumph at having managed to shake her composure at last, but as the moments continued to slip by in silence, his false smile stiffened on his lips.

  “I’m not an utter fool, Captain,” she murmured at last. “I don’t mean a romantic interest. I know very well you only pretend to care for me to win over my friends. In truth my welfare is of no consequence to you.”

  It wasn’t, because he couldn’t allow it to be. If he let her in, if he let her make him feel anything, then God only knew when he’d lose control again. He’d explode into a rage and fail them all—Cam and Ellie, and Jane, and even Charlotte—just as he’d failed Colin.

  “I suppose that answers the question of whether you think me a hero or a liar.” He took care to appear indifferent, but suddenly he wanted more than anything for her to say aloud he was no hero, because shouldn’t someone—even if it was her, or maybe because it was her—be able to see the truth?

  Charlotte’s gaze moved over his face as if she were searching for something, but then she looked away. “I see you as a man. Nothing more, and nothing less. I don’t judge you against your heroic reputation, Captain.”

  He forced a laugh. “No? I hope you’re not going to say you don’t judge me at all, for I find that difficult to believe.”

  For the briefest moment her eyes closed. His gut clenched with foreboding, and he had to fight a childish urge to put his hands over his ears so he wouldn’t have to hear what she said next—

  “I do judge you, Julian.” Her voice was so soft it was more breath than sound. “I judge you by the man you once were.”

  The breath rushed from his lungs. He tried to fill them again, but all the oxygen had been sucked from the air around them. The man you once were. So wistful, those words, as if he’d been so much more then, so much better than whoever he was now—not the man who’d fallen in love with Charlotte Sutherland, and not the hero London believed him to be.

  “That man was easier to manipulate.” His tone was bitter. “His naiveté would be useful to you now, I’ll grant you that.”

  She shook her head. “That man wasn’t naïve. He was compassionate and joyful and kind, with remarkable eyes, at once deep and dark and yet filled with light, just like a sky full of stars.”

  He raised a hand to his chest as something shifted painfully beneath his breastbone.

  Eyes like a sky full of stars. An absurd, romantic fancy, nothing more.

  But the break in her voice when she’d said it… It wasn’t for herself.

  It was for him, because all the wishing in the world wouldn’t change him back to who he’d once been.

  What did it matter? Starry eyes were blind. Useless.

  “Starry eyes or not, you’ll have me on your heels until you agree to leave London. But take heart, my lady. Perhaps it won’t be as bad as you fear. There was a time when you were happy enough to have my company.”

  Charlotte’s dark eyes filled with sadness. “There was a time when your company was worth the having, Captain.”

  He jerked back, but it was too late to escape a blow so powerful it left him breathless, because he’d believed she didn’t have the power to hurt him anymore until it landed with a sickening thud in the middle of his chest. He opened his mouth to rage at her, to hurt her in return, but strangely he didn’t have the words.

  “Charlotte!” Amelia called out just then. “You must come and see this pelisse!”

  Charlotte spurred her horse to catch up to her sister. Julian made no move to stop her, and in the next breath the moment was gone.

  By the time he caught up to them they’d passed through the Grosvenor Gate and were riding south toward Rotten Row. Amelia was quizzing Charlotte about the fashions. “French gray silk, I think, with the buttons down the front and the lace and flounces?” Amelia gestured discreetly with her chin at a pair of ladies, both dressed in the height of fashion, who were strolling on a footpath toward the Serpentine.

  Charlotte glanced in their direction. “Celestial blue, I believe. India muslin. Her bonnet is French straw trimmed with quilted net lace and an ostrich feather.”

  Amelia sighed with delight, but though Charlotte recited the details readily enough, she did it mechanically. Julian watched her as they continued to make their way along the bridle path toward the Serpentine. Her face was as composed as ever, so much so it would have been easy to overlook the lines of strain around her mouth and the way her shoulders sagged just slightly, as if a terrible weight were upon them.

  His heart gave an odd lurch, and he urged his horse to come abreast of hers, though he had no idea what he’d say, or how he could put it right—

  “Look, Uncle Julian. There’s a grand pair of black Hessians, just there, on that tall man behind us. The one with the blue coat. Do tell us about his boots.”

  Julian couldn’t help a half-hearted grin at Amelia’s magnanimous tone. Clearly she’d braced herself for a lecture on gentlemen’s footwear. But his smile faded as he turned to inspect the boots in question.

  Black with a gold tassel, tight to the knee. Shined to a high gloss.

  “Lady Hadley! How fortunate. I hoped to see you on the promenade this afternoon.”

  And perfectly fitted to Lord Devon’s foot.

  Charlotte’s head snapped up at Devon’s greeting. She straightened her shoulders and her face lit with a smile. “My lord, how glad I am to see you.”

  Julian scowled darkly at him, but Devon didn’t seem to notice. He broke away from the two gentlemen he’d been riding with and brought his horse alongside Charlotte’s. He removed his top hat with a flourish, then took her hand and brought it to his lips. “I thought I’d missed you. You’re later than usual today.”

  Later than usual? Was Devon the reason Charlotte made such a point of riding every afternoon during the fashionable hour?

  “I had callers who stayed past the usual hour. Amelia, do say hello to Lord Devon.”

  Devon turned to Amelia with a smile that brought a flush of pink to the girl’s cheeks. “Miss West. I’m grateful not to have missed you this afternoon. Have you seen any fashions worth noting on your ride today?”

  Julian ground his teeth until his jaws began to ache. Damn it. This wasn’t Amelia’s first meeting with the man either, then. It was quite the thing, it seemed, to promenade with Lord Devon.

  Amelia giggled. “Oh, yes. The best so far is a French straw hat. Oh, and your boots, too, my lord. My uncle Julian is quite interested in boots, you know.”

  “Is he?” Lord Devon turned to Julian with a cool smile. “Captain West. I’d be happy to give you my bootmaker’s name.”

  Julian’s teeth were in danger of being pulverized into a powder in his mouth. “Hoby.”

  Devon studied his face for a moment; then a corner of his lip curled upward. “Just so.” He didn’t spare Julian a second glance, but turned back to Charlotte. “Now, Lady Hadley, these late callers of yours who were so rude as to keep you past the usual hour. Would they be anyone I know?”

  Charlotte’s eyes sparkled with humor. “Oh yes, my lord. I believe you do know them.”

  “Ah.” Devon reined his horse in close to Charlotte’s and led her back onto the narrow pathway, so Julian had no choice but to follow behind with Amelia.

  Perhaps a hard shove would send Devon tumbling off his horse.

  “The widows are storming London’s drawing rooms now, are they?” Devon asked. “I suppose Lady Tallant was there to discuss her rout this evening.”

  “Yes, among other things,” Charlotte murmured. She glanced sideways at Devon, as if she wished to say more but couldn’t with Julian and Amelia so close.

  But as close as he was, Julian may as well have been a thousand miles away for all the notice they took of him. Sweat gathered in his palms and under the tight knot of his cravat, and began to trickle down
his back as the truth dawned on him.

  This was no mere flirtation between Charlotte and Devon. The level of intimacy between them was far deeper than Julian—or Cam or Ellie—had suspected. Charlotte had taken Devon into her confidence, and from there it was only a matter of time before she took him into her bed.

  Whatever Charlotte was hinting at, Devon understood it without further explanation. He glanced back at Julian, then leaned closer to her. “Is there some difficulty about your attending the rout?”

  “No, it’s only that—”

  “Lady Hadley doesn’t wish for my escort.” Julian, who’d had quite enough of being ignored, interrupted her. “But her family does wish it, and I intend to accommodate them. Do you have some objection to that, Devon?”

  Julian’s voice was pleasant enough, but under his polite enquiry was an unmistakable note of challenge. Devon couldn’t fail to hear it, but his only reaction was another amused curl of the corner of his lip.

  Julian was starting to hate that lip.

  “No objection at all, Captain. Naturally Lady Hadley should do as her family wishes. And when you arrive, my lady,” he lifted Charlotte’s hand to his lips again, “I’ll be waiting for you.”

  Julian stiffened. With those few words Devon had delivered a message of his own, and it was as clear as if he’d spoken it aloud.

  She may begin her evening with you, but she’ll end it with me.

  “Oh my goodness! Charlotte, look at that pelisse—pink silk taffeta with scalloped lace trim!” Amelia was staring at a blonde-haired lady riding by in a phaeton. “We must get a closer look.”

  Charlotte smiled. “Very well. Gentlemen, if you would excuse us?”

  Devon laughed indulgently, as if he’d seen this all a dozen times before. “By all means. Never let it be said I stood in the way of pink silk taffeta with lace trim.”

  Amelia and Charlotte rode off in pursuit of the pelisse, leaving Julian and Devon to follow. By silent agreement they slowed their horses to a walk, both of them aware their discussion was far from over.

  Julian spoke first. “Lady Hadley’s family wants her out of London, Devon.”

  “Yes. I’m aware of that. Mr. Camden West—your cousin, I believe? Mr. West and Lady Hadley’s brother, Robyn Sutherland, have made themselves quite clear on that point.”

  “Not clear enough, because here you are, still trying to get a hand under her skirts.”

  Devon made a disgusted noise. “How vulgar.”

  Julian chose to misunderstand him. “I agree. The decent thing to do would be to heed her family’s wishes and stop giving Lady Hadley a reason to dally in London.”

  Devon laughed. “You think she remains in London only for me? I’m flattered.”

  Julian ignored this. “But then you’re not a decent man, are you Devon?”

  Julian sensed rather than saw Devon tense in the saddle, but the man’s voice was as calm as ever. “Listening to the gossip? You disappoint me, Captain.”

  “Do I? I’m devastated to hear it.”

  “As to what’s decent,” Devon continued, as if Julian hadn’t spoken, “it’s a matter of opinion. Abandoning Lady Hadley to the tender but misguided mercies of her family hardly seems the decent thing to do.”

  “Misguided? Christ, you have a bloody nerve. Do you pretend to know better than her family what’s best for her?”

  “I don’t pretend a thing, Captain. Her family cares for her. I don’t dispute that, but none of you have the slightest inkling what to do for her.”

  Julian fought to keep calm. “And you do?”

  “Let’s just say I understand what it feels like to suffer as Lady Hadley suffers now.” A mocking smile drifted across the perfect lips. “Her family’s bumbling has only made matters worse, rather like a surgeon who treats the toothache with a bloodletting. Painful to witness.”

  “What do you mean, what she suffers? She appears perfectly content to me.”

  As long as you didn’t look too closely.

  For the first time Devon’s cool composure slipped, and Julian got a glimpse of what lay underneath the almost unreal handsomeness of his face.

  It would be a drastic mistake to underestimate this man.

  Iris Somerset had called Devon an angel. It would be easy to see him as one—to be lulled into complacency by the golden hair and the perfectly sculpted cheekbones. But Devon’s looks were misleading. The bright blue eyes, which appeared so languid at first glance, were quick and shrewd, and his dissolute manner masked a fierce intelligence.

  “Jesus, West. You haven’t the vaguest idea, do you? And her family assigned you the task of protecting her? What bloody fools.”

  Julian held on to his control by the merest thread, even as he pictured his fist closing around Devon’s throat. “Nevertheless they have asked me, and I intend to fulfill my obligation. I’ll escort her everywhere from now on, Devon. Not just tonight, but every night, so you may as well find some other widow to seduce, one who won’t be so much trouble to bring to your bed.”

  Devon’s lip curled again, but this time he wasn’t amused. “Ah. You mean to say one widow is much like another, and I should simply exchange Lady Hadley for a similar one, as if she were a pair of Hoby boots? You insult her ladyship, Captain. There is no other woman like her, and you know it yourself, don’t you?”

  Devon waited for him to say something, but this time Julian had no ready reply.

  I knew it once, a lifetime ago.

  “Just as I thought.” Devon kicked his horse into a trot, but he didn’t get far before he slowed again and turned to look at Julian over his shoulder. “Oh, and West? You talk a great deal about what Lady Hadley’s family wants, and about what you want, but none of you seem at all concerned with what she wants. Curious, that. Perhaps one of you should ask her.”

  With that, Devon wheeled his horse around and trotted over to join Charlotte and Amelia.

  Julian watched him go. Bloody hell. What had just happened?

  But he knew. He, Captain Julian West—the toast of London, the Waterloo hero, the man Charlotte’s family had chosen to protect her fragile reputation—had just been soundly put in his place by a scandalous, licentious, ruinous earl, who, if rumor could be trusted, was also very probably a murderer.

  Chapter Twelve

  It pleased Lady Tallant to call her evening party a rout, but Annabel wasn’t a typical London hostess, and her routs weren’t the predictable, mannerly affairs characteristic of respectable members of the ton. There would be cards—there were always cards—but no genteel conversation and no music, at least no music that could be heard above the din. There may or may not be a supper, but there would be enough champagne on offer to overflow the banks of the Thames. A drawing-room was not sufficiently large for such a riot of people, so guests were ushered into a ballroom ablaze with light, aside from a few corners and alcoves that would remain conveniently dim throughout the evening.

  In truth, it wasn’t so much a rout as a mêlée. A handy thing, a mêlée. Charlotte had two purposes tonight, and a mêlée would do well for both.

  “Good God, what a tumult. I’ve seen calmer battlefields.”

  Or not. What good was a mêlée if one couldn’t disappear into it? She glanced up into Julian’s face, then down to his fingers wrapped firmly around her upper arm. She’d thought to shed him easily in this crush, but he hadn’t taken his eyes or his hand off her since they’d set foot in Annabel’s ballroom.

  “I did warn you this wasn’t your kind of party, Captain. It will only grow more debauched as the evening progresses. Perhaps you should leave now, before it deteriorates further.”

  As if to prove her point, Lord Ambrose sauntered by at that moment with a woman in a masque whose prominent décolletage proclaimed beyond a shadow of a doubt she was not Lady Ambrose.

  Julian raised an eyebrow at them as
they passed. “And miss all this? I think not. Unless you find yourself fatigued, Lady Hadley? If so, I’ll happily escort you back to Grosvenor Square.”

  “That won’t be necessary. I’m not at all fatigued—”

  Then again, perhaps she was fatigued. So fatigued he should take her home at once. It would be a rather neat way to get rid of him. Then she could come back on her own and find Devon. “That is, I do have a bit of a headache. Perhaps you should take me back to Grosvenor Square.”

  “Grosvenor Square? Nonsense! We’ve only just found you.” The widows came up behind them and Lissie linked her arm with Charlotte’s. “Such a crush! Why do you invite so many people, Annabel? If I didn’t know better I could swear I just saw Lord Ambrose pass by.”

  Annabel shrugged. “I don’t invite them. They just come. But I did invite you, Charlotte, and you, Captain West, and I shall take it very ill indeed if you leave my party before you’ve even had a glass of champagne.”

  Aurelie snapped her fingers and a footman appeared out of nowhere, his silver tray rattling with full glasses of champagne. Lissie took one and drained it at once. “Thank goodness. I’m parched. How did you do that, Aurelie? I’ve been trying to secure a glass for an age.”

  Aurelie smiled. “I’m French. It’s champagne. C’est tout.”

  “Now we’ve had a glass together, I will ask Captain West to escort me home.” Charlotte raised a feeble hand to her forehead. “Forgive me, Annabel, but I have a dreadful headache.”

  Aurelie patted her hand. “You only need more champagne, ma chèrie. It cures the headache, you see.”

  “The headache and whatever else ails you.” Lissie snagged a second glass of champagne from the footman’s tray. “After a few more glasses I won’t even notice the pain in my toes, I’m sure.”

  “Have you a pain, darling?” Annabel asked.

  “Yes. My slippers are too tight.”