Lady Charlotte's First Love

by Anna Bradley

  He let her lead him down the terrace steps and onto a dim pathway that led to the outer edge of the garden, away from the small knot of guests gathered around the fountain where the pathways converged at the center. Neither of them spoke. The only sound was the muted crunch of Devon’s footsteps on the gravel pathway and the faint rustle of Charlotte’s silk skirts in the breeze. As they ventured farther into the garden the light from the terrace faded, until only the starlight illuminated the pathway at their feet.

  Charlotte tilted her chin to look into the dark night sky. Gardens, dark nights filled with stars—the most poignant moments of her life had taken place in gardens just like this one. That night with Julian—oh, it felt like a lifetime ago she’d lured him into a midnight garden and let him kiss her under the spreading branches of an ancient oak tree. The moment his lips touched hers, she’d known she’d never be the same again—

  “You’ve changed your mind.” There was no accusation in Devon’s voice, no fury, but no question, either.

  Charlotte closed her eyes. She’d accepted Hadley’s proposal in her mother’s garden, and Devon’s last night in Annabel’s garden, the scent of flowers heavy in the air, and she’d been so sure, when his mouth closed over hers, so sure…

  But she’d been another person then. A person who pretended, a person who hid from herself. She drew a long, deep breath into her lungs. “Yes.”

  His fingers flexed around hers for a brief moment; then he nodded. “I thought you might.”

  He hadn’t been as sure as she’d been. The thought made her heart clench in her chest, because wasn’t this more proof of how well he knew her? Even better than she knew herself.

  Damn it. A tear gathered in the corner of her eye and spilled onto her cheek, but she ignored it and continued to stare into the night sky. Damn it, it wasn’t fair—to Devon or to her, because it would be so much easier if she could simply love Devon. So much easier than it was to love Julian.

  Devon stepped toward her and brushed the tear from her cheek. “Look at me.” He took her gently by the shoulders and turned her to face him. “You don’t have to love me, Charlotte. We’re friends, and we understand each other. We could have a good marriage, even without love, and perhaps in time—”

  “No. I told myself that once before, Devon, when I married Hadley. You can’t imagine how much it hurts—” Her words were swallowed by a choking gasp.

  To wish you could love someone, and to see how much it hurts them when you can’t.

  This time the tears came too quickly for Devon to wipe them away.

  But he tried. “Don’t cry.” His hands were gentle against her cheeks as he caught her tears on his fingertips. “Hush.” He cradled the back of her head and eased her forward so her face was buried against his chest, and he smelled so good, of brandy and something clean, earthy, like a cedar wood after a new snow fall, before any footprints marred the pure white.

  So good, but so wrong.

  “I’m your friend, Charlotte, and I care for you.” He drew back and tipped her chin up so he could look into her face. “No matter what happens. You know that, don’t you?”

  She gripped his upper arms, her fingers digging into the fine cloth of his coat. “I do know it. I can’t imagine how I could have gotten through these months without you, Devon. You’re my friend too, and you’re very dear to me.”

  He was silent for a moment. “But it’s not enough, is it? For either of us.”

  She held his gaze and slowly shook her head. “No. And you can’t imagine how much I wish it was.” Even now she wanted nothing more than to lay her head back against his broad chest and let him soothe the terrible ache in her heart.

  He smiled, but even with only the starlight to illuminate his face she could see it cost him an effort. He gazed down at her for a moment, then took her face in his hands and leaned forward to press a sweet, chaste kiss to her forehead. “I wish it, too.”

  She covered his hands with hers and squeezed. If only—

  “Well, Lady Hadley.” A voice shattered the quiet around them. “You do know how to take advantage of a dark garden, don’t you?”

  Charlotte leapt away from Devon’s embrace as if a whip had cracked between them. Devon let her go, but he stepped in front of her. “Good evening, Captain West.”

  Julian noticed Devon’s protective instinct and his mouth twisted. “Good? For you, perhaps. Not so much for me, but then I’ve already had my moment with Lady Hadley in the garden. I took better advantage of it than you have, Devon.”

  Charlotte’s mouth filled with bile at the hateful words. “That’s enough, Julian.”

  His eyes were black, glittering with anger and pain. Charlotte’s heart plummeted into her stomach and froze there, hard and cold as a stone, trapped and throbbing feebly. When would she learn? A woman like her didn’t deserve a hero. She didn’t deserve to be saved. That awful scene in Lady Chase’s garden this afternoon—that wasn’t her punishment.

  This was.

  Devon growled low in his throat and took a menacing step toward Julian, but Charlotte had just enough presence of mind left to catch Devon’s arm to stop him. Julian’s gaze darted to the place where her hand touched Devon; then he raised his gaze to hers.

  Charlotte shivered as a cold smile drifted across his lips, then vanished. “Enough? Oh, no—I don’t think so, my lady. We’ve just begun.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  We’ve just begun. A painful laugh tore from Julian’s throat and fell into the sudden silence of the garden, echoing in his head in a dull, mocking roar.

  Christ, what a fool he was.

  He’d thought of nothing but Charlotte all afternoon, of her face when she told him his kiss mattered to her, of the way she’d opened so sweetly to his touch, her sighs when she came for him. He’d wanted her more than he wanted his next breath—had been on the verge of taking her—but then she’d dropped that sweet kiss into his palm, and it brought him back to a night a lifetime ago, a night under a sky heavy with stars and promise.

  When he made love to her again, it would be as it had been that night, not with her sprawled across a bench in a carriage with her skirts around her ears, and not while he was betrothed to someone else.

  But he’d been wild to see her tonight, his fingers aching to touch her again, even if it was just her gloved hand against his lips, or his palm at her waist as they whirled together in a waltz. To see her would be enough, to see her face as it had been in the carriage today.

  Not her mask, but her face.

  We’ve just begun. Dear God, how naïve it sounded. He should know by now there was no such thing as a beginning that didn’t dissolve at once into an ending, like a fire that fizzles into acrid smoke when it’s doused with water. He’d walked into the ballroom tonight full of a boy’s illusions, but now his fantasies vanished into the night sky, leaving him empty and alone.

  This was no beginning. It was an ending, and he would finish it.

  Now. Tonight.

  “Go back to the ballroom, West.” Devon spoke calmly, but he looked ready to pounce if Julian so much as twitched an eyebrow. “Before you say something you’ll regret.”

  Regret? An incredulous laugh burst from Julian’s lips. It was far too late for that warning. Everything in him already ached with regret. He regretted he’d ever let Cam talk him into this. He regretted that night in the brothel when he’d loosened Charlotte’s gown, unfastened every button all the way down to that sweet spot at the arch of her back. He regretted touching her this afternoon, her folds hot and wet on his fingers, her cries in his ears. He regretted that nothing else seemed to matter as much as her scent, her taste, and he regretted that even now, with her face flushed with Devon’s kisses, she could still be so perfect to him.

  He regretted that he dreamed of her.

  But his deepest regret, the one that made him want to sink to
his knees here in the garden, was that he’d believed, even for a single moment, he could be the man he’d once been.

  He’d been so dazzled by Charlotte’s courage today. She’d risked everything to tell the truth, and for the first time since he’d returned to London hope had swelled inside him, because if she could find herself again, then surely he could find Julian, hidden deep underneath all the scars, even if it meant he had to dig in with his fingernails and rip them off.

  But nothing had changed. She was the same woman she’d ever been, and he’d never be anyone other than Captain West, a man of no tenderness or compassion, a man with nothing left except anger and bitterness pressing like a knife edge at his throat. Even now he could feel the blade pierce his skin, and once his neck was open there would be no way to stop the thick, black fury from gushing out.

  “Don’t be a fool, West.”

  Too late for that, too. Lord Devon was full of useless advice tonight. “I’m touched by your concern, my lord. I do indeed have quite a bit to say, but not to you. It looks as though your business here is finished.” Julian flicked an icy glance over Charlotte. “Why don’t you go back to the ballroom and join that crowd of dandies dangling after the wicked widows? Lady Hadley and I have a private matter to discuss.”

  Devon’s lip curled with disgust. “You still don’t understand, do you, West? Even after watching her every move for the past week, you still don’t know a thing about her.”

  “Oh, I think I know more about her than you do. After all, she’s still wearing her gown. I believe I got her down to her chemise during our garden interlude—”

  “Stop it, Julian.” Charlotte’s voice was shaking.

  He heard the tremor and he wanted to stop, God, he wanted to, but the knife was sharp at his throat, and he was helpless to staunch the words rushing from his lips. “Stop what, sweetheart? Stop treating you like what you are? I give you credit, my lord. You had the right idea with that brothel wager.”

  Devon tore free of Charlotte’s grasp and charged at Julian, an outraged snarl on his lips. “Name your weapon and your second—”

  “No!” The color leached from Charlotte’s face so quickly Julian thought she might swoon, but even so he had to stop himself from leaping for Devon’s throat when the man wrapped his arm around her waist to steady her.

  “Lady Hadley,” Devon said. “Please go and find Lady Tallant in the ballroom. She’ll take you home—”

  “No.” Charlotte pushed herself upright, out of Devon’s embrace. “No, I won’t leave the two of you out here alone. Please, Devon—”

  Julian laughed. “She begs so prettily, doesn’t she?”

  Devon threw him a savage look. “I warn you, West—”

  “It’s all right, Devon,” Charlotte said. “Go back inside.”

  “No.” Devon’s hands curled as if he had Julian’s throat between his fingers. “Absolutely not.”

  “He won’t hurt me.”

  “For God’s sake. Of course I won’t.” But he’d damn well say whatever he had to say to see her in a carriage on her way to Bellwood tomorrow, out of London and out of his life for good. “What kind of hero lays his hands upon a lady?”

  Devon reached him in two strides. “What kind of hero insinuates a lady is a whore?” he spat through gritted teeth. “Hero. Bloody hell, West. You’re an even bigger fool than I took you for.”

  “You heard the lady, Devon. Leave us.”

  Devon made no move to leave, but continued to stare at Julian, his face flushed with fury. The two of them stood there, each silently measuring the other until Charlotte came forward and laid a hand on Devon’s arm. “Please, Devon. Wait for me on the terrace.”

  Devon’s face softened as he turned to her. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t owe him an explanation. You don’t owe him anything.”

  Julian shrugged. “You’re right about one thing, at least. I don’t need any explanation. I know all about Lady Hadley’s garden seductions.”

  “Of course you do, because you know all about everything, don’t you, West?” Devon sneered. “A brilliant hero like yourself needn’t bother with a paltry detail like the truth.”

  A shiver of uncertainty drifted up Julian’s spine, but he smothered it before it could grow into doubt. If he couldn’t quite reconcile Charlotte’s tenderness this afternoon with such a heinous betrayal, if he couldn’t quite make this whole thing fit into the part of his heart that shunned logic…

  That’s not your heart, you bloody fool. It’s your cock.

  “If I don’t return in a quarter of an hour,” Charlotte said, giving Devon a gentle push in the direction of the terrace. “I give you leave to come find me.”

  Devon pulled a long, slow breath into his lungs. “Very well.” He reached into his waistcoat pocket and drew out a gold watch. “A quarter hour, not a second more. If I have to come looking for Lady Hadley, West, you’ll be meeting me at dawn.”

  Julian didn’t answer. He was staring at the pocket watch dangling from Devon’s fingers.

  Colin’s watch pressed against his chest, the hands motionless, forever frozen in place, but Julian wasn’t frozen into this moment. Not yet. It wasn’t too late to send Charlotte back to the ballroom, to get her far, far away from him before he said something he could never take back.

  Don’t do this. Don’t hurt her.

  “Christ,” Devon muttered. “Did you hear me, West?”

  Julian jerked his gaze back to Devon’s face. “I heard you.”

  “Good.” Devon turned to Charlotte. “I’ll be only as far as the terrace should you need me.” He gave Julian a look that managed to be threatening and contemptuous at once, then disappeared down the pathway.

  Julian watched him go, then turned to Charlotte. “You did say you and Devon aren’t lovers, didn’t you? Hard to believe, given his fierce protectiveness. But perhaps you are lovers now. Such a tender scene I interrupted.”

  Please. Say it isn’t what it seems, and make me believe it.

  But she only pressed her clasped hands tightly against her waist as if she were trying to hold herself together. “I wanted to see you tonight.”

  “Oh? Well, that explains why I found you alone in a dark garden, clasped in Devon’s arms. You were looking for me.”

  “This afternoon, in the carriage…I want to thank you for—”

  “For giving you pleasure? Yes, you did seem to enjoy it, and it’s only fair, I suppose, since I’ve had my share of pleasure from you. And oh, what pleasure it was, my lady. But then desire was never a problem between us, was it? It was everything else.”

  She flinched. “I’ve made a decision. I’m leaving for Bellwood tomorrow, with Ellie and Cam—”

  “Do you remember our night in the garden, Charlotte?” He moved closer to her, his hand sliding up her arm. “I do. I remember the way you sighed for me, the way you moaned into my mouth and begged me to touch you.”

  She jerked her head as if she could shake loose the image of them together.

  Agony ripped through his chest. She would not shake off that memory like so much dust from her boots. “And God knows I wanted to touch you, that night and for months afterward, even after you tossed me aside to marry Hadley. A few kisses and I was your willing slave. But I’m not some foolish, besotted boy anymore, and you won’t make me crawl for you this time.”

  A tremor passed through her. “I was the slave, Julian. I was the one who ended up crawling.”

  He made a mocking noise in his throat. “Did you suffer for me, Charlotte? Did you weep as you walked down the aisle to Hadley? Is that what you want me to believe?”

  “I—I did weep for you,” she whispered.

  “Ah well, a few tears perhaps, but you recovered quickly enough, likely the minute you became a marchioness. You landed on your feet just like any cat, while I spent months praying not to see
your face every time I closed my eyes.”

  She stared down at her clenched hands. “I never recovered. I still see your face when I close my eyes. I still weep for you.”

  A roar started in Julian’s ears and he welcomed it, rejoiced in it, for her words had a ring of truth to them he couldn’t bear to hear. Her sorrow would weaken him, just as her love had done, and then nothing would matter to him except her. Not Cam and Ellie, not Colin, not Jane. Not even himself.

  Finish it.

  “Tell me, does Devon know you let me touch you this afternoon?” The words sliced between them like a blade, more horrible for the casualness with which he said them. “In a carriage, no less.”

  Oh God, those words. They echoed horribly in his head, but the monster had its hand at his throat now and there was no escape, nothing he could do but let it claw its way out of him and devastate everything in its path.

  Her face drained of color, but she didn’t utter a word to defend herself. She simply stood there and withstood his attack, and the horror of it made the misery rise inside him, a tide that pulled and sucked at him until he was down so deep her face swam in front of his eyes, and everything receded so he wasn’t a part of it anymore, but could only watch it unfold from below, helpless to stop it.

  “I could touch you again, Charlotte. Right here in the garden. Would you like that? I would. I’d love to touch you and then send you back to Devon.”

  “Stop this… Don’t do this, Julian.” She wrenched her arm free, stumbling backward, but just like the cat he’d called her, she caught herself before she fell.

  God, he could almost admire it, the way she kept her feet under her while she brought everyone around her to their knees. “Christ, I almost pity Devon. He’ll twist and bleed for you, just as I did. Just as Hadley did. Nothing but heartache can come from wanting a woman like you.”

  She froze, her body going so still he thought of a bird shot from the sky in mid-flight, the way it hovers for a moment before it plunges lifeless to the ground. Fear traced an icy finger down his back, but it was too late to stop now. He’d gone too far, and God help him, he didn’t know how to stop anymore.