Her eyes darkened. “I’m so sorry. I hope she recovers soon.”
“Thank you.” An awkward silence settled about them as he struggled to think of something acceptable to say. He finally blurted out, “Here we both are, at the Roxburghe Ball.” He could have kicked himself for saying such a lame thing, but his mind was awhirl.
“Oh yes, Margaret.” Charlotte looked toward the terrace doors with a wild look, as if expecting to see a hound pursuing her. “The duchess is a friend of mine. I’m her companion.”
“Companion?” He couldn’t the note of shock in his voice. “But you’re the daughter of an earl.”
Charlotte cast him a flat look. “I’m an unmarried woman and the youngest daughter of an earl who had far more daughters than he should have. Staying at my father’s was not an option.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply being a companion was beneath you. I was just surprised, that’s all.”
“I don’t need funds, for I have my mother’s jointure, which is quite generous. But I enjoy living with Margaret. The duke is rarely home and she’s always planning something. It’s been quite good for both of us.”
He took a steadying breath. Good God, I’ve seen her for two seconds, and I’ve already insulted her. “It sounds like a perfect arrangement for you both.”
“It is. Or it was until—” Charlotte’s mouth folded in a mutinous line.
I wonder what that is about? “You said you’re not married.” The words flew out of his mouth before he could stop them. Bloody hell, could I be more gauche?
Her face flooded with color. “No.”
“Neither am I.”
The words hung between them, heavy and uncertain. Angus didn’t know what he thought about this. He’d been so certain Charlotte would marry soon after he’d left for India that he’d never thought of any other possibility. His mind reeled at it.
Charlotte regained her voice first, smoothing her skirts in a nervous way. “Congratulations. No, no. I suppose I should say, I’m sorry you’re not married—no, that’s wrong.” She winced. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Neither do I,” he admitted. “This whole thing is awkward, isn’t it?”
“Very. It’s . . .” She gave a small laugh. “I never thought to see you again.”
“I thought the same.” Yet now that he had, all he could do was stare at her, soaking in every detail. And suddenly, after almost twenty years of carefully not caring, he felt as if she were a glass of iced water and he a man dying of thirst. Which is wrong. I put the past behind me for a reason.
She tucked a stray curl behind one ear, drawing his gaze to her shell pink ear, the curve of her cheek, and the delicate line of her throat.
He cleared his throat to make room for the words. “It’s been a long time since we saw one another.”
“Nineteen years and seven months.” She flushed and added quickly, “Not that I’m counting.”
“Neither was I.” But he had been. At first, he’d thought of her every day. Wondered what she was doing. If she was still delivering baskets of food to the tenant farmers who lived on her father’s lands. What book was in her hands and did she like it. Whether she was reading by the light of a candle, as was her wont. Was she still trying to learn how to play billiards. And on and on and on. Yet whatever imagined activity he’d thought she might be doing, he’d always pictured her happy and content.
He hadn’t been able to stand thinking of her any other way.
Later, after the months had turned into years, he’d imagined her with a carefully faceless beau, paddling a boat on the lake near her father’s castle, or dancing at a ball, or reading to her children. By imagining her moving on with her life, he gave himself permission to do the same. And yet somehow, he never got around to that part.
Then again, he’d been a busy, busy man, driven to become successful. Eventually, time had softened his disappointment and his pain had faded and he was at peace with what life had given him.
Or so he’d thought until now.
What was so difficult was that she looked so much the same. Though there were silver threads at her temples, her soft brown hair still curled about her heart-shaped face. Her face was a little rounder, and while there was a new fullness to her curves, it added to her beauty and made his breath catch.
The biggest difference was not her looks, but in her manner. She now had an air of flustered disarray that was the opposite of the calm, soft-spoken Charlotte he used to know.
As if aware of his examination, her hands fluttered over her hair and skirts, as if trying to tame them. “How was India?”
His lips quirked at her studied casual tone. “It was very different from life here, but as time went on, I grew to understand the people and their ways.”
“Understand?”
“It’s a different culture, a different view of life. It was very stressful at first, everything being so new. But gradually, I learned the language, found friends, came to understand and appreciate the life there.”
“You enjoyed it.”
“Very much. I eventually found my way into a variety of business partnerships, which was my purpose.” He’d made more money than he’d dreamed possible.
She tilted her head to one side, her gaze on his face. “You miss it.”
It wasn’t a question. “Yes.” It was odd, but in all of his conversations with his mother and uncle, neither had realized that one truth – that he missed India. He missed the colors, and the warmth, the smiles of the people, the curry-rich foods – all of it. And yet in a mere two minutes of conversation beside a fountain in the moonlight, Charlotte had divined that truth.
“I suppose you’ll be returning soon. Once your mother is better.”
“Perhaps.” He’d assumed he’d go back to India eventually, but now, looking into Charlotte’s moon-kissed face, he found himself saying, “I don’t know what I’ll do.”
She nodded, as if that made perfect sense. “Yes, well—” She took a steadying breath. “I really must go.”
“I thought you liked balls?”
“I normally do, but this one—“ She made a face like a kitten who’d accidentally licked a lemon.
He had to laugh, wondering if she’d ever made that face when they’d been younger, or if it was a new expression of hers. So familiar, and yet fresh, too. “Why is this ball not to your liking?”
“I can’t explain, but it’s the worst ball ever.” Her lips folded once again into a mutinous line.
Angus had to fight a sudden, mad urge to capture her plump, angry lips with his own, and he realized with shock that his entire body ached for her touch. Bloody hell, I’m as hungry for her as if we’d just parted.
He closed his hands, his palms damp like a lad on the verge of losing his virginity. Preposterous! I’m past all of this nonsense, and yet . . . He looked at Charlotte in wonder.
And yet here I am.
However he was affected, Charlotte didn’t seem to be the least bit so. She smoothed her lace collar, a sadly out-of-date confection, though it framed her face charmingly. “Why are you out here in the garden, startling people to death?”
“I’m avoiding someone. Many someones, in fact.”
Understanding crossed her face. “Ah. You owe people money.”
“Owe—No! I don’t owe anyone anything.”
She nodded kindly. “Of course you don’t.”
“Charlotte, I’m—” He closed his mouth, then opened it, only to close it again. It seemed so vulgar to blurt out that he was now wealthy. There was no way to say it without sounding like the world’s biggest braggart. “I don’t owe anyone money. I am merely avoiding certain guests at this ball, namely unmarried women. The sort who want to dance too close, and bat their eyes and laugh too much. Desperate women, all of them. To preserve the peace, I came out here to enjoy a cheroot.”
“So that’s what that smell was.” She curled her nose, but said in a kind voice, “I noticed it when I first came outside, but didn’t me
ntion it, in case it was your cologne.”
He almost sputtered. “You think I’d wear cologne that smelled like smoke?”
“Some men will wear anything to gain attention.” She straightened her shoulders. “I must be on my way before I’m missed.”
“Wait.” He took a step forward. “You can’t leave yet.”
“I must. Thank you again for keeping me from falling into the fountain.” She tilted her head and the moonlight caressed across her cheek. “Just one thing; if you decide to lurk longer in the shrubberies, pray be cautious. Someone might think you a wild dog and shoot you.”
He almost chuckled, but her serious expression stopped him. “I shall try not to be mistaken for a wild dog.”
“We had wolves at Floors Castle once. Of course, it has a vast park, so naturally there is more wildlife there than here.”
“I don’t think I need fear be mistaken for a wolf while at a ball in London, either.”
“Probably not. I should like to see a wolf, although—” she added in a fair voice, “—not unexpectedly and especially not at night, and definitely not in a dark garden.”
He had to laugh, memories of other conversations suddenly flooding back. How had he forgotten that about her? That she said what she thought, and as she thought it. He’d been charmed by that trait of hers before, and he was deeply amused by it now.
The women he knew – his mother chief among them – never spoke without carefully measuring their words for best effect, as if they were on stage every minute of their tightly controlled, nerve-wracked life. With Charlotte, there had been no simpering, no hinting, no flirting, no hidden meanings – there was just her, her thoughts, and her unfiltered and unusual perception of the world.
An overwhelming desire swept over Angus to once again pull her close and taste those wonderfully honest lips. Would they be as sweet as honey because she didn’t know the vinegar of deception? She’d felt so warm when he’d caught her as she’d teetered over the fountain – had she always been that warm, but somehow he’d forgotten?
The thoughts flooded through him and left him aching.
He realized he was staring at her, probably looking as bemused as he felt, while she gazed indifferently into the night. Or is she thinking of me?
As if in answer to his thought, she pursed her lips. “While I’ve never seen a wolf here in London, I have seen a hawk. Surely they might pounce upon a guest at a ball?” She looked up at him questioningly, her blue-gray eyes silvered by the moon. “Don’t you think?”
As Angus looked into her eyes, framed as they were by first her lashes, and then the silver rim of her spectacles, the unthinkable happened. He heard himself utter the biggest lie that had ever passed his lips. “Yes, I suppose they could.” But that wasn’t enough, for his willing lips went beyond a simple agreement. “In fact, if the hawk were large enough, and the person small enough, I imagine the person might even be in danger of being carried off.”
He was instantly rewarded by her smile, one so artless and warm that it stole his breath. “I thought so,” she confided, a triumphant note in her voice. “And that is why you must be cautious. If you’d swooped upon me as you did from the shrubberies and I’d mistaken you for a hawk, and I’d had a pistol—”
“At a ball? Hidden in your skirts?”
“I could be a lady highwayman, hiding from the constable by pretending to be a guest at a ball. You couldn’t know, not in the dark.”
“I suppose that’s true.” He had to laugh. “Only you would think about such a thing.”
“It’s important to be ready for whatever happens.” She nodded wisely. “Always.“
The desire to pull her into his arms and tell her he’d never allow anything bad to happen to her washed over him with surprising strength. To keep from reaching for her, he shoved his hands into his pockets. These are just residual feelings from long ago, when I thought of her as mine. He took a steadying breath. “It is good to see you.”
Color warmed her face. “Thank you. Do you . . .” She wet her lips and began again. “Do you remember when we first met? The wind blew my parasol away and it landed at your feet. I thought God had brought us together.” Sadness hovered over her. “I was proven wrong. It was just plain, ordinary wind.”
His heart hollowed at the disappointment in her eyes.
“After you left for India, I thought often about meeting you again, and what I would say. Do you want to know what I planned on saying?” Her voice grew slightly chillier. “It wasn’t nice.”
He bit out, “It was like that, was it?”
“You must have known it would be.” She stepped closer to him, and lifted her eyes to his, her jaw set with purpose. “Why did you just walk away and leave without even saying goodbye? How could you be so selfish, so thoughtless, so cowardly.”
He stared at her in surprise. Normally, Charlotte’s voice was soft and breathy, and yet now her words were as sharp as the finger she was now jabbing into his chest.
He captured her hand and held it firmly. “I left because you told me to.”
Behind her spectacles, her eyes widened. “What? When did I ever say—”
The terrace door opened and the Duchess of Roxburghe swept onto the terrace.
With a gasp, Charlotte yanked her hand free and scampered behind Angus.
He regarded the duchess with interest. She was tall and thin and wore an impossibly high red wig. Dressed at the height of fashion, her blue ball gown sparkled with intricately sewn beads. The duchess paused at the doorway and said in a loud, exasperated voice, “Lady Charlotte?”
Charlotte clutched his arm. “Shhh!” she whispered. “Don’t answer her. Perhaps she won’t see us.”
The duchess put a hand to her mouth. “Laaaady Charrrrrrlotte! Where are yooooooou?” When no one answered, the duchess gave an impatient sigh and said loudly, “You might as well show yourself; I know you’re there. One of the footmen saw you go through these doors.”
Charlotte’s hand tightened convulsively on Angus’s arm. He wished he could see her face, but she was tucked behind him. What are you running from?
The duchess crossed her arms. “It’s cold out here and I shall blame you if I catch the ague.” Silence met this, which seemed to displease the duchess. “Blast it! If I must come looking for you, I will.” Still hugging herself, she swept to the steps leading into the garden.
With a muffled “No!”, Charlotte dashed into the very shrubs where Angus had been standing not ten minutes ago.
Angus stepped into the pathway so that the light from the terrace doors beamed upon him. “Good evening, your grace. May I help you?”
The duchess stopped on the lowest step and squinted at him. “Who are you?”
“I am Viscount MacThune.”
“Ah yes. I heard you were mobbed earlier. I do apologize.”
“It was nothing so sensational. I merely came out to the terrace to enjoy a cheroot.”
“That must have been a very large cheroot,” she said in a dry voice, “for your uncle has been looking for you an hour or more.”
“I must have lost track of the time.”
“Humph. While out here puffing upon your cheroot – a filthy habit, I should add—”
“Which it is,” Lady Charlotte whispered from where she hid behind a large rose bush.
“—you didn’t perchance see a lady wander by, did you? About this tall?” Her grace held her hand at her shoulder. “Rather mussed hair. And with spectacles. Oh, and she wears quite unfashionable clothing. I’ve tried to convince her to use my modiste, but she’ll have none of it.”
“I’m not about to pay that much for a gown,” Charlotte whispered.
Choking back a laugh, Angus kept his gaze on the duchess. “I haven’t seen anyone. It’s just me and my cheroot.” Some imp of mischief made him add, “And whatever wild animals that lurk in gardens at night.”
“Wild animals? In my rose garden?” The duchess waved her hand. “I wouldn’t allow it.
Besides, there is a stone fence about the garden.”
“Hawks do not pay attention to fences,” Charlotte whispered in triumph.
Angus had to stifle a laugh, which he quickly turned into a cough. “Pardon me, your grace. This cold air and the cheroot—” He rubbed his throat as if it were sore.
“I have no doubt.” The duchess sniffed. “I must return to the ball, but if you see Lady Charlotte, pray inform me. She’s a very dear friend, even though she has a horrible tendency to wear her hair in curls that do not become her.”
Lady Charlotte gasped and then whispered furiously, “I do not. I always—”
“MacThune, speak up!” The duchess frowned. “I can’t hear you when you mutter.”
He bowed. “I’m sorry, your grace. I was just saying how amusing this lady sounds.”
“She is quite charming. I’m trying to find her a husband, you know.”
“A—No. No, I didn’t know that.” So that is what Charlotte is trying to escape.
“Yes, though she isn’t helping as she should.”
“Oh!” Lady Charlotte whispered. “I don’t want to help!”
Angus coughed to cover the sound of her voice, though he was burning to find out exactly what she meant.
The duchess nodded wisely. “The cheroots, eh? Return to the ballroom with me and have a glass of sherry. It will help your throat.”
“I’ll return to the ballroom as soon as I’ve had time to recover from this coughing. The chilled air helps.”
“I suppose it might, but do not take too long, for your uncle awaits.” The duchess looked about the garden, frowning. “I must return to the ballroom. Please keep an eye out for Lady Charlotte. Two gentlemen are waiting to dance with her, both quite eligible. One has a sad paunch, which I’m sure could be cured if he would but give up bread, meat, and whiskey, but the other one is quite fit.”
“That’s promising.”
“I thought so, too. Sadly, he has a bad leg and must put a salve on it several times a day, but you can barely smell it unless the sun sits upon it for too long.”
“No, no, and no,” Charlotte whispered firmly, making Angus think of angry kittens.
“You are muttering again, MacThune.” The duchess’s voice was sharp with impatience.
An Encounter at Hyde Park Page 29