As he spoke, his shoulder brushed hers, a warmth traveling through her at the touch. She put some space between them. “Mrs. Lind can find things without even thinking, but then she organized this room. Fortunately, it’s a very large punch bowl. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find.”
“You’d think not.” He frowned. “Is there one place for the silver?”
“The heavy place settings are by the front door, in those wooden boxes. The platters and serving trays are on those shelves there. And the larger pieces . . .” She walked to the back wall, scanning the shelves.
He followed, holding the lantern higher. The pool of light caught the glimmer of silver on a high shelf.
“There it is!” They stopped over a pile of empty flour sacks, and went to the shelf.
“Here. Let me.” Angus placed the lantern on a lower shelf and, with some effort, retrieved the heavy bowl. “This is massive.”
“Normally, it’s only used at Christmas. I have no idea why Margaret needs it tonight. It’s so large, I always imagine the dogs swimming in it. Once it’s warmer, I may take it to the garden and see if they’d like it.” She retrieved the lantern from where he’d left it, and then led the way back down the row of shelves. “I wonder if Margaret is hoping to try a new punch recipe at her dinner, although I would think she might have mentioned it before today.” As Charlotte spoke, she turned the corner and then halted. “You closed the door.”
He glanced past her, frowning. “No, I didn’t.”
“You were the last one through.”
“Perhaps the wind caught it.” At her lifted brows, he sighed. “I don’t know how it came to be closed, but I didn’t do it. Let’s just open the damned thing; this blasted tub is heavy.” Now leading the way, he went to the door and, with the bowl resting against his hip, pushed against the heavy panel.
Nothing happened.
He pushed again, harder this time.
Watching, Charlotte’s heart thudded against her ribs as she began to think through the events of the morning. Oh no! Oh no, oh no! Margaret, you wouldn’t! Charlotte placed the lantern on a barrel of salted pork and hurried forward to try the handle herself. It rattled, but didn’t unlatch. “It’s locked.”
“Perhaps it’s just stuck.” He put the bowl on the floor, and tried again, this time putting all of his weight on the handle and the door both. After a few moments, he stepped back. “You’re right; it’s locked. I don’t know how, but it is.”
“Someone locked us in here.”
“Who would want to do that?”
“Someone who would like to see us together, even though she swore she didn’t think you an acceptable suitor.”
His brows knit. “You think the duchess locked us in here?”
“Who else?”
“She’d have nothing to gain from such silliness. Perhaps the door blew closed and the tumblers fell into place.”
She glared at him.
He threw up his hands. “It was just a thought.” He dropped his hands back to his side. “We’ll have to wait for someone to come by. We should yell for help.”
“No one would hear us. Oh, she’s a clever one, she is. Margaret has the maids and Mrs. Lind polishing silver upstairs, and the footmen out running errands, and then she took MacDougal upstairs with her. I bet she doesn’t have a bird in her chimney, either.”
Angus’s lips twitched. “One never knows.”
“This is not funny.”
“No, indeed, although to be honest, I can think of no one I’d rather be stuck in a pantry with.”
Charlotte’s irritation faded a bit under the warm look Angus gave her. But it wouldn’t do. That’s exactly what Margaret would want. “I refuse to play her games. We’ll stay here because we have no choice, but we will not talk, because that’s what she wants. She wants us to reconcile, and then she’ll take all of the credit.”
His brows rose, a faint smile curving his lips. “That will never do.”
“Never.”
“Then what do you propose we do?”
“We wait. We have no choice.”
“Hm.” He took a long look at the shelves behind them, and then began to walk slowly down the nearest aisle, peering onto each shelf as if searching for something.
“What are you doing?”
“If we’re to be trapped here, then we might as well be comfortable. Come. We will foil the duchess’s evil plan by sitting in comfort while not speaking a word of reconciliation.”
“That would serve her well.”
“Consider it done.” He walked to where the stack of flour bags rested. He sorted them into two separate piles, side by side against the wall.
She watched, noting the way his muscles ripped over his shoulders. Blast it, every time he moves, I find myself watching. There was something about a man who possessed natural athletic grace. Something intriguing. Something deliciously breathtaking. Whatever it was, it didn’t help her at all.
She’d been so determined to do things right this time, to leave what was left of their relationship with her pride intact. And yet every time she was near Angus, her pride seemed silenced, while other, more persistent voices dominated her thinking.
He bowed and gestured toward the pile of flour sacks. “Your bed, my lady.”
“Seat.”
“It’s too large for a seat.” At her flat look, he sighed. “Fine. It’s a seat.”
“Thank you.” Even though a puff of flour arose as she sat, it was surprisingly comfortable.
He didn’t take the matching seat, but wandered about the room, looking at the various shelves, pulling out boxes and peering inside. “If what you say is true, then the duchess is in my corner. I find that hard to believe.”
“So am I. I’ve not said a word to her about you, so she cannot know our history. But this is exactly how she works, all intuition and against common logic, planning ‘accidents’ that throw people together, and believing she’ll prevail.”
He pulled a box from a high shelf and looked into it. “So I’m against common logic and intuition, am I?”
“Even you must admit that’s true, considering our history.” She leaned against the wall and pulled her knees up, looping her arms about them and tucking her skirts closer to hold in some warmth. “I should have been suspicious when she declared I shouldn’t speak to you when you came to visit yesterday.”
“And that makes you think she wishes us to be together?”
“She never says what she wants. Instead, she schemes, and tries to make it seem as if fate, and your heart, have led you where you end up. When I see her next, I’ll—“ She couldn’t find the words.
“You’ll hit her?”
Charlotte’s eyes widened. “No!” She followed his gaze to where her hands were balled into fists and she instantly released them. “Nothing so violent. I was going to give her a piece of my mind is all.” She grimaced. “Although lately, that would be the same as being struck with a feather.”
His soft laugh filled the quiet. “Your mind is very sharp. You’ve cut me with it several times today.” He pulled another box from a shelf, exclaiming as soon as he looked inside. “Ah! There you are.” He pulled out a bottle of brandy. “Success!”
“It’s morning.”
“And we’re stuck in a pantry. Unusual times call for unusual measures. Besides, a tiny bit will warm us. It’s chilly in here.”
That much was true.
He took the bottle and made his way to another row of shelves where rows of glasses rested, finally stopping by the flatware to procure a knife.
Soon he was sitting on his pile of sacks and pouring brandy into the two water goblets. He handed one to her and then lifted his glass in a toast. “To us.”
“No, to our freedom. And to keeping Margaret from interfering.”
“However you wish it.” He took a swallow, nodding in satisfaction. He leaned his head against the wall behind him, and a companionable silence overtook them. “This reminds me of another
time.”
“Which time is that?”
“We sat in a cellar not too different from this one, and partook of some forbidden drink. A whole bottle, if I remember correctly.”
She chuckled. “Oh yes. My father’s wine cellar. That’s where we first—” Her cheeks heated and she took a hurried drink to cover her embarrassment.
“Where we first made love,” he finished. “I will never forget that night.”
Neither will I. She took another drink, this one much larger than the first few. She winced at the burn of the liquid as it went down. “I can’t believe we’re stuck here.”
“It’s odd, to be sure.” He took another swallow, stretching his legs before him and crossing them at the ankles. “I wonder how the duchess expects to know if we’ve followed her unspoken directive. These four walls look very thick.”
“She’ll have a set time in mind and think it will be long enough to wear us down. She thinks she knows everything, which is most annoying.”
“No doubt.” He took another drink, and for a short while, they sat in silence, both wrapped in their own thoughts.
It was an oddly peaceful moment, and Charlotte found herself relaxing the tiniest bit.
“Ah, your brandy is almost gone.” Angus poured a splash more into her glass. “If it was the duchess who did this – and I’m not convinced it was – what will satisfy her requirements enough to win our freedom?”
“Total capitulation.”
He lifted a brow. “And what does this ‘capitulation’ consist of?”
“We would have to admit we’re in love with one another and wish to marry.”
“Both of us?”
She nodded.
He whistled. “That’s a tall order.” His warm gaze traveled over her, lingering on her mouth. “Not for me, but for you.”
How am I to answer that? Feeling much put upon, Charlotte took a sip, now enjoying the small, warm trail the drink made as it trickled down her throat. “It’s an impossible order.”
His gaze locked with hers. “Not for me,” he repeated once again, but softer this time, his voice caressing.
Charlotte found it hard to swallow. “It’s . . . it’s impossible.” Isn’t it? Yes, yes, of course it’s impossible. “We tried this before and it didn’t work. It would never work now.”
“Never say never, love.” Angus added a wee bit more brandy to his glass and then placed the bottle on the top of the barrel beside him. “I just realized something. But it may be that you don’t wish to hear it.”
“Is it about us?”
“Yes.”
“Then I don’t wish to hear it.”
“Fine. I understand. It’s just that . . .” He glanced at her. “It’s rather profound.”
She stared at the closest shelf.
“But simple for all that. To be honest, I’m surprised we didn’t think of it before.”
She counted to twenty in French.
He shook his head. “It’s funny how something can be so obvious, and yet so secret, too. It’s—”
“Oh, blast it! What did you suddenly realize?”
A faint smile touched his lips. “The trouble with our old relationship was my lack of commitment, my lack of follow-through. But the trouble with our new relationship, is you.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Me? How can you say that?”
“Look at the facts. I’m willing to move forward; you are not. I’m willing to take a chance on us; you are not. I am ready to see where this might lead, but you are not. See? I’m not the one living in the past. You are. The problem is simple; you’re still angry.”
She stared at him, unable to believe he’d even suggested such a thing. “I’m not angry. Not any more.”
He pointed to her hand, the one not holding her glass with a death grip.
She unfisted her hand. “That proves nothing.”
“And your voice. It’s always so soft, so breathless, and oh-so-sensual.”
Her heart fluttered as his voice deepened.
“But every once in a while, it sharpens like a knife on a whetstone, and sparks fly from your eyes. Though you may not know it, you are angry.”
She stared at him, taking in the strong line of his jaw, the concern she saw in his silver gaze. And as she looked at him, she saw herself. Felt her emotions boiling inside her heart.
She blinked once. Twice. She put her glass down. “Goodness, you’re right; I am angry.”
His silver gaze darkened and his hand came to cover hers. “I know.”
“I thought I’d gotten over it, that I’d outgrown it, but—” She shook her head to clear it. “I’m still angry with you for leaving. Very.”
“You should be.”
“I’m also angry you convinced me to believe in you when you didn’t believe in yourself.”
He winced. “I was a fool.”
“And I’m angry with my father for refusing to give us a chance – just a chance – to be together when it would have cost him so little.” Her voice rose with each word. “I’m angry I feel more loved and cared for by the duchess than my own family. And I’m angry that I’ve spent years – years, Angus – helping other people find true love when I’ve had none of my own.” Waves of fury made her hands shake, but she merely fisted them and continued. “I’m angry Margaret feels she has the right to lock us into this bloody pantry as if we were sheep to do her bidding.”
She took a deep breath and caught the surprise in Angus’s eyes. “That’s quite a list.” He pursed his lips. “Is it all?”
“No. As angry as I am at all those things, I’m even more angry at myself.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m glad Margaret locked us in here. Because without her efforts, I would never have had the courage to tell you this.” She swallowed. “Angus, I still care for you. I don’t want to, but I do. And while I don’t wish to begin another relationship with you, for I think the pain would be too much if it didn’t work, I do want this.” And with that, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.
Charlotte was fairly certain Margaret hadn’t imagined there would be kisses, but it was no longer about Margaret, but about Angus. It was about happiness and the future and all of the things Charlotte feared. Her spectacles slipped on her nose, and she stopped long enough to toss them aside. Without giving Angus time to breathe, she kissed him again, twining her arms about his neck.
The kiss deepened, silky and hot. Angus slipped an arm about her waist and pulled her close, never breaking the kiss. He’d been holding his glass, but somehow it was gone and as she kissed him, he slid her into his lap, his powerful arms holding her. Once there, the kiss deepened, he stroked her back, her sides, her breasts. Her nipples tightened at his touch.
She moaned and leaned into him, clutching his lapels and tugging him forward. One ripped, but she ignored it as he leaned her back against the pile of flour sacks and lowered himself beside her.
His hand ran over her hip, to her thigh, and down to her ankle. There, he slid his warm fingers under her skirt to cup her calf, his touch hot and demanding. She stirred restlessly against him.
His teased her lips open and danced his tongue against hers. He tasted of brandy, and promises, of starlit nights, and Angus. She couldn’t resist the delicious warmth as he thrust his tongue against hers, making her writhe with a want she instantly recognized.
Suddenly, every thought she possessed disappeared. All that was left was a white-hot passion that consumed her from head to toe. God, but she wanted this. Wanted him. She’d always wanted him, she realized. She’d never stopped.
His hand slipped up her leg to her knee, pushing her chemise aside as he went. She tugged at his coat, helping him remove it and tossing to aside so she could attack the buttons on his waistcoat.
He helped and soon it was gone, as well. He released her and rocked back on his heels to tug off his shirt. She watched him with hungry eyes, noting his flat stomach and muscled chest and arms. He kicked off his
boots, his hands going to his breeches, when he paused and looked at her.
She saw the struggle in his face as he said, “Are you sure? Charlotte, I will not make any more mistakes. I—”
She placed her hands over his where they rested on the buttons of his breeches. With a boldness she never knew she had, she pressed him back onto their makeshift bed, and one by one, she undid his buttons.
Angus had never been so tormented by a woman. Every time she twisted her hand to undo a button her knuckles brushed his hardness, making him ache anew. To distract himself from her agonizingly pleasurable progress, he untied her gown, waiting only until she’d undone his last button to pull her down beside him where he could tug off her clothing. As soon as he could, he tossed her gown and chemise to the side and feasted his eyes upon her lush nakedness.
Every generous curve beckoned, every shadow intrigued, her ripe plumpness begged to be plundered, tasted, and tempted.
He pressed himself against her, raining kisses down her neck, her shoulder, to her breasts. There, he cupped her breasts one by one, and made her writhe as he worshipped her large nipples. Her generous body called to him, tormented him, and made him groan as he attempted to remain in control.
Unable to hold himself back, he pressed himself between her thighs and positioned his cock at her moist opening. He forced his tight jaw to unlock. “Charlotte?” The harshness of his voice broke through her moans.
She heard the question in his voice, her blue-gray eyes shadowed by her thick lashes as she locked her legs about him, and answered his unspoken question with a simple lift of her hips.
With a groan, he sank into her softness as slowly and carefully as he dared. As if she were delicate and fragile. As if hurting her would end this moment.
She groaned and tightened her legs, her thighs surprisingly powerful as they pulled him closer, tighter, deeper. Until he filled her completely. It was then that he knew with blinding clarity that she was his, just as he was hers.
He began to move within her, teasing her with his tempo, luxuriating in her cries.
She rocked her hips, urging him on. Faster and deeper, he plundered her softness, took her whimpered cries with his kisses, and watched with panting satisfaction as she suddenly stiffened, tilted back her head, and gasped his name, quivering as wave after wave of passion took her.
An Encounter at Hyde Park Page 33