“You certainly didn’t help matters. I’m sure my cousin will have nightmares from your glare.”
“Well, he should! Vile man.”
James sighed, turning to look at her. “There are at least a dozen gentlemen here more suited to you than Andrew. You are better off without him.”
Charlotte stared at Andrew escorting his fiancée onto the floor just as the musicians began another waltz. The crowd seemed to sigh in unison at the couple.
James gently took her by the elbow. “Shall we have our dance, then?”
Less than a week ago, Andrew had been sending her letters of adoration, taking her for rides in the park, and promising a life together. She blinked back hot tears, shrinking back into the crowd. It was all too cruel, too humiliating. She didn’t think she could bear it.
“I can’t,” she whispered, her voice breaking under the strain. “I can’t stay here and watch them while everyone stares at me. I need to… I must go.”
She turned on her heel and ran out of the ballroom, desperate to get away before she fainted, or threw up, or worse.
Upon reaching the empty hallway, Charlotte took a deep breath, taking in the cool, quiet air. When had she become such a coward? There was a time in her life when she would have ruled a party like this. And now she could scarcely endure a waltz.
“Maybe you should leave.”
Charlotte jumped at the deep voice. Did James follow her out here just to throw her out? He needn’t have bothered. She had been planning to leave this detestable ball after their incident in the Oriental drawing room. In fact, he had practically begged her to stay!
“Don’t look so angry,” he interrupted her thoughts, sounding rather amused. “I didn’t mean you should leave Devlin House.”
Straightening her posture, she did her best to keep a nonchalant expression. “Oh? Then what did you mean?”
“Simply that you should leave all this society nonsense and come have a drink with me.” A heart-stopping grin accompanied his rakish proposition.
Charlotte flapped her fan even harder. “I am trying to repair my reputation, Lord Devlin, not destroy it.” He had the most beautiful eyes. Why had she never noticed them before? They were a dark, almost charcoal gray color, with little flecks of blue in the middle.
“Yes, you’ve mentioned that,” he drawled. “I didn’t realize I was so dangerous to a lady’s reputation.”
“Spending time alone with any gentleman leads to nothing but gossip, speculation, and—”
“Kissing in the Oriental drawing room?”
“Will you stop talking of that?” She smacked his enormous cravat with her fan, frantically looking around.
“Tell you what,” James said, smoothing down the front of his neckcloth. “You come and have a drink with me—just a drink,” he added quickly when she gave him a sharp look, “and I promise to show you the most secret, hidden room in Devlin House.”
Charlotte raised a brow. His scandalous offer was tempting. So far, this evening had been nothing but one disaster after another.
“No one knows about this room?” she asked.
“Not even the housekeeper.”
Charlotte felt her initial objections melt away under the tender heat of his gaze. She was good and trapped. She could either stay here and endure unbearable humiliation or take her chances with the devil. Well, at least he was offering a drink.
“Lead the way, Lord Devlin.”
****
Moments later, James found himself escorting Charlotte through the back kitchens. He held her elbow like a perfect gentleman, his fingertips barely touching the soft skin above her silk glove. Though her face was completely composed, James felt a faint tremor beneath his hand. Charlotte was nervous.
So was he.
He hadn’t really expected she would agree to sneak off with him. He didn’t know why he had even suggested such an outrageous thing. James only knew that from the moment his lips had touched Charlotte’s all he could think about was getting her alone so he could taste that bold, sensuous mouth again. It was more than just her beauty that attracted him. She had a soft, sensual fire that came from a woman who had made her own way in the world.
James pushed open the pantry door, inhaling the sharp scent of lemons and spice as he groped for a candle. “This way.” He spoke quietly, taking Charlotte’s hand to lead her inside. She squeezed his fingers in return, sending a sharp jolt through his entire arm.
James glanced down at her, catching the glint of adventure in her eyes. He didn’t think he had ever seen a woman look as desirable as Charlotte did in the little pantry. The single candle bathed her in a soft glow against a background of flour bags and dried fruits. He took a moment to admire her slim figure in the silvery blue dress. Her cheeks were flushed pink with excitement, and she brushed back a golden curl, the color of dark honey, that had escaped the string of pearls twined around her hair.
They were completely alone in this part of the house. Not even the kitchen maids would be found here tonight, as every last servant was busy attending to the hundreds of guests pouring into Devlin Hall. Standing alone with Charlotte in the tiny space, James forgot everyone else existed.
“Champagne?” he asked, pulling out one of his father’s best bottles of French wine.
Charlotte’s eyes twinkled as she nodded. “I feel terribly wicked, you know. Grandmama would lecture me for days if she knew I was in here with you.”
“Your grandmother sounds quite formidable,” James teased. He handed her the bottle as he dug through the back shelves, searching for something to drink out of. It was obvious the pantry had not been properly stocked for the Earl to have private midnight picnics. All James could find was a pair of wooden bowls. They looked clean enough, and, with an apologetic grin, he handed one to Charlotte.
“A very rustic glass,” she said, laughing as he filled hers to the brim with the sparkling wine.
“A toast to our friendship,” he said, lifting his bowl. Calling Charlotte a friend certainly didn’t do justice to their encounter in the Oriental drawing room.
“Friendship,” she echoed, and with a sassy flip of her wrist she proceeded to pour the Champagne straight down her throat.
For a split second Charlotte looked as though she enjoyed the sweet taste, and then she was overcome by a fit of coughing.
“There, now,” James said, rather amused as he slapped her lightly on the back. “It’s not really for guzzling.”
She made a massive effort to subdue her coughing fit. “No, really it’s delicious,” she gasped, swallowing hard. “I adore it.” And for proof she forced herself to take another giant sip, which went down just as smoothly as the first.
“Have you never drunk Champagne before?” He was now slightly alarmed. James had to give her several good thumps between the shoulder blades before she could speak.
“No,” she admitted, trying unsuccessfully to talk and hiccup at the same time. “Grandmama…oh!... doesn’t care…oh my!...for anything much stronger than…stronger than…lemonade.”
“I can see why.” Lord, she sounded like a drunken sailor. James suppressed a laugh, wondering how such a tiny female could make so much noise.
“I must look a mess,” she moaned.
“You certainly do.” He noted that several of her tightly arranged curls had escaped their pins, framing the sides of her face. It made her look less like a society lady and infinitely more attractive.
Charlotte wrinkled her nose at him. “Champagne—hic!—is rather vile.”
“It doesn’t have to be…” Drawn closer by those wayward curls, James reached out and smoothed one back into place. “If you drink it correctly.” He let his finger linger for a moment, brushing a fingertip along the side of her cheek.
“There’s a correct way to drink Champagne?”
“Champagne is meant to be sipped and savored, very slowly.” He raised the glass to his lips and inhaled softly before tipping it back.
“There is a shar
p bite when it first hits your lips,” he continued, noticing Charlotte’s intense gaze, “but once the liquid is in your mouth, it bathes your tongue in sweetness before gently rolling down your throat.”
“It really…bathes your tongue?” she stuttered.
“In sweetness,” he finished for her. “Would you like to try a sip?” He held the glass out, watching her dark eyes flash under the candlelight.
“Oh, yes,” she breathed, reaching toward him. Try as he might, James couldn’t ignore the rush of fire when her fingertips brushed against his.
It was happening again, that forbidden spark igniting between them. He lifted the bowl to Charlotte’s lips, wrapping his fingers behind her neck to gently tilt her head backwards. Very slowly, he poured the merest sip of Champagne into her mouth.
“It tastes like bubbles!” she gasped. “May I try it again?”
She closed her eyes, trustingly placing her head back against his fingers with a sigh. James tilted the bowl toward her mouth, draining it, feeling his whole body vibrate as she sighed in pleasure. A few drops of liquid fell on her bottom lip. Completely caught up in the sensual moment, James leaned down to lick the shimmering liquid off her lip.
Charlotte’s eyes flew open. “Are you kissing me again?”
Perhaps it was the Champagne, or maybe it was the close quarters of the pantry, but the look of desire in her eyes was clear as glass. Charlotte wanted him as much as he wanted her.
“That wasn’t a kiss.”
The wooden bowl fell to the floor with a dull clatter as James plunged both his hands into Charlotte’s thick curls and pulled her toward his mouth.
The musicians had obviously resumed playing, as the off-key wails of violins battling fiddles started up with a vengeance. Charlotte could almost swear the floors rattled from the terrible sound. Whatever the men lacked in musical talent they certainly made up for in passion and volume.
Fortunately, Charlotte was much too caught up in a symphony of her own to care for anything but what James was whispering into her ear.
“You’re blushing,” he said, ending his rather scandalous monologue.
She sighed as James shifted his focus to her neck. He was making her shiver even as she grew warmer beneath his touch. “It’s rather warm in here.”
“I would think you’d be freezing,” he said, “with so much exposed skin.”
She tilted her head back, letting him glide his fingers down toward her admittedly low décolletage. Her breath drew in sharply when he bent his head toward the front of the gown. Charlotte was suddenly very grateful she had ignored her Grandmama’s suggestion to wear a shawl.
“I had no idea Champagne made you so bold,” she breathed when they finally, reluctantly, pulled apart.
James gently slid his thumb across her bottom lip. “Maybe it’s my wardrobe. My valet insisted Pomona was a very powerful color.”
She laughed, feeling both safe and incredibly free with James in their snug little hideaway. Leaning in closer, she inhaled a mix of clean linen and male skin. Hundreds of little bubbles danced through her veins, a feeling both intoxicating and rather dangerous. She was not supposed to feel this way with James. He was the Earl of Devlin, and she had one of the worst reputations in London. What could they possibly hope for? She had been naïve with Andrew, thinking that enough time had passed since her divorce for society’s memory to fade. But families like the Devlins would never forget. Charlotte understood that now.
Charlotte reached out to run her hand down the side of his face. She should end this before it went too far. Such a perilous attraction would only lead to heartache.
“James,” she whispered as he bent down toward her mouth. “This will never work between us.”
Before Charlotte could utter another word James was kissing her again, this time with a ferocious passion that made her knees slip out from under her. She let out a small yelp when James swept her up into his arms.
“Your family will never allow it!” she cried out, pushing herself out of his arms.
He set her down on her feet, his brow furrowed in an unreadable expression. She had to make him understand.
“Andrew knew that. It’s why he is marrying another woman.”
They stood inches away from one another in the tiny room, her harsh breath mingling with his.
“Do you love Andrew?”
That certainly wasn’t the reply she was expecting. What did love have to do with any of this? She’d found Andrew suitable enough for her purposes. She needed a handsome, charming, and well-connected husband to get her back into society, and Sir Andrew Greenshaw certainly fit. His charm and connections could fill Regency Park, and for his looks, well, ladies were always fawning over him. Of course, Charlotte preferred her gentlemen a bit taller, with dark hair and blue-black eyes.
He lifted her chin until they were eye to eye. “Tell me the truth, Charlotte. Do you love him?”
She couldn’t lie. “No. I never did.”
“And your former husband?”
“Never,” she whispered, with a hard shake of her head.
James nodded. “Then your past has no place in this room.”
His ultimatum was clear. Whatever happened in the future, Charlotte knew she could never go back to pretending with James. There was something strong between them. A feeling she was terrified to put a name to, but one she had denied to herself for far too long. Slowly, but with no doubts left in her mind, she nodded.
James scooped her up into his arms, carrying her farther into the little pantry.
“Where are we going?” she breathed, wondering how much larger this space could get.
“There’s a small hidden room behind the pantry,” James replied. “My father hid his very best wines back here.”
“Why did he keep it so secret?” She was fascinated. “Surely he wasn’t afraid his own servants would steal from him.”
“He was hiding it from us.” Unlocking a stone panel that turned out to be a door, James pulled open the latch to reveal the former Earl’s secret room. “My mother can be intrusive at times.”
Charlotte made a very unladylike noise in her throat. “I’ve noticed.”
The late Earl had certainly spared no expense. Charlotte’s amazement grew as James circled the room, lighting candles. It was small but exquisitely decorated with gold-leaf wallpaper shining against dozens of candelabras. There were only two pieces of furniture in the room: a dark mahogany wine case filled with bottles, and the largest settee she had ever seen. Upon closer inspection, Charlotte realized the sofa was large enough to sleep on.
“Is this supposed to be a bed?” she asked, wondering why anyone would ever fashion such a strange piece of furniture. “I can’t imagine why your father would wish to sleep in this tiny room.”
James cleared his throat several times before answering. “I don’t think it was used much for sleeping.” He yanked on his collar as if suddenly hot. “But yes, it is most certainly a bed.”
The real reason for the late Earl’s secret room hit Charlotte like a slap of her fan. “Oh,” she breathed, both scandalized and impressed.
“He wasn’t very discreet about it.” James looked so embarrassed that Charlotte didn’t dare smile.
“You can imagine how my relatives felt.”
The sacred Devlin family reputation. Charlotte wondered if she would ever escape from it. And what about James? Was he as obsessed with the Devlin name as the rest of them? Considering he was consorting with a divorced woman, it certainly didn’t look that way. A small glimmer of hope fluttered in Charlotte’s heart, but she immediately stamped it out.
No more foolish thoughts! Her past and his duties would never allow them to be together. But they were alone now, and Charlotte was going to make the most of it.
With a defiant toss of her curls she stepped into the late Earl’s boudoir, eager to explore.
“I think your father had every right to do what he pleased,” she said, running a hand along the gold
silk cover on the bed. “This was his home, after all.” She looked up to meet James’s eyes. “Now it’s yours.”
James swept her into his arms before she could blink. Crushing her lips against his, he held her against him in a possessive show of passion.
Still kissing her, James was slowly lowering her onto the bed when Charlotte placed a small, gloved hand on his chest.
He immediately drew back, steadying her on her feet. “Is something wrong?”
She slowly shook her head, feeling infinitely brave. “Don’t move.”
He obeyed. As he stood completely still in front of the gold-covered bed, Charlotte slowly circled the Earl. She didn’t touch him, but she felt the heat radiating from his skin, scorching her like a flame.
It was delicious torture. The minutes slid by, arousing them both with each turn Charlotte made around his trembling form. She knew she was achieving her goal when James whispered a few dark threats as she passed in front of him again. After making him suffer just a bit longer, she finally struck. Standing directly in front of him, Charlotte got a firm grip on the perfectly starched edge of his neckcloth and yanked it with all her strength.
“I dislike the Mathematical,” she said, letting the now ruined tie drop from her fingers.
He looked completely stunned. “It took my valet two hours to properly tie that,” he sputtered.
“A waste of time!” she cried. “And this hairstyle is totally unsuitable for you. Why, it has been curled more than mine.” Stretching to reach the top of his head, she ruffled her hands through the poufed locks.
Enjoying her newfound power, Charlotte’s hands slid around his ears and down his neck, continuing their sensuous exploration.
“I have never in my life seen such an ugly waistcoat.” She yanked open the front, popping one of the buttons in the process. “I’m surprised you can breathe well enough to speak! And this shirt is absolutely absurd. Even my Grandmama doesn’t wear so much lace.” She held up the cuff of his sleeve.
James looked down at the frilly fabric with a helpless shrug. “My valet said it was all the rage.”
A Deal with Lord Devlin Page 4