When she parted them with a delicate sigh, he edged inside and drank some more. Her hands crept up his chest and around his neck and Jules held her even closer. Who was this woman and why did she fit him so perfectly?
When he felt her fingers threading into his hair, he barely suppressed a moan. Kisses didn’t wreck him like this. He trailed his lips around to her cheek, her chin, and then back to claim her mouth again. Tasting, dancing, sharing.
He abandoned her sweet mouth again to taste his way along the length of her neck. When she exhaled a soft cry, he captured her mouth with his again.
He went on, and on, and on… He could kiss her all night, for hours.
“There you are.”
Charley squealed and jumped out of Jules arms in a panicky lurch, practically falling into the branches and leaves. If Jules hadn’t had such a good grip of her arm, she would have disappeared into the shrubbery and possibly injured herself in the prickly brush. Not at all appreciative of the interruption, Jules turned around with a snarl.
Mantis stared back at him, chortling to himself.
“That woman is not going to give up, and if you two don’t make an appearance soon, she’s likely to have your mother send out a search party.” The burly viscount held back the branches that had, until moments ago, provided Jules and Charley with the perfect cover.
Jules growled. He was going to have that discussion with his mother first thing in the morning.
Curses on Mrs. Crabtree.
Still reeling from Jules’ kiss but urged along by his hand at her back, Charley somehow managed to follow Lord Manningham-Tissenton through a side door and out of the orangery. She did her best to keep from stumbling as they scurried along a brush-covered path until they burst into a clearing.
Where they were no longer alone.
Charley blinked and tried to make out the faces of those who’d been apparently waiting for them. The Marquess of Greystone’s casual tall and lanky stance was unmistakable.
Slightly behind him was the baron, and on his arm, Bethany.
“Stone is doing his best to rein in Mrs. Crabtree,” Lord Chaswick said. “And Peter is keeping Tabetha and the Somerville sisters occupied.”
Bethany didn’t meet Charley’s eyes when she stepped forward and began removing twigs and leaves from Charley’s hair and dress. When she finished, she narrowed her eyes at her brother but went to do the same for him.
He only endured her attempts to straighten him out for a moment. “Go on without me.” He flashed his gaze to Charley, but she couldn’t make out his thoughts before he turned and disappeared back onto the path they’d just come from.
“This way.” Lord Greystone winged an elbow for Charley. She had no choice but to take it and walk alongside the haughty gentleman.
“Such a lovely evening to explore the more distant gardens, wouldn’t you agree?” He patted her hand, keeping their pace slow and leisurely.
Charley was only slightly aware of Lord Chaswick and Bethany walking behind them, acting for all the world as though she and the earl hadn’t been caught in a tryst.
And why had Jules abandoned her with them? He’d been angry when his friend interrupted them but… surely, he wasn’t angry with her?
“Thank you.” Charley lowered her chin, aware that Jules’ friends and sister had come to protect him. But what did they think of her now?
“It is something we’ve all done at one time or another. Usually to evade an ambitious mama.” He shrugged. “Or an irate husband.”
Charley stiffened, and he chuckled beside her. “Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head over, however.”
What would it be like to have friends who would put themselves at risk to help you? People who’d known you for most of your life and loved you simply because you were you?
“I envy your friendships.” They were, indeed, almost a brotherhood. They joked with one another, spent leisure time together, and most definitely looked out for one another.
“We have much in common. Not only our time at school but the expectations of our families. It’s refreshing to have people you can turn to who have no expectations whatsoever.”
Charley nodded. The closest she’d ever felt to anyone had been a few of her father’s employees. Other girls her age had always had different dreams than her, and they’d not shared any of her interests.
They’d all adored Charley’s mother.
And her mother had adored them.
As Bethany crept up on Charley’s free side and took hold of her arm, Charley wondered if perhaps her lack of friends had not been mostly her own fault? Was it possible she’d imagined that her mother had fawned over the lovelier young ladies who’d visited?
But she remembered.
She had not imagined the disappointed stares her mother had sent her way.
Her throat felt thick. Had her mother loved her? Would her mother have loved her if Charley had been more malleable?
“There you are.” Mrs. Crabtree came into view, clutching one hand to her chest and frowning deeply. “I have been searching for you everywhere.” The woman’s lips pinched tightly together as her gaze shifted suspiciously amongst them all.
“But she is perfectly safe with us,” Bethany spoke up beside Charley. “This is a house party, after all, is it not?”
“She disappeared alone with Lord Westerley.” The stern chaperone stood her ground.
“Is not the purpose of a house party for the guests to enjoy themselves and one another?” Lord Greystone’s voice could have cut the air around them.
“But Lady Westerley charged me to—”
“You are not a jailer. You are a companion, are you not? And if I am not mistaken—and I know I am not—a companion is not required when a young woman is in the company of other individuals of her own status, one of whom happens to be our host’s sister.” This time it was Lord Manningham-Tissenton who addressed the woman.
Charley’s chest loosened. She may not have known these people for long but for some reason, they were protecting her and defending her.
“I’ll not be requiring your services any more this evening, Mrs. Crabtree.” Her voice did not tremble as she spoke. “Thank you.”
Even though the chaperone held her ground, Mrs. Crabtree didn’t seem quite as certain of herself as she had ten minutes before.
Charley lifted her chin and inhaled a deep breath. A burden she hadn’t even realized she’d been carrying, for the moment, lifted off her shoulders.
For the first time in ages, she didn’t feel as though she had to fight every battle alone.
Lord Greystone patted her arm in what Charley believed was approval and a rush of warmth swept through her.
“You are excused.” Lord Greystone added in a manner that the stern woman had no choice but to retreat.
“I will come to your chamber in the morning,” she said to Charley.
Manningham-Tissinton—or Mantis as Jules had referred to the viscount—cleared his throat just as the chaperone turned.
“My Lord?” Mrs. Crabtree halted and scowled at him.
“There are ladies present.” He tilted his head in Greystone’s direction. “As are, I believe, a few lords.”
The woman who’d plagued Charley for most of the evening opened her eyes wide and then began curtseying to Bethany, Lord Mantis, Lord Chaswick, and then Lord Greystone. Apparently no longer anxious to remain at Charley’s side, she practically ran into the manor. Chaswick and Mantis grinned at one another and Greystone shook his head.
Charley met Bethany’s gaze and had to stifle an inappropriate urge to giggle. They had come to aid her—to aid her and Jules. And they all seemed to be taking considerable pleasure at having done so.
But where was Jules? She sent his sister a grateful smile and then glanced around. One moment he’d been making her feel drunk with his kisses and the next he had simply… disappeared.
She didn’t really understand how all of this had come about or who had planned i
t, but she was grateful.
Had Jules made arrangements earlier for all of this sneaking around in order to bamboozle her chaperone? It would have been a good deal of trouble for him for a mere kiss.
Or perhaps he had wanted more than a kiss?
Bethany crossed to her side and took hold of Charley’s free arm. “Shall we visit the retiring room, Charley?”
Wary to hear what Jules’ sister was going to have to say, Charley nodded, nonetheless, and Greystone released her. She hoped the new friendship that had barely had time to blossom with the younger girl wasn’t going to be ruined. She liked having a friend, even more, she liked Bethany.
But her gut told her it was a distinct possibility. Because Bethany wasn’t only Jules’ sister, she was practically a sister to Felicity, whom everyone expected Jules to marry. And Charley hated to imagine how Felicity must feel. She’d done nothing but go along with her parents’ expectations.
Neither Charley nor Bethany spoke as they stepped inside the manor and down the corridor to the room set aside for ladies to freshen their hair and gowns.
When they entered the retiring room, the attending maid’s brows nearly disappeared into her hairline. “Your hem needs repairing, Miss! And your hair!”
Charley glanced down, and sure enough, nearly a quarter of the hem of her gown had been trailing dismally behind her. Charley slid her gaze to the mirror and winced. Her lips glistened pink and plumper than usual and the skin along her jaw glowed red from Jules’ whiskers. Leaves clung to her hair, half of which had escaped the coiffure Daisy had carefully arranged a few hours earlier and her cheeks were flushed a guilty pink. Worst of all, the bodice of her gown had shifted downward, giving her a most unforgiving wanton look.
Even she would have guessed at what they’d been up to. She wasn’t so naïve to realize what the others must have been thinking.
“It must have happened when I fell into the hedge.” Charley made a halfhearted effort to explain her disheveled appearance away.
Bethany’s gaze met hers in the mirror. It wasn’t accusing, so much as… resigned. “I do believe, Miss Charlotte Jackson of Philadelphia, my brother has taken a liking to you.”
“No. No. No.” Charley didn’t want to concede that. Because if she did, then it would mean that she liked him back. And he was an earl. An earl who lived in England. An earl who really ought to be paying his addresses to another more deserving, more appropriate young lady.
But Bethany nodded.
“Step up here, Miss.” The maid had fetched a needle and thread. “And then we’ll do something about your hair.”
“It’s nothing. We are… friends.” Charley spoke the words aloud, cursing her fair complexion when the pink in her cheeks darkened further.
“Has he offered for you?”
The question wasn’t a fair one. Any other time, Charley could possibly have imagined some way to answer it without lying outright. “Yes.” Her voice was little more than a whisper.
“Did you accept him?”
At these words, Charley met Bethany’s eyes—eyes that closely resembled those of the man they were discussing. She shook her head. “I’m going to return to America when the season is over. I have to.” Her voice caught. “It’s home.”
But was it really? Did home have to be the place where a person was born?
A tiny line appeared between Bethany’s eyes. “Do you have a beau in America? Is that why you must return?”
“I don’t,” she answered.
Bethany’s fingers fidgeted nervously at her side. “I’m not sure how Felicity will feel about this. But I can guarantee my mother will be none too pleased.”
Charley wanted to put Bethany’s worries to rest and tell her about the wager and that all of this was fake, but something held her back. Perhaps she needed to protect her father from appearing mercenary and uncaring. The wager had not been well done of him. It had been manipulative and unfair, and she was one hundred percent certain that he had cheated.
Did she keep from telling Bethany because she wanted to respect Jules’ privacy? He had accepted such a bet even though he’d been all but promised to another.
Or was it possible she refrained because she wanted this to be more than a charade? And she wasn’t opposed to him whisking her away?
Because as much as she’d enjoyed tasting the earl’s scotch, tasting the actual earl had been better.
Chapter 17
INVISIBLE STRINGS
After having her hair and gown repaired, Charley had wanted to avoid returning to the drawing room, but Bethany insisted she must make an appearance, if only for a short while. She’d informed her of this with raised, somewhat admonishing eyebrows.
Trusting that Bethany wouldn’t lead her astray in such matters, Charley had reluctantly agreed. At least she no longer had to deal with Mrs. Crabtree for the night.
And after half an hour of making conversation with a few of the elderly guests who had surprised her with a few thoughtful questions about America, she’d excused herself and wearily returned to her chamber.
Jules had not rejoined the party, and as she regarded her reflection while Daisy braided her hair for bed, she couldn’t keep herself from replaying that kiss—no, there had been multiple kisses—over and over again in her mind.
If she didn’t belong in England, then how was it that she’d felt so at home in his arms?
She’d been kissed before but never like that. His lips had tasted like scotch and when he’d dragged his whiskers along her more tender skin, the scratching had stoked a primitive longing in her core.
Even the memory sent a wanting through her.
No wonder his mother didn’t approve of her. Had she discovered that Charley had been in his company alone for several hours in the cellar? She touched her fingertips. Jules’ friends had successfully sent Mrs. Crabtree packing, but the woman would no doubt relay her suspicions to the countess.
Charley winced at the thought and when a knock sounded at the door, unease slid down her spine. Either Mrs. Crabtree was coming to check on her or Lady Westerley had arrived to evict her from the house party.
Charley’s eyes met Daisy’s in the mirror, slid to the redness on Charley’s neck and then over to the door. “Who do you think it is?” Daisy whispered as she quickly tied off the long braid she’d weaved.
Of course, Daisy would feel even less comfortable facing the countess.
“No way to know but to see.” Charley rose and Daisy scooted off into the dressing room.
Taking a deep breath, Charley tightened her dressing gown around her middle and padded barefoot to the door.
Neither Mrs. Crabtree nor the countess stood on the other side.
The corner of Jules’ mouth tilted upward in what managed to be something of a devilishly handsome half-smile. Most of his hair had escaped the cue it had been tied in earlier and she should not have experienced so much excitement at the mere sight of the man.
“I thought you might need this tomorrow.”
“Need what?” She forced her voice to function.
He lifted his hands. Her cloak. The one he’d helped her remove in the orangery.
All sorts of unrecognizable emotions shot through her at the reminder.
She blinked but accepted it from him and draped it over one arm. And then… “Of course, Mrs. Crabtree saw it. It’s how she knew we were there.”
At the mention of Mrs. Crabtree, his jaw clenched.
“And of course, she will have told the countess, I’m sure.” The words escaped Charley’s mouth before she could stop them. Lady Westerley was his mother. One didn’t go about complaining about one’s hostess to one’s host. “Not that I—"
“You mustn’t worry about that.” He stepped closer, and now she could make out the individual whiskers along his jaw. Her gaze flicked to his mouth, which she knew could be both firm and yet soft, and every single nerve in her body jumped to attention. She nearly stopped breathing when he reached out and tugged at h
er braid. “This is cute.”
He could tease her now? Or was he flirting with her? She touched her hair self-consciously. “It keeps it from tangling when I sleep.”
His eyes flared. “It’s longer than I imagined.”
What would he think if he was to see how unruly her very red hair could be?
“I also wanted to make sure you survived Chaswick, Mantis, and Greys.”
The corner of his mouth jumped again and so did her heart. Bubbles seemed to effervesce in her chest but in a good way.
She liked it. She liked it when he smiled at her. She rested one hand along the frame of the door to keep herself from leaning into him. Because all this giddiness wanted to dictate her actions.
“Your friends were most kind.” She still had difficulty wrapping her mind around all that they’d done for her.
“The Cocksure Gents.” Again, he teased.
“Yes.” But then she bit her lip. “Bethany knows—about us. I mean, that you’ve offered for me. Not about the bet,” she hastened to add. “But… well, some of it.”
Both corners of his mouth had lifted now. “There was little chance my sister would allow you to escape without badgering you for some sort of explanation.”
“I told her I needed to return to America. I wanted to go home.” Talking with him now, alone, wearing her dressing gown and barefoot in the shadows of the corridor, the feelings of homesickness weren’t quite as powerful as they had been before.
Because going home would mean never seeing him again.
She should never have given in to him. His pretending to court her had been a huge mistake.
Those invisible strings she’d felt in the cellar earlier that day suddenly felt like thick ropes. And they were winding around her again, tugging her toward him. She gripped the doorframe harder in order to resist them.
But he wasn’t nearly as determined to fight the pull as she was. He leaned forward, not for a kiss, but close enough that the scruff of his beard brushed along her cheek and jaw. There was not a thing in the world she could do to stop the shiver from running through her.
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