by Sara Reinke
* * * *
“You look ravishing, darling,” James said, bowing before her on the dance floor.
“James, do not,” Charlotte said, holding his gaze as she lowered herself in a curtsy. She had spied Kenley again as James had led her to the floor. His eyes had grown wide, a mixture of bewilderment and alarm darting through them as he had realized her company. When he had moved to step forward, drawing away from Caroline and shouldering his way toward the dance floor, Charlotte had brought him pause with a slight shake of her head.
It is all right, she wanted to tell him. James had been drinking; he did not move or slur his speech as a drunken man would, but the pungency of his overindulgence was apparent in his breath, and she did not want Kenley to risk a confrontation with him.
“Do not what?” James asked. “Do not offer the truth? You would make a liar of me?”
Charlotte ignored him, grateful for the reprieve the lead-in brought her. She fell in step with the other ladies in the dance row as they broke for their left, moving in file toward the back of the dance floor. She met James again at the center, presenting her hand to him.
“Am I not allowed to comment on your beauty anymore?” he asked, promenading a brief measure before turning her about. They parted on a diagonal and stood at three-quarter turns to look at one another. “Does your fair young Theydon forbid that other men should admire his bride?”
“That is all that matters to you, is it not, James?” Charlotte said. “That I am beautiful. You have never noticed anything but this.”
They crossed corners and she held his gaze. “Of course I have, darling,” he replied, and his eyes crawled again along her breasts. “I took notice of the wondrous lines and curves of your form some time ago, and have admired them ever since. I have spent long moments deep in thought in their regard, as a matter of fact.”
They crossed again, and he hooked her hand, sliding in a hissing breath through his teeth against her ear. “I have imagined tasting them,” he whispered. “Your beautiful breasts—from the moment they were naught save nubs pressing outward against your stay, I have given them pointed consideration.”
She brushed past him and said nothing, the crease between her brows deepening. She let him slip his right hand to hers, turning her. “Far more than nubs now,” he murmured, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Every measure of you softened and curved, filled and swelled…I swell to consider it.”
She recoiled from him, losing step in the dance as she backpedaled for her corner. “You are drunk, Lord Roding,” she said.
“Drunk with need,” he said, his smile widening. They clasped hands again, turning to the left.
“Have you need, James?” she asked softly, frowning at him. “Take it in hand, then, in some vacant parlor, you repulsive cad. How dare you speak to me so?”
“How dare you refuse my offers of marriage?
Years upon years, you rebuke me, only to turn about and agree to wed a man like Theydon?” he said, his own brows narrowing. “A man you have known for little more than the fluttering of eyelashes—that is to say, one you do not know at all?”
“I know him well,” she said. “You may not have a concept for such matters, James, but it is possible for people to acquaint themselves fondly with more than just a fair face, pleasing form, and ample purse. You should consider it sometime. You might be the better for it.”
They parted again, and she tromped toward the rear of the dance floor to meet him once more, fuming as she glared at the bobbing, plaited hairpiece affixed to the back of the woman’s head before her.
“You know him?” James asked, taking her hand and leading her in promenade.
“Yes,” she replied, turning to glower at him. “You know about his naval service, then?” James asked, as they separated for their corners.
Charlotte blinked at him, her surprise so apparent James laughed. “He did not tell of it?” he asked.
“Kenley did not serve in the navy,” Charlotte said. “Who told you that he had? Your faithful thief-taker- turned-coachman, Mr. Cheadle?”
“No,” James replied as they crossed. “A Mr. Linford told me. Do you know him? He is the sheriff of Essex County. I met him by chance passing through Epping proper the other night. I asked him about Lord Theydon, given he has held his post for so long. Your betrothed had seen his fair share of troubles in the past.”
They stepped together, presenting their hands and turning. “Mr. Linford had vague recall of him, if only by the benefit of the former Lord Woodside as his kin. He told me the last he had heard tell of Kenley Fairfax, he had enlisted in the Royal Navy.”
“Lewis Fairfax enlisted in the navy,” Charlotte said. “Kenley did not. Lord Woodside paid for his Grand Tour abroad. Mr. Linford is confusing the two.”
“I assure you he is not,” James said.
She held his gaze. “I assure you that he is,” she said.
The song concluded, and James let her turn from him, keeping hold of her hand to present her to the audience. The guests who had gathered about the dance floor to admire the minuet clapped their hands in polite approval, and Charlotte turned to James, dropping him an obligatory and quick curtsy.
“Thank you for the dance, Lord Roding,” she said. “I bid you good evening.”
She did not wait for his escort; she set out, abandoning the dance floor unaccompanied. She scanned the crowd, looking vainly for her sister and Kenley. She felt James catch the ruffled trim of her engageante, and when she turned, his hand shifted, closing firmly about her arm.
“Let go of me, James,” she said quietly, her brows furrowing.
“I still love you truly,” he told her. “No matter what has come to pass, or any dalliances with Theydon, you remain unsullied to me. I beg you to reconsider.”
“You are hurting my arm,” she said, and gave a mighty jerk to wrest herself free of his grasp. “Do not approach me again, or I will make a scene, James. By my breath, I will.”
She whirled and left him, shoving her way into the crowd. She was immediately lost in a cramped sea of unfamiliar faces, shoved against panniers and shoulders, jostled into arms and ballooning skirts. She looked around, straining to find her family or Kenley, but she could scarcely see two people deep through the throng about her.
Someone caught her arm from behind, and she turned, stumbling, thinking at first that James had followed her. She drew in a sharp breath to snap at him in rebuke and blinked, her alarmed expression waning. “Kenley!”
“Are you all right?” Kenley asked, taking her by the hands.
She looked up at him, the delight in her face faltering. Linford had told James that Kenley had enlisted in the Royal Navy. It sounded preposterous, but then again, James had been the one to tell Charlotte’s family of Kenley’s criminal past. That had proven true enough.
Could it be true now? she thought.
“What is it?” Kenley asked, stepping near her, his brows raised in concern. “Did he offend you? Did he hurt you? Tell me, Charlotte.”
If Kenley had been in the navy, why would Reilly and Lewis have made no mention of it? Surely, they would have known. Why would they have offered pretense of Kenley being abroad on a Grand Tour instead?
Kenley walked, drawing her in tow. She followed him, puzzled, as he led her through the crowd toward the far side of the ballroom. They ducked through a door and out onto an expansive stone terrace. Night had fallen; the air was cold and damp, and their breath immediately floated in an iridescent haze about their heads. No one else was foolish enough to brave the weather, and they had the patio to themselves. The sounds of the party muted as Kenley closed the door and drew her away from the golden spill of interior light through the windows. She followed him toward the balustrade, where the shadows fell deeply, engulfing them.
“You are upset,” he whispered, stricken, touching her face. “What did he say? Tell me what he said. Please, did he—”
Charlotte seized his face between her hands and kissed him deepl
y, muffling his voice against her mouth. She felt the startled intake of his breath against her tongue and he whimpered softly, drawing her near. “Nothing,” Charlotte whispered to him as they parted. “He told me nothing, Kenley.”
He touched her face, and she could not force herself to breathe. She shivered; he kissed her lightly, sweetly, and his mouth abandoned hers, following the contour of her jaw line toward the angle of her chin. His lips settled against the nook of her jaw, where her earlobe met the slant of her throat and she felt the tip of his tongue trace delicately, deliberately here. Again, his lips coaxed passion from its hidden alcoves and quiet corners within her; she felt her shoulders drawing back, her chin upward to present her throat to him. Her breasts were swollen and filled with insistent heat; she brushed them purposefully against him in mute implore for his touch.
His hand slid from her face, following her neck, the friction and heat of his skin against hers making her close her eyes and gasp softly. His palm settled against the straining, heavy swell of her breast, his fingers closing gently, his hand moving, kneading rhythmically against her, finding the measure of her frantic heart and marking its pace. Charlotte lowered her head and he canted his to meet her, catching her mouth against his, kissing her deeply.
The sound of muted laughter from the ballroom interrupted them, and he drew his hand away, leaving her aching for him beneath the constraints of her stomacher and stay; leaving her breath hitching, nearly hiccupping.
Kenley glanced toward the terrace doors and reached for her hand, slipping his palm against hers. “Will you come with me?” he whispered.
“Anywhere,” Charlotte breathed.