“Yes, I hadn’t thought of that.” This time, she seemed to be drawing nearer. Irrationally, Charles flattened himself against the wall.
“What on earth are you doing, my lord?” she asked, a small smile on her face.
“Doing? Why, nothing?”
“You look as though you’re in some distress,” she said. By the glimmer in her eye, she was doing it on purpose. He relaxed.
“You know as well as I do we should not be up here alone.”
She nodded. “But we are.”
“Then we should keep a few feet apart,” he suggested.
This statement was met with her laughter, bubbling and contagious. He laughed, too, although he wasn’t sure why.
After a moment, he asked her that exact question. “Why are we laughing?”
“Because I find it ridiculous that adults cannot be trusted. I know if we were discovered, it would look bad. I understand about appearances. Yet to suggest we need to stand apart when no one is watching as if you truly think you might be overcome and pounce upon me,” she began, then shook her head, dislodging a soft brown tendril that he itched to tuck behind her ear.
“It’s not for your protection alone,” Charles pointed out.
Her beautiful eyes widened as did her smile. “Oh I see! You are concerned I might be unable to help myself.” She moved even closer. “I might be so overcome by your extraordinary magnetism that I cannot be held responsible for pressing myself against you.”
And she did precisely that, brushing her shapely frame against him, while he gritted his teeth.
For pity’s sake!
Chapter Thirteen
Charlotte’s warmth was seeping into him. And Charles could feel her softness against his arm and then his chest. A moment later, she was laughing once more and walking past him toward the back windows.
He swallowed, and even the nothingness of air stuck in his parched throat.
The infuriating woman had no idea how splendid she was or how much he wanted to snatch her to him and taste her lips again. Doing so would strip him of any claim to being a gentleman, especially since she’d invited him as a friend.
He was quickly discovering there was such a thing as too much friendliness where Charlotte was concerned.
“Oh, look there,” she exclaimed, and he had no choice but to follow her and venture within the circle of her attraction. Too close. But she was correct — he was not an animal who couldn’t be trusted.
Striding to the other rear window, he peered out to see what she was looking at. It wasn’t much of a view actually. Neither was the front of the confectionery, which despite facing St. Paul’s in the distance, offered nothing but an intimate look into the shops across the street. And at the back, he could see only the alley and more buildings. What had drawn her interest?
In a heartbeat, she moved to stand beside him. He felt like growling, not like an animal, but merely a man meeting with too much temptation.
“I’ve never seen the view from up here. I can see Hyde Park, or at least its treetops, and Green Park.” She opened the window and leaned out. “And if I stretch my neck,” she added, “I can even see the Thames in the distance.”
Leaning out farther, her feet suddenly left the floor and her body teetered on the window sill. Charles grabbed for her as she yelped with surprise. Tugging her back inside, he held onto her tightly.
“What on earth! Miss Rare-Foure, if I hadn’t been here, you would have plunged to your death in the alley below.”
She looked sideways down at the mews. It was clean as far as alleys went, but still, it contained the trash from the various Bond Street establishments, along with dropped chunks of coal from deliveries that missed their mark through the chutes on the bottom floor. He shuddered to imagine her lying broken on the cobblestones.
“That would have been an ignominious end,” she agreed, seemingly entirely undisturbed. “However, I don’t think I would have made it through the opening without catching myself with my hands against the frame.”
He begged to disagree. Not only was she on the shorter side, she was what he would describe as top-heavy. The laws of gravity would have ensured she toppled out and had a quick descent.
He pulled her closer as he imagined it. Wrapping his arms around her, he closed his eyes and rested his chin upon her ... her prickly hat. It was uncomfortable at best. Moreover, she was resisting his embrace, as she should, pushing against his chest.
Quickly, he dropped his arms from around her and stepped back.
“My apologies,” he said. “I was briefly overcome with a picture in my head of what would surely have happened. Promise me you won’t do anything so foolish again.”
Charlotte had frozen in place, staring up at him. “That was the sweetest thing,” she announced. “Your rescuing me and then embracing me. I am sorry for worrying you.”
Again, she was drawing closer. Before he could react, she threw her arms around his waist and hugged him in return.
The whole situation had got out of hand, and now, they were in an untenable position. Clasping him to her, she gazed up, and he knew what it meant to fall deeply into a woman’s eyes. For that was what he did, her deep-brown eyes welcoming him into her soul. His stomach lurched with the sensation.
Without thinking, he lowered his head and claimed her lips.
CHARLOTTE GASPED AGAINST Lord Jeffcoat’s mouth, and then relaxed. Her entire body had been tingling since they’d entered the suite of rooms, and she knew she’d been teasing him to distraction. Although nearly falling out of the window, possibly to her death, had been an accident.
Nevertheless, it had achieved her goal. He was finally kissing her again with a long, blissful kiss.
“Mm,” she said against his lips, and felt his response in the way his fingers squeezed her waist and how he deepened the kiss, his mouth seeming to caress hers. After a long while, he drew back.
She opened her eyes and watched his own gaze go from faraway into sharp focus, and then his features tightened.
“Blast it all!” he swore and strode away from her, down to the end of the room and through the archway to the other set of windows.
After recovering from his surprisingly sharp reaction, she hurried after him.
“Lord Jeffcoat, is something amiss?”
He wasn’t looking at her, but staring out the window. Daring his displeasure, for he was radiating annoyance, she stood beside him.
“This view is more familiar, but it’s still hard to see over the rooftops across the street.”
He didn’t say anything.
“Lord Jeffcoat, are you going to remain silent until we part?”
“Maybe,” he muttered.
“Whyever for?”
“Because I have behaved abominably and should be whipped.”
She felt the urge to giggle at his serious tone after their pleasant kiss, but then she imagined him stripped bare for a lashing and sobered at the thought of seeing his torso.
“I ... I am sorry if I have caused you distress,” she offered.
“You!” he exclaimed. “You are not the one to be sorry. I am the one who is supposed to be reasonable and rational and cautious and ... and protect your innocence. Instead, I mauled you and stole a kiss.”
This time, Charlotte could not contain her good humor. She tried to press her lips together, but her laughter spilled out.
“Oh, my lord. You know as well as I that I threw my arms around you.”
“After I had already embraced you,” she pointed out.
They stared at one another.
“Is it really so terrible?” Charlotte couldn’t refrain from asking.
He sighed. “You have asked such before, and you know the answer.”
“I know,” she conceded, “my reputation is at stake, but perhaps not if we come to an understanding.”
He looked shocked, actually paling.
What had she said that was so shocking?
“Miss Rare-Foure, there
can be no understanding that allows for a single man and a single woman to make light of the restraints of civil society. We ignore decorum and tear apart those restraints at our own peril.”
Lord Jeffcoat paced, and she imagined him doing so, back and forth, before the bench of some lofty judge as he made his case.
“If discovered, you would be labeled a light-skirt at worse or a loose woman at best. I know all too well that I would be forgiven in society’s eyes as being tempted beyond reason by your charms.”
“And are you?” Charlotte knew she ought to stop prodding him, but she couldn’t. He was so proper with his perfect cravat and his gray gloves.
“Am I what?” he snapped.
“Tempted beyond reason?” she asked.
“Argh!” he exclaimed and walked away from her again. But then he turned and walked back.
“Miss Rare-Foure—”
“You could call me Charlotte,” she pointed out, “when we are alone, seeing as we have kissed. Twice.”
He clenched his jaw.
“And I could call you Charles. Only, as I said, when we are alone.”
“We will not be alone again,” he vowed. “We mustn’t.”
She sighed. “The arrangement I referred to was the kind couples make when they like each other and have an understanding.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Do you mean an engagement?”
After all that, hearing him say it — when she’d had to spell it out for him — was mortifying in the extreme. If he wanted to spend time alone with her and had such intense feelings, then an engagement ought to have been upper most in his mind. Not hers. Or at least, not hers alone.
“No,” she countered to save face. “I suppose I meant...,” she trailed off.
“Well?” he asked, as if he were a barrister interrogating a witness.
“My sister, Mrs. Carson, before she was such, had an arrangement with Mr. Carson. They were ... partners ... in a scheme to find him a titled lady as his spouse.”
Lord Jeffcoat rolled his eyes. “And how did that work out for them?”
“Perfectly,” Charlotte told him. “They fell in love, and obviously, they belong together.”
“Hm.”
That told her nothing of his thoughts.
“If we had an arrangement, something we were doing,” she persisted, “then we could be together without suspicion.”
“No, Miss Rare-Foure, we could not. Besides, what would we be doing together? I am not an estate lawyer. Nor can I build your much-needed staircase.”
She sighed. “Never mind. Why don’t you tell me about that lady at the concert hall?”
He looked shocked again. “An inappropriate topic,” he said.
“I think not. Why won’t you tell me? If you can ask me out and then take me somewhere that I may run into your past paramours—”
“Miss Rare-Foure!”
“Your past lady-friends, is that a better, more civilized term?” she asked. “If you put me in their path, then I believe I have a right to ask. After all, she besmirched me.”
“Besmirched you?” he repeated, frowning slightly.
“She did,” Charlotte reminded him. “I am not so naïve that I don’t know what she meant about why you’re with me.”
His face flushed a rosy color and his glance slid away from her face. She’d embarrassed him.
“It’s all right. I am quite aware of certain of my traits that draw men’s attention.”
He looked as if he might run, so she stopped. She’d developed beyond her sister’s and had been on the receiving end of many a man’s gawking stare. Nonetheless, having a woman, particularly Lord Jeffcoat’s lady-friend, mention her figure had been a new and uncomfortable occurrence.
As if she were nothing more than a large bosom and pretty lips!
“Why did you ask me out again? I know it wasn’t solely due to what your paramour mentioned.”
“My lady-friend,” he corrected stiffly, “and she is no longer even that. She is of no consequence.”
“Regardless, she was rude.”
“She was,” he agreed. “And she was wrong. I like you because you’re interesting.”
Interesting? A shopgirl who made marzipan! Yet she believed him, and his declaration warmed her. “If she is unimportant, then you can tell me who she is.”
“You would make a good barrister, Miss Rare-Foure. Or at least a persistent one.” He folded his arms. “She is Miss Virginia Stadden. I escorted her around town and to some parties for a couple months. However, she is unkind, and after a while, I couldn’t stomach it.”
“I see.” She supposed that answered all her questions. As long as the woman was no longer in his mind or heart, she mattered nothing, exactly as he said.
“You are the opposite. You are kind,” Lord Jeffcoat offered.
Charlotte couldn’t help smiling. “I am,” she agreed, making him bark out a laugh.
“And modest,” he teased, after a moment.
“Does it seem boastful to agree that my nature is basically kind?”
“Not really, not when you say it,” he agreed. “I’ve seen the evidence.”
She shrugged. “It’s easy to be kind and to make people happy, especially with confectionery.”
“I suppose so. Most of the people I work with are unsmiling.”
“Something as grave as the law can drain the happiness away,” she mused. “But you are not a sad man, albeit a little serious sometimes.”
“I’ve been told that before.”
“You take after your father, perhaps,” she mused, although the earl seemed more cranky than serious. But if Charles’s lifelong role model for being a man was the grumpy earl, then she suppose he had turned out very well indeed.
“Better my father than my mother,” he quipped, then looked as though he wished he could suck the words right out of the air and swallow them back down.
“Your mother has passed away?” Charlotte asked him, fearing the worst.
He said nothing for a long moment. “If you don’t mind, I would rather not speak of her.” His tone had become reticent and off-putting.
It was probably too painful for him. “Of course. I am sorry to have pried. In any case, I have taken up too much of your time.”
Suddenly, she recollected that all this space belonged to her — and Rare Confectionery — and her joy bubbled up once more. Returning to the center of the room, she twirled in a circle.
“Can’t you just imagine it?” she crowed. “Everything appealing down to the finest detail, the floors and paint and wallpaper and furnishings. And it will smell divinely of Amity’s chocolates and Beatrice’s buttery toffee. And coffee, too. It will be grand.”
“I can imagine it. I’m sure your marzipan will be here, too,” he added.
How sweet of him to mention it. “It doesn’t have a warm, delicious scent. It is undoubtedly the least popular confectionery in the shop.”
With that, realizing she still had work to do down below, she began to walk toward the door.
“And that doesn’t bother you?” he asked, sounding surprised.
“Not at all. My marzipan is part of the success of Rare Confectionery, after all.” She glanced at him. “As a family, we fail or succeed together, I believe.”
He stopped in his tracks. “You have amazed me again, Miss Rare-Foure. What’s more, you have done so more than anyone I know.”
Charlotte didn’t know what to make of that. “Most families are similar, are they not?”
“I wish it were so,” Charles said, making her understand he had not the same experience in his life.
She recalled how Lionel had left without any indication of when he would see Viola or their parents again. Pure selfishness! But surely, Lionel was an aberration of an artistic mind! She hoped no such thing had happened to the viscount within his own family.
“May I escort you somewhere again this week?” he asked.
His question drew her out of thoughts of a man she
might never see again, one she’d finally put behind her.
“Yes,” she answered. “We shall need Delia, obviously, because we cannot keep our hands off one another.”
Charlotte meant it in jest, but he stiffened. His lordship was a tad too serious for his own good. Why, she almost leaned over to kiss him just to ruffle his feathers once more, but restrained herself. That would most certainly end with him berating himself again.
“I am speaking in jest. I shall be on my best behavior,” she assured him, “and I’m certain you will, too.”
That made him smile, if only slightly. “I enjoy riding. I think I may have mentioned that before. But you work every day, do you not?”
“Except Sundays.”
“I shall plan an outing for some evening this week,” he proposed, “but also, I would like to take you riding on Sunday.”
She would have to confess the truth.
“My lord, I am a middle-class shopkeeper’s daughter. Our family does not ride in the park because we do not keep mounts or have suitable riding clothing.”
Nevertheless, Charlotte thought she would look fetching in a green velvet habit. Could she obtain such a thing from a ready-made clothing store and on such short notice?
But she would also need a horse, and not one of the sturdy mares that pulled her father’s carriage around town.
Lord Jeffcoat was undeterred. “Have you ridden before?”
Should she confess to riding bareback at their country home? Once or twice, just for fun, she’d ridden astride along the River Blackwater since they didn’t have a side saddle. The fat mare had moved as slowly as treacle on a cold day.
“A few times, yes, but not in Town,” she admitted.
“Perfect. You will enjoy yourself, I promise. And any gown will do, I’m sure, as long as it has a full skirt to go over the pommel. I’ll give you a well-mannered mount and a comfortable saddle. We’ll ride early while the rest of London is still abed. Say yes, Miss Rare-Foure.”
She could think of no impediment, given that he was providing her with a horse.
“All right. My answer is yes.”
My Lady Marzipan (Rare Confectionery Book 3) Page 15