Chapter 13
Chapter
Thirteen
T he evening ended with a delightful and invigorating cotillion before everyone in attendance began to bid their goodnights by either walking home or waiting for their carriages to arrive.
Matilda stood with Charlotte and Lord Lacy, the wind gaining in strength since their arrival several hours ago. A distinct smell of rain hung in the air, heavy and foreboding, but also welcome after the horrendous heat they'd been suffering through.
"I do hope we can arrive home before the weather breaks." No sooner had Charlotte uttered those fateful words than the heavens opened and drenched everyone unlucky enough to be outside still.
Matilda darted back into the hall, shaking droplets from her damp gown. The rich scent of rain-soaked muslin and perfume greeted her as the other guests crowded in to avoid the downpour. She spotted Lord Charteris speaking to the local vicar, blissfully unaware of the commotion outside.
Several carriages came and went, and in the haste to escape the dreadful weather, Matilda missed securing a spot in the carriage with Charlotte.
Just as she was about to run outside to catch Lord and Lady Haverly's carriage back to the estate, an arm wrapped firmly around her waist, halting her steps.
"You can ride back to the house with me."
The feel of Christopher's strong arm and chiseled abdomen pressing against her back left her wits momentarily scattered. She pushed down her response to him and fought to control her racing heart. "I can’t possibly," she argued, stepping out of his hold. Glancing around, she sighed, thankful no one had seen his familiarity.
"Well, you cannot stay here." He gestured to the dwindling guests and the nearly empty roadway before the assembly rooms, where only a handful of carriages remained. "I rode my horse in but have a carriage to return home. I’d planned to stop at the local tavern for a beer or two, but I can return you home before heading out again."
Matilda narrowed her eyes, unsure she liked the idea of Lord Charteris going out at night. Alone… "A tavern? Do you often frequent such establishments, my lord?" She didn’t know why, but the idea of him lingering in taverns late into the night left her oddly unsettled. What did he get up to in such places? Did she even want to know?
No , her thoughts immediately answered, especially if it involved the fairer sex gracing his bed at the end of the evening .
"There’s nothing wrong with sharing a friendly drink with the locals, Lady Matilda. Do not act so high and mighty—it doesn’t suit you."
"I was not acting high and mighty. I’d have no issue drinking with anyone if I were invited."
"Then why do you wish for me not to go?" He raised a knowing brow, and she lifted her chin, refusing to play his game or tell him she might envy anyone who spent time with his lordship.
She did not respond, and after a heartbeat or two, he smiled.
"Do you wish to come along?" The sincerity in his question bolstered her resolve to accept his invitation.
"If you think it would not jeopardize my reputation by entering such an establishment."
"Well, it could, I won’t lie. But if we remove that ridiculous wig and your jewelry and lose that fine lace fichu, I think we could pass you off as someone whose fortune lies in…other ventures."
A blush heated her cheeks knowing what he meant by that. "I think I would enjoy a beer or two at the tavern. I’ve never been and would like to see how others spend their evenings."
Lord Charteris gestured toward one of the remaining carriages outside, and they ran through the puddle-strewn courtyard before climbing inside. The interior smelled of damp leather and wood polish used to keep it pristine.
Matilda reached for her necklace, but the clasp refused to budge. She turned her back to Christopher. "Will you undo my necklace? I can’t seem to manage it."
"Of course." Christopher cleared his throat before he reached for her. Cool, calloused fingers brushed her neck, sending an unexpected shiver down her spine. She closed her eyes, the carriage rolling toward the tavern, and felt his warm breath against her skin as he worked the clasp.
The necklace gave way, and he reached over her shoulder, holding it out. "Here you are."
She opened her reticule and slipped it inside, removing her earrings as well.
"Will you also help me unpin my hair," she asked, looking back at him over her shoulder. "I’m not wearing a large wig tonight, so it shouldn’t take long." Her hair was already disheveled from the downpour, strands falling loose from the pins.
She worked at the front while Christopher removed pins from the back. Again, his touch sent her pulse racing. The occasional brush of his fingers against her scalp left her breathless. Why did she react to him this way? She wasn’t in love with him—she knew that. But there was no denying she was very much in lust with him.
"I think I have them all." He handed her the pins, and she placed them with her jewelry before removing the wig. Running her fingers through her damp hair, she tried to smooth it into something less disheveled.
"How do I look, my lord?" Matilda turned to face him. Christopher seemed larger, more imposing, and devastatingly handsome in the shadowy carriage.
The storm had drenched his hair too, leaving it unkempt, as though he’d just stepped from a bath or ran his fingers through it. Her heart pounded, and a knot of need burned in her stomach for the man before her.
Dear Lord, get a hold of yourself, Matilda. You’re behaving like a wanton .
He reached up, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. His fingers grazed her lobe as he pulled away. "Beautiful as always. But you don’t need me to convey that, do you? You already know."
His compliment sent a rush of warmth through her chest. The longing in his eyes made her want to abandon all propriety and savor this moment.
She reached up, fingers brushing his damp curls. "As are you, my lord, though I suspect you already know that too."
A wicked grin curved his lips as the carriage rocked to a halt before the tavern.
Matilda leaned toward the window. The White Hart was alive with activity, patrons coming and going, and many from the assembly room ball sought refuge in the foyer.
The driver opened the door, and Lord Charteris leaped out, turning to help her down. "Watch the carriage, John. We’ve left valuables inside. We won’t be long."
"Right you are, my lord."
Matilda followed his lordship inside. The air was thick with the scent of ale, pipe smoke, and damp wool. They pushed through the lively crowd to the bar, where Lord Charteris ordered two beers.
"Have you ever tasted ale before?" he asked, passing her a tankard.
Matilda shook her head, smelling the drink. She winced, unsure she liked the earthy, bitter scent. Hesitantly, she sipped.
"It’s not my preferred beverage," she admitted, wrinkling her nose, "but it’ll do well enough."
He chuckled, the deep sound sending a flutter through her chest.
"Why are you so likable?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. "When we first met, I thought you much changed from the boy I knew, but the man you’ve become has grown on me."
"So, you like me now?" His smirk made her want to laugh.
She shrugged. "I do. More than I ought."
"Don’t fall in love with me, Lady Matilda. I’ll break your heart," he warned, a shadow passing over his expression before quickly masking it.
But she had seen it and knew his words rang true. But could she change his mind? Could he fall in love with her instead of remaining a bachelor? Surely, a loving wife to warm one's bed was much better than remaining alone and having endless lovers that one couldn't remember their names a day later.
"Not if I break yours first," she teased, wanting to keep the evening light and uncomplicated.
"Touche." He clinked their glasses together. "Now drink. This is the first of many ales I want you to try before we return you home."
She could toast and drink to that.