Chapter Thirteen
Charlene had spent the better part of an hour debating whether she ought to attend the St. James’s ball or not.
She’d come. Then, after arriving, she spent the better half of the next hour debating whether she had made the right choice and whether she should leave.
She stayed. It was rather vexing how on the one hand she didn’t want to come, on the other hand she couldn’t stay away.
She should have stayed home and pruned a plant.
But she had to admit, the Bennetts have outdone themselves.
Candles were placed everywhere. It all looked so romantic when she first glimpsed it, her heart couldn’t help but skip a beat.
As for the rest, the music, the dancing, the laughter, while it all brought the scene to a pretty picture, Charlene couldn’t muster up the energy to enjoy the beauty.
“Is he here?” Charlene asked and glanced at Maddie tapping her foot to the beat of the music. She, at least, was enjoying herself. Charlene wasn’t even certain Adam would attend. However, she had hoped that if she attended, he would, too.
“I can’t see him yet,” Maddie said with an air as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Well, typical Maddie, wasn’t it? There was hardly a problem she couldn’t cure with one of her potions, tinctures, or salves.
Maddie suddenly leaned in. “You look like you’ve swallowed an entire tray of lemon tarts. Try to smile.”
Charlene let out a breathy laugh and flashed a short smile. “Is that good or bad?” She loved lemon tarts. However, too much could give a girl a rush, like a certain duke.
“I cannot say. It’s a rather uncomfortable expression.”
Charlene schooled her features. “How about now?”
“Not better.”
She glared at her friend. “You are not helping, you know.”
Maddie chuckled. “I didn’t mean to help; I meant to point out. You have to appear where you might if he’s not calling on you. You read it in the handbook, didn’t you?”
Yes. Charlene exhaled and slumped her shoulders. “Well, this is all because of Rotheworth, isn’t it?” Maddie stretched her spine to remind Charlene to mind her posture.
“You’ve set your cap on him. So the next step is to rein him in.”
Charlene sighed. “I don’t know how to face him, honestly.”
“Then don’t. Dance, drink punch, and pretend you don’t see him and feel him approaching you.”
Charlene suppressed the urge to put her hand on her forehead in despair, but the sentiment was no less heartfelt. “Does the handbook teach you everything in life?”
“Much of it, not everything. I have a few other books on alchemy, botany—”
Charlene groaned and stopped listening.
“Patience, however, is not something I can administer, dear. You’ve got to practice the skill yourself.” Maddie nodded in the direction of some other guests she seemed to know. “You have no other choice as a lady.”
Patience. A good suggestion, but a futile one. She was afraid she wouldn’t be able to help herself, just as he couldn’t seem to help himself. Was it all hopeless? She followed the movement of the dancers with her eyes, recalling their first dance all those weeks ago.
How had they looked to the people watching them dance? The society papers had certainly noticed. Probably like the most awkward pair. Certainly not all smiles with the orchestra playing the kind of song that made one believe in second chances. But everything had started with that dance.
Would everything end with dance, too?
Maddie sighed dramatically. “You are making this far more complicated than it needs to be.”
Charlene arched her brow. “Am I?” She didn’t think so. It was all rather complicated from the start, wasn’t it? With that man being his brother. It was a memory she had buried deep, and so far, with Adam returning, the memory had still remained neatly tucked away. But for how long?
“Yes. He is a man, not a mythological hero.”
Charlene scoffed. “You say that, but you have never tried to have a sensible conversation with him.”
Maddie tapped her chin. “That is true. I imagine it must be terribly difficult when one is too busy gazing longingly at him instead.”
“I do not gaze longingly at him.”
Maddie shot her a look.
Charlene crossed her arms. “Fine. Perhaps I have gazed. Once or twice. By accident.” Liar, liar.
Maddie grinned. “Of course. Just as I once ate an entire plate of biscuits by accident. Those things do happen.”
Charlene gave her a flat look. “Yes, they do happen.”
“I am sure.” Maddie twirled her fan idly. “So what exactly is your plan? Lurk in the corner all night, hoping he does not see you? Hoping he does?”
“The former is an excellent plan.” Honestly, Charlene didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know how to act. But most vexingly, she didn’t know what she wanted. You do, a little voice whispered.
You want him in all those ways the handbook forbids.
Did she?
Perhaps.
Maybe.
Yes.
No.
All right, she might as well admit she did want him. The realization of that didn’t particularly shock her, but what that meant for her future did.
What did one do with a man like Adam Cross, Duke of Rotheworth?
His dark eyes swam in her mind. He wasn’t a man who could be forgotten once he burrowed into your head.
He was stubborn and sharp and maddeningly confident.
And those eyes—she swore he saw through her every single time.
And let’s not forget that smile. It had the power to rob her of her name, let alone her common sense.
And worse—he knew it.
She wouldn’t believe otherwise.
She wanted him, yes, but she also wanted her peace, dignity, and the ability to hold on to the self she had so carefully stitched together these past few years.
And yet…
How did one reconcile desire with defense? How did one fall and still hope to land on her feet? She didn’t rightly know. And perhaps she didn’t need to know. Not right now.
“It is a terrible plan.”
Charlene sighed. “Then what do you propose?”
“Simple. You march right up to him, smile sweetly, and say something cutting enough to remind him that you are an intelligent, formidable woman who absolutely does not care that he is here.”
Charlene pursed her lips. “That is remarkably specific.”
“I have given this much thought.”
“I can see as much.”
Maddie tilted her head. “Or you could simply admit you are hopelessly in love with him and throw yourself into his arms.”
Charlene nearly choked. She looked at her friend incredulously. “Have you been drinking too much ratafia?”
Maddie grinned. “Not yet. But there’s still time.” Nothing else was happening at this ball.
Charlene shook her head, but despite herself, she was smiling.
And then she felt it. The shift in the air, the awareness prickling along her skin.
And then—there he was.
Adam stood across the room, tall and devastating, with a… with a… Charlene’s blood ran cold. He stood with a woman on his arm. A woman who was smiling up at him as though he were her world.
Ah, arrogance. It had felt good earlier. It didn’t feel so good now.
As if sensing her gaze, he turned. Their eyes met.
Charlene’s breath caught.
And he didn’t look away.
*
Adam entered the ballroom with all the enthusiasm of a man marching to the Tower of London.
It certainly felt like his execution. And the person leading him had the grip of a hangman as Miss Martin clung on his arm with the familiarity of a woman who had clearly decided she was already his betrothed, while his mother followed a step behind, smug with victory.
I need to get away from them.
They might as well have announced their intentions to the whole world.
Needless to say, annoyance was the mood of the evening.
He had tried everything to escape this insufferable arrangement, short of being immensely rude, and considering fleeing the bloody country on his ship. His mother, however, was nothing if not persistent, as always.
I just hope Charlene won’t be here to see this.
Now he’d almost been blinded by the sheer light of the ballroom.
Why did they have to use a thousand candles?
The air was thick with candle wax. And perfume.
The combination assaulted his senses as much as the crowd, and he truly wanted to be anywhere else.
Even a mathematics exam at Oxford would be more enjoyable than this ball.
“Will you dance?” Miss Martin asked him with a bright smile.
“No.” Certainly not with you.
Only with Charlene.
The thought formed before he could stop it, as natural as breathing.
He had no interest in dancing with anyone but his Charlene.
Just the idea of other women—Miss Martin—their smiles, their hopeful expressions, none of it touched him.
In fact, it bothered him for he already felt as though he belonged to Charlene.
“Oh, but I already put your name on my dance card.”
Also, Adam realized as she held it up to him, his name was there more than three times. A wedding announcement in the Times couldn’t be any more conspicuous. “Miss Martin, I’m not playing your games. Neither am I in the mood to dance.”
“Oh, stop it, Rotheworth,” his mother said with a touch of exasperation. “Dance with her. The girl, Adam. You practically grew up dancing together, did you not?”
Yes, and no. Those childhood days felt like a distant echo of no significance.
They were both adults now. Things were decidedly…
different. And then there was Charlene. But he did not tell his mother that.
It would only stir memories that were best left undisturbed, memories tied irrevocably to his brother that he didn’t wish to burden his mother with.
She’d only just come out of mourning and the one good thing about Miss Martin was that she’d led Mother to the first ball since Father’s passing.
And he did not want to think about that scoundrel twin brother of his, not tonight.
What he had unearthed at the barrister’s office lingered like a dark cloud over him, but until it solidified into a storm, there was no point in troubling anyone. It was his problem to handle as duke.