Chapter Fourteen
Charlene wanted to walk away. It was certainly what the handbook would urge.
So she didn’t.
She didn’t know how she felt about what she saw, but—No. She did know. She just didn’t know how to explain it. It didn’t feel good seeing another woman on Adam’s arm. Terrible actually.
And the most baffling part, it was confusing after what he’d said and done.
Why this now? Even though they had kissed.
None of that changed anything when it came to the root of the problem.
In fact, she ought to feel vindicated, if nothing else.
It proved her right about him. That roguish blood ran through his veins. The same as with his brother.
But the sight of that woman leaning in, smiling up at him as if she belonged there, felt like a splinter beneath Charlene’s skin.
It festered with something she didn’t want to name.
Not jealousy—surely not—but it carried teeth, that feeling.
Sharp, unexpected teeth that scraped at her insides and made her throat feel tight.
It was only now that she realized she didn’t want to be right.
When it came to him, she wanted her mind to be oh, so, very wrong.
If only she could follow her heart. Because she didn’t want someone else hanging on his arm.
She didn’t want him to allow such a thing.
And perhaps most frightening of all, she didn’t want him to ever look away from her.
Because the man she’d glimpsed—the one with both protectiveness and shadows in his eyes—that was the man she wanted to believe in.
So, she did something she never thought she’d do. She turned on her heel and marched up to him. It was the craziest, most brazen, and boldest thing she’d ever done, but she couldn’t stop herself. Not even the wide-eyed glance she glimpsed from Maddie was enough to stop her.
Even his eyes widened fractionally.
Good!
She smiled at him. “Rotheworth, what a delightful surprise.”
“Lady Charlene.”
“Ah, Charlene,” his mother stepped up. “It’s been ages since we’ve had a chance to meet.”
Yes, my family didn’t come to the late duke’s funeral because of what David did.
Charlene inclined her head. “I am sorry about my silence all year.”
A furrow appeared between the duchess’s brows, but that was nothing to the scowl on the woman sticking much too close to his side.
Charlene glanced back at Adam. “My apologies for the intrusion, but I promised you a dance.” Just a tiny, big bluff.
“The duke is not dancing tonight,” the woman at his side said.
“Oh,” the duchess motioned to the woman. “This is Miss Martin. She’s a distant relation but a close friend. Miss Martin, this is Lady Charlene Fielding, daughter to the current Earl of Beveridge.”
Ah.
So they have history. A faint memory itched in the back of her mind. She believed the brothers had talked about a cousin they grew up with when they were young. So, this was the woman.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Martin,” Charlene greeted, even though she felt the chill of the woman’s gaze.
“A pleasure to meet you, too, Lady Charlene.”
She doubted that, but Charlene kept her smile in place as she returned her attention to Adam. “Well, since you are not dancing, how about accompanying me for a glass of punch? We can dance another time. I have something to discuss with you anyway.”
His lips pinched as though he tried very hard not to grin. Extracting himself from Miss Martin, he nodded at his mother. “Please excuse me. I shall come find you later. Have some fun, Miss Martin. Dance. You, too, Mother.”
Charlene didn’t miss the two women’s looks, but she almost laughed. She placed her hand on Rotheworth’s offered arm. When they were out of earshot, she murmured, “So, Miss Martin seems highly interested in you.”
“Are you jealous?”
She scoffed. “Hardly. Why would I be jealous?”
He let it go, instead, asking, “Do you truly wish for punch?”
No, that had been the first thing that popped into her head. If she were honest, she wanted to withdraw from this crush, and quite frankly, Miss Martin’s blazing gaze which she felt stabbed between her shoulder blades. “I actually thought we might take a stroll in the garden.”
“The garden?”
“Well,” she said drily. “You do know how I enjoy vegetation.”
He laughed. “I believe your preferences are more refined than that.”
“I’m not so sure,” she tossed back. “Here I am walking with you.”
He laughed again, and Charlene couldn’t help but be mesmerized. She must have heard this laugh a thousand times before, and quite a few times recently, and yet had it ever sounded like this? So… what would be the word to describe it?
Carefree?
Delighted?
Dazzling?
Perhaps all three?
He shifted their course, steering her with ease toward the tall French doors at the end of the ballroom.
“Everyone will notice,” she murmured.
He motioned to Lord Thomson stumbling through the card room, shouting a string of words she couldn’t make out. “No one will notice us. Besides, I’ve learned to be rather stealthy.”
“Is that so?” However, now that she thought about it, he wasn’t wrong.
The moment they stepped past the threshold and into the night, Charlene released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
Or rather, she had noticed it; she kept it deep within her lungs until the cool air kissed her skin.
It was something she’d noticed lately. Her inner denial had become less and less.
Oh, there was still plenty of churning about that she didn’t care to poke, but with some things, with Adam things, they were shrinking by the moment.
“Shall we?” He motioned to the stone steps leading from the small balcony to the garden.
She inhaled a deep breath before nodding. If there ever was a moment to turn around, this would be it. “Let’s.”
They descended the stairs slowly, yet a bit faster than normal. Then he said, softly, “Thank you.”
She glanced up at him. “For what?”
“For coming to save me. I was one comment away from dancing myself into an early grave.”
“I thought you weren’t dancing tonight?”
“That was the exception. And you. You are the exception, too.”
“You were hardly in distress,” she replied, but her lips quirked. “Though I admit, her grip on your arm looked… possessive.”
He glanced down at his sleeve, now thankfully free of Miss Martin’s talons. “I feared she might leave bruises.”
Charlene smothered a laugh. “You poor thing.”
“Pity me,” he agreed solemnly.
“I wouldn’t pity you even if the world came to an end.”
“So harsh.”
She smiled and looked ahead, toward a stone bench half-hidden in the darkness. “Shall we sit?”
He didn’t answer, but the next thing she knew, his hand was at her lower back, guiding her gently toward it.
“Do you think someone will see us?”
He glanced back at the house and then at the bench. “If they can, I doubt they’ll be able to make out who we are.”
How disappointing.
The thought brought her up short.
Disappointing?
Dear saints, Charlene! You have lost your mind.
And perhaps she had.
She glanced at Adam as they took a seat. And she’d lose it all over again if it meant she could share this bench with him.
*
Adam’s heart hadn’t stopped pounding against his chest since the moment their gazes locked back in the ballroom. Well, it had stopped briefly when she turned away from him but started to race again the moment she turned back and strode right up to him. It hadn’t settled since then.
In fact, he thought it couldn’t beat louder.
But he was wrong.
Now she was beside him on a bench, so damn beautiful, each beat of his heart an explosion, and he couldn’t breathe properly.
Not with her scent in the air. Not with her skirts brushing his legs. Not with the knowledge that no one could see them here. Not clearly.
This was a mistake.
A big one.
Especially since their kiss. Especially since all he wanted to do was kiss her again.
And especially since his heart beat faster and faster, he wasn’t sure he’d survive it.
He’d traveled to many countries before. But traveling from the ballroom to this bench might have been the most thrilling travel of them all.
It should have terrified him.
Instead, with that one tiny thing of peace in his chest, he felt steady. The most steady he’d felt in weeks.
Charlene Fielding had that effect on him. Always had. Even when they were growing up together. Even now, when she made him feel as though he still had something worth fighting for that didn’t have anything to do with duty and estates.
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, careful not to move too quickly. To act too obviously.
Too late for that, friend.
“You still,” he began, trying to steady his voice, “enjoy raising orchids?”
“Raising?” She chuckled, turning her head slowly to him, a soft smile playing at her lips. “I suppose that’s right. We do raise plants, do we not?”
He nodded, adjusting his posture on the bench. “I’ve heard they’re finicky little things.”
“Orchids certainly,” she replied, her voice light. “Some orchids require the utmost attention. You can’t water them too much, nor too little. They must be placed in just the right amount of light, and at the perfect temperature, or they won’t bloom.”
“Much like relationships.”
She blinked but then nodded. “Also, true.”
Damn it, he shouldn’t have said that. Had he ruined the moment? But before he could try to mend it, she spoke again.
“Do you know that some flowers only bloom at night?” she asked.
There were such things? “I didn’t.”
“They are quite marvelous, being capable of doing that, to only reveal their beauty after dark. It’s almost as if they don’t want to be seen during the day.”
“Indeed,” Adam said, leaning a little closer. Just a little, so that their shoulders almost touched. “Perhaps they prefer a little mystery.”
“Mystery, eh?” she mused, smiling. “And here I thought flowers had no need for secrets.”
A rush of heat filled his chest at the note in her voice, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe.
Both a good rush and a bad one. One that loved her smile and the other wilting because he had a secret.
Tell her.
If there ever was a time, now would be it.
No. He didn’t want to ruin the mood of tonight. He’d tell her next time.
“Some of those flowers,” he said softly, “must feel quite solitary, blooming only in the dark.” Much like them. Except for that first morning before everyone rose, they only ever got together at night, didn’t they?
A chuckle joined his thoughts. “I don’t think they mind.”
Yes, he was reading too much into this flower talk, wasn’t he? But there were some things they just couldn’t talk about. Some things they didn’t dare broach. Perhaps someday they would be able to. Or perhaps they would forever remain locked in the dark, like those secretive flowers.
Adam decided then and there, he wouldn’t let it.
“Quite the maudlin conversation we’re having,” he said with a wry smile, straightening up a bit. “I never knew talk about flowers could go this deep.”
Charlene laughed. “I mean, in the world of courtship, every flower has a meaning, so it can go deep.”
“Wonderful.”
“So, remember that if you ever give Miss Martin a flower.”
“Are you cursing me now? Why would you ever bring up that chit in a moment like this?”
She shrugged. “A cautionary note, if you will. One that might prevent misunderstandings.”
“Good point.” A horrible thought, though, creating a misunderstanding with Miss Martin. Though, there seemed to be one already. Perhaps he should gift her a flower that meant “no.”
“I would rather not be reminded of her and my mother’s meddling.”
“Ah, so your mother is pushing Miss Martin on you?”
“Why else do you think I arrived with her on my arm?” Adam said almost sourly.
“It seems that perhaps you do need a touch of pity.”
He flashed her a grin. “Has the world ended, then?”
She stared at him a moment. There was no judgment, no teasing—just a note of contemplation as if she were deciding something. Then, she leaned in. The shift of her body was slow, deliberate, her lips coming toward his, whispering, “Not pity.”
“Then what?” he whispered back.
“Comfort.”
Comfort? And then her lips pressed up against his.
Soft. Pure. Comforting. Every part of Adam’s body went hard as a rock.
The sensation was so simple, yet so powerful, all he could do was respond in kind, his hand reaching for the back of her neck to pull her closer, to keep her in place, and let his tongue trail over the seam of her lips, begging them to open.
She opened.
Dear heavens, she opened.
He pushed them to the farther, darkened end of the bench as he swept his tongue into her mouth.
And he didn’t hold back. She had kissed him.
Charlene Fielding had kissed him. Kissed him first. Something he had dreamed only about in his deepest dreams but had hoped for beyond hope.
And who would have known a comfort kiss could make a man lose his damn mind?