Chapter Four
Charlotte had already started to ready herself for bed when a note was delivered to her bedroom by a sleepy maid. The missive was curt and clear.
Your presence is required. —Mrs. D-L.
Before leaving her meeting with the Black Widow of Whitehall three nights ago, Charlotte had given the other woman permission to contact her directly should the need arise.
She had not expected that to include a summons in the earliest hours of morning.
Her naturally rebellious nature and her utter exhaustion after enduring hours amongst London’s haute ton had Charlotte considering ignoring the woman’s request.
But then she thought better of it. It could be good news, after all. Perhaps the Widow had already found Charlotte a husband. She couldn’t afford to miss a potential opportunity, even if it did come at such an inappropriate time. In truth, this whole scheme was inappropriate.
Since she’d already removed her ballgown and let down her hair, Charlotte chose to dress more comfortably and quickly in a simple frock before twisting her hair into a quick bun at her nape. Throwing a voluminous cloak over everything, she left her room to request the carriage.
Arriving at the Lyon’s Den, she was once again escorted to the ladies’ entrance and from there was led to an open gallery that looked down upon the main gaming hall. Despite the other ladies milling about, observing the gentlemen below, Mrs. Dove-Lyon stood alone at the ornate balustrade.
“Thank you for attending me at such a late hour,” the Widow noted with a simple nod as Charlotte stepped up beside her.
“I assume you wouldn’t have called for me if the matter wasn’t urgent and vital.”
“Indeed.”
Charlotte turned to gaze down at the activity spread out on the floor below.
An impressive array of gaming tables was arranged to allow optimum flow of guests.
Important, considering the significant crowd of well-dressed gentlemen that circulated the space, their numbers occasionally interrupted by gorgeously gowned courtesans weaving amongst them.
It appeared the gambling and revelry would go on for several more hours.
After having spent hours out amongst London society, Charlotte thought the whole scene looked extremely exhausting.
“Is there something you wish to show me?” Charlotte asked, hoping to conclude whatever business she’d been called to quickly.
“You do not like to waste time, do you, Miss Dickson?”
Charlotte stiffened at the mixture of amusement and censure in the woman’s tone. “I am dedicated to my purpose,” she replied.
There was a pause. “Good. Because amidst the subtle chaos in the scene below, an unexpected opportunity has presented itself. A reckless young man has gotten himself into a bind and owes my club a rather grand amount of money. Money he cannot possibly hope to acquire in the time allotted under this club’s rules and regulations, to which he happily signed his name when he became a member.
His only reasonable course of action was to summon his elder cousin to come to his aid. ”
Charlotte could hear the criticism in the other woman’s voice. Mrs. Dove-Lyon did not seem to think very highly of this nameless gentleman. “If he is so low on funds, he certainly would not meet my requirements,” she noted.
“Of course not.” The lady sounded slightly offended that Charlotte even suggested such a thing.
“It is his cousin I’d like you to consider.
The marquess is heir to one of the grandest dukedoms in Britain and I recall he was included on your list of potential prospects.
There is no question that he possesses all the qualities you listed and then some.
He is also—as we speak—trying to arrange a way to free his cousin from this latest mess he’s become embroiled in.
I could manipulate the terms of the debt to snag the marquess in an agreement which could satisfy your needs. ”
“Just like that?” Charlotte was a bit stunned. “You could get him to commit to a marriage contract with someone he’s never even met?”
For the first time since Charlotte had joined her, the Black Widow of Whitehall turned to gaze at her. “Your lack of confidence borders on the offensive. This is why you came to me.”
“My apologies. I have a tendency to speak rather bluntly. I’m afraid my life up until now has encouraged in me a freedom of thought and expression that is not so readily accepted in this foreign society,” Charlotte confessed. “Truly, I meant no offense.”
“Hmm,” the lady replied, neither rejecting nor accepting Charlotte’s apology. “Due to the nature of these unexpected circumstances, you must decide quickly. The marquess grows impatient,” she noted with a nod toward the far corner of the gaming room.
Charlotte followed her gaze to see a tall, black-haired, impeccably dressed man standing before a large bouncer as he appeared to be making some rather sharp demands.
Scorching heat infused her body in a breath-stealing wave.
It was him. The Marquess of Redington. The third person on her list of people she hated. Fate couldn’t possibly have such a cruel sense of humor.
“Heir to the Duke of Lindley and blessed with every one of your desired qualities and then some,” the Widow noted casually. “Do you want him, Miss Dickson?”
Charlote hesitated. She had no idea why. But in that long moment before her reply, she allowed her gaze to take in the sight of his impressive form, the stern yet inexcusably handsome lines of his profile, the way he commanded attention with a bare minimum effort.
He would make a formidable ally.
But he had made his position clear earlier tonight. He was her enemy.
“No.”
Her reply clearly surprised the woman beside her as Mrs. Dove-Lyon turned to face her more fully. “No?”
“Anyone but him,” Charlotte noted even as an odd resistance seemed to rise within her.
She honestly couldn’t be certain the resistance was due to the idea of taking the marquess as husband or to her own rejection of him.
She was self-aware enough to know that if the unfortunate incident at the ball had never happened—if he’d never looked at her with such contempt and growled such an insulting accusation, she’d likely have accepted him without a second thought.
She had no illusions that the arrangement she sought was cold-blooded in the extreme. But the boldly attractive marquess probably could have tempted her to hope for some of the other benefits marriage could provide. Intimate benefits.
“Are you sure?” the Widow pressed.
Charlotte gave a hard shake of her head, not even realizing it belied her words. “Quite sure. I would just as soon see that man brought to his knees than brought to the altar.”
The vehemence in her tone hovered in the air for a long moment as the Widow simply stared back at her—the other woman’s gaze a mysterious and unsettling shadow behind the concealing veil.
Then the Widow turned to look down at the marquess.
The silence extended long enough that Charlotte began to worry that she’d once again been far too candid.
Just when she decided she’d have to apologize, Mrs. Dove-Lyon looked back at her and gave a subtle gesture. “That too, can be arranged, my dear.”
Tensing at the sultry, suggestive note in the other woman’s tone, Charlotte asked, “What do you mean?”
“Frankly, your reaction intrigues me, Miss Dickson. And I’m feeling rather generous this evening. If you’d like to see the marquess humbled before you…I could arrange that.”
A strange thrill raced along Charlotte’s nerves, lifting the fine hairs on her nape.
Heat once again infused her blood. With her breath shortened, she turned her gaze back to the man below.
At that moment, the bouncer gestured in their direction, causing the marquess to lift his dark, penetrating gaze.
For a moment, Charlotte feared he might recognize her.
Then she remembered that she was swathed head to toe in her cloak.
At best, he might get the impression of a shadowed face.
Besides, it was clear when his features transformed into a heavy scowl that his current wrath was directed to Mrs. Dove-Lyon.
Even with an expression so fierce and impatient, he was compellingly handsome.
“For an additional fee?” she asked before she could think better of it.
“No, darling, for my amusement,” the Widow declared, a smile evident in her tone.
“I’m rather attracted to the drama of the idea.
And I suspect that if anyone can bring the very proper lord down a peg or two, it might be you, Miss Dickson.
Of course, you will be required to display a certain flare for drama.
You will also have to be capable of projecting a bold authoritative command,” the Widow added slyly.
“But I don’t believe you’ll have a problem with that. ”
Without even waiting for Charlotte to agree to this new scheme, the other woman turned and strode purposefully away from the balcony. “Come along. You’ll have to ready yourself while I make the necessary arrangements.”