Chapter Seven
Charlotte rushed along the back hall to Amélie’s dressing room, as quickly and as silently as she could manage. Her breath was short. Her legs felt weak and unstable. And her belly swirled with sensations too unwanted to acknowledge.
Merde merde merde merde merde!
Reaching the small room, she was grateful to find it empty.
Still struggling to catch a full breath, she stripped herself of the borrowed clothes and redressed in her own.
All the while, doing everything in her power to wipe clear from her mind the image of the Marquess of Redington, quietly kneeling before her like some wicked carnal offering.
Sangbleu! How could the man look so strong and forceful while summitting to her every command? It made no sense.
He made no sense.
His body—all lean rippled muscle and tawny shadow.
His gaze—like black burning orbs piercing her soul.
The rhythm of his breath, the light sheen of sweat on his skin, the narrow waistband of his breeches. The thick bulge below.
Charlotte expected to burst into flames at any moment.
Tossing her cloak around her shoulders and pulling the hood over her head, she quickly fled back down the stairs to the ladies’ entrance of the club.
A small part of her felt wretched for leaving the marquess as she had.
But she couldn’t allow herself to feel sympathy for the man.
The whole purpose of their encounter was to bring him low.
So why did it feel like she was the one who’d been twisted into a thousand knots?
She had made a mistake. But at least she’d realized it before anything truly devastating happened. Before she’d considered indulging in the dark longing that had been awakened in that room.
Several days later, Charlotte found herself strolling sedately through Hyde Park beside her aunt.
The day was exceptionally lovely, so the park was more popular than usual.
Groups were spread on blankets for picnics.
Children ran about while their nurses kept a vigilant watch.
Young ladies promenaded along the many footpaths—some with gentlemen escorts, some in groups—followed closely by their chaperones.
And though it was well past the hour for those who enjoyed more vigorous rides, countless open carriages could be seen circling the lanes at casual speeds that allowed for the necessary socializing.
It was a place to observe and be observed. An outing to encourage unexpected encounters where those who were newly introduced could turn a light acquaintance into a friendship. And where courting was conducted in full view of the public and flirtations had to be covert and creative.
Charlotte couldn’t help but chuckle at all the handkerchiefs and gloves that just happened to be dropped by delicate fingers to await a gallant gentleman’s courteous assistance.
“It’s all just a grand performance,” she mused beneath her breath as she witnessed yet another young lady pretend to trip over some unseen obstacle as she walked alongside her suitor, allowing her to clutch more closely to his steady arm.
“Indeed,” Lady Henmere murmured in reply. “Performed under carefully constructed—yet never openly discussed—guidelines designed to preserve propriety while allowing potential matches to test the waters of compatibility and affection.”
“Wouldn’t it be so much easier and more efficient if people could just state their intentions and desires outright?”
The countess gave a short laugh. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Charlotte gave her a dubious glance. “This is supposed to be fun?”
“If you let it be.” Her aunt looped her arm and flashed a wide smile. “Come along, lighten your step, my dear, and allow yourself to enjoy this rare bit of sunshine.”
“That I can manage.” It was painfully true that she hadn’t quite prepared herself for just how gray and gloomy England could be.
The sun and warm breezes of the day were decidedly welcome.
As long as she willfully ignored that she was only in the park so she could be displayed as one of the many hopeful young women on the hunt for a husband, she actually found herself enjoying the outing.
“Ah, there is Lady Byrne and her daughter Lady Delia Foster along with Viscount Waring,” Lady Henmere noted as she gazed farther ahead along the path. “That man certainly cuts a dashing figure.”
Charlotte had to agree. Lord Waring did not appear to concern himself with the general expectations of gentlemanly style.
His coat was cut more for comfort than elegance and though he wore a cravat, it was tied far too loosely, exposing the shadow of his collarbone.
The dishevelment was certainly enough to be slightly scandalous, but Lord Waring’s charm and charisma seemed to allow him that transgression. Amongst many others, no doubt.
As their two groups met, they stepped off the path to exchange pleasantries.
Very quickly, the young Lady Delia attracted a small group of admirers.
The girl had become very popular with the young gentlemen of the ton.
And for good reason. She was intelligent, pretty, and naturally kind.
Lady Byrne engaged in conversation with Lady Henmere while keeping an eye on her daughter’s interactions, which left Charlotte and the viscount standing off to the side.
The man gave her a rueful smile as he stepped to her side. “Enjoying the day, Miss Dickson?” he asked.
Charlotte shrugged. “The sunshine is lovely.”
“It does bring out all the freshest and brightest blooms of the season,” he noted with a grin.
Sweeping her gaze over the extensive lawns painted in the pinks and lilacs and sunny yellows of the lovely young women, she acknowledged that they did give the appearance of flowers in a lush green garden.
“If the ladies are blooms in your quaint metaphor, then what are the many gentlemen milling about?”
“Obviously, they’re the insects.”
Charlotte gave him a quick look. “You did not just say that.”
He leaned toward her with a sly smile. “Observe for just a moment, and you’ll see I’m right. Watch them scurry about, flitting from one flower to the next, seeking the sweetest nectar.”
Snorting softly, Charlotte replied, “If sweetness is what they’re after, my chances have just plummeted.”
“Luckily, not all men are insects.”
“Some of you are frogs?”
The viscount laughed. It was a warm and genuine sound. “Frogs eat insects, you know.”
“Then today offers a veritable smorgasbord,” Charlotte quipped.
When the viscount didn’t give another witty retort, she glanced at him to see that he’d become quite distracted by something farther along the path.
Curious, Charlotte followed his piercing stare to its obvious target and instantly recognized the Marquess of Redington’s younger sister.
Though she walked in the middle of her cousins, Lady Lydia Balcomb and Miss Bridget Martindale, it was clear that Waring’s eyes were intently focused on Lady Eleanor.
She wasn’t surprised. The young woman was stunningly beautiful with thick black hair and dark, soulful eyes.
She strolled with sedate grace and her mouth held a gentle smile as she listened to the conversation between her cousins.
When her attention lifted briefly toward their group, Charlotte noted how her focus flitted about before landing quite sharply upon Lord Waring.
Then she swiftly looked away, keeping her gaze lowered as they continued to approach.
Charlotte’s lips twitched at the young woman’s curious reaction.
A moment later, the three ladies shifted enough to reveal a fourth member of their group walking a few steps behind them.
The Marquess of Redington’s tall, formidable presence stood out in striking contrast to the ease and amiability of the women who preceded him.
It took only a moment to see that his gaze had also settled upon Waring, his dark features set in harsh disapproval.
Charlotte glanced to the viscount. A subtle curl touched the corner of his lips as he kept his attention on Lady Eleanor, completely ignoring her scowling older brother.
“Your interest appears to be unwelcome,” she muttered, half in warning.
Without even adjusting the direction of his gaze, the viscount tipped his head toward her to answer with a jaunty lack of concern, “I disagree. No lady takes such care not to look at me unless that’s exactly what she wants to do.”
“I was referring to her brother.”
Waring shrugged, undeterred.
“You’re not going to have an easy time of it,” she noted.
The viscount curled his lips in a wicked little half-smile. “I sincerely hope not.”
Rolling her eyes at his rakish reply, Charlotte glanced back along the path to see that the trio of young ladies were angling toward Lady Delia and her companions as if they intended to join them for a bit.
“Please, excuse me,” the viscount said with a short bow of his head before stepping away.
Charlotte wasn’t terribly concerned by his abandonment.
Her attention had already inexorably shifted back to the marquess.
Though he’d approached Lady Byrne and Lady Henmere to offer a polite greeting, he remained a few steps away and did not make any attempts at small talk.
The awkwardness of that moment was palpable.
Charlotte should have expected her aunt’s next move, but it still caught her off guard.
“Lord Redington, I do not believe you’ve been introduced to my niece,” she said with a wide smile, gesturing to where Charlotte stood off to the side. “Allow me to present Miss Charlotte Dickson. My dear, this is his lordship, the Marquess of Redington.”
As he turned to face her more fully, Charlotte lowered her gaze and quickly dropped into a curtsy.
She would have wished to avoid this encounter altogether, but perhaps it was best to get it over with.
She wasn’t worried that he’d recognize her from the Lyon’s Den—not with the mask and other distractions of that evening.
But surely, he’d recall their collision at the Byrne ball.
“Miss Dickson. A pleasure,” he muttered, his tone as dull as everyone claimed him to be. It seemed he didn’t recall her at all.
Charlotte quickly straightened from her curtsy and lifted her chin to give him a stony stare. “Is it? Really?”
He’d already started to shift his gaze elsewhere when she spoke, but her contentious words brought his dark eyes swiftly back to her.
She could see her aunt, standing slightly off to the side, eying them with concern, but she ignored it.
There was nothing that would stop her from calling the man out for his previous treatment of her.
Never mind that Mrs. Dove-Lyon had already given her a taste of revenge…which didn’t go at all as planned. Charlotte was the only one who knew about that, which meant he still required a firm reprimand, lest he think his behavior that night should be allowed to go without comment or censure.
“Excuse me?”
Arching her brows and widening her eyes, Charlotte replied, “Oh, now you show contrition.”
He stepped toward her, slow and deliberate. His expression was tense and his stare dark when his eyes collided rather forcefully with hers.
Her body flooded with heat as a vision suddenly flashed in her mind. Him, on his knees. Head bowed, half naked, muscles trembling with tension.