Chapter Eight
Sangbleu.
Charlotte wanted to look away. She silently ordered herself to do so—was practically yelling in her own head.
For nearly a week, she’d managed not to think too deeply on the details of that evening in the Lyon’s Den.
Yet now, in the middle of Hyde Park, she couldn’t keep the memories at bay.
In an instant, she could feel the soft silk of the black chemise against her skin, the satin mask concealing her features, the heat of the moment making her sweat.
Desperate to restore her composure, Charlotte broke their eye contact, directing her gaze beyond him into to the line of trees in the distance.
“Have I offended you in some way?”
He spoke in a low tone that suggested he wished to keep their conversation contained.
Glancing to her aunt, Charlotte noted that she and Lady Byrne had taken a few steps away from them.
Had the countess maneuvered that on purpose?
Traitor. No doubt she thought she was doing Charlotte a favor in allowing them a bit of privacy.
Lady Byrne’s daughter and Redington’s two cousins were also a little way off. His sister, however, stood off to the side, engaging in a private conversation of her own with Waring. Interesting.
Forcing a false smile that was one hundred percent for the benefit of anyone who might glance their way rather than the man at her side, she replied, “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you don’t even recall the incident.”
His tone was weighted with annoyance. “What incident?”
The odious arrogance in his voice was exactly what she needed to bolster her irritation and fend off her unwelcome rush of attraction.
Charlotte’s smile held firm as she replied, still without turning to look at him.
“No doubt, I was simply one among so very many chits constantly throwing themselves at you.” She suspected by his short, swift inhale, that he remembered the collision and his choice words.
“It’s a good thing I wasn’t injured, not that you displayed even a moment of concern. ”
“Are you saying I owe you an apology?” the marquess inquired, his tone slightly annoyed.
“Are you seriously suggesting you do not?” Before he could reply, she went on in a hushed but furious accusation.
“Even if I had instigated the unfortunate encounter at Lady Byrne’s ball—which I did not—the most basic manners would dictate that you respond with at least a modicum of chivalry and respect.
You, my lord, offered only derision and scorn, both of which were witnessed, I might add, which only compounds your offense. ”
There was a tense silence, during which Charlotte expected the man to either berate her for her insolence or turn on his heel and walk away. When he did neither, she found herself holding her breath.
After a weighted silence, he finally cleared his throat with a rough, gravelly sound that touched on her nerves in an extremely unwelcome way. She had to fight the urge to turn and look at him. She would not give him the honor of her full attention.
“I can see how my reaction might have offended. I regret how I reacted to your…unfortunate loss of balance,” he stated curtly.
“My words were not intended to be spoken aloud. I’m afraid my thoughts were occupied by a personal matter and my frustration over that issue unfairly colored my response in that moment. ”
Charlotte huffed. “Which simply means that in your distraction you failed to cover your true nature with false niceties. Your behavior that night simply revealed that at your core, Lord Redington, you are entitled, arrogant, and rude.”
He tensed sharply. “That’s a harsh judgment to make from one single encounter.”
“Some things simply don’t require deliberation.”
There was a thoughtful pause during which Charlotte almost tipped her head to peer up at him from beneath the edge of her bonnet. But then he shifted his weight, the subtle movement igniting awareness beneath her skin. She drew a swift inhale as he leaned toward her.
“You are fortunate to have such a firm conviction. Dislike me if you must, Miss Dickson, but if you think you know anything about me—at my core or otherwise—you’d be wrong.”
The tension in his tone finally had her turning to look at him. Though he stood rather close at her side, his hard, dark stare was angled in the direction of his sister and cousins.
It appeared that Lady Eleanor and Viscount Waring’s private moment had devolved into a bit of an argument. They stood far enough away that their words couldn’t be heard, and though they didn’t appear particularly at odds, there was something subtly…passionate in how they were conversing.
When Charlotte shifted her attention back to the marquess, she noted the shadows of concern and wariness weighing down his handsome features. The muscles of his jaw bunched and released as he took a step forward.
Without thinking, Charlotte reached out to grasp his forearm to stop him. “Leave it for a moment.”
The marquess tensed sharply beneath her hand as he shot her a swift, angled look.
“Your sister is managing him well enough on her own. Look,” she added with a tip of her head.
The marquess did as she suggested, glancing back to the couple.
Waring pushed his hands back through his tousled hair in a show of silent exasperation as Lady Eleanor lowered her chin to hide an obvious grin of satisfaction.
“I do believe your sister came out the victor in whatever squabble they were having.”
“They shouldn’t be having a squabble at all,” Redington muttered thickly. “They shouldn’t even be speaking in such a private manner.”
Charlotte chuckled. “Private? They are standing in full view of everyone in the park. Their conversation is no more private than ours.”
The ripple of tension that ran through him at that comment reverberated through her body, reminding her that she still held firmly to his muscled forearm. His jaw clenched and she wasn’t quite certain if it was in reaction to what she’d said or to her continued touch.
Releasing him, Charlotte observed Lady Eleanor as she rejoined the other young ladies and the viscount stepped up to his sister to whisper something to her before striding swiftly away. She also noted how Lady Eleanor followed his long strides with a dark and thoughtful stare.
Charlotte smiled. “I believe your sister may be smitten.”
“With Waring? Not acceptable.”
“Why not?” she challenged. “What’s wrong with the viscount? I find him rather dashing.”
“And reckless and irresponsible,” the marquess countered. “He’s never in England for more than a few weeks at a time before he rushes off on some adventure overseas. He’d be a perpetually absent husband and father.” His voice dropped as he added firmly, “Eleanor deserves better.”
Charlotte glanced at him in surprise. “You actually care about her happiness.”
He grunted. “Of course.” Then he sighed—a long-suffering sound—as his dark stare narrowed again on the young ladies.
It appeared that a new trio of young bucks had approached them with felicitations and a round of pretty compliments.
Charlotte could hear only a bit of the profuse flattery the enthusiastic suitors were employing, but it sounded harmless enough.
In truth, Lady Eleanor appeared not at all impressed as she mainly kept her gaze averted from the gentlemen.
Lady Lydia, on the other hand, looked positively put out by the attention and Lady Delia simply appeared overwhelmed as she did her best to respond with modest appreciation.
Luckily, Miss Bridget was there to field the many flirtatious smiles and witty quips with a wealth of her own.
“I must—”
Once again, Charlotte stopped the marquess with a hand on his arm.
“You must not. They are only talking, my lord. The gentlemen are being properly polite. There is no reason for concern. This is why they are here, is it not? To make new acquaintances and socialize and flirt, all within the accepted boundaries of proper decorum.”
He scowled, keeping his gaze intently upon his young charges. “Bridget will get herself in trouble one day,” he muttered.
Tilting her head, Charlotte observed the socially enthusiastic young woman.
“I don’t think you’re giving her enough credit.
Do you see how well she is shifting her attention between them, making sure they all feel equally valued, even bringing Lady Delia and her obviously reluctant cousins into the conversation. She’s quite amazing.”
His expression didn’t soften, but he didn’t try to argue either. He remained tense and watchful at Charlotte’s side until the three young men bowed and walked away.
When his shoulders visibly relaxed at their departure, Charlotte noted, “You take your role as escort very seriously.”
“Of course, I do,” he replied, sliding her a look from beneath furrowed brows. She got the sense he was surprised to be speaking so freely. She was surprised, as well. And a bit unsettled. “I take all of my responsibilities seriously,” he muttered, glancing away again.
Charlotte murmured, “As the heir to a dukedom, I imagine there are endless obligations.”
He gave a short sound of acknowledgment, but then added, “It’s not the dukedom so much as the family.” He sighed. “I’m the eldest of a great many cousins.”
“And you must look after them all,” she added softly, suddenly understanding a lot more about the man at her side.
With a shock of intuitive certainty, she realized that if he’d been given a choice, he wouldn’t have wanted this life. To be the revered and expectant heir. To carry the burden of a legacy generations long. To be the one so many relied upon. To always be seen as his role rather than simply a man.
Uncomfortable with her internal thoughts, she deliberately shifted her attention. All around them, people were strolling about, utterly unaware that Charlotte was being forced to reconsider her initial opinion of the man beside her.
Her gaze fell upon an elderly couple passing slowly along the path and a strange sensation gripped her—a deep prick of recognition, though she was fairly certain she’d never met these two before.
The lady glanced at their group—gathered casually on the lawn—with a dismissive look of annoyance.
Until she spotted the marquess, that is.
Then, her pinched expression turned instantly amiable and sweet as she gave a lovely smile in greeting while the man beside her bowed his head in a reverential nod, with a quickly muttered, “My lord.”
Charlotte didn’t bother glancing to Redington to note his response. Her focus remained with the couple and why they somehow seemed familiar. Then, just as they passed by, the gentleman flickered a glance over her person, his eyes cold and harshly judging.
She should have been infuriated by the obvious slight, but Charlotte couldn’t shake the sharp feeling that she should know the couple—a feeling that triggered a dark and ugly suspicion.
After a few seconds, the lady gave a sudden quick glance back over her shoulder.
Her elegant brows were furrowed, as though she were contemplating something troubling.
Charlotte had seen that exact expression before. In her mother’s bright and lovely face.
The gasp of air she sucked into her lungs felt like an icy wind. Her fingers and toes went suddenly numb and her legs weakened enough for her to take an awkward stumbling step.
It was them. The Lord and Lady Eastleigh.
Her mother’s parents. The two people she hated most in the world.
The only people she hated. She’d only ever seen their likenesses in a miniature her mother had kept of them.
Though it had depicted them when they’d been decades younger, there was no denying the truth of it.
“Miss Dickson?” The marquess’s voice echoed strangely at her side. Close but seeming to come from far away as her heartbeat thundered in her ears.
Is this what fainting felt like?
Suddenly, her hazy field of vision was filled with the form of a tall, fit man with black eyes and a furrowed brow, bending his head toward hers.
She felt his hand at her elbow and the warmth of his nearness and the undeniable strength of his presence.
But all she could do was stare at the folds of his cravat.
Although the thought had occurred to her many times that she might encounter her grandparents while in London, she’d never actually allowed herself to truly consider what it would feel like or how she’d respond.
Almost as if her mind wouldn’t let her go to that possibility, knowing how deeply it terrified her.
But now it had happened.
And she’d survived it. Barely.
“Miss Dickson, are you alright?” He’d lowered his voice to a more intimate tone and even in her odd distress, she realized it was likely to keep from drawing attention. Whether it was to save himself the embarrassment of a scene or to protect her from one didn’t matter as the effects were the same.
Charlotte blinked rapidly to dispel the fog from her mind and took a deep breath to ease the constriction of her chest. She would not fall apart now. Not here. With the marquess staring at her so intently she could feel his regard like a brand on her skin.
Locking her knees, she tugged her elbow from his hand.
“I’m quite fine, my lord.” Her words sounded terse and untrue, but he stepped away.
And a moment later, their groups shifted and they prepared to part ways.
Before leaving, the marquess turned to Charlotte and gave a proper bow.
For a moment as he straightened, she met his deep, penetrating stare.
She wanted to be annoyed by his intent gaze and irritated by his obvious lingering concern. Instead, she felt the strangest flicker of gratitude.
Then he turned on his heel and walked purposefully away.
Merde.