Chapter 2
Charlotte lingered just outside the dining room, her hand resting lightly against the doorframe as the sound of her sister-in-law’s laughter spilled into the corridor.
Jane giggling. Again. Charlotte pressed her lips together, resisting the powerful urge to roll her eyes skyward.
Her brother was hardly the sort of man to inspire peals of merriment—he was sensible, brooding, and dreadfully practical—but Jane appeared to find him endlessly diverting. Blasted newlywed couples.
But one could not stand in the hall forever. To sulk out here would only result in her starving, and Charlotte refused to let Alistair drive her from the table by his domestic bliss. Best to sweep in gracefully, endure the fresh torment, and obtain sustenance.
Lifting her chin, she glided into the room with all the poise of a practiced Society lady. “Good morning,” she said, her smile perfectly fixed in place.
Jane’s head turned, her eyes alight. “Good morning,” she replied warmly. “How did you sleep last night?”
“Well enough. And you?”
That question earned another bubbling laugh from Jane. Charlotte studied her curiously. She had never seen Jane in such high spirits, though perhaps she ought not to complain. Happiness sat well on her new sister-in-law—though the perpetual giggling did begin to grate on her ears.
Alistair lowered the newssheets and fixed Charlotte with a knowing look. “I am surprised you did not request a tray in your room.”
“I thought it best to remind you both that I still exist and reside in this townhouse,” Charlotte replied overly sweetly.
“As if we could ever forget,” Alistair responded lightly.
Charlotte slid into the chair opposite Jane and folded her hands neatly in her lap. “Now, what was the cause of such girlish mirth? I could hear you from the hall.”
“Oh, it was nothing,” Jane said. “Alistair only made the funniest remark about cheese.”
Charlotte arched a brow. “Cheese? Pray tell, what is amusing about cheese?”
Jane shared an indulgent look with her husband before declaring, “A man who does not like cheese cannot be trusted. Surely, he must be hiding something.”
Charlotte stared at her for a long moment. “Fascinating. And you found that amusing?”
“I did,” Jane said with conviction.
Alistair shrugged, smugness tugging at his mouth. “I cannot help it if I am utterly hilarious.”
“And who told you that?” Charlotte asked. “I daresay you have been lied to. Everyone knows I am the funny one of the family.”
Alistair huffed a laugh. “You, funny? Hardly.”
“It is true,” she said with great dignity. “I say witty things constantly.”
“Then say something witty now,” he challenged.
Charlotte tapped her finger against her chin, considering. At last, she offered, “The pianoforte is rather like a husband. It looks well in the corner, but takes up far too much space once it begins making noise.”
Her brother looked unimpressed. “That was not amusing in the least.”
“It was humorous,” Charlotte countered, “and painfully accurate. I do hope I did not wound your delicate constitution.”
“You could not,” Alistair responded. “Still, it might be best if you left the jokes to me.”
“And where, pray tell, would the fun be in that?”
Before Alistair could respond, the butler appeared in the doorway. Malone inclined his head respectfully. “A Lord Luca Dexter has requested a moment of your time, Miss.”
Charlotte’s smile faltered as she resisted the urge to groan. “Please turn Lord Luca away,” she ordered.
A familiar, teasing voice floated in before the butler could retreat. “That wounds me. It is almost as though you do not treasure my company.”
“What do you want, my lord?” Charlotte asked dryly.
“Only the pleasure of your company,” Lord Luca replied, placing a hand over his heart. “And perhaps a decent cheese joke.”
Her gaze narrowed. “How long have you been eavesdropping?”
“Long enough,” he admitted with a grin, “to learn that your brother is considered the amusing one of the family.”
The audacity of this man! “Why are you even here?” she asked.
Alistair chuckled and gestured towards an empty chair beside Charlotte. “Will you join us for breakfast?”
“With pleasure,” Lord Luca said, already moving.
Charlotte, quick as a flash, dropped her napkin onto the seat. “I am afraid that chair is taken.”
He paused, his brows rising. “By your napkin?”
“Yes. I require two chairs when I dine. Should I feel a draft, I switch seats. Surely you understand.”
He looked entirely too amused as he retrieved her napkin and sat down regardless. “I believe you will be quite safe this morning. The weather is fine.”
Charlotte frowned at him. “If I catch a chill and die, it will be entirely your fault.”
“I shall take my chances,” Lord Luca said, his infuriating smile firmly in place. “Though, for the record, I would prefer you alive.”
“You would?” she asked, suspicion sharpening her tone.
He nodded solemnly. “Indeed. You may despise my company, but I very much enjoy yours, Diamond.”
Charlotte stiffened at the moniker. “Do not call me that.”
“Is it not true?”
“I have a name.”
“And it is a lovely one,” Lord Luca said, unbothered. “But I much prefer ‘Diamond.’”
Her sigh was sharp and exasperated. “Why are you here, pestering me at such an ungodly hour? Surely there must be something—anything—more important you could be doing.”
“More important than you?” His green eyes gleamed. “Impossible.”
Charlotte’s hand tightened around her fork. For the briefest of moments, she contemplated stabbing him in the hand. But then she would be forced to request another fork, and breakfast would grow cold. Better to ignore him.
Unfortunately, Lord Luca had never been a man easily ignored.
Lord Luca shifted in his seat to face her. His eyes danced with mischief, as though he were about to say something calculated to irritate her. She braced herself.
“I find that my mood is brightened just by looking at your lovely face,” he said.
She pursed her lips. Really? Did he practice such absurdities before a looking glass? “Just eat your breakfast,” she muttered, stabbing at her eggs as though they were responsible for her vexation.
Alistair lowered the newssheets just long enough to cast her a brotherly look of censure. “You must forgive Charlotte. She is not one for mornings.”
Charlotte resisted the urge to throw her fork at him. Treachery, from her own brother. How could he be on Lord Luca’s side?
“I think she is being a delight,” Lord Luca remarked.
Charlotte dropped her gaze to the table. She was outnumbered. It was best to eat quickly and make her escape before she was further assaulted with nonsense. She lifted a bite of eggs to her mouth, willing herself to focus on food, not Luca Dexter’s smug expression.
But of course, he had other plans. “Would you care to take a carriage ride through Hyde Park with me?”
She swallowed and answered curtly. “No.”
His lips twitched, as if her refusal had been the precise response he anticipated. “Perhaps, then, a turn about your gardens?”
“No.” She reached for her chocolate.
“A turn about this very room?”
Her patience frayed. “No.”
Undeterred, he leaned closer, lowering his voice as though sharing some scandalous secret. “I promise it will be worth your time.”
Charlotte set down her cup with a deliberate clink. “I doubt that, for everything out of your mouth is drivel.”
Instead of looking wounded, he chuckled, that maddening sound that suggested he found her resistance entertaining. “I daresay you are playing coy.”
Her mouth fell open. “I am not playing a game with you.”
“So you say,” he replied, “but I can see you secretly like me.”
Charlotte shook her head in disbelief. “Then you are in desperate need of spectacles.”
Lord Luca leaned just enough to brush his shoulder against hers, the audacity of the gesture making her skin prickle. “Give me ten minutes of your time.”
She turned to glare at him. “And why would I do that?”
“Because,” he started, “I promise you will want to hear what I have to say.”
Charlotte considered telling him no again, as she ought. But then she would have to endure him repeating the offer until he wore her down. Perhaps it was better to let him speak his piece and be rid of him.
“Fine,” she said at last, not bothering to hide her annoyance. “But I shall grant you five minutes, not ten.”
“That is more than fair,” he responded, rising from his chair as though she had just bestowed a great gift upon him.
Charlotte rose as well and ignored his proffered arm. “I can walk perfectly well on my own, my lord. I do not require an escort to my own gardens.”
“I was attempting to be a gentleman,” he protested lightly.
“Why start now?” she retorted. “Come along, so we can end this charade.”
Alistair’s voice interrupted. “I will send a maid out to ensure you are properly chaperoned.”
“Wonderful,” Charlotte muttered under her breath.
As they walked towards the rear of the townhouse, Charlotte’s regret deepened with every step. How could a man so handsome, with his perfect smile and confident stride, be so utterly maddening? Did he practice vexation or did it simply come as naturally to him as breathing?
A footman opened the door, and the crisp morning air brushed her face as they stepped onto the veranda. Together, they started down one of the gravel paths.
Lord Luca tilted his face skyward. “It is quite lovely today.”
“It will no doubt rain,” Charlotte replied, folding her arms.
“Most likely,” he agreed. “Still, thank you for agreeing to speak with me. I do so love the time we spend with one another.”
“It is not as though you gave me a choice,” she said. “And do not waste time with false flattery.”
“Who says it is false?”
Charlotte turned her head away. “You are the last man I would ever consider as a suitor.”
“Am I?” His tone was curious, not wounded. “And what have I done to earn such ire?”
Her eyes snapped back to his. “You do not remember?”
“If I did, I would not be asking.”
“You laughed at me,” she said, the memory still sharp after all these months.
He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”