Chapter 16
Charlotte listened as her sisters continued chattering all at once around her, their excitement growing louder with every passing moment.
Joan was passionately recounting a gentleman’s unfortunate dancing abilities while Penelope interrupted every few seconds with dramatic embellishments.
Irene attempted to restore order with polite corrections that nobody listened to in the slightest. Harriet looked equal parts proud and exhausted as she fanned herself furiously beside them.
“And then,” Joan declared grandly, “Lord Henshaw stepped directly onto my slipper.”
Penelope gasped theatrically. “A scandal.”
“He apologized at least four times,” Irene added kindly.
“Yes, because Joan glared at him as though she intended murder,” Penelope replied.
Charlotte laughed softly, though her attention drifted across the ballroom as a strange sensation prickled at the back of her neck.
She looked up instinctively and found herself caught beneath the gaze of an unfamiliar gentleman standing near Elizabeth.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, with chestnut hair and sharp blue eyes filled with unmistakable amusement.
Even from across the room, there was something boldly confident about him, the sort of effortless arrogance only handsome men seemed capable of carrying successfully.
Then the stranger bowed directly at her.
Charlotte blinked in surprise and glanced behind herself to ensure the gesture had not been intended for someone else.
Unfortunately, it had clearly been meant for her alone.
Before she could recover, Elizabeth smiled brightly and placed a hand upon the gentleman’s sleeve.
“Oh dear,” Charlotte muttered under her breath as Elizabeth began leading him directly toward them.
“What is it?” Irene whispered.
“There is a gentleman approaching, with the Dowager,” she said quietly.
Joan immediately brightened. “Handsome?”
Charlotte hesitated. “Indeed.”
Penelope grinned. “Excellent.”
Harriet quickly adjusted her posture and smoothed her gown as Elizabeth finally reached them. The Dowager Duchess looked delighted with herself, while the gentleman beside her carried the easy smile of a man entirely too accustomed to charming his way through life.
“My dears,” Elizabeth announced proudly, “allow me to introduce the Marquess of Whitemore, Morgan Harding. He is a very good friend of my grandson's.”
All four sisters dipped into graceful curtsies. “My Lord,” they greeted together.
Morgan bowed smoothly. “Ladies.”
Charlotte rose from her curtsy only to find his attention fixed entirely upon her. There was something familiar in his expression that instantly put her on guard. It reminded her far too much of Victor when he was amused.
Morgan stepped closer and took her hand lightly. “My dear Miss Brown, I have heard much of your beauty, but I fear the descriptions did not do it justice.”
Charlotte blinked in surprise before she recovered enough to answer. “Then whoever described me must possess very poor eyesight, my lord.”
Morgan laughed warmly. “And wit as well. Mulford neglected to mention that.”
At the mention of Victor, Charlotte stiffened faintly. “His Grace speaks of me?”
“Endlessly,” Morgan said with a perfectly straight face.
Charlotte narrowed her eyes suspiciously while Joan made a strangled noise beside her.
“I do not believe you,” Charlotte replied.
“A pity,” Morgan said mournfully. “I had hoped my face inspired honesty.”
Penelope leaned toward Irene and whispered far too loudly, “I like this one.”
“I heard that,” Morgan informed her cheerfully.
“Good,” Penelope replied without shame.
Harriet stepped forward with eager delight sparkling in her eyes. “Lord Whitemore, how lovely to make your acquaintance.”
“The pleasure is entirely mine, Lady Linfield.”
Elizabeth patted Morgan’s arm fondly. “He is one of Victor’s dearest friends.”
“That explains the arrogance,” Charlotte murmured before she could stop herself.
Morgan’s grin widened instantly. “Oh, I begin to understand why Mulford looks permanently irritated lately.”
Charlotte’s cheeks warmed. “I assure you, Your Lordship, I have done nothing to irritate him.”
“Then you perform miracles accidentally.”
Joan suddenly burst into laughter while Harriet tried and failed to look scandalized.
Morgan turned back toward Charlotte with a small bow. “Miss Brown, might I have the honour of this dance?”
Charlotte opened her mouth politely to refuse, mostly because she suddenly felt very aware of Victor somewhere in the ballroom.
Unfortunately, Harriet spoke first. “Charlotte would be delighted.”
Charlotte stared at her mother in horror.
Harriet smiled brightly while giving her daughter a subtle but firm shove forward. “Go on, dear.”
“Mother,” Charlotte hissed under her breath.
“Dance,” Harriet hissed back sweetly.
Morgan offered his arm with entirely too much amusement dancing in his eyes. “I promise to return her unharmed.”
“No promises are necessary,” Harriet replied happily. “Only make certain she enjoys herself.”
Charlotte wanted the floor to swallow her whole as she placed her hand upon Morgan’s arm. “You appear to enjoy chaos, my lord.”
“I adore it,” Morgan answered honestly.
He led her toward the dance floor while couples moved gracefully around them beneath glittering chandeliers. The orchestra swelled into a lively tune just as Morgan settled a hand carefully at her waist. Charlotte lifted her chin with determination, refusing to let herself feel nervous.
“You dance as though you are preparing for battle,” Morgan remarked.
“I merely prefer not embarrassing myself publicly.”
“Then you are already succeeding better than most gentlemen here,” he said with a polite smile.
Charlotte laughed despite herself as they moved together through the steps of the dance.
Morgan studied her openly. “Mulford neglected to warn me you were this lovely.”
Charlotte nearly missed a step. “Your friend discusses me far too much apparently.”
“Oh no,” Morgan replied lightly. “That is precisely what makes this interesting.”
“What is interesting?”
“He never discusses ladies. I had to pry the information out of him against his will,” he said.
Charlotte frowned faintly. “Surely that cannot be true.”
“It is entirely true.” Morgan spun her smoothly beneath his arm. “Victor discusses politics, estates, gambling, horses, and occasionally wine. Women are usually… temporary.”
Charlotte hated the strange disappointment that twisted briefly in her chest at the word temporary.
Am I also temporary?
Morgan seemed to notice her expression immediately. “Forgive me. That sounded harsher than intended.”
“It is none of my concern regardless,” Charlotte replied quickly.
“Mm.” Morgan’s eyes sparkled knowingly. “And yet you looked concerned.”
Charlotte ignored that completely. “You are very impertinent, my lord.”
“And you are very beautiful when annoyed.”
She rolled her eyes, though warmth crept into her cheeks anyway. “Do all noblemen speak in rehearsed compliments?”
“Only the desperate ones.” Morgan leaned slightly closer. “Mine are entirely sincere.”
Charlotte found herself laughing again despite every effort not to. He was dangerously charming in a far lighter manner than Victor. Where Victor’s charm felt sharp and heated, Morgan’s was playful and effortless, like sunshine compared to flame.
Still, something about him reminded her too much of Victor.
“You and the duke are very alike,” she remarked carefully.
Morgan looked delighted. “That is the first time anyone has ever insulted me so elegantly.”
“I did not mean it as an insult,” she laughed.
“Then I am wounded. Mulford certainly would.”
Charlotte smiled faintly before her gaze wandered instinctively across the ballroom. Her breath caught slightly when she spotted Victor standing near the edge of the dance floor, speaking with Lord Dawson. Except Victor was not truly paying attention to the conversation at all.
He is watching us.
Even from across the crowded ballroom, Charlotte could feel the intensity of his gaze fixed upon her and Morgan together. His expression was calm enough for society, but there was a darkness beneath it now that made her stomach tighten strangely.
Morgan noticed immediately. “Oh dear,” he murmured with obvious delight.
Charlotte looked back at him sharply. “What?”
“I believe my friend may wish to murder me.”
Charlotte stubbornly said, “His Grace does not care whom I dance with.”
Morgan’s grin turned positively wicked. “Miss Brown, if you keep saying things like that, I may start feeling sorry for him.”
Before Charlotte could demand what he meant, the dance carried them apart briefly with the movement of the figures. When Morgan returned to her moments later, he bowed slightly closer than propriety demanded.
“For what it is worth,” he said quietly, “I think you are precisely the sort of trouble Victor deserves.”
Charlotte’s heart stumbled unexpectedly.
Then she immediately scolded herself for allowing the words to affect her at all.
* * *
Morgan, I will throttle you before the night is done.
Victor watched through narrowed eyes as across the dance floor, Charlotte moved gracefully through the steps of a waltz in the arms of none other than Morgan Harding.
Morgan leaned close to Charlotte with that easy devil-may-care grin women adored, and Charlotte laughed softly at something he said. Candlelight gleamed across her burgundy gown while her cheeks flushed pink beneath Morgan’s attention. Victor’s jaw clenched so tightly it almost hurt.
Of course, it would be Morgan.