Chapter 11
Charlotte sat across from Luca and Lord Rupert, her back rigid, and her hands clasped tightly in the open-air carriage.
None of them seemed inclined to speak, the silence made all the more deafening by the rhythmic rattle of the wheels.
It seemed absurd, after interrogating a man only moments earlier, to pretend at polite conversation, but her genteel training took over before her sense could intervene.
“Lovely day, is it not?” she blurted, the words sounding brittle even to her own ears.
Good heavens. She had just asked about the weather. Of all things.
Luca’s eyes warmed with amusement as he caught her gaze. “It is quite lovely.”
But Lord Rupert’s gaze flicked between them, a scowl tugging at his mouth. “Am I mistaken, or are you two engaged?”
“We are,” she confirmed, though her voice lacked the enthusiasm such an admission ought to carry.
“Do you even tolerate one another?” Rupert pressed, his tone sharp with incredulity.
Charlotte shifted, heat creeping up her neck. “I… tolerate Lord Luca.”
“And you?” Rupert’s gaze landed squarely on Luca. “Do you tolerate Miss Winslow?”
Luca leaned back, his expression unreadable but his voice steady. “I more than tolerate her.”
Charlotte’s heart tripped over itself at his words. What did that mean, exactly?
“Do you, now?” Rupert drawled. “Then why aren’t you sitting beside her?”
Luca’s reply was a careless shrug. “I didn’t want to crowd her.”
Rupert snorted. “No one will believe this engagement is genuine. Not the ton, and certainly not the Duke of Brackenford. Isn’t that why you offered for her in the first place?”
Luca’s jaw tightened. “Yes, but—”
Rupert cut him off with a raised hand. “It is none of my business, but if you mean to convince anyone, you must show a shred of affection towards each other. A coy smile here, a lingering look, a touch of the hand. Otherwise, the Duke of Brackenford will swoop in with another offer.”
“I do not want that,” Charlotte asserted.
“Of course not. Then make others believe you do want him,” Rupert said, nodding towards Luca. “A smile. Bat your lashes. Surely not beyond you.”
Charlotte’s chin tilted, her pride bristling. “Is that truly necessary?”
“Yes,” Rupert replied without hesitation.
Luca leaned forward. “I am willing to try, if you are.”
Her lips curved into what she hoped resembled a smile. “Yes. We can make an effort.”
Rupert groaned aloud. “Are you smiling or grimacing? You look like you are on your way to the guillotine.”
Her cheeks flamed. “I am smiling.”
“Are you?” Rupert muttered. “Convince me. You can flirt with hordes of eager gentlemen, and yet you cannot summon the same with your betrothed?”
His words struck deeper than she cared to admit.
She forced herself to meet Luca’s eyes, but it felt like standing on the edge of something far more dangerous than Society gossip.
She could flutter her lashes, feign admiration, but something in her resisted.
Because with Luca, it did not feel like playacting.
“I’m waiting,” Luca murmured, holding her gaze steady.
With effort, she donned her brightest smile, the very one that had made lords do her bidding. “Is this more believable?”
Rupert looked bored. “Not in the least.”
Her pride flared. “Then what am I doing wrong?”
“Because it’s false,” Rupert said simply. “You wear it like armor. You are vain, conceited—no offense.”
Her frown deepened. “Just because you say ‘no offense’ does not mean you soften the blow.”
Leaning forward, Rupert asked, “I have seen you charm a ballroom full of men, but why can’t you do the same with your betrothed?”
Charlotte’s breath hitched. She turned her head, terrified of what he might have seen in her eyes. Vulnerability was dangerous. She could not—would not—let it show.
Luca’s warm hand covered hers, startling her. “Charlotte, look at me.”
Her resistance wavered. Reluctantly, she turned back, meeting his gaze.
“Rupert is right,” he said. “If they do not believe our engagement, you will be ruined.”
“I know,” she whispered.
His thumb stroked over her gloved hand, sending an unwanted shiver through her. “I tease, I goad, but because I am fond of you. You are unlike any young woman I have ever known.”
She tried to deflect with humor. “That is because you do not keep good company.”
His lips twitched. “Perhaps. But we are friends, are we not?”
Friends. The word cut more sharply than it should have. That was what she wanted, was it not? So why did her chest ache?
“We are,” she forced out.
“Then affection should not be so difficult,” he said, bringing her hand to his lips.
Her heart pounded so violently in her chest that she feared he might hear it. When he pressed a kiss to her glove, her breath caught.
“See how easy it is?” he murmured.
Rupert clapped, the sound jarring. “Well done!”
Humiliation flooded her. She snatched her hand back, mortified that her reaction had been part of a performance.
The carriage jolted to a halt before her townhouse and relief swept through her. She bolted for the door, desperate for distance. A footman helped her descend, but Luca caught up to her before she arrived at the main door, his hand gently catching her sleeve.
“What is wrong?” His voice was low, insistent.
“Nothing. I am merely tired,” she said quickly, refusing to meet his eyes.
“Then why won’t you look at me?”
She lifted her gaze. “Satisfied?”
“No.” His eyes searched hers. “Did I upset you?”
“That is ludicrous. You give yourself far too much credit, my lord.”
“Then why are you flustered?”
Her voice snapped sharper than she intended. “May I go, or is this interrogation not yet over?”
He held her with that unrelenting stare. “Tell me what I did, so I may apologize.”
She stepped back, creating distance the only way she could. “Goodbye, my lord.”
And that ought to have been the end. But Luca followed, taking a step forward. “You may push me away, Charlotte, but I am not going anywhere.”
“I wish you would.”
Luca merely smiled, as if he were privy to a secret. “I know you would rather fall on your sword than be vulnerable. But I promise I won’t ever hurt you.”
She stiffened. How easily did he read her? How plainly did she wear her fears like a brooch for others to admire? “You make it sound so easy,” she said, forcing a steadiness into her voice she did not feel.
“It is easy, at least for me.”
She wanted, irrationally and fiercely, to believe him. But life had taught her differently. She had learned how to smile with one part of her while another part nursed the wounds. Better to be cautious, she told herself. Better to keep the mask.
“We shall see,” she said, then turned abruptly and hurried up the steps, leaving him on the porch.
Once inside, she let the door shut behind her and leaned her back against it.
Luca had a knack to loosening the clasps of her defenses with a single look.
It would be so simple—dangerously simple—to drift into believing him.
If she allowed that, she knew, the eventual hurt would cut deeper for its surprise.
The entry hall smelled of him: not only of him, but of the pale roses and sprigs of lilac he’d had delivered earlier today.
They filled the air with a sweetness that made her chest ache.
Tears prickled at the rims of her eyes, but she blinked them back.
No. She was not a woman to melt at a gentleman’s promise.
“Charlotte?” Jane’s voice floated from the corridor. “Is everything all right?”
Charlotte forced a smile to her lips. “Everything is perfect,” she attempted, hoping she sounded convincing enough.
“Have you been crying?” Jane pressed.
“Good heavens, no.” Charlotte forced a laugh. “I think I’m allergic to some of the flowers. They make my eyes water.”
Jane’s doubt lingered in the line of her mouth. “Did Lord Luca say or do something on your carriage ride that upset you?”
Before Charlotte could answer, Alistair’s voice boomed from further along the corridor. “I’ll kill him if he hurt Charlotte.”
A genuine smile tugged at Charlotte’s lips despite herself. She shook her head. “Lord Luca was the perfect gentleman, as always.” Her voice, though steady, carried an edge she couldn’t quite mask.
Alistair crossed to her and set his hands on her shoulders with the solemnity of a man who could stride into battle at a sentence. “Say the word and I will challenge him to a duel.”
Charlotte snorted, more amused than she meant to be. “That is not necessary. If I wished to shoot him, I would do it myself.”
He huffed, unconvinced. “Unlikely, given your marksmanship—”
“I have improved,” she cut in.
“I doubt it,” he said, and there was that warm, familial confidence in his voice that both annoyed and reassured her.
She brushed past him. “I will not be subject to this harassment,” she announced with theatrical finality. “I shall lie down.”
“Charlotte, come back here,” Alistair’s voice carried up the stairwell, clipped with command.
“No,” she tossed back over her shoulder without slowing.
“Will you please talk some sense into her?” his voice rose again, the older brother who still thought she was a child to be managed.
Jane’s softer tone drifted towards her from below. “Let her be for now.”
“But something is clearly upsetting her,” Alistair persisted.
“Give her time,” Jane said.
Charlotte’s hand tightened on the banister. She was grateful for Jane’s steady presence and Alistair’s concern, but right now their care felt like a net she might get tangled in. She needed quiet. She needed time to think.
She arrived at her bedchamber door and opened it. Her maid, busy tidying the dressing table, glanced up with a smile. “Welcome home, Miss.”
Charlotte crossed the room without answering and let herself collapse onto the bed, arms flung wide. “I may simply lie here until I die,” she declared. “Plan my funeral. Tell everyone goodbye. I shall miss them.”
Sally laughed. “I take it you did not enjoy your carriage ride with Lord Luca?”
“I have had better carriage rides,” she admitted.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Sally asked.