One Night Is Never Enough (28 page)

She had long sought that recipe, had worked hard to divine the perfect ingredients. She knew exactly what needed to be done.

And that was the danger of predators at the top of the chain. They tended to destroy the best of plans.

That deep voice promised things she couldn’t even comprehend, even after weeks of knowledge. Whispering over her skin. Shuddering through her veins. “I may just do so.”

Splayed on bedsheets or across a garden bench or in a back room. Forgetting where and who she was.

Emily burst from the door. “Charlotte!” She waved something pink.

Charlotte scrambled in front of him, pushing him behind her in some crazy, idiotic gesture of secrecy.

Someday,
God,
someday,
she had to believe she could have something wild and free. Unrestrained. Something warm and alive. Something dangerous and out of control. Something like the man behind her.

That she could have
him.

But not today . . . in the bright light of the sun, with Emily waving and her thoughts going in too many directions . . .

She had to hold it together
today.
The perfect statue, cracking irrevocably, pieces falling even as she scrambled to glue them back in place. Or to tear them off herself.

“Charlotte,” Emily breathed as she skirted the crowd between them. “What is taking you so long? Look at this.” She held up a pink bonnet—the light color the very hue of innocence.

Get back in the store!

“That will look divine on you, Emily.” She thrust her bag toward her. “Why don’t you purchase it.”

Get back in the store!

Her sister cocked her head to the side, eyes drifting past Charlotte. “I say. Are you a friend of Charlotte?” There was something odd and penetrating in her gaze.

“Miss Emily, is it?” he asked from behind.

Charlotte stiffened so abruptly that it had to be excruciatingly noticeable.

Roman appeared at her side and smiled charmingly at her sister, the deadly aura retreating a space and making him seem almost safe. But it lingered about him, as if unable to dissipate completely. “That bonnet will look quite striking with your hair, Miss Emily.”

“Really? Do you think so?” Emily’s rosy cheeks grew redder. Attention caught sufficiently that she didn’t seem to realize they had not actually been introduced.

“Definitely. A rose in spring.”

Charlotte stepped between them again. “Emily, go buy the thing.” She shoved a few notes to her sister and forced her to back up a pace.

Charlotte didn’t spare more than a glance at her sister’s eyebrows, which were now nearly touching her hairline before turning to him.

“Thank you for your help, sir. Good day.” She nodded at him tightly, pointedly.

“Perhaps in return you might help me find a bonnet for my aunt?” He smiled, a much-less-
polite
smile than he had given Emily, the danger all but cloaking him again.

“I don’t think so.”

“She has been sick. I am hoping this will lift her spirits.”

She’d eat Emily’s new bonnet if he had an ill aunt. “I’m sure you will make a splendid purchase.”

“But I would love to have your gifted opinion. Perhaps Miss Emily’s too.”

“No. Go away,” she whispered harshly. “You are making a scene.”

“Am I?” The edges of his mouth curved. “And here I thought it was you making it.”

Two women stood a few paces away, bent heads together, whispering.

Panic rushed through her, all coolness completely gone. Her breath caught. If someone identified him, there would be talk of her connected to Roman Merrick, which would lead to other things. Last night had proven that. The maelstrom surged. She tried to draw breath, but it became difficult for a moment.

His eyes narrowed and wandered over her face. At the moment, she couldn’t even pull forth the calm veneer she usually hid behind in public. He tipped his head to her. “Actually, I just remembered an urgent appointment. Thank you, Miss.”

“No.” She reached out a hand before she could stop herself. “I . . . I’m sorry. I can help you with your purchase if you still wish it.”

He examined her for a long moment. Why couldn’t he be a man of the
ton
? Someone she could have a yearning flirtation with. Able to freely express that lift of a butterfly’s wings in her stomach. Able to marry him and live in stunned wonder, chained to her bed, the rest of her life.

His lazy smile suddenly appeared. “Perhaps I might take you up on that offer in the future then. Good day, Miss.”

He turned, and she watched as he slipped into the crowd and disappeared. She stared after him for long moments, trying to corral her chaotic thoughts.

Beyond his unsuitability to her world, and hers to his, Roman Merrick was
not
the marrying kind. Even if he suddenly became a
prince,
he’d probably thumb his nose at them all.

Charlotte turned to see Emily examining her and pulled up a forced smile.

“Who was that man?” Emily asked.

“I have no idea.” Charlotte gestured toward the shop. “Shall we purchase your bonnet?”

Emily held up a bag. “I already did.” A sly smile appeared. “While you were staring off into space. Bit distracted, Charlotte?”

“No. Gunter’s?” She briskly started walking in that direction.

“Charlotte, you can’t fool me with an ice.” Emily called behind her, obviously hurrying to catch up. “Well, I suppose you can,” she huffed, pulling alongside her. “And I’ll have you know that I want one now, but you knew him.”

“Fine. He is an acquaintance of Father’s. No one of import.”

“I think he might be the nicest-looking man I’ve ever seen.” Emily cocked her head. “Downing has serious competition. I think I will develop mad tendres for them both now.”

Charlotte stopped abruptly. “You will not.”

Emily raised a brow. “Really? Gotten under your skin that far, has he? Sounds like a bloody fine bloke to me. What’s his name?”

“Language! And stop speaking of him.”

“Strange name, Language. What is his first name? Handsome?” Emily cocked her head. “No, wait, that is probably his second name. First name, Incredibly, then?”

“Emily.”

“Really? I don’t think Emily does him justice.”

The yearning, the want, the defeat, all mangled together and knotted violently. “Emily,” she said, her voice cold and clipped, “I’m going to kill you in a matter of seconds.” She pinned her sister with an ice-covered look. “Out of the love I once felt for you, I will give you a choice as to what method I will employ. Carriage wheel or strangulation?”

Emily raised her hands in surrender. “Fine. Buy me an ice then.”

Charlotte started moving again.

“But,” her sister’s voice called from behind, “I think you should know that Incredibly Handsome looks at you as if you are the only person in the world too.”

Charlotte pushed away the elation, the terror, and wondered if she could strangle her sister
and
throw her under a carriage at the same time.

As he leaned against the bricks of the alley, Roman watched them pass: the younger one nipping at the elder’s heels. Charlotte turned and said something deadly to her sister, who threw up her hands.

But the mischievous grin on the younger girl’s face as she called out, then chased after her sister, who was once again striding forward, spoke to their relationship.

Charlotte’s pleasure in the younger girl was obvious.

He wondered what Charlotte would do if she ever discovered that her father had tried to exchange one sister for the other. To have the younger one, barely out of leading strings, take her place in his bed. A sacrifice to keep his trophy from scandal.

He reached in his pocket and turned the clip between his fingers, leaning his shoulders farther into the edged bricks. That warm protectiveness was going to cost her.

He’d exploit it himself, if needed. He found that lately he was feeling the urge to use everything at his disposal.

He laughed without amusement at the thought. At the weakness that wound insidiously through him, slithering, squeezing, debilitating, at the thought of her.

Pictured the panic, the internal lesions, showing on her face before he had turned to go.
Before she had called him back.

He could have overpowered her before that. Could have made her come to him even there in the middle of the crowd with her panicking over the talk they were sure to cause. He had seen the way she hovered there on the brink, sensuality and reserve threatening to break.

And he hadn’t been able to bring himself to do it.

There was an audible snap triggered between his fingers. Shit. He pulled the pieces out of his pocket, examining them. Broken.

Shit.

He tried to push them back together, even knowing that the piece was irreparably damaged. Shit. He curled his fingers around the broken edges and stuffed them back in his pocket.

Out of control. When she’d grabbed him, telling him she would help him anyway, willing to take him into the store where she’d be observed by any number of people . . . his mind had stopped properly functioning.

He had gone to her room last night to demand answers, to force her to make choices. But had changed his plan after seeing the other body occupying her bed. Had decided to approach her in the middle of the day.

He had the sneaking suspicion that even though Charlotte had been dead to the world when he’d been in her room,
Emily
had seen him crawling back through the window and sliding it shut. Which made things . . . quite interesting indeed. Messy and uncontrollable, just as he usually liked it. So why he was feeling distinctly uneasy was the question.

The chaos was pushing at his plans, longing for some stability. Slightly terrifying, the idea of order and future plans. Especially when the edges of all the choices were torn and muddied.

Weakness.

He pushed away from the bricks, striding down the alley, turning onto the pavement, making people veer from his path.

He could win everything he wanted or lose it all in the same roll.

All he had to do was pick the right dice. Start the last game. He had an appointment in half an hour. One that would put every pip in its place—simply waiting for her hand to roll as she willed.

He could see the end. Could feel fate gripping him by the ballocks. Twisting them and telling him that she was fickle with her chances. And that if he didn’t move
now 
. . .

He narrowed his eyes and pressed farther into the lane, seeing the edges of the shadows following him. Had they seen him with Charlotte? Bloody stupid, not paying attention as he should. So hard to when she was near.

He slipped into another alley, enticing the shadows to follow, feeling the broken pieces of the clip in his pocket. He needed to pick up another from his stash. And he needed to take care of the men behind him—find out if any of his enemies knew about Charlotte—then be on his way to the appointment.

After all, the future Lord Trant awaited.

Chapter 17

“I
’ll accompany you home for the evening, Mother. Then I want to peek in on the Pevenshalls’ gathering before it ends.”

Charlotte had found Roman’s note in her reticule—anytime the man touched something, she now assumed a note was left behind—telling her to work a blind that evening.

Her mother’s eyes narrowed before she nodded sharply and held her arm out for Charlotte. They found her father gaming in one of the large side rooms, foxed and losing, trying to escape from his debts and mortality. But he retained enough judgment to nod stiffly and remain mute about their departure.

As their carriage jolted forward and picked up speed—the driver seeming to have forgotten how to properly use the ribbons—her mother’s glacial stare pierced her.

“I will deal with Father’s displeasure,” Charlotte said, anticipating her mother’s words.

“To
attend
the Pevenshalls’?” Her mother’s jaded eyes switched to the window. “You think yourself so
clever
lately? Trying not to rely solely on that pretty face your father keeps on display?”

Charlotte swallowed, alarmed, heart lurching along with the carriage as it took too sharp a turn. “What—”

“Save your explanation. I truly don’t care to hear it.” She didn’t look at Charlotte as she grabbed the leather cord near the window, keeping herself steady and wooden, as always.

Charlotte kept the pleasant, stretched smile upon her face as she tried to balance herself against the violent pitching. “Very well. You looked quite lovely tonight. I heard a number of people mention it.”

Who cared about Clark finding her in a deserted hallway when her mother
knew
?
For how long?

“You can save your misplaced pity as well.”

The carriage rocked violently again.

“Very well.” The smile hurt. It always hurt. “Would you like me to fix you a cup of tea before bed?”

Emily was spending a long evening at an event for younger ladies and wouldn’t return for hours.

“No. Leave me to the house alone. Go meet your lover. Be like your father.” Her mother gripped the strap as they pulled in front of the house, the traffic quick, especially with the furious way Henry had driven.

“He did the unthinkable.” Her mother’s voice was whisper tight. Charlotte had wondered how Bennett would succeed in hiding the bet from Viola. It seemed he hadn’t. “I cannot fault you for your actions.”

Viola paused for a moment, her hand hovering above the door handle, body tight with . . . Charlotte’s hope lifted . . . regret?

“And I . . . I care not,” Viola said quickly, face turned away as she pushed the handle down.

“Ver—very well.” It was hard to speak over the choking block in her throat, to utter the expected response. Charlotte found it even more difficult to move as her mother hurriedly dismounted and firmly shut the door behind her.

Fingers clenched into the seat, then released. Clenching, releasing. Scraping. Breaking.

Tears pricked as a card at the bottom of the stacked house wavered. It would so easily pull all of the rest down when it fell. She hadn’t realized that so many people could flick the cards holding the supports.

The carriage jolted forward. She jolted with it and immediately rapped on the trap. Forgotten inside, for she hadn’t given Henry new directions. The carriage would return to the stableyard or to the house of her father’s mistress—even worse.

She rapped again, as hard as she could manage, to no avail. She wondered without amusement if she should just sit back and let the carriage take her where it willed. Then ask Henry to take her to Blackfriars, so she could toss herself over the edge.

The carriage stopped abruptly, flinging her forward.

The door opened and a dark figure swung into the interior of the carriage. Shadowed fingers reached forward to grab her, with cloth to bind her.