Potent Pleasures (23 page)

Chloe sat down, feeling self-conscious. Charlotte quickly pulled a huge chef’s apron over her head and sat down with a large pad of paper in her lap. She started sketching, the quick, sure movements of her wrist the only thing Chloe could see. At first Charlotte asked her a few questions, but Chloe could see that she didn’t really want to talk. So Chloe fell easily into silence and started thinking about Will. Will last night … in the corridor … in the carriage, in front of her house.

Charlotte’s hand trembled. What in God’s name was happening to Chloe? The self-contained, earnest little girl she’d met the night before had transformed into a passionate woman, glowing at every pore with sexual interest. Could it be that she, Charlotte, was the naive one? She simply didn’t
see
the world as it was until Alex came along and … Charlotte scowled violently. She wasn’t sure she liked this new world, full of roving husbands and maidens feverish with desire. But—perhaps it was
Charlotte
who was feverish and she was writing the emotion onto the face of a sedate little Dutch maiden? Charlotte looked down at the sketch in her lap, and at the sheafs that had fallen like snow around her chair. No. Her pencil didn’t lie. It never had. The thought steadied her and she began sketching faster, trying to capture Chloe’s restraint, the quality of extreme self-control that was so fascinatingly balanced by glowing sensuality.

Charlotte had fallen into a rhythm by an hour or so later. And she was getting somewhere. Bits of certain sketches had something she wanted. She’d caught a look in Chloe’s eyes, for example, somewhere in a page on the floor. And she had a beautiful, calm chin and throat tossed off in coal, not pencil, also drifting about the floor. The portrait was beginning to tumble itself together in her head, when there was a sudden interruption. A sharp knock sounded on the door of the studio.

“What the
devil
!” Charlotte said in a completely unladylike manner, jumping to her feet.

Chloe’s mouth fell open for the second time since she entered the studio. She had never heard a lady swear like that.

Charlotte was furious. Chloe had relaxed only about ten minutes ago. Her shoulders had been strained and unnatural for forty minutes. Everyone knew not to enter this room during working hours.

A large dark hand gripped the door and swung it open. As soon as Charlotte heard a voice telling Campion that no, he wouldn’t wait and be damned with him, her heart flip-flopped. It was Alex, genially dismissing Campion’s protests. He must have followed the butler right up the stairs, because normally Campion would never have permitted an unchaperoned man to enter the upper floors of the house.

Charlotte straightened her back, her mouth tight, as Alex entered the room. She was ready to give him the lecture of his life when she realized he wasn’t alone. In front of him trotted Pippa, her plump legs moving her surely toward the lovely heaps of paper she spied in front of her.

“Stop her!” Charlotte shrieked. Alex managed to catch the big, starched bow on the back of Pippa’s dress as she was about to dive into a pile of paper. Charlotte ran about, gathering papers while Alex held back his howling daughter.

Chloe rose from the couch. “How do you do, my lord?” she said in her quiet way. “You met me last night; I am Chloe van Stork.”

“I remember,” Alex said, smiling warmly. “Are you having your portrait painted?” He had instantly grasped the connotations of the candelabra and the easel.

“Well, not yet,” Chloe replied. “Lady Charlotte is still making sketches.”

“Oh, please!” Charlotte said. “Do call me Charlotte.” She was still picking up paper, watching Pippa out of the corner of her eye. She wouldn’t put it past Alex to let go of his daughter. She finally managed to gather all the sketches together and place them securely on the mantelpiece, weighed down by a candlestick. Meanwhile Alex, carrying Pippa, who was squealing, although a bit more quietly, walked around to see Charlotte’s easel. Charlotte couldn’t help watching him out of the corner of her eye.

He stood absolutely still. His only movement was to drop Pippa gently to the ground. She immediately scooted off and started trying to climb a chair. Still he stood. Charlotte was feeling more and more peevish. Perhaps he couldn’t even think of a pleasant compliment. Finally he raised his head and looked straight into her eyes.

“Why bluebells?”

“Why … what do you mean?” Charlotte responded confusedly.

“Why bluebells—why not rabbits?” His mouth quirked. He walked over to her. “You
are
going to keep that picture until Sophie marries, aren’t you? I can’t see it joining the stodgy members of the Brandenburg portrait gallery, somehow. So rabbits—fertility.”

“Rabbits, fertility,” Charlotte repeated stupidly.

Chloe cleared her throat gently. “It’s an Italian custom, isn’t it, my lord? In the Renaissance, Italian brides were given pictures of themselves with rabbits playing in the background.”

Charlotte smiled involuntarily. He
got
it! Her portrait was precisely a bride picture: a woman on the cusp of learning something. Alex’s huge hands grasped her shoulders.

“Your portrait is quite splendid. You know that, don’t you?”

She looked up at him without responding.

I wonder why he’s called ineligible, Chloe thought to herself, watching the lithe, beautiful couple. They were standing very close to each other, and from what she could see of Alex’s face, he was within a hairsbreadth of pulling Charlotte into his arms. Chloe felt suddenly embarrassed. The naked passion on Alex’s face made her own face feel hot. She turned away.

“We have to go to Italy,” Alex said without pausing. “We’ll go to Florence and see the Leonardo portraits … and Rome, the Michelangelos—”

Chloe wouldn’t have been so embarrassed if she could have seen Charlotte’s face. Even as Alex listed the places Charlotte most wanted to visit in the whole world, her irritation grew. She woke up cross this morning, aching inside for something unknown. And with Charlotte’s annoyance grew the conviction that she would
not
marry Alex. What she felt for him was raw sexual desire; obviously that was not an emotion that a lady cultivated, let alone married someone for. In fact, she had thought with satisfaction of the moment when Alex would ask her to marry him again, and she would politely, but coolly, refuse him. And now he was simply
assuming
that she would marry him! The gross arrogance of it galled her to the quick. Her face darkened even more.

Alex was no fool. He broke off his list of Italian cities and stared at her.

Charlotte opened her mouth and then closed it again. She could not tell him exactly what she thought of him and his assumptions in front of Chloe and Pippa. Besides, she had been aware for some time that Pippa was precariously perched on the settee, trying to throw her fat little leg over the back. From there she would certainly fall down and hurt herself. So she simply turned about and swept Pippa off the settee.

Pippa opened her mouth to scream and then settled. Charlotte smiled at her hugely. She might not like her papa, but she certainly liked this small, independent spirit.

“I’m the not-nanny, remember me?”

Pippa gave her a small, cautious smile. Charlotte tucked her into the crook of her arm, so she was sitting up and could see where they were going.

“Miss van Stork,” she said courteously. “Since our sitting has been interrupted, shall we join my mother and take some tea?”

Alex’s heart sank. Not only was his love looking like a black thundercloud and cross as a termagant, now she wanted to join her mama. And given what he understood from the Duke of Calverstill this morning, the duchess was likely being talked into the idea of meeting him at this very moment.

He cleared his throat. “Ah, your mother is busy.”

Charlotte swung around. “And how, pray, would you know?”

“Your father told me,” Alex said, rocking back on his heels and looking absolutely imperturbable.

Charlotte stared at him for a moment in frustration. What was going on here? Suddenly the light dawned. Alex must have met her father and asked for her hand in marriage this morning. And somehow he talked his way out of her father’s absolute refusal of the idea. So now her father was relaying whatever story Alex came up with to her mother. Charlotte threw Alex a brooding look.

“Hmmm,” she said, nonplussed for a moment.

“I should leave now,” Chloe interjected. She really didn’t enjoy all this strained conversation, especially as she had no idea what was going on. “My mother was very clear about the fact that she needed me to return this morning.”

Charlotte turned to her, her face falling. “Oh, but surely …”

Alex intervened. He took Chloe’s hand and smiled at her genially. “We all know what mamas are like when they want you to return on time,” he said. “I promise not to interrupt your next sitting with Charlotte.”

Chloe looked at him silently for a minute. My goodness, but this man was confident. She couldn’t deny his incredible attractiveness, but was there no chink in his assurance? Well, he is a man, and a peer of the realm, and handsome, and rich, she thought with some resentment. Why should there be?

“Of course,” she replied hastily, aware that she had been mute too long. Chloe withdrew her hand and turned to Charlotte. Then she gave an involuntary smile. Perhaps the earl’s comeuppance was at hand. Charlotte looked as mutinous as a mule, in her mother’s term. Chloe smiled with genuine warmth, and curtsied to Charlotte.

“Oh, Lord,” Charlotte said. “Here we are, curtsying and addressing each other formally. Are you sure you want to do this, Miss van Stork? We’re going to be locked up in this room with each other for almost six weeks—you’ll
have
to call me Charlotte.”

Chloe twinkled at her. Little fits of temper didn’t bother her, given that her father indulged in them all the time. “Oh, no, Charlotte,” she said, holding out her hand. “I am looking forward to this portrait, even if I can’t see it until I get married!”

“Oh, I let Sophie
see
her portrait,” Charlotte said. “She just doesn’t understand it yet. Her only comment was that she thought her teeth were too large.” They shook hands with total understanding.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then,” Charlotte said resignedly. “Let me show you out, please.” Charlotte went first, still holding Pippa, who laughed madly and tried to swipe all the pictures off the wall as they descended. Chloe came next and Alex followed. He was feeling rather vexed. Why was Charlotte glowering at him? Surely she didn’t think he was playing fast and loose with her when he kissed her last night? Didn’t she expect to marry him? What kind of person did she think he was, anyway, some kind of castaway who would kiss a girl—the way they kissed—and then brush her off? His first proposal two weeks ago, and her rejection of it, didn’t even enter his mind.

Charlotte saluted Chloe at the door and then turned around briskly. Without missing a step she dumped Pippa into Alex’s arms.

“She’s wet.”

“Oh,” Alex replied. He made such a funny picture, an elegant gentleman holding a child whose beautiful white dress was becoming more soggy by the moment, that Charlotte almost burst out laughing. Only a hint of darkness about his eyes stopped her. Alex turned to Campion, who was waiting patiently.

“Will you call Keating, my man, please?”

“Certainly, my lord.” Campion bowed deeply. “Would you like me to bring the child downstairs?” The entire household was riveted with interest in the Earl of Sheffield and Downes; Campion knew that Pippa would be eagerly welcomed by Mrs. Simpkin and the other upper servants. Keating was being feasted royally at this very moment, he had no doubt. There was no one in the house who didn’t know that the earl had spent forty minutes alone with the master in his study, and that they had emerged on most amiable terms. And there wasn’t a single lobcock too stupid to draw the right conclusion about what had happened in that study.

“Yes, thank you,” Alex said. He handed over Pippa, who miraculously didn’t scream but just patted Campion’s face. Alex and Charlotte watched Campion carry Pippa off as if he bore wet children around the house every day.

“She’s a bit better,” Alex said in a distracted tone. “She hasn’t had a true howl in two days.”

“Yes, well,” Charlotte said. Just like the rest of the household, she knew exactly why he was here, and she didn’t want any part of it. Not now. Not when she still had the residual headache she’d had all day. Not when she was feeling so cross and prickly that she might burst into tears. She just couldn’t—wouldn’t—cope with another marriage proposal at the moment.

So, rather than walking into the Blue Room, or one of the other salons off the entrance hall, she held out her hand graciously.

“It was very nice of you to visit, my lord,” she said loftily.

Alex walked over until he was standing just in front of Charlotte, casting an admonishing look at the two footmen on attendance in the hallway. They instantly disguised the curiosity that decked both their faces and stood poker-straight against the walls. Alex kept walking forward until Charlotte receded a step and another step. He glanced at one footman, who quickly pulled open the door to the Chinese Salon, as it was called. Alex briskly took Charlotte’s arm in his hand, swung her about, and walked her into the room. The door swung to behind them with a quiet click.

Alex immediately dropped Charlotte’s arm and turned around to face her. “What makes you think I would leave my child to the mercy of that muffin-faced type you call your butler?” he said, affably enough.

Charlotte stared at him. She hadn’t thought about the fact that she had tried to say good-bye to him
after
seeing his child carried down into the servants’ quarters.

“My lord,” she said, “I am not … fit for this conversation this morning. I have a headache.” Charlotte dropped gracefully into a couch, feeling rather like a fraud, but also doing a good imitation of her great-aunt Margaret. Margaret was invariably ill with something, and she much enjoyed her own infirmities.