Seduced At Sunset (14 page)

“No thank you, Mary. I would prefer to rest awhile.”

“Very good, milady,” she said. “I’ll close the drapes and
make sure you are not disturbed.”

“You are an angel.” Charlotte waited patiently for her
maid to leave before she moved to the chair by the window and went over every
ridiculous thing she had said to Mr. Torrington before she walked out of his
stables.

Or perhaps it had not been ridiculous. Perhaps it was an
unconscious act of self-preservation—to spoil everything now and protect
herself from what might transpire if she continued with this affair. Perhaps
she
wanted
to sabotage it.

It had all seemed so exciting when she made the decision
to enjoy Mr. Torrington as a lover, seemingly without any consequences, for he
would soon be gone. Eventually it would all seem like a dream, as if it had
never really occurred.

But there was a risk of pregnancy, and she was well
acquainted with how such an accident could ruin a person socially. Her brother
Vincent had taken a mistress, and together they had borne an illegitimate
child. The scandal was so monstrous, they’d been forced to leave the country,
and it was ten years before they returned.

And Vincent had
married
Cassandra.
Charlotte wasn’t sure that Mr. Torrington would propose marriage in such a
case.

Perhaps it was better this way, she told herself. He would
think her a romantic fool who had bitten off more than she could chew, and he
would refrain from sending any more scandalous invitations. Clearly she was not
cut out for reckless affairs. She gave too much thought to it, and it was quite
obvious that she was becoming infatuated.
More
than
infatuated. She couldn’t get the blasted man out of her mind. A less rational
woman might confuse such feelings with love and begin to dream of a happily
ever after.

But she was not one of those women. She knew the
difference between reality and fantasy. Love and lust.

Charlotte tipped her head back against the chair and stared
up at the ceiling for a long while. She imagined Mr. Torrington riding up to
the house, calling out to her from the street, and getting down on his knees
when she came to the window—to beg her to continue their affair.

Good God.

Charlotte lifted her head. She
was
one of those women. This proved it, and so did the matchmaking, and her dreams
of dancing with Mr. Torrington at a glittering ball. Heaven help her, she did
want something more than lust and basic carnal sex. She was completely
besotted, and if she weren’t careful, he would become the source of another
romantic tragedy in her life. This time of her own making. For she feared she
was falling fast toward love. She yearned for permanence and confidence in his
regard, for him to want to be with her forever...

Alas. That wish was not to be.

She sighed and finished her brandy, thankful at least for
this opportunity for private and personal reflection, so that she would not
continue to behave like such a hopeless romantic.

Five days passed, during which time Charlotte and
Adelaide, respectively, heard nothing from Mr. Torrington or Dr. Thomas.
Charlotte was soon convinced that she had spoiled everything and frightened
Drake off when she spouted her romantic ideals in the stable. She could hardly
blame him, but wished overwhelmingly that she could go back to that moment and
agree with him. Admit that she had meddled in her mother’s private affairs and
that life was not a fairy tale. Could never be.

It was quite possible that the path of one’s life could shift
and take on a new direction. Perhaps there was someone else in her mother’s
future, and her own as well. Perhaps Mr. Torrington had merely been a necessary
experience to teach her that lesson and remind her she was not past her prime.
She was still a passionate and attractive woman with a full heart, who could
love and be loved. Perhaps she had needed to discover that she deserved more
than a temporary physical affair. She was a soulful person and wanted something
deeper than that.

Why was it that she was always looking for the reasons
why
life unfolded the way it did? Couldn’t she simply
accept things the way they were, and not question the
why
?

It was on the fifth night, after she and Adelaide
returned home from the theater, that Charlotte found a letter waiting for her
on her pillow. Wondering who had placed it there, she picked it up and broke
the seal.

Lady Charlotte,

Please do me the great honor of joining me on the river at
dawn tomorrow. I wish to apologize for my lack of understanding the other day,
and my insensitivity to your wishes. I will wait outside your door at 6:00. If
you do not wish to see me, I will move on at 6:15 and refrain from ever
contacting you again. Though I confess, it will pain me greatly to keep that
promise.

Sincerely,

D

Charlotte closed her eyes and pressed the letter to her
breast, while joy flooded her heart. She had never been so happy to read any
letter in her life.

How odd, that when she had finally convinced herself
that her relationship with Mr. Torrington was completely sordid, as well as
over, this letter arrived and spoke of something else. Was this only a ruse to
seduce her into more lovemaking? Or had his heart become involved too?

She longed desperately to know the answer, and could
hardly wait until the morning.

Chapter Eleven

He had tried. Truly he had. Drake had considered the
risks of a summer affair with Lady Charlotte—the beautiful, passionate,
romantic daughter of a duke—and for five days straight, had fought
against the urge to contact her. In the end, he could bear it no longer. The
thought of not spending the full summer with her drove him mad with
frustration. He decided it would be best to let this affair run its course.
Sometimes what was forbidden became coveted, and what he really hoped for was
an enjoyable affair that would end amiably for both of them. They would part as
friends, feeling satisfied with the time they had spent together, and remember
each other fondly.

He was not yet sure if that were possible, for he sensed,
with the high emotion, this could turn out to be the very worst sort of
passionate and turbulent relationship—the kind that ended in tears and
hatred. It was possible that Charlotte could show her true colors very soon and
become the sort of woman he avoided—possessive, demanding, and jealous.
But none of that mattered now, for he was not yet ready to give her up.

Though he
had
tried.

It was nearly 6:15 am when the front door of Pembroke
House opened and she walked down the steps.

His relief was immense, and his pulse raced at the sight
of her in that formfitting, pine-green walking dress and attractive straw
bonnet.

He slid across the seat and opened the door for her. She
climbed inside and sat beside him, her body turned at a slight angle toward him
while she removed her gloves.

“I was surprised to receive your invitation,” she said,
laying her gloves on her lap. “I thought perhaps we were through. After the way
I behaved the other day...”

“The way
you
behaved?” He shook
his head to object. “You did nothing wrong. It was I who was unreasonable. I
dismissed your feelings and passed judgement when I knew few details about the
situation. I cannot blame you for walking out on me—and I am sorry.”

Her cheeks flushed with color and her eyes glistened with
happiness. “Thank you, but no apology is necessary. I am just so glad you
invited me to join you this morning. I missed you.”

The words were tender and sentimental, and he was both
touched and unnerved by them. “I missed you, too.”
Had he
really just said that?

The next thing he knew, he was leaning close and pressing
his mouth to hers, holding her tight as the coach rumbled over the city
cobblestones and his body drummed with desire.

“I don’t want to fight with you,” she said breathlessly,
sitting back. “You are here for such a short time. Part of me wants to make the
most of it and be happy and smiling all the time, but another part of me knows
that would be superficial, and I don’t want that either.”

“Nor do I.”
What the blazes had he just
said?

“I understand,” she continued, “if you don’t want to
venture out into Society, and I can hardly blame you. All the foolish gossip
drives me mad sometimes, so I will not press you to escort me anywhere. I will
be happy to proceed as we initially intended, and see each other only in private.”

“I am happy to hear it, Charlotte.”

He clasped her hand in his, and neither of them said
anything more for the duration of the drive.

It was humid and warm that morning, so Charlotte decided
to leave her bonnet and gloves in the coach.

While Drake stepped into the boat and untied the ropes on
the jetty, she looked back at the land they had just driven across. “Whose
property is this?” she asked.

“It belongs to an old sparring partner,” Drake replied.
“He lets me keep my boat here.”

“That is kind. Have you seen him much since you arrived?”

“A few times.” He reached out a hand to her. “Come now.”

With his assistance, she stepped into the boat, which
rocked back and forth, bobbing wildly against the jetty until she sat down.

Drake took his position, his back to the bow, and picked
up the oars. Soon they were cutting fast through the calm water with Drake’s
powerful thrusts of the oars. Charlotte felt wonderfully alive.

She knew enough not to try and make conversation with him
while he worked so strenuously against the current, so she distracted herself
by sitting back against the transom and looking up at the morning sky.

Fifteen minutes later, Drake lifted the oars out of the
water and let out a deep exhale. “That was good,” he said.

“Did you come every day this week, even when it was
raining?”

“Yes,” he replied, breathing heavily. “I like rowing in
the rain. It keeps me cool.”

They were in a wide, lazy part of the river and floated
idly for a few minutes, drifting downstream slowly while ducks quacked close to
the shore.

“This feels like home to me,” she said. “The peacefulness
reminds me of Pembroke. I enjoy the city, but I prefer the country. Tell me
about your life in America, Drake. Do you live in the country or the city?”

“I have two homes,” he said. “One is in the city of
Boston, and the other is on a stretch of land called Cape Cod. It’s a
picturesque seaside community. I enjoy the salty air and the roar of the surf.”

“It sounds lovely.”

“Let me know if you ever decide to make a transatlantic crossing,”
he said. “I would enjoy having you as my guest.”