Seducing Charlotte (5 page)

Before long, the object of his admiration artfully detached herself from her circle of admirers. She mingled a bit before discreetly slipping out of the room. No one else appeared to notice. Eager to get her alone, Cam saw his chance. He stole away a few minutes after Charlotte so as not to draw attention to their mutual absence. Looking around the small garden, he saw no sign of her. The only activity seemed to come from the direction of the mews where the horseflesh was kept. The sound of her voice, along with the pungent, grainy odor of hay and horses, drifted out to greet him.

“Willa has asked me to spend her confinement with her at Fairview Manor,” she said. “So I shall be able to see you all summer.” A man responded in a low murmur that was impossible to decipher. He approached quietly, already quite certain of whom he would find Charlotte speaking with.

He peered in undetected from among the shadows just in time to see Charlotte embrace Nathan. The stable boy again. A territorial flash of anger swamped him, leaving a hollow feeling in his chest. He fought the urge to pounce on the servant and thrash him for touching a lady in such a familiar way. Not just any lady. Charlotte.

What the devil was going on? Would the sister and daughter of a baron actually dally with a servant? Cam withdrew as quickly and quietly as he had come, slipping back into the townhouse to rejoin the other guests. He busied himself chatting with a small group that included Willa and Hartwell, and pretended not to notice when Charlotte reappeared a short time later.

She smiled, approaching their group. “Willa, it’s a most lovely evening.” A blind, jealous fury took hold of Cam. He rose without speaking and gave Charlotte his back, turning to leave the room. He heard her sharp intake of breath at being given the cut direct.

Willa gasped at the obvious slight. The chatter in the room quieted. Hartwell’s somber voice followed Cam’s retreating form. “Miss Livingston, perhaps you’d care to take a turn about the room with me.” The Duke of Hartwell offered the power of his rank to protect Charlotte’s reputation in front of guests who witnessed Cam’s deliberate insult.

He didn’t bother to wait for Hartwell’s Indian butler to fetch his greatcoat. After murmuring a few words to the man, he bounded down the front steps just as Willa appeared on the threshold.

“Your Grace, the Marquess of Camryn has been called away,” the butler said to Willa.

“Indeed?” muttered Willa. She raised her voice calling out into the night. “He is not going to evade me that easily.”

…

“More coffee if you please,” Cam grunted to a footman the next morning as his cousin strode in unannounced.

“What in heaven’s name was that all about?” Willa asked without preamble. She slid into a seat at the breakfast table next to Sebastian, which prompted him to look up from his newspaper.

“Why do I even have a butler?” Cam grumbled to no one in particular. “By all means, do join us, cousin.”

“Smythe knows he doesn’t have to announce me,” she said, referring to his butler. “Why would you embarrass Charlotte in that manner?”

“I must remember to have a word with my butler.” Leaning back in his chair, he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. The image of Charlotte embracing the stable boy sloshed around in his mind. “I’m afraid I can offer no excuse. I will, of course, apologize to Miss Livingston at the earliest opportunity.”

“Which will be next week at the Fulsome-Thrusby ball.”

Sebastian’s astute emerald gaze flickered between the two of them. “And what precisely is Cam apologizing for?”

“I hardly know myself,” said Willa with obvious exasperation. “He gave Charlotte the cut direct last evening.”

“I see.”

“You don’t see anything,” Cam said curtly. “And don’t give me that look. Why are you here anyway? Why do you have bachelor’s quarters if you are never there?”

“You invited me. We have a standing weekly breakfast appointment and have for some time.” Sebastian disappeared behind the newspaper. “As I recall, it was your idea.”

“You haven’t explained your behavior,” Willa said.

“Nor do I intend to.” Still leaning back in his chair, Cam clasped his hands behind his head. “Suffice it to say that I will offer the necessary apology.”

The footman entered with a cup of steaming chocolate for Willa. Cam waited for him to withdraw before speaking. “I see your stable boy, Nathan, is in town with you.”

Willa’s brows drew together. “What has he to do with anything? And he is the coachman.”

“From stable boy to coachman in the space of one month?” Cam’s mood blackened. “That’s laudable progress.”

“Hart is impressed with his command of the horses. And Nathan is very good with numbers and calculations as well.”

Irritation flared in his chest. “Is he new to Hartwell’s employ?”

“Why is Hartwell’s coachman of sudden interest to you?”

“Why indeed,” echoed Sebastian from behind his newspaper.

“No reason in particular.” Ignoring Sebastian, he injected the words with casual interest. “I suppose it is because he seems a cut above the usual servant. His manner of speaking is almost like a gentleman’s.”

Willa reached for a sweet bun. “Oh, that’s because he was educated by a governess with Charlotte and her brother, the baron.”

Cam leaned forward. “How did that come about?”

“You should ask Charlotte about Nathan if you can manage to be civil to her.” Willa chewed her roll with robust appreciation. “She is well acquainted with him. They grew up together.”

“How so?”

“I believe I heard he was the son of a footman at Shellborne Manor. Apparently, Charlotte’s father appreciated his keen mind and grew fond of him.” She sipped her chocolate. “He allowed Nathan to join in on the children’s lessons with their governess.”

“Interesting,” said Sebastian from behind the newspaper.

“So Miss Livingston received her empathy for the plight of the working man from her father. How did he come to be in your employ?”

“Nathan? It was at Charlotte’s request.” Willa finished her chocolate and leaned back. “Oh no, now I feel impossibly full.”

“Miss Livingston asked Hartwell to hire Nathan?”

“Why? Are you thinking of trying to steal him away?” Willa eyed him suspiciously. “Are you in need of a coachman?”

“Perhaps,” he lied.

“Yes, I am certain that is what motivates his interest,” said the wry voice behind the newspaper.

Willa stood up, bringing both men to their feet. “I must go. I have an appointment at my modiste. Absolutely nothing fits anymore now that I am increasing.”

“And yet you remain the most beautiful woman in London,” Sebastian assured her.

“Such a liar. You truly are a saint.” She gave him a peck on the cheek before taking Cam’s arm so he could escort her out.

She rattled off final instructions as they walked through the foyer and stepped out into the cool air. “Now remember, you should dance with Charlotte at the Fulsome-Thrusby’s next week.”

Cam lifted a brow. “I recall agreeing to apologize. However, I don’t recall agreeing to dance with Miss Livingston.”

“Nonetheless, your gaffe was a large one,” she said in a clipped tone that brooked no nonsense. “Dancing publicly with Charlotte will lay to rest any gossip about the cut you gave her last night. It is the least you can do.”

Chapter Five

“There, this ice blue is the perfect complement to your eyes,” Willa said to Charlotte. “You must stop dressing as if you are in mourning.”

“Really, Willa, this sort of elegant creation suits you. It is too much for me.” Struggling not to fidget while Willa’s maid fussed with her hair, Charlotte tugged her new gown upward in a futile attempt to cover the top surges of her breasts. “This neckline is scandalous. I look like a courtesan.”

“Nonsense, it is far more modest than most gowns, mine included,” Willa said. “You’ll look perfect at the Fulsome-Thrusby’s ball. And you hair is most becoming in that fashion.”

“Not that I can tell since you won’t allow me to look in mirror.”

“Be patient. Clara is almost finished. I want you to get the full effect.” Charlotte answered with a scowl, wondering how she’d ever allowed Willa to talk her into all these fripperies. Earlier in the week, the duchess had dragged her to the modiste, convincing Charlotte to order several gowns and day dresses in vibrant fabrics and flattering styles. It was all far different from Charlotte’s usual sensible attire. Although she cared not at all about being in the first stare of fashion, Charlotte had gone along, mostly because it was far easier to agree with Willa than to naysay her.

“You certainly are taking a great interest in my appearance for the ball,” she said. “Might I ask if there is a reason?”

“You hide your loveliness behind those sad colors,” Willa said. “I have a strong desire to see you in shades that are more becoming to you.”

Clara finished her ministrations and nodded to the duchess.

“There, it is done,” Willa said with a bright smile. “Now you can look.”

Turning to assess herself in the duchess’s dressing room mirror, Charlotte froze, at first not recognizing the attractive woman staring back at her.

Small strings of pearls were woven into her hair and the high-waisted gown Willa selected for her shimmered when she moved. Her usually lifeless skin looked almost luminous. Who knew the color of one’s gown could make such a difference? With her loosely upswept locks and artfully styled gown, she almost looked pretty. “Oh my.”

“You look so handsome.” Willa clapped her hands together with exuberant delight. “Your dance card will be full once all of the gentlemen see you looking so lovely.”

“You are far too optimistic.” She eyed her friend with skepticism. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you are trying to see me wed at this very late date.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Willa fussed with her gown, avoiding eye contact. She wore a dramatic red dress that artfully hid her expanding belly while highlighting her glowing alabaster skin and shining chestnut curls.

“If I have any hope of being noticed, I would be wise to stand as far away from you as possible,” Charlotte said. “You are so impossibly lovely that everyone pales in comparison.”

“Nonsense, I’m growing as big as a carriage.” She paused. “Charlotte, what happened with Cam the other evening?”

Heat stung Charlotte’s cheeks at the memory of Camryn’s public cut. “I’ve no idea. We only spoke briefly before dinner. I have not and will not give it another thought.” But she had of course. She’d been terribly wounded and confused by his public slight, and coming from Camryn, it had been that much more painful.

“It is so unlike Cam,” said Willa. “He is usually all that is agreeable. I’ve never seen him treat a lady in such a manner.”

“Apparently, I rouse his disagreeable side,” she said tartly, reaching for her wrap. “At least I am unlikely to see him this evening.”

Willa coughed delicately. “Why ever would you presume that?”

“He rarely comes out in Society. I see no reason for him to attend this evening’s crush.”

“Perhaps.” She surveyed Charlotte’s appearance again. “You truly look wonderful. Let us go then, shall we? Hart is waiting.”

The Fulsome-Thrusby ball, an annual event that took place in the waning weeks of the season, traditionally drew the highest-caliber crowds. This evening was no exception, Charlotte could see as soon as they arrived. A throng of people filled the vast ballroom and adjoining public rooms. Opulent flower arrangements adorned side tables and hundreds of candles shimmered throughout the spaces.

Hugh emerged from the crush, his girth making him look a bit sausage-like in his close-fitting formal clothes. “There you are, sister dear.” He brushed a light kiss on her cheek before turning to Willa and Hart. “Your Graces. My thanks for allowing my sister to accompany you.”

“The pleasure is ours. Miss Livingston is delightful company,” Hartwell said as he guided Willa away. “Come dear. I think I see Mother.”

“Bravo,” Hugh said, watching them go. “A public show of ducal support will no doubt raise the Shellborne name immeasurably in Society.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Yes, that is precisely why I am friends with Willa.”

“My, but don’t you look pretty.” He ran an interested gaze over her gown. Although Hugh kept a tight hold of his purse strings, he’d happily agreed to fund the enhancement of Charlotte’s wardrobe once he’d learned of the duchess’s involvement. “I trust this is one of the creations Her Grace selected for you.”

“Gad, Hughie, I cannot fathom why I allowed Willa to talk me into wearing this.” She tugged the low neckline of her dress upward, fearful that her breasts would spring free at any moment.

“I’m certain that if the Duchess of Hartwell chose your gown, it must be all the crack.” He nudged her back. “And don’t call me Hughie. We are not in the schoolroom any longer. I’m Shellborne, if you please.”

She shook her head in fond exasperation. She loved her brother, but he really took himself far too seriously. Moving her gaze back to the crush, she spotted Camryn making his way toward them. She froze. Surely, he wouldn’t dare approach them.

The marquess seemed to have made an attempt to tame his hair, but the wiry, amber mane was already appealingly tousled. Beige breeches gloved his strong thighs, and his striped, silk waistcoat caught the candlelight. The tails of his double-breasted, deep purple tailcoat flapped as he strode toward them. He moved with the perfect-postured assuredness of a commander leading his troops into battle, who had no doubt victory would be his.

“Good evening, Shellborne.” Even his tone was imperious as he shone those penetrating eyes on her. “Miss Livingston.” Her stomach flip-flopped and she averted her eyes, focusing her attention on the violet gemstone of his cravat pin glittering against the bright white neck cloth.

Hugh beamed. “Camryn, well met.” After an awkward pause, Hugh glanced at his sister, clearly wondering why she hadn’t returned Camryn’s greeting.

“I was hoping Miss Livingston would honor me with a dance.” The words were bold, fearless. “If you will recall, after our last waltz we agreed you would save a spot on your dance card for me.”

Charlotte’s temper flared. It was all she could do not to slap Camryn across his smug face. How dare he approach her as though nothing had happened? After the way he’d embarrassed her, did he truly expect a calm return to civility?

Hugh’s round face flushed with delight. “Of course, my sister will be delighted to stand up with you, Camryn.”

“Excellent.” Camryn turned to leave. “I shall return for the next set, a waltz I believe.”

Charlotte’s hands fisted at her sides. “Why that arrogant—”

Hugh watched Camryn vanish into the throng before turning to give her a meaningful look. “A marquess, Charlotte. Consider the possibilities.”

“I will not dance with him.”

“Why ever not?” Hugh’s brow furrowed. “You are aware he is a marquess, are you not?”

“Save your breath, Hughie. I would not dance with the Marquess of Camryn even if he were the King of England.” The words vibrated with indignation. “And no one and nothing will ever make me change my mind.”

“You are only in town because I am acting as your chaperone.”

“I have an abigail who accompanies me,” Charlotte said sharply, seeing the direction of his thoughts. Of course her brother wouldn’t let the opportunity Cam presented pass them by.

“All the same, since Mother does not like town life, you are here under my direction and guidance. If you cannot act in a manner which does credit to the Livingston name, then you should return to Leicestershire without delay.”

“Don’t be intolerable, Hughie.” She gritted her teeth. “I do not respond well to threats.”

“You have already given the marquess a cut by not speaking when he addressed you. If you don’t have a sound reason for not dancing with him, I must insist that you do.”

“I do have a sound reason.”

Hugh’s eyes rounded. “Lottie, has the Marquess of Camryn insulted you? Or something worse?” He drew up his chest. “If he has, he will answer to me, by God.”

Charlotte’s irritation gave way to a rush of amused warmth for her brother. The stout, pompous baron would be no match in any area for the formidable Marquess of Camryn. She squeezed his arm. “I am fortunate to have a brother who would go to any lengths to protect my good name, even if it meant upsetting a peer.”

“In all seriousness, Charlotte, has he trespassed?”

“No, of course not,” she lied. “I’ll dance with Camryn. He’s harmless enough.”

…

Desire bolted through Cam the minute he spotted Charlotte at the ball. She’d obviously put some effort into her appearance this evening. The sky-colored gown flattered her complexion, its cut favoring the slender lines of her body far more than the drab sacks in which she normally enshrouded herself. Her translucent eyes appeared even more brilliant than usual, mesmerizing really.

Taking her into his arms for a waltz, he couldn’t stop noticing the lower cut of her neckline. Still modest by Ton standards, her décolletage nonetheless offered a tantalizing view of Charlotte’s womanly assets. What a pleasant surprise to discover she possessed more curves than her severe dresses suggested. Her breasts were not large, but they were creamy, pert, and softly rounded. Very appealing. He wondered what it would be like to take one of those sweet, perfect mounds into his mouth. Heat blasted through his body at the thought of suckling her woman’s flesh.

“Why have you asked me to dance?” Charlotte’s curt tone sliced into his wayward thoughts.

“In order to apologize for my behavior the other evening.” He struggled to ignore her enticingly subtle floral scent. The last thing he needed was to come to an embarrassing point right here on the dance floor like some untried swell. “It was not my place to cut you in that way. Please accept my apology.”

“Why did you do it?”

He should have guessed she wouldn’t let him off so easily. Most other females would have. They were happy to flirt and fawn over him, but this tempting chit was decidedly unlike most females.

“I would rather not go into that,” he finally said, sounding high-handed, even to himself. “Suffice it to say that I very much regret causing you any pain or embarrassment.”

“No.”

He raised his forehead. “No?”

Charlotte cut him a defiant look, pressing her lush lips into a tight line he had the mad urge to kiss away. “No.” She emphasized each word as if he were deaf, daft, or both. “I. Will. Not. Accept. Your. Apology.”

“I beg your pardon?” he said, startled to be confronted so directly. Most maidens hung on to his every word, laughed at witticisms even he knew weren’t particularly amusing.

“You, my lord, are a rag-mannered coxcomb and I will not accept an apology without a full explanation for your behavior.”

“A rag-mannered coxcomb?” He could hardly believe his ears. “Now see here, Miss Livingston—”

She sighed, her exasperation plain. “No, you see here, my lord. I tire of your strange temperament, your arrogant manner, and most of all, I tire of dancing with you. Please excuse me.”

She was halfway off the dance floor before Cam recovered himself and strode after her. He caught her gloved hand and placed it on his arm. “Tsk-tsk, Miss Livingston, tantrums do not become you. You risk causing quite the commotion.”

Small round spots of color stamped her angled cheeks. “Please unhand me,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Unfortunately, I cannot oblige you.” Cam held on to her hand, pasting a polite smile on his face. “Willa will have my head if we cause another scene. And, at the moment, I am more wary of her wrath than yours. She’ll put it all on me. Even though this outburst is your doing.” He kept his free hand clamped over hers to prevent any escape. “However, since you demand an explanation, I will oblige you. But not here.”

“Don’t tell me you have the perfect secluded corner of the terrace to take me to.”

Cam barked an amused laugh. “Touché, Miss Livingston. Alas, no. Everyone rants about the Fulsome-Thrusby portrait gallery. It is both private and public enough for the discussion you insist on pursuing.”

He escorted her toward the gallery, a long wood-paneled hallway adorned with paintings of the Fulsome-Thrusby ancestors, who appeared to be a rather humorless lot.

Charlotte halted, pulling her hand away. “Well?”

He fought to keep his eyes politely level with hers and well away from that intriguing curve of bosom she displayed this evening. “Well, Miss Livingston, it likely comes as no surprise that I have developed something of a
tendre
for you.”

If the way her mouth fell open was any indication, it did surprise her. In fact, Charlotte looked downright shocked. Surely she could not be that unaware? The lady blushed, a delightful shade of pink, all the way from her face, through the turn of her neck, and down to that unexpectedly lovely bosom.

Warmth glowed in her crystalline eyes, causing his own heart to tighten with an unfamiliar emotion. “If this is how you show affection, my lord—”

“Pray allow me to finish, Miss Livingston,” he said trying to get a hold of himself. “I have had the occasion to come upon you twice in what could be construed as an inappropriate situation with a male.”

She stiffened. Any warmth she’d exhibited just a moment ago turned to frost. “I beg your pardon, Camryn, but the only gentleman who has made inappropriate advances toward me of late is you.”