To Bed or to Wed (4 page)

Slowly, Lady Charlotte pivoted to face him. “Oh, now you lower yourself to take an interest in what I have to say? From all accounts it seems you don’t care about anyone except yourself.”

Devil take it. He didn’t care for her waspish tongue either, but there was something about her that refused to dislodge his curiosity. In ordinary circumstances, he wouldn’t give the gossipmongers a thought, but with Charlotte Darrington, it was different. He knew a desperate urge to see what impression he’d made on her and to find out why he needed to. “I’ll admit, I have done a very good job of keeping people at arm’s length, but there is a reason for that.”

“Such as?”

He heaved a sigh. “The need to ensure their safety.” Beneath his gloved fingers, she shuddered, but whether from cold or fear, he couldn’t say. “I have a temper.”

“That is no excuse for poor manners, Lord Ravenhurst.” She yanked out of his grasp. “Many men are possessed of a temper. Many men have also conquered it and do quite well in Society. It isn’t something you should use to hide behind.”

The back of his neck warmed from her dressing down. “Perhaps, but you have not answered my question.” Damn his rampant curiosity.

“It disappoints me to know the rumors and
on-dits
regarding you are true. In your case; however, the snippets and your behavior align.” She retreated down the path. Soon she’d gain yet another twist of the maze.

He crunched over the snow after her. “I still plan on retrieving my nephew.”

A shrug lifted her shoulders. “I’m not surprised. You are quite the selfish person. Other people exist around you, yet this is the first time I’ve seen you while at this estate. Why, I wonder?”

“As I told you before, I’d rather not have Jamie destroy my property. Besides, the set he runs with is loud and frivolous. Not at all to my liking. If I stay buried in my study, I won’t feel the need to ring lectures over his head or lose my temper altogether.”
He continued to follow her though his mind screamed a warning. “You don’t know me enough to make a deduction at any rate.”

“I know enough. I wish you well, my lord, but know this: even the monster you think you are deserves kindness once in a while, and perhaps understanding. It would behoove you to recognize this and stop running people off. A close friend every now and again would do you good.”

“I had a close friend. He betrayed me. That was enough.” That friend had given his position away to the French, which ultimately landed him into the depths of hell. Nathan narrowed his eyes. Who did she think she was? She knew nothing about his life, nothing about what had made him who he was now or why he chose not to invite people into his life. “Lady Charlotte?”

She slowed. “Yes?”

“Do have a care through the remainder of the maze. I’d hate for you to catch the sniffles from your extended sojourn out here with the horrible person I’ve become.” Yes, he was a bastard for treating her to such unkindness and he really should escort her back to the house, but she had annoyed him as if she’d poked him with a stick on fire. If she were so independent, she could handle whatever happened to befall her.

“And you, my lord, can go hang for all I care.” Her hips swished as she vanished around the next turn.

Nathan stared into the empty space she left. Never had he been treated to such a lack of respect from a member of his social circle before. The fact that it had come from a woman didn’t make any difference. He should have been enraged, and he probably would have been had he not heard a very distinct “bollocks” beyond that turn in the maze.

A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth as he followed the sound.
Serves her right if she’s in trouble.
Midway down the path, Lady Charlotte tugged at the hem of her skirt.

“Do you require assistance, Lady Charlotte?”

“From you? Absolutely not.” She wrenched off her mittens, dropping them to the ground in order to manipulate the fabric snagged in the evergreen bramble.

“I beg your pardon, but
as I am the only gentleman in the immediate area at the moment, manners compel me to come to your aid.” Nathan joined her and immediately saw her issue. “Not only is your skirt caught in the branches, but your petticoat is too.” He knelt by her feet. “How is that possible since your cloak should have protected you?”

“The wind blew it. When I attempted to keep it closed, another gust caught my dress.” The words were clipped, as if she forced them through a tight throat.

“Ah.” He removed his gloves. After hastily stuffing them into a coat pocket, he ran his fingers along the hem of the petticoat as he checked for the snag. It took all of three seconds to free the lace-edged garment from the bramble. The heat from her body seeped into his fingers. He lingered longer that common courtesy allowed, but the faint scent of roses wafted from her and he couldn’t help himself. He brushed his fingers along her ankle. When the lady didn’t protest or smack him, he eased a hand up the side of her calf. A tremble moved through her body, whether from his touch or the cold, he couldn’t say. A gasp followed the liberty, which caused another grin from him. “I beg your pardon,” he murmured then set his attention to freeing the snag on her skirt.

“Think nothing of it, my lord.” This time, her voice had lost its haughty edge. Breathlessness had replaced her earlier animosity.

The crunch of snow alerted him to the approach of another person. Barely had he scrambled to his feet and put a decent amount of space between him and Lady Charlotte before the intruder came around the turn.

“There you are, Nathan! We were beginning to wonder what became of you. Lord Smallford and Lord Kirkland are debating whether to put together a search party.”

He bit back a groan at his sister’s interruption, though what would have occurred had she not arrived, he couldn’t say. “There is no need for you’ve already found me.”

“And a friend, apparently.”

“I was merely helping her with her gown. She’d gotten it snagged on the evergreen boughs.” He looked between the women. Unlike Lady Charlotte, his sister wore a fur-trimmed coat that flattered her slender frame. She seemed much suited to the terrain and weather. “Lady Charlotte Darrington, this is my older sister, Lady Alexandra, Earl Grantley’s widow. She’s Jamie’s mother.”

Both nodded to each other and social pleasantries were exchanged.

Alexandra pulled at his arm. “We should head back. You have a duty to your guests.”

“Not my guests. Jamie invited them. I am merely keeping an eye out that he and his friends do not destroy the contents of my home.”

“Cold as always.” She gazed at Lady Charlotte before darting a glance around the area. “I shall retrieve my son. He knows better than to ignore his guests.” She settled her attention on Lady Charlotte. “If I were you, I’d hurry back to your room and change. A ripped gown is quite a misstep in Society. I’d hate for you to fall victim of gossip.”

“Thank you for the reminder, my lady,” Lady Charlotte murmured. She bolted down the path in the direction of the
house. Seconds later, she whisked around the final turn of the maze and was out of sight.

Nathan uttered a small sigh, quiet so his sister wouldn’t hear it.
Well, that’s the last I’ll see of her, and good riddance.
She was too much of a temptation. Soon, she and Jamie’s friends would leave his estate and he could return to his solitary life. As he strode alongside Alexandra, he buried his hands deep in his coat pockets.
Just as it should be.

Chapter Three

Of all the men I could have run into in that rotten maze, it had to be the bloody Marquess of Ravenhurst.

The name sent a jolt of excitement zipping down her spine even as using vulgarity while in thought made her want to giggle. Charlotte ignored both. The man had been wretchedly rude. She tiptoed down the hallway and paused outside the breakfast room of Ravenhurst Manor. Still rather early, she sent up a quick prayer
he
wouldn’t be in attendance. After the incident with the man last night, she didn’t want to tempt fate with another meeting. After a peek in determined Jamie and a young woman were the only diners, she uttered a sigh of relief and fully entered the brightly lit room.

“Good morning, Jamie,” she greeted, infusing as much gaiety as she could into her voice. She met his gaze, thankful she didn’t immediately look away. If at all possible she wouldn’t let on what she’d seen last night. It wasn’t her business. She wouldn’t have been there at all if it hadn’t been for his aggravating uncle.

“You seem well rested, Charlotte,” he rejoined, standing, then resumed his seat when she sat. “Did you have pleasant dreams?” He grinned as a petite maid refilled his tea cup.

“None that I can remember.” Charlotte busied herself with accepting tea then directing the maid into filling a plate from the sideboard. Normally, she’d do it herself, but the staff at the Manor was so efficient at their job, she had no time to protest.

“Ah, too bad. I, for one, had very pleasant dreams and remember them vividly.”

Across the table, the other woman present uttered a most unladylike snort. “I’m sure you do. Plus, you’re altogether too vulgar for breakfast conversation, Jamie.”

Charlotte slid a glance to her and offered a smile. “Hello. I suppose since Jamie won’t introduce us, I shall. I’m Lady Charlotte Darrington. Please call me Charlotte.”

She nodded.
“I like that you extended that invitation when you don’t even know me.” A tendril of blonde hair fell loose from its bun and lent an air of soft elegance to her long face. “I’m Bethany Starkton.”

“Well, how awkward would it be if Jamie calls me by my given name while you couldn’t as we dine this intimately?” Charlotte waved a hand. “I’d rather have contemporaries than acquaintances.”
Why does that name sound familiar?
She searched the depths of her mind then sucked in a small breath when she found the answer. “Starkton. You must be related to Jamie’s baronet friend.” Her cheeks heated as she realized she’d broken her promise not to refer to Jamie’s transgression.

“Yes, exactly.” Her grin revealed slightly crooked front teeth, but they didn’t detract from her twinkling eyes or rosy cheeks. “I’m his sister. He asked me to accompany him to the party as he thought Jamie and I might suit.”

Charlotte stifled a groan.
Poor girl. She has no idea how the wind blows.
“Oh. Where is your brother this morning?” To stave off an inappropriate comment, she shoved a bit of ham steak into her mouth and chewed.

“Peter is either still abed or out riding.
He enjoys taking in the early morning air.” Beneath the table, Jamie kicked her shin. When Charlotte glanced up, he sent her a roiling glance. “She’s two years older than me, but that’s all to the good, and she’s intelligent besides. From good family.” The young man sent Bethany a grin that had the girl tittering. “Her brother was smart to bring her. Quite a fitting woman for a future marquess, eh?”

“Sounds like it.” Charlotte gulped down a mouthful of tea then winced at the slight sting of the hot liquid. The games those two men were playing with Bethany as collateral. Annoyance warmed her chest at their treating the girl like property. “So, is an announcement in the offing then?”

Bethany blushed. She glanced at her plate. “We’ve talked about it, but nothing is definite yet. Peter—my brother—says he’ll make the arrangements.”

Of course he will and no doubt move himself right in with an excuse of easing the transition or helping her with her new responsibilities while all along, he and Jamie would be indulging in passion’s embrace behind closed doors. Bethany would be none the wiser, especially if she became pregnant shortly after the ceremony.

Charlotte’s respect for Jamie faltered even as her mind was gripped with thoughts of just how Jamie would accomplish that feat. She’d thought he had a good head on his shoulders, thought he’d be at least honest about his affairs. Unbidden, the words from Ravenhurst sprang to mind.
What matters is seeing him properly trained to inherit the title and all of its demands.
Would the marquess expect Jamie to conduct himself in this very manner? Of course he would.

She huffed. Men were such a bother at times.

“Jamie, how does your uncle feel about this proposed match?” Charlotte cut her remaining ham steak into small, bite-sized pieces though her appetite had fled, especially now that
he’d
be the topic of discussion.

Bethany’s eyes rounded. “We shouldn’t discuss the
marquess.” The tendons in her neck worked with a hard swallow. “He’s already taken Jamie to task this morning. It would seem the gossips are correct.”

This time Charlotte snorted. “It’s not gossip. To my way of thinking, the man is afflicted of a bad mood all the time.
Why is he grumpy today?”

Jamie rolled his eyes. “I accidentally broke a vase in the drawing room by bumping into it late last night. Apparently, the trinket had been in the family for generations.” He shrugged. “An apology wasn’t enough, so I was made to endure a two minute tirade before he took himself off.”

“Ah. I see.” Perhaps the marquess had been right about Jamie’s lack of respect. She took a sip of tea while ignoring the girl and pinned Jamie with a glare. “I’m curious about your sudden impending nuptials, Jamie.”

He shrugged, his expression neutral. “I’ve mentioned the situation to him. He told me to do what I must in order to appear above reproach. My reputation needs to be sterling once I take the title.”

“
If
you take it,” she reminded him. “Your uncle is youngish yet, and from the looks of things, still vital.” She fought off a blush as she remembered how his hard body had felt against hers or how warm and commanding his lips had been those heart-stopping seconds when he’d forgotten himself and returned her impromptu kiss.

“Oh please, do you really think Ravenhurst will tolerate a woman long enough to wed her and get her with child?”

“Stranger things have happened,” Charlotte defended. “Suppose he meets someone soon. If he’s well and truly enamored with her and falls madly in love, he can be married within six months.” Why she felt compelled to defend the boorish man, she couldn’t fathom. “Sooner if he’s truly motivated.”

Jamie’s hazel eyes went
cold. “The man is a beast. He’s better off alone.” He waved a hand in dismissal. “No woman has wanted him thus far. He’ll die alone, and of his own fault and choosing.”

“No matter how unsavory a person is, they are still capable of love—giving or receiving it.” Except, the
marquess might just be the exception to that rule.

“
He’s ever so attractive. Perhaps Charlotte is correct. He may yet find a match.” Bethany sipped her tea.

“Not my uncle.” Jamie narrowed his eyes
, and then an expression of disbelief crossed his face. A smile curved his lips and gave life to his boyish face. “Don’t tell me you think
you
can tame the savage beast, Charlotte. I thought you had more common sense than that. At least self-preservation.” The incredulity in his voice caused Charlotte’s stomach to quiver.

Why not? It could be a challenge full of adventure and excitement—not that she wanted to take up such a thing at the moment.
“I don’t know what I think of him at this moment, other than he’s aggravating and quite stubborn.” And rude. And stormy. And slightly mysterious. And definitely had a story to tell…

Bugger it.
Maybe she did.

Jamie chuckled and brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. “If anyone could manage him, it would be you, Charlotte.”

She frowned. “What does that mean?”

“Just what I said. In this instance, perhaps your penchant for bossing would be just the thing in this situation.”

Before Charlotte could respond, Bethany cut in. “Oh, did you meet the marquess?” Wonder hung on her question as she set her teacup in its saucer with a decided clink.

“I did, Miss Starkton. Last night.” Charlotte refused to spill the details on what transpired in the maze as it was hers alone to ponder. Her lips tingled from the fleeting remembrance of the kiss. “I also met Jamie’s mother, although briefly.” That one gave her chills of foreboding.

“Lucky girl. For all of Jamie’s fawning over me, I have yet to meet any member of his family. His mother refuses to acknowledge we might make a match, and as for the marquess, well, as soon as there might be a hint of a meeting between him and any member of the party, he scurries away as if the hounds of hell were after him.” Bethany pushed the food around her plate with her fork. “When will you take our alliance seriously, Jamie? Not many women would willingly be put in this position.”

Jamie rolled his eyes
, all teasing lost. “I told you to be patient. Contracts need to be prepared.”

Charlotte’s jaw dropped. Perhaps the girl knew exactly what transpired after all. Wanting to head off what could be an ugly argument, she cleared her throat. “Tell me about your uncle. Why does he work so hard at being dark and brooding?” Even now, she swore she heard his whisper in her ear or felt the warmth of his breath on her cheek. A flutter sailed through her lower belly.

Really, Charlotte, forget about such fancy. Obviously, the man is not for you.

“Ah, the problem of my loving uncle.” Jamie shoved a piece of ham into his mouth and chewed with vigor. Once he’d swallowed, he continued, “Something happened to him in Spain. He never has revealed what exactly, and if he has to acquaintances, they haven’t shared the secret. Ever since then, he refuses to be around people or act polite. The man is incapable of showing warmth or affection toward anyone.”

“Then he was more… human, for lack of a better word, before his stint in the military?”
How very odd, that in a town that seemingly thrived on secrets and gossip, no one knew or was willing to tell, what exactly happened to the marquess while in the military.

“No. For as long as I’ve known him, he’s been harsh. Some say even cruel, much like Grandfather when he was alive.” Jamie shrugged. “As long as I keep on his good side, I don’t concern myself with him. He’s shut me out too many times for either of us to bring comfort to each other.”

“How sad and somewhat depressing.” Was it the family dynamic that made Ravenhurst the way he was, or something else entirely? Had he once known a grand passion that had ended in disaster and that was why he refused to marry? Her heart raced from the mystery as well as the puzzle he represented. “How did you talk him into his house party if he detests being around people?”

He leaned back in his chair, the picture of nonchalant elegance and youth. The lock of hair fell over his brow. “Mother didn’t want the celebration in London. She doesn’t enjoy guests in the townhouse
as she likes things just so. She badgered Uncle into having it here. I don’t know why he agreed, but if she says jump, he generally does.” He frowned. “Also, I think she hopes anyone of consequence will forget I’m her son, and keeping me away from London helps.”