What Not to Bare: A Loveswept Historical Romance (16 page)

She didn’t pay much attention, however, until her mother and Mr. Goddard starting gossiping; of course, Lord David’s name came up.

“My brother would not tell me what caused his return, just that it was sudden. And then that widow, what is her name? She has returned also.”

“Lady Radnor,” Charlotte murmured.

“Yes, Lady Radnor. Of course it seems unlikely they wouldn’t have known each other there, and she is so beautiful—even if she is a widow—that one wonders just what might happen over the next few months.” Her mother nodded as though she had inside knowledge of the situation, which Charlotte knew for a fact she did not. And why would being a widow affect her beauty, one way or the other?

Sometimes her mother just confused her.

“It seems to me that the lady in question—Radnor, you say?—should be staying at home, as is proper for someone in her situation, rather than attending events. It is unfortunate she does not have a male to guide her in her choices.”

“Because he died, which makes her a widow in the first place. Therefore making her in need of guidance,” Charlotte pointed out.

Neither her mother nor Mr. Goddard seemed impressed with her logic.

“I cannot bear when a lady gets herself talked about, as this one has,” Mr. Goddard said in his most priggish way. “A lady should be unnoticed for her actions. Paid attention to just by virtue of being unnoticed.”

“Oxymoronic,” Charlotte pronounced in a loud voice, making both her mother
and Mr. Goddard turn to look at her. Neither of them seemed to know the word.

She spoke again. “Oxymoronic. Something that is a contradiction by virtue of itself. Like a lady being noticed for not being noticed.”

“You are so clever, dear,” her mother said in a murmur that indicated being clever was not something to be valued.

“Nevertheless, the lady would do well to keep herself from scandal. Nobody wishes to be associated with a lady who would get herself talked about.” His face had gotten redder, as though a scandalous lady was the worst thing that could happen to anybody.

“Unless she were being talked about because …,” Charlotte began to say, only to realize that continuing the conversation would be fruitless. Although it gave her an idea, something she would have to think about to see if she could actually do it.

It would make her mother angry, but at least she wouldn’t have to even entertain the possibility of marrying Mr. Goddard.

The rest of the dinner passed without any more interesting conversation, at least as far as Charlotte could tell, which was good, since her mind was preoccupied with Cook’s fish course, David’s hands, and her future.

Not in that order.

The thing he should absolutely not do is cause scandal of any kind.

So why was he once again spending time—alone—with Lady Charlotte?

At least this time it was merely on yet another terrace. This one belonged to the Chilcotts, a family that had made its fortune in somewhat dubious ways, but they at least had a fortune, so they were tolerated.

For their entertainment, at least; thus far, only one eligible Chilcott had wed, to the third-in-line heir for a viscountcy.

Which meant that, like the Davenhams, the parties they hosted were elegant and well-provided to an extreme. David had come to all this knowledge within moments of arriving, as he was warned not to pay particular attention to any of the Chilcott ladies or he’d find himself betrothed by the time the party was complete.

He appreciated the warning, but he had no intention of betrothing himself to anyone. The possibility of not returning to continue his life’s work—thanks to the combined efforts of Lord Bradford and Louise—made him even more cognizant that he had to remain out of anything that would require him to stay in England or would cause him to lose his position in India.

So again, he had to ask himself: Why was he out on the terrace with Lady Charlotte? “Please, Lord David, can you escort me outside to take the air? I find it far too crowded here.” Oh, that was right. She had simply asked, and he had been far too bemused by her, and what she was wearing, to deny it.

“Are you feeling better, my lady?” he asked. “The air is not too cold?”

She smiled up at him, a knowing smile that said
Just yesterday you took my gown off and ran your hands over my body while we kissed
.

Or perhaps he was just hoping she was thinking that when she smiled.

“I am excellent. Especially now that I’m out of that stuffy ballroom.” He’d noticed she’d hardly lacked for partners this evening—a fact that should have pleased him.

Her gown for the evening was, of course, just as, well, just as abominable as all the other things he’d seen her in. He wasn’t quite certain what the main color was, just that he doubted it could be found in nature. It was definitely an unnatural color.

But the gentlemen asking her to dance were apparently willing to overlook that. And of course he wanted her to shed her abominable nickname when the world realized she was just an Original. But he wasn’t pleased.

In fact, he’d felt what he thought might be jealousy—not that he’d ever felt the emotion before.

But watching her dance with men other than him, men on whom she bestowed that delicious smile, men who got to hold what he knew now was a stunning, curvaceous figure, made him react in an unpleasant way.

It must be jealousy.

In fact, since he was acknowledging things to himself, he should admit that all he wanted to do was strip her naked and answer any and all questions she had.

That she was here, fully clothed, was not pleasant.

That he was supposed to not pay her attention any longer was also not pleasant.

That he had these feelings at all was the most not-pleasant thing of all.

The unpleasantness churned inside, twisting and growing until it felt as though he were going to explode.

His words burst forth before he could consider their impact. “You’ll have to excuse me, Lady Charlotte. I need to leave, and I should escort you back to your mother. I cannot do this any longer.”

Her expression looked as though he’d slapped her. Which he had, metaphorically.

“Of course,” she replied. Her voice was deadened.

He held his arm out to her, and she just stared, lowering her head to gaze at the ground. She didn’t move.

Her next words were pitched low, carrying an intensity that pierced him in the gut. “You should not have been so kind before. Not if you didn’t mean it. Not if you meant to—” She stopped abruptly, as though her words were choking her.

They were choking him, that was for certain.

He felt like an absolute scoundrel. First he’d told her that her uncle had required
him to pay attention to her, then she’d said she’d like to continue the acquaintance, and now, well, now he seemed to be changing his mind.

When he wasn’t changing his mind at all. He was … damn it, he had no clue what he was doing. Obviously.

What must she think of him?

She raised her head as though she were about to march into battle, and began to walk, very quickly, back into the ballroom. “Are you a liar, or do you just like to toy with women to see what you can get away with?” Her voice shook. She still wasn’t looking at him.

But at least he knew what she was thinking.

“I’m not,” he answered.

She spun to face him, her hands clenched into fists at her side. “Not a liar, or not toying with me? Either way, you are not a gentleman. Or perhaps you are, since you no longer wish to cavort with me.” She flung the word “cavort” at him like an accusation. She lowered her voice, but her tone was still furious. She stepped close so she could speak directly into his face. “I would have understood if you had told me about my uncle, and then allowed me to go, but you—you … I trusted you,” she said, flinging her arm out at him and dashing back into the ballroom.

David stood, frozen, knowing he had just acted on emotion, on fear, from panic.

And he had hurt her terribly.

He truly was a gauche-mat.

And now
he
hurt as well.

***

She must have left the ball as soon as she had reentered the room. He looked everywhere, but he could say that with certainty that she was not there, since all the ladies in attendance were reasonably dressed.

A few people tried to speak to him, and a handful of young ladies shot him significant glances, but he couldn’t concentrate on anything but figuring out what he would say to her. If she would speak to him again.

“Lord David,” Lord Bradford greeted him, slapping him on the back with a pronounced thump. “Excellent to see you. I was hoping I would run into you.”

“Of course. Good to see you as well,” David replied, still scanning the crowd for a view of Charlotte, even though he knew she wasn’t there.

“I wanted to tell you that there is no need for you to continue your assignment.” Lord Bradford inclined his head in a significant way. “My sister assures me the gentleman is prepared to make an offer, and my niece could do worse.”

High praise indeed. “Ah. Of course.” Worse compared to what?

Lord Bradford continued to talk, but David didn’t hear any of it. Not only had he just horribly insulted her, now he had no reason to pursue her even to make an explanation.

Wonderful. Perhaps he should just go home and ask Gotam to kick him in the head as well.

***

It took her only a few minutes to make her escape from the Chilcotts’. Now that she was practically betrothed, her mother was far more easygoing about leaving an event that might include an actual unmarried bachelor.

The prospect of being the EB had never seemed so alluring.

They settled into the coach, her mother talking about who was there, what everyone was wearing, and the like. The usual. Added in were a few coy mentions of Mr. Goddard.

And she was abjectly miserable.

She shouldn’t be. After all, David hadn’t made her any promises. He’d just undressed her, and kissed her, and touched her, and made her feel like she was a lovely woman. Just that.

And admitted to her that she was an object of pity, but then implied he didn’t pity her in the least.

So at least she knew he still didn’t pity her, because if he did, he wouldn’t have dropped her so abruptly.

On second thought, she had every reason to be abjectly miserable, so she was going to be. Albeit quietly, since she didn’t want her mother asking her questions about why she was so distraught.

“Charlotte, are you even listening?”

Why was it that she only heard it when her mother asked her that? “Pardon, no, I must have been woolgathering.” When she wasn’t gathering thoughts about how she wanted to squirm and die from embarrassment.

“I was saying that Mr. Goddard asked me about taking you for a drive tomorrow. I knew that you had no other engagement, so I told him to arrive at three o’clock.”

“Fine,” Charlotte said listlessly. If she were going to be abjectly miserable, she might as well be abjectly miserable around Mr. Goddard.

Maybe she would be so abjectly miserable he would think she had a wasting disease and wouldn’t want to marry her? One could always hope.

“And I want you to wear something reasonable.”

She was about to open her mouth to repeat “Fine,” when she recalled what Anne had said about choice, about things that ladies got to decide.

“That I won’t do,” she said in a quiet but firm tone. She turned her head to look into her mother’s eyes. “Isn’t it enough that I have to be told who to speak or not speak to, who to dance or not dance with, when I can go out of doors and who I can go with?” Her voice trembled, for the second time that evening. “Just once, I wish there was one day when I could do precisely what I wanted to, see exactly whom I wished to see, and not have anyone tell me I was being unreasonable. In my clothing, in my behavior, in my questions.”

There was a long silence in the carriage.

Her mother reached out and patted her hand. “Well. I see you are not feeling yourself, my dear. We will be home soon.”

She was feeling entirely herself, but her mother didn’t comprehend her enough to understand that. Her mother loved her, certainly, but as for understanding?

No. That was as unreasonable an expectation as wanting her to dress like every other female.

***

“Are you certain, my lady?” Sarah asked, squinting as she viewed Charlotte’s carriage outfit.

“Absolutely,” Charlotte replied, smoothing one of the ruffled layers of the gown. “I didn’t realize it was possible to get all of these colors together in one fabric. The dressmaker had to order it especially.”

“I’m sure she did,” Sarah responded in an acerbic tone. The maid sighed, then straightened one of Charlotte’s innumerable ribbons.

Despite not having slept much the previous evening, Charlotte thought she looked fairly well. Or perhaps that was just the brightness of the gown putting a reflective flush in her cheeks. In any case, no one would guess that she had spent half the night thinking of things she would like to do to David (negative things) and an almost equal amount of time thinking of things she would like to do to David (positive things).

She at last settled on getting him completely engrossed in the kissing and disrobing activities, only to then tell him just what she thought of him. He was a male, after all, so it shouldn’t be that difficult to lure him in to touch him. Especially if she made certain to undistract him with the removal in her clothing.

But what did she think of him? She was wavering between thinking he was a mercurial dilettante and a selfish, arrogant rascal. Once she figured out precisely what she thought, she would be able to set her plan in motion.

She and Sarah heard the door swing open downstairs at the same time. Both sighed. Likely Sarah was just appalled Charlotte was going out looking like that, while she was absolutely not looking forward to her ride in the carriage with Mr. Goddard.

Or to more stories of how he was endeavoring to quell whatever spark and life his offspring had.

“I had best go down before Mother sends him up here to find me,” Charlotte said, picking up her shawl from the bed where Sarah had put it. Or tossed it; she did not think highly of the shawl, whereas Charlotte thought it was wonderfully cunning.

Plus, if she ever forgot how to waltz, she could just refer to her shawl for instruction. If she ignored the sections with the shrubbery. And the rabbits.

***

Wrapping the shawl tight around her shoulders, she descended the stairs, trying not to heave an audible sigh when she saw Mr. Goddard and her mother waiting at the bottom. An inaudible sigh was inevitable.

“Ah, Charlotte, look who is here,” her mother said, as though Charlotte couldn’t see with her own eyes who was standing next to her.

Now on top of thinking she was completely unmarriageable and desperate, her mother thought she was blind.

“How do you do, Mr. Goddard?” Charlotte held her hand out to him, happy she was wearing gloves. Unlike other men, or one man in particular, she knew Mr. Goddard would not attempt to remove them. This way, he couldn’t actually touch her skin.

“Excellent, Lady Charlotte. Are you ready? My carriage awaits,” he said, swinging his hand wide to indicate the carriage presumably waiting outside.

Which would have been a lot more impressive if Bennett hadn’t shut the door.

“Yes, of course.”

Bennett opened the door again to let them out, Charlotte wishing the ride were done already. Thankfully, it was a pleasant day out, not so cold she would be chilled, but not so warm she would have to remove her shawl. The less skin exposed, the better.

“I will take excellent care of your daughter,” Mr. Goddard said to her mother, as though she were a pet, or some other entity equally incapable of taking care of herself.

Well, she had earlier compared herself to a dog, so perhaps the comparison was apt.

He helped her up into the carriage and hoisted himself up onto the seat beside her. She could not help noticing the carriage listed considerably as he swung himself up; he definitely was a large gentleman. He might want to consider the parrot diet for himself.

He took the reins from his tiger, who leapt onto the back. They set off with an abrupt jerk—the motion of the carriage, not its driver—that flung Charlotte’s back against the seat.

This was not David’s smooth driving. Not that she would have noticed if David had piddled along or driven at a breakneck clip; she’d been too engrossed in conversing
with him.

She did not think that would be the case this afternoon.

“How do you find London, Lady Charlotte?” Mr. Goddard asked as they neared the park.

With a map
, she wanted to reply, but kept herself in check. It would not do to make him aware of just how against his courtship she was. “I find it enjoyable. I like visiting the bookshop, and the parties, and the museu—”