What Not to Bare: A Loveswept Historical Romance (8 page)

He blinked slowly. At least he wasn’t lecturing her.

“My dear Lady Charlotte, parrots are a useful obsession.” He paused as she absorbed his comment. “And,” he said, casting a quick glance at her gown, “I can see
how your obsession has affected your own choices.”

She would have laughed if Lord David had made the same observation, but it wasn’t humorous coming from Mr. Goddard.

“Yes, well, I am wondering if you have thought about a parrot’s diet. They eat seeds, fruits, nuts; things of that nature. I am considering going on an all-parrot diet, just to see what it would be like.”

Now he wasn’t even blinking. Just staring.

Good.

“Is that what young ladies are doing to reduce these days?” Again, that quick glance down at her figure. He did not just imply that she was … Did he? “It is admirable that you would wish to adopt a parrot’s way of eating for that.”

He did imply it. If she hadn’t been close to disliking him already, this would take him over the top in her esteem. Or under the bottom, depending on how she was measuring the esteem in question.

In either case, she didn’t like him.

And she definitely did not wish to be courted by him, much less to marry him.

She’d rather marry a parrot. Then, at least, she could compliment her partner on his garb and not be hypocritical.

David had never felt so … 
unbalanced
before. Could a kiss, one simple kiss with a young lady of questionable taste, so unhinge him?

Apparently so. He removed his coat, tossing it onto the bed, and yanked his cravat free from around his neck.

He felt—
shackled
. It wasn’t just her. It was this, this return to London, now knowing Louise was out there somewhere, just waiting to pounce.

He couldn’t blame her. She was a lovely widow with flexible morals, and her late husband had been married previously, and had children from that marriage, so who knew how much money he’d left her? If she could easily snag someone to take care of her, why wouldn’t she?

It was just that he wished it wasn’t him she was intent on snagging.

And that kiss. His mind—and other parts of him—kept thinking about it, reliving it, and he almost felt as though he’d never really kissed anyone before.

Such a soft, lovely mouth.

“You’re home early.” Gotam settled the hot water onto the dresser and turned to face David. “Did you not have a good time?”

“I did.” And an odd time, as well. But he wasn’t going to admit, even to his best friend, that a simple kiss had so unnerved him. “Can you ask the carriage round for one o’clock? I am taking a young lady for a drive.”

Gotam cocked that damn eyebrow. And not even about the coat. “A young lady? Anyone in particular?”

David unbuttoned his shirt and drew it over his head, tossing it onto his friend’s head. “Of course a particular young lady. Do you think I’d be asking a random young lady for a drive?”

Silence.

David sighed and rolled his eyes. “Lady Charlotte.”

“The one they call the Abomination?”

David tamped down the desire to punch his friend’s face. It wasn’t Ox’s fault, after all, she’d been given that nickname. He was just irked it had reached as far as Gotam, who was neither in Society, nor even British.

“Yes. That one.”

“Is
she
the one you’re supposed to court?” Gotam didn’t wait for David’s reply, he just flung his head back and laughed.

“Shut up, already.” He wondered if he could find who’d given Charlotte her nickname—to him, she was Charlotte now, not Lady Charlotte; a kiss would remove that formality—and figure out how, diplomatically of course, to ruin the man’s life.

That would be an assignment he would relish.

“It’s small wonder, then, that Lord Bradford needs someone with your … 
skills
to pay attention to her. No mere mortal would do.”

He might have to punch his best friend after all. Messenger or no, the man was crossing some line David hadn’t even known he’d drawn.

Gotam finally stopped chuckling and picked up David’s razor. Maybe he’d realized David was considering damaging his face?

No, he was just on his way to shaving him, as he did most nights. David was too grouchy in the morning to tolerate Gotam’s ministrations, so he always shaved him at night.

“Sit.” Gotam put his hand on David’s shoulder and steered him to the chair in front of the dresser. He unfolded a towel and wrapped it around David’s neck. “What is the lady like?” He frowned at the razor, setting it back down on the dresser and picking up the lathering soap instead. He dipped it into the hot water and began to rub his hands together.

“She’s—” Gotam started applying the lather. David kept quiet as Gotam worked close to his mouth—he’d once gotten a mouth full of lather, and it was not pleasant.

“What?”

She’s blunt, and honest, and witty, and surprisingly attractive
. But those were not the kinds of things a gentleman would say to another gentleman, no matter how close the friendship between the two. “She’s interesting.”

Gotam paused, little bubbles of soap floating around his dark face. “Interesting?
In a good way or a bad way?”

David thought. “Both.”

Gotam shook his head and continued lathering David’s face. “You are in trouble, my friend.”

He was, wasn’t he?

And the problem was, he thought he liked it.

***

He called at her house precisely at one o’clock the following day. He’d spent the morning going over his papers, compiling some final reports on the last negotiations he’d undertaken before scandal had taken him under. It put him in a foul mood, recalling how useful, how purposeful he’d felt there, before his own stupid behavior had gotten him—not to mention Gotam—exiled from his home.

He had managed to put the kiss almost out of his mind. Almost. But his assignment remained, no matter how much he did or did not enjoy it. And what perhaps rankled the most was that he knew, deep down, he was enjoying it, no matter how much he chafed against it.

“Good afternoon, Lady Jepstow,” he said to Charlotte’s mother as he was led into the receiving salon. He handed his hat to the butler and glanced around the room.

It was tastefully appointed in shades of gold and green, so he knew Charlotte had had nothing to do with its decoration. In fact, it was almost blandly nice, a description that was as far from fitting Charlotte as he could imagine.

“So, my lord, you are taking my girl driving today?” Lady Jepstow said. “She will be down shortly. She is just”—she paused and seemed to shudder—“getting dressed. Please,” she said, gesturing to the sofa, “sit down.” She perched herself on a chair arranged perpendicular to the sofa.

David found himself grinning in anticipation as he sat. What horrible concoction would she grace him with today? “Your daughter will be in excellent hands, my lady.” He leaned back against the sofa until he recalled that British gentlemen did not lounge here as they did in India, and straightened up again. “My brother, James, the marquess,
has lent me his phaeton while I am in residence at his house. He assures me it is most comfortable.”

Lady Jepstow’s eyes widened. “A phaeton! Does that mean there is no room for Charlotte’s lady’s maid?” She began to shake her head. “Oh, no, I cannot allow Charlotte to go out without her maid. What would people say?”

Precisely what your brother is hoping they will say: that attention is being paid to her by the very handsome Lord David Marchston, so we should pay attention to her, too
.

“I would think they would say there is nothing wrong with a lovely lady taking a drive in full daylight with a gentleman in an open carriage. If you wish to cancel the outing …” He let the thought dangle there, with all its implications—that Charlotte would be passing up a chance to be seen with him, that David might think Lady Jepstow old-fashioned (and therefore old), that her daughter might miss the chance to meet more eligible gentlemen—and saw when her resolve crumbled.

“Very well. But, please, do keep the drive to half an hour and stay in the park.” She waved her finger at him, almost flirtatiously. “I know how gentlemen are when they are with a young lady.”

“Certainly, my lady,” David replied, wishing it weren’t so easy to get people to do what he wanted. Of course, if it were less easy to get people to do what he wanted, he wouldn’t be nearly as good at his position.

The door opened as Lady Jepstow beamed at him and David frantically tried to think of things to say. Charlotte walked in, and for a moment, David couldn’t see anything but her. Or, rather, her clothing.

Which was not a good thing.

She wore a bright-blue gown stamped with enormous red and green flowers. In addition, her bright-blue hat was festooned with several feathers, each a different color. Folded over her arm was a jacket made of the same fabric as the gown, only with a green background and enormous red and blue flowers.

He hoped he didn’t make a noise, because if he had, it would not have been a pleasant one.

“Good afternoon, Lord David,” she said. He lifted his gaze from scrutinizing a particularly aggressive bloom and met her eyes. Thankfully, they were the same brown
shade they had been last time he saw her. At least she couldn’t alter her own coloring.

“I have been chiding Lord David about taking you out without your maid,” Lady Jepstow said in a sprightly voice. “He tells me there is not enough room in his carriage for her. So mind you behave with the utmost caution, my dear,” she added.

If only one could give clothing a similar warning, David thought.

“Of course. I hardly think Lord David will be incautious,” Charlotte said, with a quick, shy glance at him.

His mind immediately returned to that kiss, and he kept his eyes locked with hers for a moment past propriety. He was rewarded by the sight of her cheeks flooding with color, nearly as bright as the flowers on her gown.

“Shall we?” David said, gesturing toward the door. Charlotte nodded and slid her jacket on, her maid seeming to wince as she helped her with the sleeves. He couldn’t blame the woman.

David followed Charlotte out the door, staring at the nape of her neck rather than anything else. Her skin, at least, was the same shade everywhere.

The sun shone, albeit weakly, through the thin clouds, and David helped Charlotte up into the carriage, a stray yellow feather poking him in the nose. He leapt up beside her and took the reins from the post boy.

“A half hour, mind,” Lady Jepstow said, shading her eyes with one hand while she waved with the other. David wasn’t sure which was more blinding—the sun or Charlotte’s outfit.

They set off for the park, David tilting his head to one side to avoid another feather mishap.

“Thank you for the drive, Lord David,” Charlotte said. She sounded hesitant, not her usual direct self. Was it the kiss?

“You are welcome. I wanted to take my brother’s horses out. I don’t drive a phaeton in India.” The pair of horses were matched in color as well as in stride—the same brown as her eyes, he thought. Only he didn’t think he would mention that to her.
Your eyes, they are the same color as these horses’ hides
. Gauche-mat, indeed.

“What do you drive when you are at home?” she asked. She sounded more like her usual self, now that she was asking questions. But, so help him, if she tilted her head
in her questioning way, she might poke his eye out with another one of those feathers.

“Nothing at all, actually. In India, we—that is, the British people in residence there—travel by litter. With men carrying it,” he explained.

“Even the larger gentlemen? Don’t the men complain?”

“They probably mutter things under their breath, but they do get paid.”

“You’re answering a question! This is a remarkable day, Lord David,” she said.

He kept his eyes directly ahead of him. “That’s because I am not distracted by your remarkable clothing, Lady Charlotte,” he said in a dry tone of voice. “I have to keep my focus on what lies ahead, not what is sitting beside me.”

She laughed, that delicious low, throaty laugh that did dangerous things to him. “This outfit is one of my favorites.” She twisted her head to look at him. Thankfully, the feather missed his eye. “I wasn’t sure about it, but when Sarah threatened to quit, I just knew I had to.” She laughed again.

He risked a glance at her. “Sarah is your maid?”

She nodded. “Yes, poor thing. I think I’ll have to leave her money in my will, because she will never be able to get another position after having worked for me.”

David found himself chuckling. A rarity—he was usually so good at hiding all his emotions, except when necessary for the task at hand. She made him laugh in spite of himself.

“Speaking of clothing,” she said, again in that oddly hesitant voice. “Would you mind giving me your opinion?”

“Of your clothing? I loathe it,” David responded quickly. He felt her stiffen beside him. Damn, he had gone too far, hadn’t he? He reached out and touched her gloved hand with one of his. “I apologize. ‘Loathe’ is too strong a word. It is the oddest thing, Lady Charlotte. I find I lose my words, or choose entirely wrong ones, when I am in your presence.” He squeezed her hand to make his point.

“Thank you?” she offered.

He felt the tightness in his chest ease. “Thank you. I am supposed to be good with language, and yet …” He shook his head.

“And yet you find yourself rendered speechless when you encounter me?” she finished.

He grinned and returned his hand to the reins. “Precisely. I am the tongue-tied diplomat with you, as oxymoronic as that sounds.”

“Oxymor—?”

“Oxymoronic. Something that is in itself opposite.”

“Such as the married bachelor? Or the discreet gossip?” She looked into his eyes and smiled, presumably so he’d know it didn’t hurt. “Perhaps the well-dressed Abomination?”

His lips thinned. “I regret that someone gave you that horrible nickname.”

She shrugged. “It is appropriate. Loath though I am to admit it,” she added, a sly tone in her voice.

He couldn’t help it, he laughed again. In addition to being one of the most outlandishly dressed women he’d ever met, she was also one of the cleverest.

“I am sorry. My opinion? What do you need?”

“Actually, it is clothing. Not mine, but I wish to get my friend Emma—Miss Clarkson, you met her when we first met—a gift, and I am not trusting my own taste. What color would suit her best?”

David leaned back in the seat, slowing the horses as they entered the park. “What are you planning on buying? If it is a fan or a handkerchief, I would suggest something that would go with other things in her wardrobe.” He cleared his throat. “That is, what most people would think would go with other things in her wardrobe. A cream or another neutral hue.”

She was silent as she considered. “So not poppy red? I had been thinking of a red shawl I’d seen at the shop.”

He shuddered in mock agony. “Only if you wish everyone to wake up, since your blond friend will look like a rooster in that color.”

She chuckled and nudged him with her shoulder. “Wake up,” she repeated. “Like a rooster does. You are quite clever, Lord David.”

Her words warmed him. When was the last time a woman had complimented his wit and not his looks? Of course, she’d done that as well, but it seemed she saw beyond his face and appreciated his mind.

Just as he appreciated her despite her clothing. Again, he thought of the kiss, and
he wished they weren’t out in public with all of Society parading about. He wanted to draw her into his arms and kiss her senseless. Even if most people likely already thought her senseless from her clothing.