Chapter 16
“Did I tell you how lovely you look, Lady Cavendish?” Lord Kersey asked as he handed her into his curricle. The sleek vehicle, drawn by a team of smart matched bays, looked new.
“I believe you said we were beyond Lady Cavendish and Lord Kersey since Almack’s.” Charlotte arched a brow at him as he climbed in and took the ribbons.
He glanced at her sharply, then started the horses. “I did say that, but as you never seemed comfortable with that level of intimacy, and because we have not had a private moment in three months, I thought to err on the side of caution.” He looked at her with a wry smile. “You do look lovely, Charlotte.”
His words and warm tone sent a thrill coursing through her. “Thank you, Alan. You too are looking extremely well.”
“I thought of you often while I worked at Kersey.” He frowned. “Although usually I thought of the tableau I stumbled upon of you and Wrotham.” His voice grew cool. “Are you now betrothed?”
Charlotte’s heart gave a lurch and gripped her reticule. “No, we are not. He offered, but I refused him. What you saw was an accident.” She placed a hand on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “It happened as I explained that night. I did not find you in the drawing room, and when I saw a light under the library door I rushed in, expecting to find you there, and came upon Wrotham instead.” She struggled to control her voice, the vivid memory slicing through her resolve, bringing with it a warm tingle in her breasts. “I tripped and landed in his arms. Before I knew what had happened, we were kissing.”
“Very thoroughly, from my perspective.”
Charlotte’s cheeks heated, but something new in his voice made her curious. “Were you jealous?”
“Of course.” He frowned as he expertly turned the horses into Hyde Park. “I could only think that it should be me standing there with you in my arms. I had gone to see to the carriage and came back to find you otherwise engaged.”
Face now aflame, she paused, ostensibly searching the park for other acquaintances, although in truth she badly needed a moment to recover. The remembrance of that night was swift and sharp. She could feel Wrotham’s arms around her again, could smell a phantom splash of his citrusy cologne. The intensity of the memory shook her, made what she had come here to do seem almost a betrayal. A silly notion, as nothing had come of their embrace.
Thank goodness the hour was early. Only one or two people walking and one carriage in the distance. No one would see them together. If she were to shake off the shade of the Earl of Wrotham it was time to be bold.
“Have you forgotten that I never answered your question during our dance in August, Alan?”
“What question?” He looked completely blank.
Well, it had been a long month and he’d had other things on his mind.
“You asked if you should come to my bedroom later. I have an answer, if you’d like to hear it.” Lord have mercy, had she really said that? Her heart beat oddly, blood pounding in her ears.
His eyes widened and his hands tightened on the ribbons. “My, my. You are the Wicked Widow, aren’t you? I am all ears.”
Charlotte smiled, confidence returning. “If one has a reputation, one should live up to it, wouldn’t you say?”
“Indeed. That has always been my motto.” He kept glancing toward her, as though she were some new creature he’d never encountered before. His admiration made her quite giddy. Was this what being wicked felt like?
She prayed, however, he would keep his eyes less on her and more on the path. The last thing she wanted today was an accident in the curricle.
“Perhaps it should become mine as well. You can teach me all you know about being scandalous.” Was she actually saying these things to him? She had become the Wicked Widow. “Because my answer is yes. Come to my bed, Alan.”
He grinned at her, deftly turning the horses toward a lesser-driven path. In moments, they were in a more secluded part of the park than Charlotte had ever seen. But of course a rake would know all the best places for seduction. He pulled the horses to a halt and turned to her.
Grasping her hands, he peered into her face. “I scarcely think you need lessons in being scandalous at all, my lady. So why do you want me in your bed?”
His blunt question stunned her. Her head whirled until she finally blurted out, “Because I want to have passion in my life for once. My husband had no idea of the meaning of the word.”
“Hmm. I thought it might be something like that. Or laying to rest a tendre for Wrotham.” He squeezed her hand, an excited gleam in his eyes.
Shock rippled through her and her stomach clenched. For a moment, she thought she might cast up her accounts, at which point her embarrassment would be so acute she would pray for death.
“Wh . . . why would you think such a thing? I just told you I had refused him.” She pulled her hands out of his grip. Her palms had gone clammy and she rubbed them against the folds of her spencer, trying not to shake. This ride had been a mistake. The whole plan to be seduced by Lord Kersey had been a huge mistake.
“I know what I saw that night in the library, Charlotte. Passion, or the simulation of it, has been my forte for years. That little scene had the ring of truth to it.”
“No.” The denial came as quickly as she could spit out the word. “He . . . I . . . was taken unawares.”
“That is quite often the best way to elicit true passion.”
She shook her head violently, although in her heart she suspected he was right. “No. There is nothing between the earl and me.”
“Methinks ‘the lady doth protest too much.’” His voice remained calm, but he watched her with the tension of a cat at a mouse hole.
“And if I did have a tendre for him . . .” Even that much of a confession sent her heart racing. She tried to calm it and continued, although her patience with him was nearing an end. “Would that prevent you from acting on my request? Why should it matter to you? You’re a rakehell of the first water with a scandalous reputation. All I’m asking is for you to act like it.”
He threw back his head and laughed.
Charlotte wanted to crawl under the carriage just to get away from the amused wretch. She settled for straining away from him until she clung to the far edge of the seat. At the first bump, she’d likely go flying out. Then, at least, her worries would be over.
His chuckles subsided and he leaned back in the leather seat. “Regrettably, my circumstances have changed, Charlotte. When I inherited the title, I promised a dying man I would renounce my wild ways and take up the responsibilities of the earldom.” He shook his head. “I can scarce believe it when I say it. I have never cared before what people thought of me, which is why they think so little of me now.”
He stared out at the lane, a determination tightening his jaw. “So despite having made the declaration to become a better man, I find I do not wish to relinquish my status as a rake so easily. Which makes your offer quite tempting, my dear. Unfortunately, as I am trying to repair my reputation, taking you as my lover during my mourning period would scarcely qualify as reparation.”
Charlotte blew out an exasperated breath. “If we were discreet no one would have to know.”
“True. Not all my exploits became public property.” His eyes pierced her, and she squirmed in her seat. “There is, however, another solution.” He paused and grinned. “You could marry me.”
Charlotte closed her eyes and silently cursed all men. Her hand itched to slap his handsome, self-assured face. Why did marriage seem the only answer for every man she found attractive?
“I do not wish to marry again.”
“From your earlier statement, it hardly seems as if you were married the first time.” He leaned in toward her, his lips less than an inch away.
“I hardly was.” She need only lean forward and their lips would touch. “So now I want the freedom to make my own decisions about what I do, where I go, who I have in my bed. A husband would not allow that.”
“Well, naturally not the last one.” He laughed and his eyes went dark. “Not even I, dear Charlotte, would want my wife in another man’s bed.” He pressed his lips to hers.
Madness seized her. She grasped his head and pressed back, with an urgency designed to obliterate the image that came to her—Wrotham’s mouth on hers. Could the man not leave her alone?
Alan slid his tongue inside her mouth. She waited for the frenzy of desire to claim her again; however, after a few moments of him vigorously thrusting in and out, all she felt was a vague sense of disgust. It seemed too stilted, too practiced. Not at all like the intense, soul-stirring experience Lord Wrotham had given her.
She quickly broke off the kiss and peered around. Lord, if anyone had seen that wanton display she’d have little choice in the matter of marriage. There were some lines even a widow could not cross. Discretion remained the best virtue, especially as her interest in the man was fast waning.
“Will you marry me, Charlotte?” He kissed her temple and pressed her head against his shoulder.
She jerked back. “That is the exact thing Lord Wrotham asked me.”
Alan disentangled them and looked at her with raised eyebrows. “Indeed.”
“He proposed to me just after you saw us in the library.” A proposal she now found much more appealing by far.
The earl sat up straighter and collected his ribbons, though he did not start the horses.
Charlotte noted his tension and smiled to herself. “Lord Wrotham has proved a persistent suitor, with very persuasive methods.” She stared into his eyes. “Remarkably similar to yours just now.”
“Yet he has not persuaded you.”
“To marry him, no.” She glanced around. “We should perhaps return to the more-frequented areas of the park. Remember, you now have a reputation to protect.”
“I believe I will remain untarnished if we let the horses rest a few moments longer.” He looped the ribbons around the whipsocket and adjusted his position so that he faced her fully. “If he has not persuaded you to marry him, then has he persuaded you to some other action?” He drew off his driving gloves and began to tap them lightly on his thigh.
Repressing the urge to laugh, Charlotte merely shook her head. “That would have been my desire precisely. Lord Wrotham, however, is a stickler where it comes to women, even widows. He will have a wedding before a wedding night. Nothing else will do.”
“He did seem that type.” Kersey’s disgruntled tone caught her attention.
“Arguments for a marriage between Wrotham and me are sound and well thought out, I must say.” Her gaze lingered on Alan’s face. A fine straight nose above the wide mouth, his lips full, though somewhat strained at the moment. The strong chin completed his chiseled look. Attractive an hour ago, but now . . . “Our properties adjoin, I am of sufficient station for his rank, and, as I said, he can be very persuasive when it comes to the physical aspect of marriage.”
“But you said—”
She sighed. “He draws the line at the extreme of physical intimacy, although he has no compunction about kissing and caressing me, a bit more . . . energetically than we just did.”
“Huh.”
“An arousing experience, to say the least.” Wrotham had aroused her instantly in the library and on the veranda, and on the staircase in the church, if truth be known. “I fear that if he attempts to persuade me one more time, I am liable to be so carried away by his ardor, I will acquiesce and accept him.” God, it was true. Having tasted the likes of Kersey and Fernley, she needed no other inducement to choose Wrotham.
Alan stared at her, a tic jumping near his left eye. “Even though you do not wish to marry? Can you not find another man who will warm your bed without requiring matrimony as the price?”
She stared directly into his eyes. “That seems to be rather hard to do these days.”
He growled and snared her hand, holding it still against the warmth of his leg. “You will consider him as husband but not me? For the first time I need a wife, Charlotte, not a mistress.”
She winced at the word, though it was only the truth. “Indeed nothing seems to exist in-between. There is no way to enjoy one another fully without the need for more.”
“What if you find you want more?”
The question took her completely by surprise. She hadn’t contemplated the possibility of wanting more of him. Wanting marriage. She’d thought no further than the initial passionate conquest. Could she propose the same thing to Lord Wrotham? The notion tantalized her. Now that Alan was hell-bent on marriage as well, she’d need to find another man with whom to tryst, or choose between the two she’d already approached. And between the two, Wrotham held many more charms than Kersey.
If Wrotham had not already begun to woo Georgina. The thought acted like a dash of cold water in her face.
“Then the morning after I would accept your proposal and be happy.” The words came automatically, as Charlotte fought to bring her focus back to the man beside her.
But the wind had shifted.
Faced with the choice between Wrotham, Kersey, or the other few men she’d met at the end of the Season, there was no choice really. If truth be told, she’d known before she came to London who she desired and hadn’t wanted to admit it. Hadn’t wanted to acknowledge that she might want to give up her freedom for another man. She could fool herself no longer. She had no more longing for Lord Kersey than she had had for Lord Fernley. A shiver went through her. She would consult Georgina as soon as she arrived home. If Lord Wrotham were still free, she would see if she could persuade him anew. If not...
Alan unwound the ribbons and clucked to the bays. They stepped out, prancing into a trot as they raced back to find a few more vehicles had joined them. Charlotte nodded to several acquaintances, though they did not stop until the horses drew up in front of Theale’s town house. A groom came up to hold them and Alan handed her down the steps.
“How long are you in London?” he asked, holding her waist lightly.
“Almost no time.” She hastened to make that clear. She wanted no more calls from the Earl of Kersey. “Less than a week, I’m afraid. They have had to push back the harvest because the crops are so poor from the cold and wet. But I am determined to be there for my first ingathering as mistress of Lyttlefield.” The thought filled her with a sense of purpose and contentment. Her fields.
“I am likewise engaged with the business of the earldom for the next several weeks. I will be visiting all my properties, using London as a base.” He paused, as if thinking, calculating. “Will you be in London or Kent by the middle of October?”
“In Kent assuredly, for the harvest and celebration afterward. I don’t plan to return to London until the middle of the Season.”
“That is right, you mentioned in the library that your second house party would be held at about that time. I hope I am invited this time.” His lascivious grin set her teeth on edge.
Lord, she’d forgotten that bit of madness, born on the spur of a very dangerous moment. “Yes, so good of you to remember.” She forced herself to continue. “It would be lovely if you could attend.” She’d almost rather have a repeat of the Fernley performance.
“I will look forward to it with the utmost anticipation. By the end of the party I hope we will be able to reach an understanding.” He licked his lips. “I will be counting the days until I see you again. Think of me, will you?”
He kissed her hand, lingering over it so long she had to repress the urge to squirm. With a bow, he climbed up and took the ribbons. A quick shake set the team to their paces. As soon as the curricle turned the corner, she wiped her hand on her skirt and strode into the house.
Tomorrow she’d return to Kent and seek out the Earl of Wrotham. One way or the other, she would make the man declare himself. A wave of dizziness made her grab the newel post as she remembered the last time he had done so. After all that kissing, her legs had been so weak the library wall couldn’t hold her up. Oh, to be kissed that way again. Very well, this time they would come to an accord, even if it meant relinquishing her hard-earned freedom.