Chapter Thirteen
Charlotte completely lost control of her feet at the outrageous declaration Lord Beckport murmured in her ear.
“Forgive me, madam! I’m so sorry, sir, how clumsy of me!”
Her partner’s delectable mouth quirked up. He was enjoying her confusion, curse him.
She was already struggling to cope with the way he held her—lightly, but a little too close to be proper.
“Tell me,” he said, “do you as a rule tread on all the other dancers when you waltz?”
She could smell his cologne and feel the kiss of his breath stirring her hair as he spoke.
“Only when offered lewd suggestions by an unforgivable rake,” she returned.
Where his hands touched her, her body felt alive, and she sensed every movement of his muscles beneath her fingertips as he swept her through the steps with absolute precision.
“And is this, perchance, a common occurrence?”
“Wretched man. Of course it isn’t. You did that on purpose.”
“That wasn’t exactly my reason.”
Strength—and supremely masculine confidence—emanated from his every pore.
It was a wonder she wasn’t swooning, or trampling on more toes. Her heart thundered so loud she could barely hear the music.
He whirled her expertly past Mama and Aunt Flora, and she prayed she wasn’t making too much of a spectacle of herself. She mustn’t call too much attention to Rafe—but then, he should have thought about that before speaking to her with such wicked intimacy.
She tossed her head at him, then wasted an extremely superior expression behind the anonymity of her mask. If only she could think of an incisive put-down—anything to remove the smirk from those tempting lips.
She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of asking for his reason.
Instead, she said, “Is it not dangerous for you to seek me out so publicly? Or have you now completed your…er…task? Is it now known that Rafe Pomeroy, Earl of Beckport, is amongst us?”
“No. I am still Mr. Seabourne.”
Ah, so he had remained in the area. Why, then, had he not sought her out? After that kiss, she’d rather expected something more.
“Aren’t you afraid of being spotted by my mother?”
“I’d understood you persuaded her to keep silent. I assume you knew me right away, though. Or do you flutter your fan at every gentleman who casts an eye in your direction?”
Bother. She had been observing him since he claimed his dance. How irksome of him to notice.
“I was unaware I was fluttering my fan,” she said. “It wasn’t intentional, or aimed at you. I was probably swatting a fly.”
He threw back his head and made a muffled sound behind his mask. She couldn’t help but smile. His fingers pressed her waist, and he pulled her even closer, making it hard to breathe.
Unbidden, her mind strayed back to the sensual dream she’d had—except, this time, instead of Justin it was Rafe pressing his naked body against hers.
The music had to end soon. His touch was exquisite torture.
“Come outside with me afterward,” he whispered.
“I cannot.”
“Are you afraid of me?” The dark eyes behind the mask glittered at her.
“Not at all. My only fear is for my reputation. I have it on good authority that you’re a rake.”
“Not anymore. And don’t forget you already risked your reputation with that ill-advised elopement.”
“That was a mistake. For which I’ve been duly punished.”
“So you will never sin again?”
The way he said “sin” made her quiver with yearning. “I did not sin! Not the way you mean it.”
“How do I mean it?” he asked softly. “Surely, you’re too innocent to know.”
Frustration—of more than one kind—boiled up in her. The temptation to dig her fingernails into that powerfully masculine shoulder until he yelped was hard to resist. As was the urge to run her hands over the flesh exposed by his Greek tunic. His feet and ankles were bare. Heavens. Was he wearing anything under that tunic?
A lump of anticipation lodged in her throat, and she had to cough several times before she was able to say, “The dance is ending now, so make your bow and let us part.”
“Will you come outside?”
“No.”
“Later, then, in your garden. I’ll wait for you by the laurel bushes.”
He was not a man who gave up easily. But what exactly did he want with her?
“I shan’t come,” she assured him.
“If you don’t,” he said, releasing her slowly, “you’ll never know the answer to your question.”
What question? He couldn’t read her mind, could he?
Before she could collect her scattered thoughts, he bowed to her, strode off through the crowd, and was quickly lost from view.
She wafted back toward her friends, barely aware of where she was going. A few moments later, she found herself in a seat—with no particular memory of having sat down—not only fanning herself vigorously, but being fanned by others.
“Oh my goodness, who was that gentleman?” asked Thea. “Did he speak to you? What did he say?”
“Charlotte, are you in need of the salts?” inquired Hester.
“Or a sip of nostrum?” Aunt Flora suggested helpfully.
Thank heaven Mama was out of the room—she’d have read the situation in the blink of an eye. She still might, if Charlotte didn’t make a gargantuan effort to pull herself together.
“No, thank you,” she said. “Please don’t fret about me. I’m a little discomfited by the crush, but I’ll be fine directly.”
“Had you better sit out the next few dances?” Aunt Flora asked.
“Well, maybe a couple.”
“But don’t renege on our host,” Hester advised. “It would be frightfully rude.”
“Where did he mark your card?” Aunt Flora queried, taking her wrist and perusing the little rectangle of ivory. “You’re not due to stand up with him for a good half hour. Plenty of time to cool down and eat. There’s a very good peppered ham on the buffet table.”
“I don’t see Lord Culverdale about,” declared Thea. “But Lady Culverdale is dancing over there.”
“He’s probably at cards or smoking a cigar on the terrace or drinking port,” said Hester. “A proper host would never leave his own ball.”
“I’m sure he won’t let Charlotte down. Ah, here comes Lucinda with some of the ham,” said Aunt Flora.
When Charlotte’s turn about the floor with the Earl of Culverdale finally came, it could not have been more different from her dance with Rafe. Their host arrived just after the music started, so they had to force their way into the crowd of dancers and try to catch up. Culverdale’s hands were chilled, and he was out of breath before they even began the dance. Which might have accounted for the fact that he didn’t engage her in conversation—which, as patron of the ball, he might be expected to do.
It brought a wry grin to her face to think how warm she’d felt in Rafe’s arms, compared with how cold she felt in Lord Culverdale’s. She hoped, for the sake of his wife, that he didn’t have some torpor of the blood. Whereas Rafe had felt stunningly alive and full of vigor, this man gave off as much vibrant energy as a cadaver in a tomb.
Another irksome fact was that his shoes were depositing a gritty substance on the dance floor. Her silk slippers crunched on something like salt, or more likely, sand. How could he have come across sand in the middle of Dorchester, unless he’d taken a moonlit gallop to the nearest beach? But she really didn’t care what he might or might not have been up to.
She’d rather think about Rafe’s invitation. Should she go to him? He’d be taking a risk coming to her house tonight. Why put himself in danger? Perhaps the danger was now past and he wanted to let her know.
Even so, they really shouldn’t meet. Not after Mama’s unequivocal veto. Besides, Charlotte fully expected to be exhausted from the night’s exertions, wanting nothing more than to collapse into bed.
Rafe was a presumptuous rake, undeserving of her worry. It would serve him right if he waited outside the cottage for hours and was chilled to the marrow. That would be his own fault, not hers.
He’d promised her nothing, given her no good reason to want to see him. He’d only teased and taunted her, and made lewd remarks. What did it matter if he was bravely hunting down felons instead of living an aristocratic life of ease? That made no difference to her.
She’d be wise not to meet with him.
She must find him immediately and tell him categorically not to come.
She scanned the crowded ballroom, then strode purposefully around it like a cat in search of prey. She investigated the buffet room, poked her head into the card room, and through the main entrance doors. She even went up to the balcony for a better view of all the guests. To no avail.
In fact, she hunted for him for almost half an hour.
But Rafe had completely vanished.