Chapter Twelve
It pleased Lady Tallant to call her evening party a rout, but Annabel wasn’t a typical London hostess, and her routs weren’t the predictable, mannerly affairs characteristic of respectable members of the ton. There would be cards—there were always cards—but no genteel conversation and no music, at least no music that could be heard above the din. There may or may not be a supper, but there would be enough champagne on offer to overflow the banks of the Thames. A drawing-room was not sufficiently large for such a riot of people, so guests were ushered into a ballroom ablaze with light, aside from a few corners and alcoves that would remain conveniently dim throughout the evening.
In truth, it wasn’t so much a rout as a mêlée. A handy thing, a mêlée. Charlotte had two purposes tonight, and a mêlée would do well for both.
“Good God, what a tumult. I’ve seen calmer battlefields.”
Or not. What good was a mêlée if one couldn’t disappear into it? She glanced up into Julian’s face, then down to his fingers wrapped firmly around her upper arm. She’d thought to shed him easily in this crush, but he hadn’t taken his eyes or his hand off her since they’d set foot in Annabel’s ballroom.
“I did warn you this wasn’t your kind of party, Captain. It will only grow more debauched as the evening progresses. Perhaps you should leave now, before it deteriorates further.”
As if to prove her point, Lord Ambrose sauntered by at that moment with a woman in a masque whose prominent décolletage proclaimed beyond a shadow of a doubt she was not Lady Ambrose.
Julian raised an eyebrow at them as they passed. “And miss all this? I think not. Unless you find yourself fatigued, Lady Hadley? If so, I’ll happily escort you back to Grosvenor Square.”
“That won’t be necessary. I’m not at all fatigued—”
Then again, perhaps she was fatigued. So fatigued he should take her home at once. It would be a rather neat way to get rid of him. Then she could come back on her own and find Devon. “That is, I do have a bit of a headache. Perhaps you should take me back to Grosvenor Square.”
“Grosvenor Square? Nonsense! We’ve only just found you.” The widows came up behind them and Lissie linked her arm with Charlotte’s. “Such a crush! Why do you invite so many people, Annabel? If I didn’t know better I could swear I just saw Lord Ambrose pass by.”
Annabel shrugged. “I don’t invite them. They just come. But I did invite you, Charlotte, and you, Captain West, and I shall take it very ill indeed if you leave my party before you’ve even had a glass of champagne.”
Aurelie snapped her fingers and a footman appeared out of nowhere, his silver tray rattling with full glasses of champagne. Lissie took one and drained it at once. “Thank goodness. I’m parched. How did you do that, Aurelie? I’ve been trying to secure a glass for an age.”
Aurelie smiled. “I’m French. It’s champagne. C’est tout.”
“Now we’ve had a glass together, I will ask Captain West to escort me home.” Charlotte raised a feeble hand to her forehead. “Forgive me, Annabel, but I have a dreadful headache.”
Aurelie patted her hand. “You only need more champagne, ma chèrie. It cures the headache, you see.”
“The headache and whatever else ails you.” Lissie snagged a second glass of champagne from the footman’s tray. “After a few more glasses I won’t even notice the pain in my toes, I’m sure.”
“Have you a pain, darling?” Annabel asked.
“Yes. My slippers are too tight.”
“My dear,” Aurelie protested. “Champagne does not cure tight slippers.”
“Indeed it does. Enough champagne, and one doesn’t care anymore how much they pinch.”
Annabel laughed and retrieved two more glasses from the footman. “Now, my dear Charlotte. Perhaps some quiet would help? I’m sure Captain West would be delighted to escort you to the library. You can have a brief rest, then return once your headache has passed. Here. Take some champagne with you.”
Dispatched to the library with Julian and champagne? How subtle. For pity’s sake, it was one thing for her friends to invite him tonight, but quite another to hold her neck between his jaws. She glared at them, but they only blinked innocently back at her.
“Oh, very well.” Charlotte snatched the glass of champagne from Annabel. “Must you drag me along behind you like an animal with a carcass, Captain? Or am I permitted to take your arm?”
Lissie snickered. “Why, Charlotte, I do believe you’re feeling better already.”
Wretched, wretched widows.
Then again, the library wasn’t far from the card room, and Devon had said he’d wait for her there. She only had to reach him, to tell him—
“Lady Hadley?” Julian loosened his grip on her elbow and held out his arm. “I await your pleasure.”
“Indeed? I was under the impression my pleasure was the least of your concerns.”
He drew her arm through his and wound his way through the crush of bodies. The noise of the crowd faded as they approached the private wing of the house, then vanished abruptly as he closed the library door behind them. “And I was under the impression your pleasure is your only concern, and so I need not consider it at all.”
Her pleasure. It had been so long since she’d taken pleasure in anything she couldn’t recall the last time…
A sudden, sharp pang in her chest brought her to a halt in the middle of the library.
Dear God.
The last time she’d felt real happiness had been with him—with Julian, before she discovered he’d lied to her, before he’d left London and her life had fallen apart. A year…no, longer than that. So much time, and she’d had to drag herself through every day of it, every moment, to force herself to endure it.
She gasped around the panic crowding into her throat. She couldn’t keep on like this, couldn’t keep struggling—
“You look pale, Lady Hadley. Perhaps you’d better take your friends’ advice and lie down.”
Charlotte sank onto the nearest settee before her knees could give out beneath her. “Just for a moment.”
Julian cursed under his breath, strode over to the sideboard, and sloshed some amber liquid into a glass. “Here.” He pressed the glass into her hand. “Drink this. It’s more bracing than champagne.”
“Thank you.” Charlotte took the glass but avoided his gaze, focusing instead on the cold fireplace. If she looked at him now, he’d see the truth in her face, and God knew what he’d do then, how he’d use it against her—
“Devon will not give you up easily.”
Charlotte gulped at her brandy, coughed. He wanted to discuss Devon?
“No. He won’t. I suppose you asked him to?”
He sank down on the settee next to her. “No. I didn’t ask. I demanded.”
She smiled a little at that. Devon wasn’t the type of man who responded well to demands.
“He’s quite your champion,” Julian went on. “He told me it was an insult to you to suggest he could simply find another widow to replace you; then he accused me of treating you like a pair of Hoby boots, or something equally foolish.”
So Julian ordered Devon to quit her, and Devon refused. Dear Devon. If she hadn’t had ample reason to trust him before, she did now.
Julian scowled at her. “He said you’re irreplaceable. That there’s no other woman like you.”
Charlotte shrugged. She wasn’t about to peel back the complicated layers of her relationship with Devon for Julian’s inspection.
“Why?”
“Why?” Charlotte stared down into her glass. “Why what?”
Julian leaned forward, took her chin between his fingers, and turned her face to his. “Look at me. Why should he say that? He wants you as his lover, yes, but it’s more than that. This isn’t some casual flirtation between you. He knows you. He knows you well enough to want you. Not just anyone—not just any woman. You.”
Charlotte stared at him, baffled. “Of course he knows me. Do you think I’d trust a man I didn’t know, Captain? One who didn’t know me?”
“How well does he know you?”
She jerked her chin from his grasp. “I don’t—”
“Your marriage. Hadley’s death. The difficulties with your family. The reason you won’t leave London. Does he know I was your lover before you married Hadley? How much does he know?”
She took another sip of brandy. “More than anyone else does.”
“Damn it. Can you explain to me why you’d tell Devon your secrets when you won’t confide in your own sister? Your family?”
Because Ellie and Cam would try to fix it, to fix her, and she couldn’t be fixed. Hadley was dead, and there was an end to it. No resolution—no way to mend it. It simply was. Devon knew it. He didn’t try to resurrect the dead. He didn’t pretend it was anything other than what it was.
He didn’t try to make her pretend.
When she didn’t answer, Julian shot to his feet to pace the carpet in front of her. “Well? Can you explain it?”
Enough. “I don’t think, Captain,” she said, biting off each word, “I owe you an explanation about anything.”
Julian skidded to a halt in front of her, his hands clenched into fists. “You damn well owe somebody some bloody explanation. My God. Cam is at his wit’s end and Ellie is nearly ill with worry over you, and you choose to share your secrets with Devon? To share your body with him? Devon, a scandalous rake, a man all of London believes to be a murderer—”
This time it was Charlotte’s turn to leap to her feet. “Don’t you dare repeat that vile rumor in my presence. Devon’s no murderer.” That he should be accused of hastening his brother’s death even while all of London pitied her as a bereaved widow—the irony of it made her stomach heave with bitterness.
Julian closed in on her until the back of her knees touched the settee, and still he moved closer, so close she could feel the heat coming in waves off his body. “I see you’re his champion, just as he is yours.”
She raised her chin. “You sound surprised, Captain. I’m unfailingly loyal. Or don’t you remember it that way?”
“Devon isn’t a man you should trust. You’re deceived in his character.” His voice softened, and he brushed the backs of his knuckles over her cheekbone. “He’s going to hurt you, Charlotte.”
She shivered at the unexpected caress. “If he does, then so be it.”
His dark eyes flashed. “You’ll do nothing to save yourself? Nothing to prevent your own ruin?”
“It’s too late, Captain.” She tried to laugh, but the sound that escaped her lips was filled with sadness. “It’s done. There’s nothing left to ruin, and nothing left to save.”
His body went rigid. “How can you say that?” His hand drifted from her cheek down her neck to her arm. His warm fingers closed around her wrist, and he pulled her against his chest. “Tell me what’s wrong, Charlotte. You’ve trusted Devon with your secrets. Can’t you trust me, as well?”
She tried to pull back, away from the seductive warmth of his body, but he wrapped his arm gently around her waist to still her. “Why should I? Because he’s a scandalous rake, and you’re a hero?”
He pressed his open mouth to her temple. “No. Because I can help you get what you need.”
How? Beyond this day, this moment, she didn’t know herself what she needed.
He couldn’t help her, but even so she let her eyes drift closed. It had been so long since she’d been held in a man’s arms, since she’d been touched at all. She’d been afraid to let anyone touch her, even Devon, lest she break apart.
Julian’s mouth moved over her face, leaving a trail of damp, hot kisses—the corners of her lips, the vulnerable skin behind her ear, and the curve of her jaw. “Why won’t you leave London, Charlotte? Do you stay for Devon, or is there something else that keeps you here?”
Charlotte’s heart began to beat a wild tattoo against her ribs. Somehow, her hands landed on his chest, and she hooked her fingers into his waistcoat to steady herself. His lips were so soft against her skin. Had they always been this soft? “I have to stay here, because…”
Because I can’t be there.
“Yes?” His lips brushed her neck. “Why do you have to stay here?”
Ah, she couldn’t think with his mouth on her. The past came rushing back, memories of Julian whispering to her just like this, his lips so sweet, and his tongue painting pictures on her skin.
“Tell me how to help you, Charlotte,” he murmured against her ear. His tongue darted out to taste her earlobe.
The whimper trapped in her lungs surged to her lips. Oh dear God, she wanted to tell him, to unburden herself, but she couldn’t, could she? There was a reason not to trust him, but she couldn’t quite remember.…
“It’s all right, sweet.” His hand found the arch of her back and he urged her against him, so her legs were between his, his hips pressed tightly to hers. “I want to help you.”
No, he didn’t…did he?
His lips were hot, his hands like fire as he stroked her body. His mouth became more urgent, his teeth scraping gently against her throat. “Please let me help you, Charlotte.”
He wants to make me leave London.
His other hand slid from her waist up her ribcage, palms hot and heavy against the deep blue silk of her gown. He stroked his fingertips under her breasts. “I can’t help you until you tell me the truth, sweetheart.”
He wants to send me back to Bellwood, to Hampshire.
A choked sob tore from her throat.
He touched his thumb to her lower lip. “Open your mouth for me, Charlotte.” His lips hovered over hers. “Tell me.”
If I tell him, he’ll leave me, and I’ll be alone again, alone with the ghosts and the terrible, crushing guilt.
She wrenched herself free from his arms and backed away from him.
He stood there, stunned, his arms still held out in front of him as if he didn’t quite believe she was gone. “Charlotte.” He dropped his arms to his sides and started toward her.
“No.” She threw her hand up in front of her to keep him away and retreated another step, toward the closed door. “Don’t touch me again. Don’t come near me.”
He didn’t approach, but edged closer to the door. “I have to come near you eventually, sweetheart, to escort you back to the ballroom.”
“I’ll find my own way back.”
He shook his head, his gaze never leaving her face. “No, I don’t think you will. I don’t think you know how to find your way back anymore.”
His eyes were so dark, nearly black, and if for a fleeting moment she thought she saw a flicker of the old light there, it was nothing more than wishful thinking. “Even if I couldn’t find my way out of this library, I wouldn’t accept your help.”
He was quiet for a moment, then “Why?”
“Why? Because instead of the ballroom I’d find myself back at Bellwood, or even worse, Hadley House. Do you think I don’t know what you’re doing, Captain? Such a novel idea, to try and seduce my secrets from me. Pity it didn’t work.”
His face closed, and his eyes went cold. “Forgive me, my lady.” He swept her a mocking bow. “But it seemed to be working when you were whimpering and clutching at my waistcoat.”
Fury and embarrassment made heat surge into Charlotte’s cheeks. “A whimper, yes, but nary a secret.”
His gaze swept over her, lingering at her mouth. “Not yet.”
“Not yet? Not ever. You’ll not wring another whimper from me.”
“We’ll see.” He paused, his dark eyes burning. “You still want me. I could feel you tremble for me.”
“Every debutante in London may sigh in vain over you, Captain, but I’m no innocent maiden. I know how to find my pleasures elsewhere.”
His face went as hard as stone. “You want me, but you’ll take Devon instead. Is that it?”
“I don’t want you, Captain West. I want Julian, and he no longer exists.”
She wasn’t prepared for his reaction. He flinched as if she’d hit him, but then his face went so dark with pain she could no longer bear to look at him. She hastened to the door. If she could make it as far as the foyer she could lose him in the crowd—
“What’s your hurry, my lady?” He came up behind her and pressed his warm body into hers, his hands flat against the door so his arms were on either side of her head. He buried his face in the loose curls that had escaped her chignon, and she felt his lips in her hair. “Off to find Devon even now?”
She would not whimper. She would not—
He nuzzled his face into the back of her neck and drew in a long, deep breath. “You smell of sweet lemons, just as I remember. I remember everything, Charlotte.”
She fought the urge to lay her head back against his chest, to bare her neck to his mouth. “Release me, Captain.”
A low groan rumbled in his chest, but after a long moment he backed away, and Charlotte pressed her hands flat against the door to steady herself.
His hand brushed her hip as he reached around her to open the door. “Shall we go find your friends?” He didn’t wait for a response, but caught her hand and pulled it through his crooked arm.
Charlotte gritted her teeth as he led her toward the ballroom, away from the cardroom and back to the widows, who’d spend the rest of the evening seeing to it she never left Julian’s side. She had to find a way—
“Oh, Lady Hadley! How lovely to see you!”
“Lady Avery.” Charlotte disguised her impatience with a smile and a polite curtsey. Lady Avery was kind enough, but she was a dullard, and she never ceased talking—
A dullard who never ceased talking. Of course.
Charlotte sent up a quick prayer of thanks to whatever entity made Lady Avery cross her path just when she needed her most. “My lady, may I have the pleasure of introducing Captain West? Captain Julian West, that is, of the 10th Royal Hussars, lately back in London from serving with the Army of Occupation in Paris. Surely you’ve read about him?” Poor Lady Avery would need every detail available in order to connect the man in front of her to the stories of heroism in the newspapers.
“Captain West?” Lady Avery gave her a blank look. Charlotte held her breath as the woman’s eyes slowly widened. “Oh, that Captain West! How wonderful!”
God bless you, dear Lady Avery. You’ve done it.
“Yes, indeed, the very one. My dear Lady Avery, I know what a patriot you are. You must have a thousand questions for Captain West, and he does so love to talk about his heroism on the battlefield!”
Julian gave her a fierce scowl as she withdrew her arm from his, but there was nothing he could do but make his bow to Lady Avery. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady—”
“Mrs. Barrington!” Lady Avery shrieked. She beckoned to a lady in an orange turban on the other side of the entryway. “Oh, Mrs. Barrington, do come and meet Captain West! Yes, of course you must bring Lady Euston with you!”
Julian tried to disguise his horror as two plain-faced matrons, one of them in a dreadful puce-colored gown hurried across the entryway toward them. Charlotte let out a low laugh. “Heroism truly is its own reward, Captain. Do enjoy the rest of your evening. I know I will.”
He made a grab for her, but she skipped nimbly out of his reach. “You won’t get away from me so easily,” he muttered through gritted teeth.
“Don’t be silly, Captain. I already have.”
“Think carefully, Lady Hadley. I will find you, and when I do—”
Charlotte didn’t bother to stay and hear the rest of his threat. She waved cheerfully at him, then turned and flew down the hallway like a bird who’s unexpectedly found the door to its cage thrown wide open.
A few hurried steps brought her to the entrance of the cardroom. She craned her neck to scan the room, her heart pounding. Where was Devon? She wouldn’t have a second chance to escape Julian.
Ah, there. As always, Devon was just where he’d promised he’d be. She breathed a sigh of relief as she watched the tall, golden-haired figure detach himself from a crowd of gentlemen hunched over a table scattered with discarded cards and piles of coins, and make his way across the room toward her, a lazy smile on his exquisite lips.
And just like that, she made up her mind. She would accept him.
She didn’t love him. Her belly didn’t leap with anticipation when she saw him. Her heart didn’t pound with joy when he smiled at her, but he was her friend, and for all his wicked, scandalous ways, she cared for him. What’s more, she trusted him.
A sad little smile twisted her lips. How ironic that she should feel safer with a scoundrel than with London’s most celebrated hero.
“My lady.” Devon took her hands in his. “You’re smiling. Are you having a pleasant evening, then?”
Charlotte shook her head, but her smile widened. “No, not yet, but I have hopes I soon shall be. May I have a private word with you, my lord? I’ve something important to tell you.”
Devon seemed to understand at once she’d come to a decision. He stiffened for a moment as he searched her face, but whatever he saw pleased him, for his blue eyes darkened and a sensual smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “Of course. Would you care to take a stroll in the garden?”
“I would, my lord.” Charlotte laid a hand on his arm. “I would, indeed.”