Chapter Sixteen
“Well, girls, I do hope you’re satisfied. Nothing else would do but Lady Elliott’s ball tonight, and now we’re obliged to stand elbow to elbow with every scoundrel in London.” Lady Chase’s irritated flush had turned her cheeks the same dull red as her turban. “I can’t think what’s come over Lady Elliott, assembling such a debauched company. Why, just look! Naught but rogues and demi-reps, as far as the eye can see. Thank goodness Hyacinth was too ill to attend.”
Charlotte followed Lady Chase’s outraged glare to a particularly noisy swarm of said rogues, who were strutting about with puffed chests for the amusement of three demi-reps who stood in the center of the fracas, yawning delicately into their white gloves. She grinned as Lady Annabel looked over the shoulder of a dandy in a canary-colored coat, caught her eye, and winked.
Those ladies weren’t demi-reps—that is, not strictly speaking. They were wicked widows.
Rap! Lady Chase’s fan came down on her wrist. “What do you mean by grinning at them like that, Lady Hadley? Why, you’ll encourage them to come speak to us!”
“Would that be so terrible?” Iris turned pleading eyes on Lady Chase. “They’re so elegant. May Charlotte not introduce us?”
“Certainly not! If I’d known Lady Elliott would invite such low company, I would never have permitted you to set foot through the door.” Lady Chase pointed one gnarled, shaking finger at the wicked widows. “Those three are bad enough, but wherever they go that Lord Demon follows.”
“Who’s Lord Demon?” Violet’s brow furrowed. “I’ve never heard of him. What an unfortunate name.”
“Ah, I believe you mean Lord Devon.” Charlotte smiled at Violet behind Lady Chase’s back. “Isn’t that right, my lady?”
Lady Chase pursed her lips. “Demon, Devon. What’s the difference? I won’t introduce the likes of him to my granddaughters any more than I’d let a fox into a henhouse filled to the rafters with remarkably foolish hens.”
“Oh, Lord Devon! Of course.” Violet turned wide, innocent blue eyes on her elder sister. “Iris thinks he’s terribly handsome, don’t you, Iris?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Iris flapped her fan over suddenly pink cheeks. “I never said any such thing about Lord Demon—that is, Lord Devon.”
“Never mind that, girls,” Lady Chase snapped. “Now, Lady Hadley, I’ll have your word, if you please, that we won’t be overrun with demi-reps and demonic lords tonight.”
“Of course, my lady. You needn’t worry.” About the demi-reps, anyway. The widows would no doubt be more entertaining company than an irascible old lady and three chaste debutantes, but for the first time in months Charlotte wasn’t interested in a scandalous romp. She’d declined Annabel’s offer of a place in her carriage this evening and accepted a place with Lady Chase instead.
The demonic lord, however, was another matter. She must see Devon tonight—at once, before she changed her mind again.
Devon, then Julian.
A tiny bubble of emotion rose in her breast, buoyant, familiar even, though as yet still just an echo of another, sweeter emotion, one she’d believed gone forever.
She thought it must be…hope.
She hadn’t gone into the house after Julian dropped her at Grosvenor Square this afternoon. She’d slipped into the garden instead, anxious to avoid Sarah’s penetrating gaze until she could piece together some explanation for what had happened with Julian in that carriage.
Those chits, at Lady Chase’s picnic today… When they’d cut her, she’d been on the edge of collapse. Not from shame—the ton had done their best to shame her since she arrived in London, but she wasn’t ashamed of doing what she needed to do to survive.
From fear. Fear they’d all see the scars and the ugliness hidden under the Marchioness of Hadley’s glittering mask. Fear they’d see her for who she truly was—a woman who’s coldness had driven her husband to his death.
The nightmare, where she had no place left to hide, no place left to go became frighteningly real today. But she couldn’t hide forever. There weren’t enough whorehouses in all of London to hide her from herself.
And Julian…
I saw your face when they all turned their backs on you. Damn it, I saw you.
How had he known? How could he have found her shivering with fear under her mask when she wanted so desperately to hide, even from herself?
He’d been so tender with her today, so passionate. Even now her heart ached to think of how he’d clasped her face in his hands, his eyes dark and soft, just as she remembered them. With one touch he’d made her believe hiding might be, after all, so much harder than simply being found.
She’d wanted to give him everything then, but when she’d taken his hand and brought it to her lips… He’d looked so strange. He’d drawn away from her, and she didn’t know why, or how to close the distance between them. Even now she couldn’t puzzle out what had happened in that moment.
Only Julian knew.
But as she sat in the quiet garden with the sun warm on her face, growing drunk and sleepy on the heavy, sweet scent of roses, the truth drifted over her, no less certain for all that it came softly, as if on the wings of the butterflies sipping nectar from the blooming carpet of sweet alyssum at her feet.
It didn’t matter why.
It mattered only that he’d saved her today. Not just from Miss Fowler and Miss Wolverton and that passel of spiteful chits determined to deal her a set down, but from someone far more insidious, far more dangerous—someone she’d despaired of ever escaping.
Herself.
For months Ellie and Cam had tried to help her. Her mother, her brothers, Lily, and Delia—they’d all begged her to come to Bellwood, promised to look after her, to take care of her, but it was only Julian who’d seen her, into her and through her. It was Julian who’d torn the mask free at last. Julian, the only man who’d ever held her heart in his hands.
Her breath caught on a sob too deep to make a sound.
His hands, his mouth on her skin, his whispered pleas to look at him, to feel him, to never hide again—he’d worked the truth out of her with his touch, and it would no more go back inside her than a bird will return to the solitary prison of its cage once it’s spread its wings in the open sky. She couldn’t pretend anymore.
Tonight she’d find Julian and tell him she would accompany her family to Bellwood tomorrow, even as her heart throbbed with dread at the idea of giving up London’s vices and distractions. Bellwood was so quiet and still, just like Hadley House.
She drew a deep breath and forced her skipping heart to calm. She’d already sent a note to Ellie to expect her tomorrow morning, and Sarah was in Grosvenor Square at this moment, packing her things. She would go. She wouldn’t disappoint her sister now, and God knew it was time—
“Oh, dear.” Violet drew close to mutter in Charlotte’s ear. “I’m afraid your demonic lord is headed this way, Charlotte.”
“Is he?” Iris rose to her tiptoes to see over the bobbing heads of the crowd. “Yes, just there! My goodness. He’s not a gentleman one overlooks in a crowd, is he?”
“He’s not a gentleman at all.” Violet looked from Devon to Charlotte and bit her lip. “And you needn’t sound so pleased to see him coming, Iris. Grandmamma is going to have an apoplexy. You’d better go and meet him, Charlotte, before you’re forced to introduce him to us.”
“Yes, perhaps that would be best.” Charlotte gathered her skirts in her hand, but before she could stir a step, Iris’s fingers clamped down on her arm like a vise.
“Nonsense, Violet. How rude you are. He can’t be as wicked as everyone says he is.” Iris raised an eyebrow at Charlotte. “Can he?”
Violet snorted. “I think you hope he’s every bit as wicked as they say, and worse too.”
Charlotte studied Iris’s flushed cheeks and bright eyes and hid a smile. More than one innocent debutante had fallen victim to the heady combination of Devon’s angelic looks and sinful reputation. “I don’t believe a word of the gossip about him, if that’s what you’re asking. He’s never been anything but kind to me.”
Iris couldn’t quite suppress a yearning sigh as they watched Devon approach, and Charlotte could hardly blame her. His severe black evening coat complimented his golden good looks, and his tight black breeches emphasized his long, muscular legs. He caught sight of Charlotte’s gaze on him and a surprisingly boyish, lopsided smile lit his face.
This time even Violet sighed. “Oh, my.”
Charlotte smiled back at him, but her heart gave a sharp, regretful tug in her chest. He’d been a true friend to her, and now she’d repay his loyalty by hurting him.
Violet and Iris stared at him with wide eyes, and Lady Chase began to sputter with rage as soon as she caught sight of him, but Devon didn’t notice. He joined them and took Charlotte’s hands in his. “Lady Hadley. I’ve found you at last. As always, you look lovely this evening.”
“Lady Hadley!” Lady Chase hissed. “You gave me your word!”
Charlotte gave her an apologetic grimace. She could hardly refuse to introduce Devon now. “Yes, ah, that is—Lady Chase, may I present Lord Devon?”
“Lady Chase.” Devon sketched an elegant bow. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, madam. I know you by reputation, of course.”
Lady Chase fixed him with a freezing glare. “I know the same of you, sir, I’m sorry to say, and you look even more devious than I was led to believe. Well, you may look elsewhere for your hens tonight.”
Devon let out a startled laugh. “I beg your pardon?”
Charlotte jumped into the fray before Lady Chase could make the situation worse with a reply. “Miss Somerset and Miss Violet, my lord.”
“My lord.” Iris dipped into an eager curtsey.
“Miss Somerset.” He raised her hand to his lips, then turned and bowed to Violet. “And Miss Violet. A pleasure. Now, Lady Hadley. May I take you for a stroll in the garden?”
Charlotte smiled and placed her hand into his gloved palm. “Yes, please. It’s quite warm in here, is it not?”
“Exceedingly.” Iris fanned herself with vigorous strokes, her feverish gaze on Devon.
Violet tittered, Iris glared at her, and Lady Chase’s face flushed ominously at the idea of Charlotte walking alone in a dark garden with a notorious rogue. Charlotte, who knew an impending explosion when she saw one, began to hurry Devon away. “I’ll find you again before supper, my lady.”
“See that you do, Lady Hadley. And you, sir,” she barked at Devon. “Take care you keep in mind what I said about the hens!”
“Hens?” Devon looked down at Charlotte, a smile tugging at his lips. “Good God. Who is that poor, mad old creature?”
Charlotte returned his grin. “Family. Her two eldest granddaughters are married to my brothers. Despite appearances tonight, she’s actually quite sane.”
“Really, my lady, you do have a most unfortunate family.”
She let him lead her through the open French doors and out onto the terrace. She lifted her face and let the cool breeze waft over her heated cheeks. “Beautiful night.”
Devon didn’t take his eyes off her. “Yes. Beautiful, indeed.”
Charlotte’s breath hitched in her throat. Months ago he’d asked her a question, and finally, last night, she’d told him yes. Now, only one night later, she was going to take her answer back. Devon would never hurt her, she knew that, but he wasn’t the kind of man one trifled with, just the same. If she meant to disappoint him, she’d best do it at once. “I can smell the roses from here.” She took his arm. “Shall we walk?”
Blue heat flared in his eyes. “Are you certain you wish to stroll through a dark garden with me, my lady? I’m not quite as debauched as the ton likes to believe. I’m capable of waiting, as long as I’m not…unduly tempted.”
Charlotte offered him a wan smile. “I only want to speak to you. Privately.”
“Ah, well. That sounds far less intriguing than what I had in mind.” He smiled, but Charlotte saw the sudden uncertainty in his eyes. “I’m at your service, my lady.”
He let her lead him down the terrace steps and onto a dim pathway that led to the outer edge of the garden, away from the small knot of guests gathered around the fountain where the pathways converged at the center. Neither of them spoke. The only sound was the muted crunch of Devon’s footsteps on the gravel pathway and the faint rustle of Charlotte’s silk skirts in the breeze. As they ventured farther into the garden the light from the terrace faded, until only the starlight illuminated the pathway at their feet.
Charlotte tilted her chin to look into the dark night sky. Gardens, dark nights filled with stars—the most poignant moments of her life had taken place in gardens just like this one. That night with Julian—oh, it felt like a lifetime ago she’d lured him into a midnight garden and let him kiss her under the spreading branches of an ancient oak tree. The moment his lips touched hers, she’d known she’d never be the same again—
“You’ve changed your mind.” There was no accusation in Devon’s voice, no fury, but no question, either.
Charlotte closed her eyes. She’d accepted Hadley’s proposal in her mother’s garden, and Devon’s last night in Annabel’s garden, the scent of flowers heavy in the air, and she’d been so sure, when his mouth closed over hers, so sure…
But she’d been another person then. A person who pretended, a person who hid from herself. She drew a long, deep breath into her lungs. “Yes.”
His fingers flexed around hers for a brief moment; then he nodded. “I thought you might.”
He hadn’t been as sure as she’d been. The thought made her heart clench in her chest, because wasn’t this more proof of how well he knew her? Even better than she knew herself.
Damn it. A tear gathered in the corner of her eye and spilled onto her cheek, but she ignored it and continued to stare into the night sky. Damn it, it wasn’t fair—to Devon or to her, because it would be so much easier if she could simply love Devon. So much easier than it was to love Julian.
Devon stepped toward her and brushed the tear from her cheek. “Look at me.” He took her gently by the shoulders and turned her to face him. “You don’t have to love me, Charlotte. We’re friends, and we understand each other. We could have a good marriage, even without love, and perhaps in time—”
“No. I told myself that once before, Devon, when I married Hadley. You can’t imagine how much it hurts—” Her words were swallowed by a choking gasp.
To wish you could love someone, and to see how much it hurts them when you can’t.
This time the tears came too quickly for Devon to wipe them away.
But he tried. “Don’t cry.” His hands were gentle against her cheeks as he caught her tears on his fingertips. “Hush.” He cradled the back of her head and eased her forward so her face was buried against his chest, and he smelled so good, of brandy and something clean, earthy, like a cedar wood after a new snow fall, before any footprints marred the pure white.
So good, but so wrong.
“I’m your friend, Charlotte, and I care for you.” He drew back and tipped her chin up so he could look into her face. “No matter what happens. You know that, don’t you?”
She gripped his upper arms, her fingers digging into the fine cloth of his coat. “I do know it. I can’t imagine how I could have gotten through these months without you, Devon. You’re my friend too, and you’re very dear to me.”
He was silent for a moment. “But it’s not enough, is it? For either of us.”
She held his gaze and slowly shook her head. “No. And you can’t imagine how much I wish it was.” Even now she wanted nothing more than to lay her head back against his broad chest and let him soothe the terrible ache in her heart.
He smiled, but even with only the starlight to illuminate his face she could see it cost him an effort. He gazed down at her for a moment, then took her face in his hands and leaned forward to press a sweet, chaste kiss to her forehead. “I wish it, too.”
She covered his hands with hers and squeezed. If only—
“Well, Lady Hadley.” A voice shattered the quiet around them. “You do know how to take advantage of a dark garden, don’t you?”
Charlotte leapt away from Devon’s embrace as if a whip had cracked between them. Devon let her go, but he stepped in front of her. “Good evening, Captain West.”
Julian noticed Devon’s protective instinct and his mouth twisted. “Good? For you, perhaps. Not so much for me, but then I’ve already had my moment with Lady Hadley in the garden. I took better advantage of it than you have, Devon.”
Charlotte’s mouth filled with bile at the hateful words. “That’s enough, Julian.”
His eyes were black, glittering with anger and pain. Charlotte’s heart plummeted into her stomach and froze there, hard and cold as a stone, trapped and throbbing feebly. When would she learn? A woman like her didn’t deserve a hero. She didn’t deserve to be saved. That awful scene in Lady Chase’s garden this afternoon—that wasn’t her punishment.
This was.
Devon growled low in his throat and took a menacing step toward Julian, but Charlotte had just enough presence of mind left to catch Devon’s arm to stop him. Julian’s gaze darted to the place where her hand touched Devon; then he raised his gaze to hers.
Charlotte shivered as a cold smile drifted across his lips, then vanished. “Enough? Oh, no—I don’t think so, my lady. We’ve just begun.”