Seducing Charlotte Page 6

  “If I have any hope of being noticed, I would be wise to stand as far away from you as possible,” Charlotte said. “You are so impossibly lovely that everyone pales in comparison.”

  “Nonsense, I’m growing as big as a carriage.” She paused. “Charlotte, what happened with Cam the other evening?”

  Heat stung Charlotte’s cheeks at the memory of Camryn’s public cut. “I’ve no idea. We only spoke briefly before dinner. I have not and will not give it another thought.” But she had of course. She’d been terribly wounded and confused by his public slight, and coming from Camryn, it had been that much more painful.

  “It is so unlike Cam,” said Willa. “He is usually all that is agreeable. I’ve never seen him treat a lady in such a manner.”

  “Apparently, I rouse his disagreeable side,” she said tartly, reaching for her wrap. “At least I am unlikely to see him this evening.”

  Willa coughed delicately. “Why ever would you presume that?”

  “He rarely comes out in Society. I see no reason for him to attend this evening’s crush.”

  “Perhaps.” She surveyed Charlotte’s appearance again. “You truly look wonderful. Let us go then, shall we? Hart is waiting.”

  The Fulsome-Thrusby ball, an annual event that took place in the waning weeks of the season, traditionally drew the highest-caliber crowds. This evening was no exception, Charlotte could see as soon as they arrived. A throng of people filled the vast ballroom and adjoining public rooms. Opulent flower arrangements adorned side tables and hundreds of candles shimmered throughout the spaces.

  Hugh emerged from the crush, his girth making him look a bit sausage-like in his close-fitting formal clothes. “There you are, sister dear.” He brushed a light kiss on her cheek before turning to Willa and Hart. “Your Graces. My thanks for allowing my sister to accompany you.”

  “The pleasure is ours. Miss Livingston is delightful company,” Hartwell said as he guided Willa away. “Come dear. I think I see Mother.”

  “Bravo,” Hugh said, watching them go. “A public show of ducal support will no doubt raise the Shellborne name immeasurably in Society.”

  Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Yes, that is precisely why I am friends with Willa.”

  “My, but don’t you look pretty.” He ran an interested gaze over her gown. Although Hugh kept a tight hold of his purse strings, he’d happily agreed to fund the enhancement of Charlotte’s wardrobe once he’d learned of the duchess’s involvement. “I trust this is one of the creations Her Grace selected for you.”

  “Gad, Hughie, I cannot fathom why I allowed Willa to talk me into wearing this.” She tugged the low neckline of her dress upward, fearful that her breasts would spring free at any moment.

  “I’m certain that if the Duchess of Hartwell chose your gown, it must be all the crack.” He nudged her back. “And don’t call me Hughie. We are not in the schoolroom any longer. I’m Shellborne, if you please.”

  She shook her head in fond exasperation. She loved her brother, but he really took himself far too seriously. Moving her gaze back to the crush, she spotted Camryn making his way toward them. She froze. Surely, he wouldn’t dare approach them.

  The marquess seemed to have made an attempt to tame his hair, but the wiry, amber mane was already appealingly tousled. Beige breeches gloved his strong thighs, and his striped, silk waistcoat caught the candlelight. The tails of his double-breasted, deep purple tailcoat flapped as he strode toward them. He moved with the perfect-postured assuredness of a commander leading his troops into battle, who had no doubt victory would be his.

  “Good evening, Shellborne.” Even his tone was imperious as he shone those penetrating eyes on her. “Miss Livingston.” Her stomach flip-flopped and she averted her eyes, focusing her attention on the violet gemstone of his cravat pin glittering against the bright white neck cloth.

  Hugh beamed. “Camryn, well met.” After an awkward pause, Hugh glanced at his sister, clearly wondering why she hadn’t returned Camryn’s greeting.

  “I was hoping Miss Livingston would honor me with a dance.” The words were bold, fearless. “If you will recall, after our last waltz we agreed you would save a spot on your dance card for me.”

  Charlotte’s temper flared. It was all she could do not to slap Camryn across his smug face. How dare he approach her as though nothing had happened? After the way he’d embarrassed her, did he truly expect a calm return to civility?

  Hugh’s round face flushed with delight. “Of course, my sister will be delighted to stand up with you, Camryn.”

  “Excellent.” Camryn turned to leave. “I shall return for the next set, a waltz I believe.”

  Charlotte’s hands fisted at her sides. “Why that arrogant—”

  Hugh watched Camryn vanish into the throng before turning to give her a meaningful look. “A marquess, Charlotte. Consider the possibilities.”

  “I will not dance with him.”

  “Why ever not?” Hugh’s brow furrowed. “You are aware he is a marquess, are you not?”

  “Save your breath, Hughie. I would not dance with the Marquess of Camryn even if he were the King of England.” The words vibrated with indignation. “And no one and nothing will ever make me change my mind.”

  “You are only in town because I am acting as your chaperone.”

  “I have an abigail who accompanies me,” Charlotte said sharply, seeing the direction of his thoughts. Of course her brother wouldn’t let the opportunity Cam presented pass them by.

  “All the same, since Mother does not like town life, you are here under my direction and guidance. If you cannot act in a manner which does credit to the Livingston name, then you should return to Leicestershire without delay.”

  “Don’t be intolerable, Hughie.” She gritted her teeth. “I do not respond well to threats.”

  “You have already given the marquess a cut by not speaking when he addressed you. If you don’t have a sound reason for not dancing with him, I must insist that you do.”

  “I do have a sound reason.”

  Hugh’s eyes rounded. “Lottie, has the Marquess of Camryn insulted you? Or something worse?” He drew up his chest. “If he has, he will answer to me, by God.”

  Charlotte’s irritation gave way to a rush of amused warmth for her brother. The stout, pompous baron would be no match in any area for the formidable Marquess of Camryn. She squeezed his arm. “I am fortunate to have a brother who would go to any lengths to protect my good name, even if it meant upsetting a peer.”

  “In all seriousness, Charlotte, has he trespassed?”

  “No, of course not,” she lied. “I’ll dance with Camryn. He’s harmless enough.”

  …

  Desire bolted through Cam the minute he spotted Charlotte at the ball. She’d obviously put some effort into her appearance this evening. The sky-colored gown flattered her complexion, its cut favoring the slender lines of her body far more than the drab sacks in which she normally enshrouded herself. Her translucent eyes appeared even more brilliant than usual, mesmerizing really.

  Taking her into his arms for a waltz, he couldn’t stop noticing the lower cut of her neckline. Still modest by Ton standards, her décolletage nonetheless offered a tantalizing view of Charlotte’s womanly assets. What a pleasant surprise to discover she possessed more curves than her severe dresses suggested. Her breasts were not large, but they were creamy, pert, and softly rounded. Very appealing. He wondered what it would be like to take one of those sweet, perfect mounds into his mouth. Heat blasted through his body at the thought of suckling her woman’s flesh.

  “Why have you asked me to dance?” Charlotte’s curt tone sliced into his wayward thoughts.

  “In order to apologize for my behavior the other evening.” He struggled to ignore her enticingly subtle floral scent. The last thing he needed was to come to an embarrassing point right here on the dance floor like some untried swell. “It was not my place to cut you in that way. Please accept my apology.”

/>   “Why did you do it?”

  He should have guessed she wouldn’t let him off so easily. Most other females would have. They were happy to flirt and fawn over him, but this tempting chit was decidedly unlike most females.

  “I would rather not go into that,” he finally said, sounding high-handed, even to himself. “Suffice it to say that I very much regret causing you any pain or embarrassment.”

  “No.”

  He raised his forehead. “No?”

  Charlotte cut him a defiant look, pressing her lush lips into a tight line he had the mad urge to kiss away. “No.” She emphasized each word as if he were deaf, daft, or both. “I. Will. Not. Accept. Your. Apology.”

  “I beg your pardon?” he said, startled to be confronted so directly. Most maidens hung on to his every word, laughed at witticisms even he knew weren’t particularly amusing.

  “You, my lord, are a rag-mannered coxcomb and I will not accept an apology without a full explanation for your behavior.”

  “A rag-mannered coxcomb?” He could hardly believe his ears. “Now see here, Miss Livingston—”

  She sighed, her exasperation plain. “No, you see here, my lord. I tire of your strange temperament, your arrogant manner, and most of all, I tire of dancing with you. Please excuse me.”

  She was halfway off the dance floor before Cam recovered himself and strode after her. He caught her gloved hand and placed it on his arm. “Tsk-tsk, Miss Livingston, tantrums do not become you. You risk causing quite the commotion.”

  Small round spots of color stamped her angled cheeks. “Please unhand me,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “Unfortunately, I cannot oblige you.” Cam held on to her hand, pasting a polite smile on his face. “Willa will have my head if we cause another scene. And, at the moment, I am more wary of her wrath than yours. She’ll put it all on me. Even though this outburst is your doing.” He kept his free hand clamped over hers to prevent any escape. “However, since you demand an explanation, I will oblige you. But not here.”

  “Don’t tell me you have the perfect secluded corner of the terrace to take me to.”

  Cam barked an amused laugh. “Touché, Miss Livingston. Alas, no. Everyone rants about the Fulsome-Thrusby portrait gallery. It is both private and public enough for the discussion you insist on pursuing.”

  He escorted her toward the gallery, a long wood-paneled hallway adorned with paintings of the Fulsome-Thrusby ancestors, who appeared to be a rather humorless lot.

  Charlotte halted, pulling her hand away. “Well?”

  He fought to keep his eyes politely level with hers and well away from that intriguing curve of bosom she displayed this evening. “Well, Miss Livingston, it likely comes as no surprise that I have developed something of a tendre for you.”

  If the way her mouth fell open was any indication, it did surprise her. In fact, Charlotte looked downright shocked. Surely she could not be that unaware? The lady blushed, a delightful shade of pink, all the way from her face, through the turn of her neck, and down to that unexpectedly lovely bosom.

  Warmth glowed in her crystalline eyes, causing his own heart to tighten with an unfamiliar emotion. “If this is how you show affection, my lord—”

  “Pray allow me to finish, Miss Livingston,” he said trying to get a hold of himself. “I have had the occasion to come upon you twice in what could be construed as an inappropriate situation with a male.”

  She stiffened. Any warmth she’d exhibited just a moment ago turned to frost. “I beg your pardon, Camryn, but the only gentleman who has made inappropriate advances toward me of late is you.”

  Her recall of their terrace kiss brought back the memory of the sensuous sweetness of her startled lips. “Oh, he is not gentleman. The very idea that you would dally with a groom in the stable —”

  “Dally with the groom?” she sputtered. “Are you referring to Nathan?”

  “Yes.”

  “Lord Camryn—” She drew herself up. “While it is none of your affair, I must tell you that you are gravely mistaken about Mister Fuller. He and I are longtime acquaintances and nothing more.”

  Mister Fuller. It almost sounded respectable. “Mister Fuller is the stable boy known as Nathan, I presume?”

  “One and the same. And I assure you that he is a longtime family friend and nothing more.”

  “I see.”

  “Although, I must say, I find your code of conduct to be most fascinating,” she said in a tart tone. “It is not my perceived dalliance with a gentleman that offends you, but rather the fact that I would allow a man who is socially beneath me to take certain liberties, is that it?”

  A pang of jealousy quickened in Cam at the memory of Charlotte in Nathan’s embrace. “You play a dangerous game, Miss Livingston. You risk shredding your reputation by having a blatant dalliance with a groom.”

  Her eyes flashed. She tugged the neckline of her dress upward, the movement drawing Cam’s attention to her décolletage, which heaved with delightful indignation. He pictured those enticing white orbs bouncing out of her gown so he could cup each soft, warm handful.

  “Hardly a stable boy. Nathan is a grown man who also happens to be Hartwell’s coachman. He is coachman to a duke and is entrusted with many responsibilities, including the oversight of all of the other grooms and stable boys.”

  Cam’s thoughts left her bosom. “How enlightening. I am quite aware of the duties of a coachman. After all, I do employ one myself.” His mouth twisted. “Hartwell’s esteemed coachman clearly has a fondness for you. Perhaps you’ve given him cause to hope a baron’s daughter would welcome the advances of a coachman.”

  “So it is Nathan’s low birth which offends your gentlemanly sensibilities.” Ice formed over Charlotte’s vibrant eyes. “Perhaps you would find it more acceptable for me to dally with, say, a marquess?”

  He stiffened at the implication. Looking into her endless eyes, he realized Charlotte Livingston had the amazing capacity to both annoy and arouse him at the same time. “There is no need for vulgarity, Miss Livingston.”

  “I see. Nathan’s fondness for me is vulgar, while your propensity toward garden activities with married ladies is what, exactly?”

  “There you are, Lord Camryn.” A honeyed voice interrupted. Cam suppressed a groan as Maria Fitzharding swept towards them, pausing to give Charlotte a quick, dismissive glance before focusing her full attention on him. “My lord, I understand Lord Fulsome-Thrusby’s portrait gallery is simply not to be missed.”

  Charlotte stiffened. Her cool gaze rolled over Maria’s full curves and overly generous breasts, which lurched in his direction. Her perusal swept upwards to Maria’s full mouth before she flushed and diverted her eyes.

  Maria fluttered her dark lashes. “Perhaps you would care to escort me. I understand a stroll through Fulsome-Thrusby’s gallery can be most stimulating.” The obvious implication of her invitation hung in the air.

  Cam sketched a bow. “Of course, my dear. I would be delighted.” He turned to Charlotte. “Perhaps Miss Livingston would care to join us?”

  Maria, who seemed to have forgotten Charlotte’s presence, glanced over at her. “Oh, yes, yes of course,” she said with an obvious lack of enthusiasm. “Do join us Miss Livingston.”

  To his satisfaction, something akin to jealously flared in Charlotte’s eyes. “I’ve seen quite enough…of the gallery. But by all means, please do go and enjoy yourselves.”

  Chapter Six

  It finally felt like summer in London. The days grew warm and sunny, and were sometimes punctuated by light rain showers. With the season all but ended, the most prominent families had already made the annual exodus to the country.

  Charlotte had decided to accept Willa’s invitation to spend the remainder of the summer at Fairview Manor. The duke and duchess had already removed to the country, having left the city early to accommodate Willa’s fast-approaching period of confinement. Hugh planned to escort Charlotte to Fairview in a few days’ time
.

  She was sitting in the upstairs family room at Shellborne House on one of those last lazy days in London when a footman knocked to inform her that Hugh requested her presence in the drawing room. Making her way there, she wondered why she’d been summoned.

  Her brother’s florid, beaming face greeted her when she entered the chamber. “Ah, here she is now,” he said to a figure seated by the window.

  Camryn stood, his gleaming presence dominating the room. “Miss Livingston,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind that I have taken the liberty of calling upon you and Shellborne.”

  He was dressed for riding in a close-fitting, black, cropped riding coat. His athletic thighs were snugly encased in tan leather riding breeches that buttoned and tied at the sides of his knees. His brown riding boots had a slightly worn look to them, but his linen shirt, waistcoat, and cravat were all a crisp white. As usual, his tawny hair was in a state of controlled disarray.

  She hadn’t seen the marquess since the Fulsome-Thrusby ball almost a fortnight ago. Angry jealousy flared in her chest at the memory of him slipping off with the very eager Mrs. Fitzharding. What a strumpet. Not to mention Camryn, whose behavior had been no better. She didn’t have to imagine what they’d done after she left them. The vivid images of their previous encounter at Fairview were still emblazoned in her mind.

  With Willa gone and the season’s grand routs at an end, she hadn’t expected to see the marquess again so soon. But here he was, calling on her and despite all reason, her heart glowed with happiness. “Lord Camryn.”

  “Camryn has requested permission to call upon you,” Hugh said with barely contained excitement.

  Charlotte’s surprised gaze flew to Cam. Her mouth went dry. The marquess had just formally declared his intention to court her. She forced herself to remember the man stood for things she despised. It didn’t help. She still felt positively giddy.

  “I was hoping perhaps you would favor me with a ride along the Row,” he said. “I seem to recall you favor a vigorous ride.”