Fearless Page 3

  Charlotte had imagined adult kisses—of course she had—but this was her first. That was why she’d wanted it from Val. He knew how to kiss. He must, with the numbers of lovers he’d had.

  She wasn’t wrong. He brushed over her lips in a gentle caress, moving from one side to the other before settling in for a firmer touch. Unthinkingly, she reached up and curved her hand around the back of his neck. Under the crisp white neckcloth, his bare skin waited for her. Inching a little higher, she discovered the nape of his neck.

  Was it her imagination, or did he shudder?

  He had his hands spread over her back. Even through her shift, stays, and the heavy back pleats of her gown she felt them burning, touching her as if she belonged to him. They held her firmly, giving her the entirely erroneous impression that she was safe with him. Charlotte had never been safe from Val.

  When he crushed his lips against hers, she moved closer, curving her body to press against him. Despite the many layers they both wore, their proximity made her melt. His breath was hot on her cheek, and the stubble she could not see, only feel, rasped with delicious roughness against her chin.

  He touched her lips with his tongue, delicately tracing. With a little gasp, she opened. His grunt was like nothing she’d ever heard from him before, unguarded and essentially masculine.

  Firm, slick wetness caressed her when he touched her tongue with his, stroking her, exploring her mouth, delicately at first and then with more firmness, taking all she offered and demanding more.

  When he sucked in a breath through his nose, she realized she’d been holding hers. She followed suit, breathing through their kiss, letting him take her where he would. His moan vibrated through her mouth, and she swallowed it, hungering for more.

  Was she really letting this man go? She should have hung on, demanded more, because she ached to know what came next.

  For the first time in his adult life, Val lost control. Most of his friends and acquaintances would say they’d witnessed him doing exactly that many times, but they’d be wrong. He always retained a soupçon of sense, never lost himself completely.

  He’d been trying for years to do exactly that, and now he’d found delicious oblivion in the most unexpected place.

  Val began the long seduction of this woman who tasted like no other. He would never get the flavor of sharp apples out of his mouth, especially when accompanied by the faint perfume of sweet lavender.

  He released her with one hand and trailed his fingers up the irritatingly all-encompassing fabric of her gown in search of flesh. He found it at her neckline. A thrill went through him when he discovered soft skin, delicate wisps of hair stroking his fingers as he touched that small patch of skin. Apart from her forearms and throat, he would uncover no more bare skin until he had her unhooked and lying deliciously naked in the nest of her clothes. That became his only aim.

  Val lost sight of where he was and what it would mean if someone discovered them. His sense of self-preservation melted away as if it had never been.

  Her unique flavor drew him in, and her kiss took him further. She followed his lead, but when she added shy little touches of her own, triumph and joy filled him. To coax that response from her meant more than a ship filled with gold coming into port.

  Predictably, his body responded with ironclad need, his cock demanding attention, pressing against her as if to find a way out of his clothes and through hers. To touch her, to feel her nakedness against his own became his only ambition. Glancing up, he assessed the possibilities of the narrow benches lining the summer house, the thoughts fleeting through his mind even as sensation swamped him.

  No, the floor would be better. With their clothes to lie on, they would be comfortable and have the room to spread out.

  Sheer animal want charged through him with the speed of a fire in a forest on a dry day, scorching all reason. He was no longer entirely steady, his body reacting to the strength of his desire. Fine tremors made his hands shake as he pushed his fingers into her kerchief, searching for a way of tugging the fabric clear. He hungered for her skin.

  He dared not release her lips. If he did, she might utter the words “stop” or “no,” and that would kill him.

  Instead, he continued to kiss her. Taste and smell combined to drive him higher. As gently as he could manage, he sucked her tongue into his mouth, owning it, lavishing it with sweet caresses. Her moan told him she approved. Emboldened, he initiated a deeper, stronger kiss, one that would take them past the point where neither of them could turn back.

  Footsteps crunched on the gravel.

  He cursed. He would not have objected to anyone discovering him with his betrothed. Except she would not be his betrothed for much longer. He had to do her the courtesy of giving her the choice. If they were discovered in this state, their marriage would follow as fast as their parents could arrange it.

  With a convulsive move, he released her and turned his back, striding to the other end of the pavilion to give her space to restore herself to rights. Standing here, he would block anyone approaching them from seeing them. Her delicate steps echoed as she hurried in the opposite direction.

  “Drusilla, there you are,” he said with relief.

  His sister’s voice echoed around the space. “Ah, is everything well?”

  “Yes,” Charlotte said coolly, coming forward, “I merely wanted to chase this foolish bee out. You want him pollinating your plants, not making himself dizzy in here.”

  Charlotte sounded cheerful, her usual self. She had recovered remarkably quickly. As he ran his fingers over his disordered neckcloth, restoring it to some kind of order, Val wondered at that. Her facade must be very good indeed. He knew how much he’d affected her—as much as she had affected him. He’d felt her shiver under his touch, knew her passionate response was real.

  He had never realized her society mask was so rigid before. He had assumed her calm demeanor was the essence of her. He should have known better. He’d detected fierce intelligence a few times before, and intelligent ladies were not in as much demand as the pretty, easier ones. He considered himself an expert at detecting falsehoods and carefully constructed personalities, but the depth of the passion he’d found in his affianced bride had completely sideswiped him.

  Need clawed at him, and with a sinking feeling, he recognized the sensation. His twin would recognize it in him, too. Obsession, the force that drove him, the need to master a new situation, solve a problem.

  He wanted to discover the person Charlotte was so eager to conceal. He was capable of jettisoning everything else in its favor. Only this time he could not afford to do so. He had agreed to release her to someone else.

  That meant he had a fight ahead, a struggle to relinquish her and to let her move on. How could he do anything else?

  Dru shot him a curious glance when he turned around, but he merely gave her an urbane smile. “Charlotte insisted we free the poor creature. I think we succeeded.” He hadn’t even noticed a bee. He was collected enough to offer his arm to his betrothed. For the first time since their engagement, he paid her the notice she deserved. Her hand was perfectly steady on his sleeve, and she reflected nothing but happiness at seeing Dru, where Val wished his beloved sister anywhere but here.

  He might never get another opportunity to explore the fascinating enigma that was his betrothed, because she would not remain so for much longer.

  Charlotte’s aunt was indeed waiting. Val’s mama calmly ordered another cover for dinner and treated Lady Adelaide as if she were the most honored guest in the house. Very little put his mother out, and it would take more than uneven numbers at dinner to do so.

  The afternoon guests had departed. The dinner guests went through to the drawing room for the late afternoon ritual. Later they would go to the theater, and later still, attend a ball or two, which Val had decided to miss. He might change his mind about that if Charlotte was headed to one.

  However, Charlotte was hardly dressed for a ball. Her gown was too pl
ain even for her simple and unpretentious style, the neckline nowhere near low enough, although if he’d succeeded in removing the maddening kerchief, that would have been remedied.

  For someone to hide all that passion from him for so long spoke of skill indeed. What had happened to her, that she felt the need to cover her true self so powerfully?

  He would find out, he vowed. Even if their betrothal was at an end, he would discover more about the elusive person Charlotte had turned out to be.

  Chapter 3

  Standing outside her father’s study, Charlotte felt her fear and accepted it. She would do her best to overcome the sheer terror that enveloped her every time she was the recipient of his entire attention. This time she had asked to see him. He’d kept her waiting two days before he’d granted her an audience.

  His grace the Duke of Rochfort was acutely aware of his station and his importance and made no bones about informing everyone who might be interested of that fact. Those people included his daughters and his son. He was the same in private as he was in public, and he expected the same standard of behavior from everyone he deigned to meet. He had been brought up that way, he told them, and the experience had made him a better father, husband, and more importantly, duke.

  Everything was subservient to the dukedom and its needs. They served it as if it were more important than the King, and since her father was its embodiment, they served him in the same way. His punishments were severe and his rewards nonexistent, so his children had learned to obey him without question. At least, until they cracked under the strain.

  Anxiously, Charlotte checked her appearance in the spotted mirror by the door. Her linen cap covered most of her hair, except the curl she hastily shoved under it. She changed the plain linen one for a modestly lace-trimmed one when they opened the house to visitors or she went out. Her gown was of good English cloth, and her apron spotless. Ladies wore aprons as fashionable accessories, and this was no different, so fine the color of her gown was easily visible under it. But it had to be creaseless and spotless, or her father would not accept her presence. The ribbons in her hair were all ironed and tied without a fault, even though they were out of sight. Even her shoe buckles were tightened to the correct degree. The duke demanded neatness and orderliness, especially when he’d granted a personal interview.

  His secretary opened the door and found her two paces away from it. He inclined his head. “You may enter, your ladyship.”

  Doing her best to glide, as fashion and her father dictated, Charlotte entered.

  Her father looked up, a welcoming smile on his broad features. Or what passed for one, though they rarely reached his eyes. However he appeared in good heart today. While the Duke of Rochfort was overburdened with avoirdupois, he was no more generously endowed than many men in society. He kept to the full-bottomed wig of his youth, carefully powdered and neatly disposed in the correct fashion about his shoulders. He wore his blue velvet coat with silver buttons, and his waistcoat reflected the style and consequence of his position. He folded his large hands on the desk before him as Charlotte made her curtsy.

  The duke’s study also reflected his grandeur. Mahogany and gilt furnishings dominated the large room. The bookcases contained beautifully tooled leather-bound books that contained the business of the dukedom together with a few improving volumes of sermons and books of information about crops and farming.

  The room smelled of nothing, except perhaps a faint odor of masculinity. Not the intoxicating kind she recalled from Val, but the other kind—perspiration and hair powder. The kind she was used to.

  She dipped to exactly the level a duke demanded and rose without a tremor. The secretary closed the door quietly behind them but did not leave the room.

  “Good morning, Father. I trust I find you well?”

  “Tolerably, thank you. Have you found London to your liking?”

  “Of course, your grace. I am delighted you chose to bring us with you.”

  “Us?” The voice was sharp.

  “Myself and Louisa.” She waited for the explosion, her stomach tightening.

  “Ah, yes. Louisa.” He rarely referred to Charlotte’s younger sister. Every now and again he asked after her, but nobody was sure of his intentions toward her. In fact, that was the problem. He occasionally said he would set up a trust for her, but if she displeased him, which was often, he threatened to have her “put away.” He preferred to ignore Louisa’s existence, but as long as she was quiet, he was content to allow her to remain in the same house as him. “She is behaving herself?”

  “Yes, Father.” Not wanting her father to see the anger that sparked in her eyes, Charlotte lowered her chin.

  “Look at me, girl!”

  She jerked up her chin. By the time her eyes met his, they were again tranquil. She knew because she had practiced the expression before the mirror until she had it perfectly.

  He gave a satisfied nod. “I am glad you came to see me this morning, for I wish to discuss your situation.”

  She knew better than to interrupt him.

  “You are sadly lacking in womanly wiles, but even taking that into consideration, your progress with Lord Valentinian Shaw has been disappointing.”

  Humiliation washed through her. Her father’s criticisms always hit the mark and never failed to pierce her. Even when she told herself she did not care what he thought, he could always find a way to hurt her.

  She had tried to develop womanly wiles, but not knowing what they were held her back. When she tried to flourish a fan, she merely appeared foolish, and if she tried to engage a man in witty conversation, he would invariably wander away.

  The servants reported her movements to her loving father, if he was not near. And Charlotte ended by hating herself.

  “Lord Valentinian has been perfectly content with our arrangement, sir—your grace.”

  “Humph! So he should be. Not every second son snags a duke’s daughter.”

  He did not mention Charlotte’s character or appearance. Of course he did not, because her only claim to attractiveness was her status in society.

  Rochfort stared at Charlotte for a full minute. She knew better than to break the silence.

  Eventually, he nodded to Mr. Webb, who went to the sideboard and poured the duke a glass of burgundy, which did not help his gout. The last physician to suggest he change the frequency and even the type of preferred refreshment had left the house in disgrace, despite his long service to the family. His present medical attendant agreed with everything he did.

  The duke took a long sip from his glass, never taking his eyes from his daughter. Used as she was to this treatment, Charlotte nevertheless felt her skin crawl. He could be perfectly civil, or he could roar her faults for the entire house to hear. It depended on his mood.

  “Our original agreement with the Marquess of Strenshall was that you should keep his lordship’s excesses in check. You have been singularly ineffective in doing so. Do you have any explanation for this?”

  The question put her in a dilemma. She could find shelter in craven excuses, passing the blame on to anyone else rather than herself, but Charlotte refused to do that. “Lord Valentinian is not ready to set a date for the wedding.”

  “That is entirely your fault, madam!” He jabbed the table with his forefinger. “Lord Valentinian is a wild youth, but a real woman would bring him around her finger. Such men are easy to contain, if a woman exerts herself.”

  Charlotte didn’t have a clue what he meant. He could not intend that she seduce Val, surely? Why would he want that?

  Because he wanted the influence the Emperors of London could bring him, of course. To the duke, Val’s family were mere pawns in his quest for power. Since the death of the Prime Minister, Lord Pelham-Holles, brother of the vastly wealthy Duke of Newcastle, politics had been in turmoil. Men were fighting for the right to be cock of the heap. Some would win for a time, only to have another cast him down. The factions were vicious, at each other’s throats.

/>   The duke expected his womenfolk to take little interest in public matters, but of course they did. They did not discuss it, though. He did, however, expect them to miraculously assimilate his opinions and repeat them when necessary. For the most part, they did so. Life was simpler that way. His political opinions were carefully moderate, so they were safe enough to repeat.

  He would tell them what to think, which he did frequently.

  “Father, I have done my best,” she said, judging it the best thing she could say, under the circumstances. However, instead of promising him to do better, she broached the subject she had come for. “However, I feel it proper to inform you that another gentleman has approached me.”

  “In what way?” His words were sharp, barked out loudly.

  Charlotte could not refrain from jumping, startled by the sudden change in tone. But it was a reflex action only. She would remain on course. “In a perfectly honorable way, your grace, and of course I informed him that I was contracted to marry another. He suggested that I approach you, and if I did not, he said he would do it himself. The gentleman has spoken to you, he says.”

  “And the name of this man?” This time his words were quiet, far too much for comfort.

  She met his gaze. His pale blue eyes narrowed in speculation.

  “Viscount Kellett.” She lowered her gaze, but kept her attention on him. Charlotte had become adept at that trick, her humility only surpassed by her watchfulness. “He approached me at Lady Strenshall’s the other day and declared his interest when we took a walk in the garden.”

  Silence. Her father finished his wine, his slurp echoing off the walls. The stamped leather coverings and the big painting of the family seat, with her father prominently in the foreground gesturing grandly at his mausoleum of a country house, had different sounds. Even if she weren’t looking at him, Charlotte knew where her father was in the room. He could be quiet sometimes, just before the blow. Her father was not a believer in sparing the rod.

  “You did not encourage him improperly?”