An Imprudent Lady (3 page)

The gossip was unrelenting. Two days later and everyone was talking about one Mr. Daniel Walsh.

“Apparently he saved Vinedale’s life in their army days—”

“—rich as Croesus from trading in Indian goods. And none too sore on the eyes—”

Some were convinced that he was an opportunistic interloper bent on wheedling his way into the
ton
through some fine, but desperate alliance. Others—like the blushing, goose-brained, marriage-mart beauties—were convinced that he was the most romantic figure to arrive in a long time.

Studying Daniel as unobtrusively as possible, Charlotte had to agree with the latter assessment; he was a fine specimen, bedecked in Bath superfine and one of the most intricate cravat knots ever devised. He’d always been handsome, but now there was a refined quality about him.

At the moment, he led a dance partner through the steps of a lively Scotch reel. Charlotte loved to dance, and she watched the pair with a twinge of envy. She’d brave the scandal of a waltz to be led so by him. As she’d once braved the same to taste pleasure within his arms.

“Is he the one, Char?” Angelica whispered loudly in her ear.

“Is who the one
what
, dear?” she said evasively, glancing about for a distraction as a mild wave of panic washed over her. She didn’t want to discuss Daniel with her sister tonight. Or ever, really. “Oh, is that Ellen just arrived?”

Angelica rolled her eyes at the obvious diversion. “I know all about your Mr. Walsh.”

Charlotte immediately forgot about Ellen. “You know
what
, precisely?”

“Enough, I’d imagine. I’ve read your journal.”

“You didn’t?” She glanced around wildly, with a sense that the room was closing in, but the brocade-covered walls appeared to be in exactly the same place as when they arrived. Thankfully, no one was near enough to overhear.

“Well, not all of it,” Angelica said with a sigh. “You moved your hiding place, and just when I was getting to the marrow!”

Oh, God
. Charlotte stared at Angelica, unable to utter a word.

“So, I thought that might be him from your effusive descriptions and the odd way you’ve been behaving since the Burrows’ ball. I know you loved him then. Is he the reason you never married, Char?”

After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded dumbly. It was the truth and, unlike her mother, she wasn’t about to lie for her own benefit. She’d never thought anyone might read her childish writings. The first thing she’d do when they returned home would be to toss that stupid journal onto the fire grate and watch the flames consume it.

“Well!” Angelica turned to watch as Daniel returned his dance partner to her chaperone, bowed and wandered over to his friend and sponsor, Earl Vinedale. “He’s handsome enough, I suppose. D’you think he’s married?”

As the panic subsided, Charlotte found her voice. “Not if the gossips have it aright.”

“Good. Do you still love him?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered, studying the wooden floor, which gleamed from diligent buffing. One of the ladies had lost a pink ribbon and it skidded back and forth across the floor, set to flight by one dancer’s foot or another.

Was it possible to build a relationship anew from the razed remains of a childhood love? Did she want to?

“Oh, dear. I think he’s coming over!” Angelica’s hands fluttered until she remembered the fan that dangled at her wrist and began to absently worry the slats and lace.

Sure enough, Vinedale and Daniel were making their way toward them. They were striking men, one older and fair, the other taller and dark. Her heart skipped and Charlotte wondered, not for the first time, if the poor organ was going to give out from the wild shifts in emotion.

Vinedale, an old school chum of Ollie’s, greeted them with the warmth of long-term acquaintance.

“May I present to you Mr. Daniel Walsh, formerly of Bombay, India?” Without waiting for a reply, since it would have been exceedingly impolite to decline the introduction, he turned toward Daniel. “Mr. Walsh, may I present Wainsborough’s sisters—Lady Charlotte Fortney and Lady Angelica Fortney.”

Daniel greeted them with smooth courtesy and a polite smile. He bowed first over Charlotte’s hand, then Angelica’s.

“La! From India, sir? How very exciting,” said Angelica. “Tell me, is it true what they say?”

Charlotte’s throat had developed a sizable lump that coincided with Daniel’s approach, and she was afraid to attempt conversation. Thankfully, Angelica’s natural effervescence saved her from looking a mute fool.

Daniel’s brow rose. “That would depend upon what they say, my lady. Of what do you refer?”

“That the women of India must throw themselves onto their husband’s funeral pyre and die by cremation at his side. Is it true?”

“Ah.” He smiled. “You refer to
sati
.”

“So it is true!”

Charlotte felt queasy, but she wasn’t sure if it was due to Daniel’s proximity or the thought of women dying in such a way.

“
Sati
is indeed an ancient Indian tradition of self-sacrifice that some widows choose.”

“How barbaric!” Angelica studied him closely. “Did you witness such a thing?”

“No, indeed. The practice has been outlawed by British law, so
sati
is rare these days.”

“Thank heavens. I can’t imagine.”

Vinedale decided to poke at the embers of her sister’s outrage. “You can’t imagine loving a husband so much?”

“Certainly not if he was anything like
you
, Vinedale!” she replied with a sniff that would have done their mother proud.

“What if he were something like Carston?”

Angelica froze and Vinedale grinned like a brother who knew he’d landed a particularly smart barb. Apparently, Ollie had been talking overmuch about his youngest sister.

Charlotte turned to Daniel, desperate to change the subject. “How long were you in India, sir?” she asked politely. Though she knew the answer, it was a logical question to pose to a new acquaintance. While Ollie might speak openly about the trials of getting his youngest sister wed, it was unlikely that he would air the tarnished past of his spinster sister.

“Nearly nineteen years, my lady. I received an army commission and post in ‘98. An offer, one could say, I was unable to refuse.”

She bit her lip, stifling an apology. They could hardly pursue that topic in public. “And what brings you to London now? After nineteen years, I would think you permanently settled abroad.”

When he shrugged, the cut of his dark jacket framed the movement and emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. “I didn’t have much more than a military life for most of that time. In ’14, when the East India Company’s trade monopoly dissolved, I sold my commission and invested in a small export enterprise. It’s been successful enough that I could hire an agent to run the offices in Bombay.”

“You’ve done well for yourself, Mr. Walsh.”

Daniel accepted the praise with a brief nod. “I had always planned to, Lady Charlotte. It merely took longer than I anticipated.”

Angelica swatted at Vinedale with her fan, and he responded with a grin and another cheeky dig. Their antics helped to keep her thoughts safely away from the dreams they had once shared in hushed whispers.

The fading strains of the orchestra heralded the end of one dance and the start of another. Vinedale offered an arm to Angelica and they ventured toward the dance floor, leaving Charlotte and Daniel in awkward silence. After a long moment, Daniel quirked a brow.

“May I have this dance, my lady?”

Charlotte hesitated. Could she manage the steps without making a cake of herself? She drew back in alarm when she realized the music was the waltz she had all but wished for earlier.

“You’re not afraid, are you, Lady Charlotte?”

It was a husky whisper, designed for her ears alone. She shuddered from the intimacy and the bittersweet memories the words held for her. Daniel had learned long ago that she never backed down from a challenge.

She accepted his arm and they began a slow revolution about the floor, bobbing and swaying in time to the music and other couples.

They had never danced before, but that didn’t mean that they were strangers to each other’s arms. Wonder and joy would have overwhelmed her if he hadn’t held her at precisely the correct distance expected by society. How very unlike the impulsive Daniel she had once known.

“You’re looking well, Charlotte,” he said with an intimate tone that sent shivers down her spine. His face was still impassive, at odds with the warm, deep voice that did silly things to her pulse.

“Thank you,” she managed to say. Then she added, hesitantly, “Daniel.”

God, she felt good in his arms. So good that he was hard-pressed not to tug her forward and enfold her in a tight embrace.

He led her into a quick spin before he tried to speak. There was much that he wanted to ask. Uncertain where to begin, he settled upon the question burning the brightest in his mind.

“Why did you never marry, Charlotte?”

She swallowed hard and looked away. “Is it true that you saved Vinedale’s life?”

It was a pitiful attempt to change the subject, but he let her. This wasn’t the place for that inevitable conversation, and he wasn’t entirely certain that he ever wanted to have it.

“Yes, in our salad days, before he inherited the title.”

“Was India terribly dangerous?”

“At times it was.”

They reached the end of the dance floor and Daniel executed another tight turn with military precision. He also used the maneuver to pull Charlotte closer. It was a selfish thing to do, but his blood hummed and he could barely wait until they crossed the room so he could do it again. He hadn’t felt that thrum of excitement in some time, and apparently he enjoyed torturing himself.

“I see,” she said, pulling his attention back to their conversation.

No, she didn’t, but he wasn’t about to regale her with stories of war and pestilence and a barren lifetime in an unforgiving land.

Charlotte didn’t say anything further, and he was content to let the conversation wane while he focused on plotting the next turn.

He broke into a cold sweat this time. God, he’d managed to brush the crests of her breasts. It was no wonder the dance was considered indecent by the more conservative
ton.

She could still evoke an instant surge of lust in him. When he felt a telltale twitch in his groin, he decided it would be wise to resurrect the conversation, as a diversion if nothing else. What subject would be innocuous enough to avoid both the pain of the past and any further stirring of his passions?

Since Vinedale had dragged him over for introductions as a pretense to spend time with Angelica, perhaps he could discover something about the chit. Vine was considering courting her.

“Your sister is most charming, Lady Charlotte.” That should do it. Flatter her family. A subject Charlotte would be interested in, was socially acceptable and would keep them out of emotion-ridden territory.

Was she trembling? It was hard to do more than sense and, with her eyes now fixed upon his cravat pin, it was impossible to read her expression for clues.

“Thank you, Mr. Walsh. We are most proud of Angelica.”

“I was surprised your parents had another, after little Francis.” Daniel had learned of the stillborn boy from his father. At the time, the duchess had raged and threatened her husband. After three miscarriages and a stillborn, wasn’t it apparent that her childbearing days were done? She’d fulfilled her duty with a daughter and two sons.

Daniel tightened his grip when Charlotte stumbled slightly. He’d take advantage of any excuse to pull her closer, despite his brain’s warning that there could be very visible and embarrassing consequences. It had always been so with Charlotte.

The Charlotte in his arms was glowing as if from within. Her rose silk gown lent a becoming blush to her skin. The triple strand of pearls at her throat drew his gaze to the little indentation at the base that housed the softest skin he’d ever kissed. Was he so smitten again that he imagined he could see her pulse leap?

“It was, indeed, a…surprise,” she said, so softly that he could barely hear her. Her eyes remained carefully fixed on his cravat. Had he smudged the cloth somehow?

“It would appear she’s quite popular with the bachelors.”

No response. That had to be one intriguing stain.

“Is there anyone that Lady Angelica is sweet on, do you reckon?”

Still no response. Why wouldn’t she look at him? Was she even listening, or just counting the dance steps until she could escape?

“Or are her emotions still unattached?”

That was definitely a twitch, so at least she was listening, although he wasn’t having much success with the topic. Vinedale was bound to be disappointed.

“I can see that subtlety is not assisting me, Lady Charlotte. May I be blunt?”

“Indeed. I would appreciate it.” She still wouldn’t look up, but at least she was now responsive.

“Very well,” he began, and then paused for a deep breath. Why was it so difficult to approach matters of the heart, even when they were matters of
someone else’s
heart? “I wondered if Lady Angelica might consider the attentions of a new suitor.”

Shock was the last reaction he expected, but it rolled off her in waves like the heat from a potter’s kiln. She blanched a ghastly grey that even the pink of her gown could not overcome, and then she finally looked up at him. In horror.

“Charlotte? Are you all right? You don’t look well.” That wasn’t entirely truthful; she looked as if she’d seen the dead arise.

Had she turned her ankle? That didn’t make sense, as she was still moving smoothly, easily following his lead. Her eyes blazed.

“Don’t…you…
dare!
”

“What?” He frowned. What had he done?

“Don’t you
dare
to consider calling upon my sister,” she hissed. Two spots of color appeared high on her cheeks, like a child would apply when left alone with her mother’s rouge pot.

He smothered a smile, fascinated by her reaction. Of course he hadn’t deliberately sought it, but he couldn’t have chosen a better subject to spur her jealousy if he’d tried. He couldn’t deny the tiny surge of pleasure that she
was
jealous. Did that mean she still cared?

“And if I did?” he asked softly. He wasn’t above using it to his benefit.

She stopped dancing abruptly and glared at him. If he hadn’t been expecting a reaction, it might have led to a disastrous spectacle in the middle of the spinning dancers. As it was, they were at the edge of the floor, so agile couples were able to dart past.

“I’d stop you. By whatever means necessary,” she said, then abandoned him to the parquet and the curious regard of strangers.

Now that sounded immensely intriguing.