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“No more, no more,” he said, smiling broadly. “Although she did seem amenable to the possibility, if you take my meaning. Perhaps if she reverts to form, we both might.” Stuart’s jaw had gone numb from being clenched so hard. Hyde-Jones stepped closer, his eyes gleaming with malice in the moonlight. “She whored for her living, all those years abroad,” he said softly. “How else does a disgraced woman support herself in such luxury?”
“How, exactly, was she disgraced?” asked Stuart through his teeth. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ware step onto the terrace and close the door behind him.
The man’s eyes shifted to the duke, then back. “She was wild and immoral even then. Her father disapproved and banished her.”
“And you, no doubt, were devastated to lose your bride.” Stuart flexed his fingers. “What very bad luck you’ve had, losing brides.”
The other man’s expression hardened. “I resent your implication. I spoke only as one gentleman to another, intending to spare you the shame of making a fool of yourself over her.” He turned on his heel, back toward the ballroom, and came face to face with Robert Fairfield, who was standing in front of the door, arms folded across his chest. Hyde-Jones hesitated, darting a quick glance back at the duke, then started walking toward the steps down into the garden.
“How did you discover her true nature?” Stuart followed him. Hyde-Jones frowned over his shoulder. “Did her father tell you when he banished her? Surely a man wouldn’t spread tales of his daughter’s misbehavior.”
Hyde-Jones stopped at the bottom of the steps. “It was clear what had happened when she vanished and never came back.”
Stuart arched one brow. “Indeed. And you didn’t wish to hear your intended bride defend herself? Perhaps it was all a misunderstanding.”
Anger flashed in the man’s eyes. “There was no misunderstanding,” he snapped. “She seduced me. I knew what sort of woman she was.”
“Seduced you? A girl of seventeen seducing a man of thirty or more?” Stuart moved closer. “What kind of fool do you take me for? I suppose your first wife simply tripped on a bit of loose carpet, and your second wife jumped out of a speeding carriage of her own volition.”
“How dare you?” said Hyde-Jones through clenched teeth. He was shaking, with fury or fear, Stuart didn’t know. Or care. The sick feeling he had had from the moment he realized Charlotte had disappeared had blossomed into rage, and he didn’t need to hear any more. He could kill the man for nothing more than the fact that he had ruined Charlotte when she must have been a young and trusting girl, just as romantically foolish as Susan.
His first punch carried them both to the ground, rolling into a nearby hedge. Hyde-Jones was a well-built man, but in the style of a poet: tall and lean. Stuart, who had never pretended to such elegance, was built broader and heavier, as well as ten years younger. He barely even felt the blows Hyde-Jones managed to land. When Ware pulled Stuart back, Jeremy Hyde-Jones lay on the ground, bleeding from the nose and mouth and holding his stomach.
“Enough,” murmured Ware, hauling him to his feet. Stuart shook him off, but didn’t make another move. He yanked at his jacket, setting it right.
“I suggest you enjoy the Continent,” he said to the man on the ground. “If we meet again, I might be inspired to see if I, too, can get away with murder.” Hyde-Jones made a muffled growling sound, but wisely stayed on the ground. Stuart glanced at Robert, who shook his head, and turned to Ware. “Would you ... ?”
The duke nodded, watching Hyde-Jones grimly. Ware would make sure the man either left town or got what he deserved. Stuart would have no qualms telling people Hyde-Jones had confessed to murdering his wives; spreading gossip was not illegal. It was almost certainly true, anyway, and Hyde-Jones couldn’t refute it without reigniting curiosity and renewed interest in events he surely wanted to languish in obscurity. The man was hoisted by his own petard, threatening to spread tales of Charlotte’s past. Stuart muttered an excuse to Ware and headed back into the house.
 
 
He hammered on the door of his parents’ house twenty minutes later. “Has Madam Griffolino returned?” he demanded, pushing past Frakes. One of the Throckmorton footmen had seen Charlotte leave without her cloak and on foot. Stuart was at the end of his rope; if she weren’t here, he didn’t know where else to look.
“Yes, sir. She has retired for the evening. Sir! Mr. Drake!” The butler sounded scandalized as Stuart took the stairs two at a time. He tapped at her door, then pushed it open.
She was standing at the window, her back to the door. She was still gowned in her blue silk, but Stuart could see the tension in the set of her shoulders and in the hand that gripped the drapes.
“Charlotte?” With a small start, she glanced over her shoulder.
“Mr. Drake. What will people think?” The muted mockery in her tone made him pause. “I have retired for the evening,” she said, turning back to the window. “Good night.”
“I had to see you,” he said, closing the door and removing his hat. “Are you all right?”
“You
had
to?” She gave a short laugh. “Come back when you can afford me, Mr. Drake. I paid my wager in full.”
Stuart stared. This was not his Charlotte. This was the woman with the heart of stone who had gossiped him out of Kent, who had accused him of getting ahead on his looks and charm. This was the woman who had infuriated him, and inflamed him, with her scorn. “I am not here because of that. I want to talk—”
“I know what men want,” she said coldly. “Don’t pretend you don’t want the same.”
“Stop it,” he said in a low voice. “I care about more than getting you in bed.”
Her eyebrow went up, and her lip all but curled in disdain. “More? How demanding. Take care to marry a very wealthy woman, who will be able to support your care for ‘more.’”
Hyde-Jones must have hurt her terribly to make her act like this. She was baiting him, trying to lull him into revealing something. She had done it to him before, in the Kildair library. But what was she after now? Surely by now she had come to see him as more than just a man who wanted under her skirts. “Why? How much would it take?” he asked, watching her closely. Not a quiver or a flinch disturbed her stillness. Except for the rise and fall of her bosom, she didn’t move at all.
“More than Susan has,” she said. “I meant everything I said before: I’ll put a pistol ball in you before I let you marry her.”
He told himself she was angry. He told himself it was because of Jeremy Hyde-Jones. He told himself it was the strain of Susan’s disappearance. It didn’t matter; her words still stung. He stripped off his gloves and shrugged out of his coat, buying time to restrain his temper and keep himself from lashing out in retaliation. “The thing is,” he explained slowly, “I don’t want her. Not now.”
“Your good sense is commendable, if long overdue.” She turned back to the window. From the neck down she was perfectly reflected in the glass; only her face was hidden, shadowed by the draperies. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking or feeling, nothing at all of the woman she was inside. All he saw was a woman’s lushly curved body, elegantly gowned. How many men had seen her only this way, he wondered suddenly, how many men had never cared to discover the real Charlotte inside the siren’s façade?
Slowly he crossed the room to stand behind her, the way he would approach a spooked horse. She didn’t move. Lightly, he laid his hand on her shoulder. Although she appeared calm, her muscles were taut, her body rigidly held. He eased closer, letting more of his hand rest on her. Still she didn’t move.
Don’t be angry at me
, he wanted to say.
Tell me what’s upset you, so I can slay your dragons and comfort you
. But who would believe that of Stuart Drake, reckless ne’er-do-well who lived on the edge of trouble and scandal? Even he couldn’t believe it.
“Better overdue than never,” he said instead, lamely trying to lighten the mood. At his words, she jerked away from his hand.
“Do not patronize me,” she sneered. “I am not a child to be jollied into acquiescence. How dare you laugh at me for showing some sense of honor and keeping Susan from the likes of you!”
“Charlotte,” he said evenly, his patience running very low in spite of his best efforts, “calm yourself. I’m not making sport of you.”
Her eyes narrowed, glittering, but not with tears. “Go home, Stuart. I don’t want you here.”
“I know you saw Hyde-Jones tonight,” he said, making one last attempt at reason. “I know you knew him years ago.”
“I have
nothing
to say about that.”
Stuart swore. “What am I supposed to do? Leave you here to lick your wounds in misery while I go home and wonder what he did to you, to make you turn against me like this? Do you think I could, after what’s happened between us?”
“Nothing has happened between us,” she snapped. “Nothing!”
Stuart stopped, poleaxed. It wasn’t nothing to him; it was the very opposite of nothing. It had come to be everything to him: seeing Charlotte, making her smile, appreciating her sly wit and dry humor. He would rather be here, quarreling with Charlotte, than in bed with any other woman. And it couldn’t mean nothing to her. He knew there was more between them than that. “Don’t say what you don’t mean, Charlotte.”
“How dare you think I didn’t mean it? I’m not a romantic sort of person, Stuart. I have desires like any other woman, but I’m not the faithful sort. Last night it was you, tomorrow it will be someone else; men are all the same to me,” Charlotte taunted. Why wouldn’t he
go
? The longer he stood there looking so honorable and patient, so
decent
, the harder it was to hold herself together. The sooner he realized he deserved better than she could offer him and left, the easier it would be for both of them. At her words, his face darkened, and he took a step toward her. Charlotte jumped back, keeping the distance between them.
“Don’t tell me it didn’t mean anything to you,” he said. “Don’t tell me I don’t mean anything.”
“It was nothing but an evening’s entertainment,” she fired back, taking another step backward. Stuart followed, his anger obviously mounting. She scurried around a chair, putting it between them.
“Liar!” He shoved the chair away. “Men are all the same to you, are they? So I could be any man, any of the dozens you’ve taken to bed to fulfill your
desires
.”
Charlotte gasped at the savagery in his question. She flung the first thing her fingers touched, a china figurine on the dressing table. Stuart ducked, and it crashed against the wall behind him. “Hypocrite! How many women have you taken to bed for the same reason?”
“Do you want me to say it meant nothing to me? Is that it? If I confess you’re just the woman I want now, just the woman who happens to have taken my fancy this week, will it make it easier for you to turn your back on me?” He advanced on her, dark and terrifying. She had never really seen Stuart angry, not smirking, teasing, flirting Stuart, but he was furious now. Beyond furious. Charlotte retreated again, hovering on the verge of hysteria, and found herself in the corner. “I won’t, Charlotte. If you’re going to toss me out, you’ll have to prove to me that I don’t mean anything to you.”
C
HAPTER
F
OURTEEN
Charlotte tried to push past him. Stuart caught her around the waist. “Let me go!” she cried, struggling.
“Not without a fight.” He deposited her with a thump on the dressing table. He wasn’t gentle at all, and Charlotte sucked in her breath at the impact. Grim-faced, Stuart took advantage of her distraction to press her arms behind her back and hold them there. He took hold of her chin with his free hand and forced her defiant gaze up to his.
“I admit,” he said in a low, harsh voice, “I wanted you that way once. You hurt my pride and publicly humiliated me, and I wanted revenge. I am not a saint. But neither am I an immoral cad with no sense of honor. I have never taken advantage of you, I have never demanded more than you were willing to give, and I have done my damnedest to help you find your niece.” She turned her face away, trying to remain cold with indifference, or at least the illusion of it, but he jerked her back. “Tell me how that makes me as black as the other men in your life. Carlos, who used you to escape the French and left you penniless in Italy? Piero, who used you to fulfill his twisted desires?”
“I’m surprised such an honorable man would want such a woman,” she lashed out. It only made things worse that it was all true; Stuart was one of the few decent men she had known in her life, and she did find it hard to believe he would want her for more than a few nights. No one else ever had. Jeremy Hyde-Jones had wanted her money, and the others had wanted her body. “I have no shame, and no discernment! My base nature overrules whatever sense a woman has, and leads me down the path of sin. You should be grateful I’m tossing you over now, instead of later, when you’ll be accustomed to having me. Normally I like to torment my victim before I cast him aside, but since you’re so admirable, I’ll let you walk away now.”
“Right,” he said to the air above her head. “The hard way, then.” He lifted her chin again, and Charlotte clamped her lips together, anticipating a brutal kiss, but he didn’t. His lips brushed her temple, lingering there for a moment. His breath stirred her hair, lightly, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from giving in. She was prepared to fight him, but how, when he was being so gentle?
He kissed the corner of her eyebrow, the bridge of her nose, and the curve of her cheek. She tried to turn away, but he held her chin firmly. “Let me go,” she said one more time, pleading in spite of herself. “Make it easier for both of us ...”
One corner of his mouth quirked. “Easier for you, perhaps. It would not be easier for me.” He continued pressing light, gentle kisses over her face, moving slowly downward. Charlotte shivered as he found the sensitive spot below her ear.
“Stuart ... admitting we’re attracted to each other doesn’t mean ...” He kissed the hollow at the base of her throat, his tongue swirling over her fluttering pulse. “It doesn’t mean anything else,” she finished in a gasp. “Stop!”
“If I stop,” he murmured between kisses along the exposed slant of her shoulder, “you’ll have the footmen drag me out the door. And then, I’ll wager, you’ll never see me again.”
“I shouldn’t.” It was hard to think, now that he had released her chin and his free hand was exploring. He traced her shoulder blades through the silk of her gown with the same careful touch as last night. Had it only been yesterday that she lay in bed with him, feeling treasured? “I won’t!”
“You would if you could,” he corrected, lifting his head to look her in the eye. “But I won’t let you.”
“I’ll scream,” she threatened, not certain she could do it. Her throat was so scratchy she could hardly speak above a whisper. If she screamed and the servants came, and found them like this, Stuart would be disowned for good. His father, she suspected, was simply waiting for an excuse, and ravishing a guest would probably be enough of one. And she didn’t want Stuart to be hurt any more; that was the whole reason she was trying to end things.
A faint smile lit his face. “You’ll scream, all right,” he agreed. “But only when I let you. Only when I make you.” His nimble fingers slipped the gown off her shoulder. He had undone the back of her dress without her noticing it at all. “And I won’t do that until you admit there’s more than desire between us.”
“I consider you a friend,” she said wildly as he placed his lips against the suddenly unprotected skin.
“Good,” he said, tugging the sleeve down with one finger. Charlotte pulled at her hands again, but his grip hadn’t relented. The unbuttoned silk slid slowly down, finally catching on the trim of her chemise. He brushed it aside, then pulled on the other sleeve. In a moment the bodice of her gown slid into her lap. Charlotte made a faint noise of alarm.
“And—and a confidant,” she blurted. He was leaning into her, urging her back. Charlotte resisted until she lost her balance, and fell back against the mirror, his arm still around her, holding her hands at the back of her waist. She had to stop this, stop him, before things went too far. Already her body was responding to his touch, like a flower to the sun. Charlotte fought to keep her wits about her.
You have no future with him
, she reminded herself.
This was doomed from the start
. It was a mistake to have an affair at all.
“Very good,” he said, with a tinge of amusement. “I like that role, confidant. An excellent beginning.”
“And ... and ... and a steadfast, loyal, friend,” she babbled, trying to squirm away from the increasingly intimate kisses. His hair fell over his forehead, brushing maddeningly over her bosom as his mouth found its way toward the swells of her breasts. “You’ve been so kind and helpful and really quite heroic in helping me search for Susan, even though I treated you so abominably at the beginning, and therefore you’re also quite forgiving and kind ...”
“Charlotte.” He raised his head. At some point he had knelt on the chair, and they were almost eye to eye. “Stop babbling.”
“But I can’t tell you what you want to hear!”
He shook his head. “Can’t, or won’t? Convince me, then; persuade me you don’t care. I won’t make love to you again just for the sake of satisfying your
desires
. I’m not a plaything, Charlotte, I’m a man.” He cupped her cheek to focus her distraught eyes on him. “And you are not a whore. You’re a woman who has the same needs and desires as other women, including the desire to be loved. That’s what it’s always been with you. You want to love, and to be loved. You let Susan behave like a spoiled brat because you wanted her to love you as much as you love her.” Charlotte’s mouth fell open in shock. Stuart went on relentlessly, his blue eyes earnest. “That’s what drove you to take all those other men to bed, wasn’t it? Did you ever make love to someone you didn’t at least hope to fall in love with? Carlos, the romantic who swept you off your feet? All the men who might have brought you happiness in your sterile marriage?” His voice dropped. “Jeremy, the dashing gentleman who dazzled a young girl longing for adventure?”
Charlotte bucked and twisted. “Let me go! You don’t know anything! How dare you recount my life as a series of pathetic, lovelorn mishaps? My dealings with other people are my concern, and none of yours. You’re a fine one to talk, in fact! Your own father hates the sight of you, and your mother thinks the worst of you even as she adores you. I’ll not take advice from someone who lives on borrowed money in borrowed houses—”
He cut her off with a kiss, the hard, demanding kiss she had feared earlier. Now she welcomed it, and the sanctuary it provided from Stuart’s too-perceptive words and her own cruel response. Even as he kissed her, the tears seeped from her eyes. What had she done, flinging his father’s dislike in his face? What sort of person was she now, defending her own wounded heart by shredding his? How was this supposed to make things better, pushing away the one person she desperately wanted close?
Abruptly Stuart broke away. He grasped her face, his thumbs under her cheekbones, his fingers curling under her jaw, forcing her to look up at him. “I am not like those other men,” he said in a voice taut with emotion. “I am not trying to seduce you for an evening’s entertainment. I am not using you. I want you to be happy, damn it, even if not with me. I’ll leave if you want, but don’t tell me you, even
you
, think so little of me. I love you, for God’s sake.”
Charlotte could only stare up at him, her breath coming in short, stunned pants. He loved her? Stuart
loved
her?
Stuart suddenly blinked, his grip loosening, as if just realizing what he’d said. He snatched his hands from her face and took a step backward. “Ah, Lord,” he muttered, turning away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean ...” His shoulders slumped, and he didn’t look back as he collected his coat and shrugged into it. He stooped to pick up his hat and gloves, and Charlotte realized he was going to leave. She hovered on the brink of wrenching indecision; if she admitted she loved him, to him and to herself, she risked a broken heart. For thirteen years she had refused to let herself be that vulnerable. But if she said nothing, he would leave, and she would suffer a life of wondering what might have been. Which was worse, the never-ending ache or the felling blow?
“Stuart?” He didn’t pause. She teetered, and fell. “Stuart, wait! Don’t go!” Charlotte jumped off the dressing table and ran after him. “I love you, I do! Don’t leave me now!” She was sobbing by the time she reached him, almost blinded by tears as he caught her in his arms.
“Don’t say what you don’t mean,” he whispered. “I didn’t want to pressure you.”
She shook her head, her face hidden against the side of his neck. “It frightens me how much I mean it.”
He gave a short, unsteady laugh. “Then we’re even. I’ve never felt this way about anyone.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, lifting her head. “For what I said earlier. I don’t think so little of you, and it was cruel of me to say—”
“It was,” he agreed. “But I understand. You wouldn’t be yourself if you didn’t fight with every weapon at your disposal.” He brushed away her tears with his thumb, then kissed them away. For a moment they just held each other until Charlotte, feeling his body stirring, looked up.
“Do you—?”
“Yes,” he said, kissing her lightly on the mouth. “I do.” And her gown slipped, sliding to the floor as Stuart’s hands brushed her hips. “Do you?”
“Yes.” She spread her hands across his chest, running them up to his shoulders to push his coat off. Stuart pulled one arm, then the other free, managing to work her petticoat loose at the same time he loosened the laces of her corset. Both joined the dress on the floor.
“Let me please you,” he whispered, running his fingers over her bare back.
Charlotte shivered. “You do.”
At her words, he smiled tenderly, then lifted her and carried her to the bed. He took her face in his hands and kissed her, softly and sweetly. Then he gave her a wicked grin.
“I love you,” he said, unknotting his cravat and jerking it off. “But I owe you.” He slipped her chemise over her head and caressed her shoulders, his gaze growing dark and intense. “Watch. See how beautiful you are.” He ducked his head and Charlotte caught sight of herself in the full length mirror, directly opposite them. She watched, transfixed, as Stuart’s dark head lowered to her breast, and she saw the desire that flushed her own face as he began to tease her nipple with his tongue. And when he began to suckle, she watched his hands move to her knees and slide back and forth along her thighs, easing them apart.
She gasped for breath, watching as his hands touched her, intensifying the physical sensation. She had watched other people make love, but never herself. Unsteadily, eyes still glued to the mirror, she began to fumble with Stuart’s clothing, wanting to see more of him as well. With a soft chuckle, he helped her until he was as exposed as she was. This time she watched Stuart’s face, her chest tight at the fiercely tender light in his eyes.
With his fingers spread wide across her belly, he eased her down onto her elbows. He moved, his shoulders sliding between her knees, and Charlotte took a long shuddering breath of anticipation. His hands slid under her hips, holding and lifting, his breath warmed her intimately, and still the first stroke of his tongue made her cry out.
“Shh,” he whispered. “I shan’t go on if you can’t be quiet.”
Charlotte pressed one fist to her mouth, her body jerking helplessly as he lowered his head again. “Stop,” she wheezed in a strangled voice. “I can’t be quiet! Stop!”
“You can,” he said. “You will.” And this time, when he applied himself, he didn’t stop. Charlotte nearly choked on her cries of pleasure, her heart full to overflowing and her body singing. This was what it was like to be with a man who loved her, a man who wouldn’t leave her in the middle of the night or treat her as a mindless ornament. A man who wanted only to please her.
Stuart sat back on his heels, his hands smoothing over her. He slipped one finger inside her, rubbing slowly, and Charlotte twisted her hips, desperate for more. He laughed softly, then removed his hand. She lifted her hips, beseeching, but he continued playing with her. He pressed into her, just a little bit, then withdrew to slide up and down, tantalizing. Aching for completion, Charlotte leaned up on her elbows to protest.
He had taken himself in hand and was watching as he retraced the paths his fingers had taken, a look of absorbed concentration on his face. As she moved, he looked up. “Watch,” he muttered, his voice so guttural it was almost incoherent. He placed himself against her and thrust home. Charlotte almost lost her balance at the feel of him inside her at last. He pulled out, so far she could see the distance between them, and then slid back in.

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