Potent Pleasures (13 page)

“Oh, no,” said Alex. “My wife can’t have children already. No, Lady Doctorow is out.”

“Well,” Charlotte began, but she was interrupted by Daphne Boch.

“That child,” she said rather sharply, “has fallen asleep with her face on a plate.”

The entire party swung about. Pippa had indeed fallen asleep, her face lovingly pressed into a plate that had once held ice cream. Moreover, she still had strands of grass sticking to her face, mixed with mashed strawberry. In all, she looked so thoroughly motherless that Charlotte’s heart turned over.

Alexander merely picked her up and looked about for a suitable cloth to wash her face. When he didn’t see one, he turned and in one smooth gesture plumped Pippa straight into Charlotte’s lap.

“Would you hold her for one second?” he asked with a charming smile. “I will trot over and see whether the nanny fell in the lake or what.”

Even from here Charlotte could tell that Pippa’s young nanny was having an excellent time flirting with the earl’s four footmen and the baron’s one attendant.

She looked down at Pippa, who thankfully had not woken up and was now loudly sucking her thumb. He wasn’t joking. Alex really was looking for a mother for Pippa, and she was apparently the current candidate for motherhood. She had a split-second urge to roll the dirty, rather damp child straight out of her lap. But then … Pippa was sleeping so sweetly, her face pressed against Charlotte’s knee. She stayed put, torn between indignation and tenderness.

Alex seemed to be spending an awfully long time talking to his servants. She looked up to find the rest of the party gazing at her in horrified amusement.

“I am so sorry,” remarked Daphne in her strong French accent. “Your beautiful gown will be quite ruined. And that gown was made by Madame Carême, was it not? This earl does not exhibit good manners!”

Will gazed at Charlotte thoughtfully. Could it be that a crack was appearing in her enchantment with his handsome friend? Perhaps he could use the child as a wedge? But no. Will sighed inwardly. Better to flirt with the accomplished Daphne and forget the dream of a witty, lovely Charlotte next to him in bed. Charlotte wasn’t howling with indignation, and that probably meant she didn’t mind having a messy brat hurled into her lap.

Charlotte felt an embarrassed flush rise up her neck. Alex’s maneuver was hardly subtle. She felt as if the whole party was judging her aptitude for motherhood.

Lucien’s sharp eyes noted her mortification and he rose gracefully and bent over her.

“May I?” He nimbly picked up the sleeping child and rolled her deftly into his arms. As Charlotte watched with surprise, Lucien tucked Pippa into the crook of his arm and smiled down at the group. “I shall take her for a walk, shall I not?” He strolled off.

Charlotte instinctively looked at Lucien’s sister. Daphne’s eyes filled with tears and she looked off past the picnic debris, her face rigid. Will drew Daphne to her feet. Having known her for only one hour, he already knew that Daphne would dislike showing emotion before relative strangers.

“Let’s go for a walk as well, shall we?” he suggested casually. They walked off in a different direction, and if Daphne walked rather blindly, Will appeared to see nothing of it.

Charlotte sat alone.

Alex sauntered up, wet linen in hand, and stopped in surprise when he saw no child in her lap. He crooked an eyebrow at her.

“Lucien … he took Pippa for a walk,” Charlotte said. Alex dropped to the ground beside her. Charlotte turned to him, her eyes perturbed. “Have Lucien and Daphne lived in England for several years?”

“I believe so,” Alex replied.

“And was he married before coming to England?”

“Yes.”

“I think he had a child as well,” Charlotte whispered. “How horrible!” One read of the fate of French aristocrats, of course, but it didn’t seem so bitterly painful until one saw a father hold a child not his own.

Alex said nothing. He had come to the same conclusion earlier in the day. He and Lucien had fenced in the long picture gallery of Sheffield House, with Pippa ensconced in a makeshift crib at one end. Confronted with Pippa, his other male friends had either pretended not to notice her or complained (justly, no doubt) that she was an ill-handled problem and should be instantly consigned to a nursery.

Lucien said nothing about her either way, but during a break in the game he stooped over Pippa’s crib and allowed her to teethe on the back of his knuckle. Not one of Alex’s unmarried friends would have known to do that. He himself had been a father for only a month, but he was continually amazed at the revolting habits propinquity to Pippa had led him to—such as allowing her to chew on his hand.

“I instructed the servants to clean up,” Alex said in his deep voice. “Shall we mimic the rest of the party and take a small walk?”

Charlotte hesitated only briefly before agreeing. They strolled silently for a while and then sat at the edge of the very willow pond where Will had earlier made his ill-fated marriage proposal. She and Will had naturally sat on the bench provided, but she and Alex just as naturally sat on the riverbank. Charlotte didn’t even consider the possibility of further damage to her gown. She sat primly, her arms wound around her knees, staring at the murky water.

Alex leaned back and put his head on his arms. He pretended to close his eyes but actually watched Charlotte through lowered eyelashes. She was sitting absolutely still. From his position on the ground he could see the slender curve of her back, leading up to her beautiful neck, and just a glimpse of long, curling eyelashes brushing her cheeks. There was no point in analyzing why he wanted her so much. He did, that was all there was to it. He wanted to run his tongue up that neck until she shivered with delight. And given that he needed a wife, the timing of this strange bolt of lust was all to the good. Charlotte would make a splendid, decorative countess, a delightful bed companion, and sooner or later she would be an excellent mother to Pippa as well.

He cast a swift look around. No one was within sight. “I suppose,” he said, “you must think me very odd to have tipped my child into your lap without notice.” Alex swung about to sit before Charlotte. “In fact, more than odd: blasted rude. Is this dress a fabulous French creation?” His hand slid over the strawberry stains on her knee.

Charlotte had been thinking about the afternoon, and had decided that she did not like being embarrassed.

“Oh, no,” she said sweetly. “I have no expectations whatsoever about your conduct.”

“Touché!” said Alex appreciatively.

“Let me see,” Charlotte continued. “You have entirely forgotten our first meeting, during which you—well, never mind that,” she added hastily. “During our second meeting you touched my back in a most improper way, and on our third meeting you lied to Lord Holland, who apparently has some claim to be your friend, finagled your way into this picnic, left us abruptly before introducing your friends, and finally thrust an unkempt child into my lap. I am much inclined to think,” she finished primly, “that there is little you do that escapes remark, and thus for me to have expectations of civility would be past hope!”

Alex noted with appreciation that she said nothing about his hand on her knee. “You are absolutely right,” he said humbly.

Charlotte looked at him. His hand slid a little higher up her leg.

“You are very provoking!” she said, shaking his hand off her knee.

He laughed. “I am out of my depth in two areas.” His right hand captured one of hers and gently bent down her ring finger. “Number one, I have been a father for only a short period, and I don’t feel entirely easy in the role, at least in front of people I don’t know well—”

“I would say the contrary, actually,” Charlotte broke in. “I don’t believe I have ever seen a man who is as easy with the role as yourself.”

“Ah,” Alex said hastily, “that is only because I am forced to act as both mother and nanny and so I appear to be more accomplished than I am.” He did
not
want to go into the reasons why he abruptly left the group before making introductions. How could one reveal that a perfectly well-bred peer in his thirties had been caught by a wave of jealousy so intense that he had to leave the scene in order to avoid giving an old friend a square right to the jaw?

“Number two,” Alex continued, caressing Charlotte’s middle finger before bending it down. “I didn’t think to meet a woman I wanted to marry on my first evening back in England. It has taken me rather by surprise.” She looked up at that and was met by a look of wry self-irony.

“Ha!” she said. “I know why you want to marry. You have found yourself burdened with a one-year-old child who loathes her nanny.”

“Actually, you are unlike any nanny I have seen. Where is your tight cap?” He ran his free hand through her velvety curls. “And I regret to tell you, madam, that your mouth is far too soft to administer the necessary discipline!” His finger moved to her lower lip.

“Governesses,” he continued, “always wear garments which cover their collarbones.” His finger trailed over Charlotte’s chin and down to the base of her neck. “I am something of an expert after ushering five such women in and out of my house in the past few weeks. Governesses,” he said softly, “never, never, never allow a man to see something as beautiful as this….” His finger swooped over her curves, falling into the delectable dark shadow between her breasts and lingering there.

Charlotte drew in a sharp breath. She didn’t move for a second, shaken by a storm of desire that began low in her belly and moved up her chest. Then she pulled back. This was exactly what had happened three years ago. She was about to be seduced on the grass, and this time in broad daylight! In fact, this particular earl likely made a habit of ravishing young ladies outside. She, however, was not a pullet ready for plucking.

“My lord,” she said coolly. “I must beg you to curb the wandering tendencies of your hands. There are those who find such undesired caresses … distasteful.”

Alex’s eyes darkened. He leaned forward until there was hardly room between their faces for a breath of air.

“Are you such a one?” he said, his deep voice sending tremors through Charlotte’s knees. She kept prudently silent. Slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on hers, Alex lifted her right hand to his mouth and pressed her fingers against his lips. His lips opened and he delicately bit the tip of one finger. Charlotte’s eyes fell, afraid that he would be able to tell how much his very touch affected her.

“Perhaps you are right,” he said, with amusement in his voice. Her eyes flew back up to his. “Even Aunt Henrietta could hardly expect me to marry a reluctant woman.”

“Exactly!” Charlotte said, collecting her scattered thoughts and pulling her hand out of his. “I know just what your aunt would like. A young damsel, just out of the schoolroom.” She looked at him mischievously. “She will fall desperately in love with you on first sight and she probably won’t mind your advanced age … much,” she added with just a touch of doubt. “You are an earl, after all!”

“That’s true,” said Alex. “I should probably be wise to point out the coronets on my coach two or three times, in case she forgets my rank.”

“Precisely,” said Charlotte approvingly. “Now you’re beginning to understand the situation, my lord. I’m afraid that those with white hair”—she glanced at his curls—“can’t expect the same success in love that is enjoyed by younger men.”

“And what should I do,” said Alex in an oddly gentle voice, “if I don’t like this maiden as much as she likes me? You do see the problem, don’t you? I’m afraid I have a tenderness for, oh, the on-the-shelf sort of lady, the sort who has been hanging around ballrooms for three or four years….” His voice trailed off.

Red dots danced before Charlotte’s eyes. No one! No one had ever insinuated that she was an on-the-shelf sort of lady. “I should say that the problem, in fact, is that a more experienced woman may have too much force of mind to accept your offer, my lord,” she said, her mind registering with approval the evenness of her voice.

Alex sighed loudly. Somehow he had again possessed himself of her hand and brought it to his mouth. “I am desolate, Charlotte. I had set my heart on this older lady—why, she must be all of twenty years old, Charlotte—and I’m quite sure that I wouldn’t prefer a sixteen-year-old, no matter how docile.”

Charlotte felt fiercely irritated. What a stupid conversation! She didn’t even know this man, and here they were, talking about marriage. He was insulting her. And he was mauling her fingers, which made it hard to think rationally.

“I feel sure,” she said in a perfectly composed voice with just a drop of uninterest, “that when you actually come to making this painful decision, sir, you will find it to be far easier than you may believe at present.”

Alex growled. She heard it. He growled. And when she looked at him in a rather bewildered fashion, he jerked her forward and up on her knees, and before she could squeak out a protest, Alex pulled Charlotte toward him so that their bodies touched from chest to knee.

In fact, had Charlotte struggled, the whole embrace might have become something more athletic than Alex had in mind. But instead her body betrayed her. She lifted her head as if he kissed her every day. And Alex’s arms tightened in response to her unconscious invitation.

His lips descended fiercely on Charlotte’s and, unbidden, her mouth opened. A warm tongue plunged into her mouth and withdrew, plunged in and withdrew. Charlotte was instantly intoxicated, her body responding with fiery awareness to the push of his belly against hers, the hard strength of his hands molding her back.

Suddenly Alex’s lips left hers. Ruthlessly he avoided her pleading mouth, running his tongue provocatively over her eyebrows, biting the sweet fullness of her bottom lip. Charlotte unconsciously pressed forward, begging silently for more. He pulled her even closer, molding her body to every inch of his. His hardness jutted demandingly into her soft curves. Charlotte gasped and without thinking, she reached up and pulled his mouth down to hers, bringing her tongue, somewhat hesitatingly but seductively, to touch his lips.