Potent Pleasures (24 page)

Alex stood before her, looking absolutely collected, Charlotte noted with some irritation.

“Perhaps you would like me to go down on my knees?” he asked. Charlotte saw the amusement lighting his eyes and glared at him.

“No.”

“Good,” Alex said.

An undefinable suggestion of fury hung around him in a way that was making Charlotte most uncomfortable. She raised her chin defiantly. No one could force her to marry, not even an earl of the realm. Her head throbbed painfully.

“Perhaps you would like to commence now?” she asked defiantly.

Alex stared down at her. This wasn’t going the way he pictured. He thought the interview with her father would be the most difficult part of proposing to Charlotte Daicheston. He had dreaded the explanations, the discussion of his first, horrible marriage—for God’s sake, he never even wrote his own father with the details. But the duke had been genial enough, listening carefully, asking a few sage questions, nodding here and there. And at the end he shook hands with Alex and said he had his blessing, and Alex had thought that was it. If he pictured anything, it was Charlotte melting into his arms, madly grateful at the idea of becoming his wife. Swaying toward him, the way she did last night. In fact, he had counseled himself not to allow the whole proposal to get out of hand—he wasn’t going to take his wife’s virginity in a drawing room! Somehow after the discovery of Maria’s perfidy, and after finding out she had bedded practically every man in Rome before turning eighteen, the idea of virginity and wedding nights had become very important. No graceless coupling in coaches for him. Yet he thought that he and Charlotte were so mutually fraught with desire that he even considered a special license. But Charlotte’s father had rejected that idea.

“It’s going to have to be big,” he had said shrewdly. “We’ll have to put on the romantic wedding of the century, in order to cool the gossip. And you”—he looked at Alex from under his bushy eyebrows—”you’ll have to make a baby as soon as possible.”

Alex nodded. He had no worry about that. In all he and Maria probably made love only ten times, and he had Pippa as a result.

But now—Charlotte was looking as testy as a cobbler with a sore head and he was losing all inclination to ask anyone to marry him. What did he need a wife for? Maria’s screaming diatribes should have been enough to warn him off women forever. And Pippa was doing better…. The silence between them grew and grew.

Alex looked down at Charlotte again. With a faint pulse of alarm, he realized that her face was as white as her gown and she was leaning her head against her hand. He sat down next to her.

“You really do have a headache, don’t you?”

Charlotte nodded miserably. Each nod made her head pound. Alex got up and went out into the hall. She heard him talking quietly to one of the footmen.

“I’ve sent him off to tell Keating to make you a special brew,” he said, reentering the room. “Here—bend your head this way.” He gently pulled her over until she toppled against his shoulder.

“This is most improper,” Charlotte said, rearing her head.

“Hush. No one can see us.” His hands pushed aside the curls at the nape of her neck and he started a slow light massage. Charlotte turned her face to the side and rested it against his shoulder. She could feel solid muscle under her cheek. It was oddly comforting, somehow. And his big hands were surprisingly tender … She closed her eyes.

There was a knock and Alex swiftly pulled Charlotte to a sitting position, smiling at her wan look. Campion brought in a tall glass on a silver tray.

“Here, swallow this.”

She eyed it suspiciously. It looked vile—yellow and frothy.

“I
hate
egg drinks.”

“Drink it anyway.”

She did. It wasn’t as bad as she suspected. Worse, she thought gloomily. The footman took the empty glass and bowed his way out of the room. Alex pulled Charlotte back onto his shoulder in a companionable sort of way. Charlotte closed her eyes again.

“There was liquor in that drink, wasn’t there?” she asked drowsily, after a bit. “I don’t like liquor….” Her voice trailed off and Alex could tell she had gone to sleep. He patted her satiny curls back into place. An involuntary grin twisted his lips. How many women go to sleep when an earl comes to propose marriage? He thought of all the voracious glances he intercepted every time he attended Almack’s. Patrick used to twit him, saying that all he’d have to do was dance with a girl twice and she’d be ordering wedding livery.

Well, this was a good story for Patrick. He looked down at his sleeping nonbetrothed. A not-nanny, not-betrothed, he thought wryly. Charlotte’s hair curled riotously, twirling around his hand. He pulled up a soft ringlet and let it spring back into a silky corkscrew. The way she was lying he could see only her profile. Long, curling black lashes lay on her white cheek—a bit rosier now, he noticed with satisfaction. Keating’s headache remedy had enough liquor, as she called it, to heat an ox. Even watching her sleep Alex felt his body stir appreciatively.

That was enough. She didn’t want to marry him, did she? Why not? Perhaps she had heard the story of his first marriage. That must be it, he thought, somewhat relieved. She must think that he had bought off her father somehow and was going to turn her into an unpaid nursemaid. Now he did remember his first proposal. She hadn’t said much, just no. Alex shook his head. They needed to have a straight talk when she woke up. He leaned his head against the back of the divan and closed his eyes. Within seconds, the only sound in the room was the gentle breathing of two sleeping gentlefolk.

Outside, the two footmen looked at each other in wild surmise. They hadn’t heard anything—any words, no matter how muted—for a long time. What was going on in the Chinese Salon? Cecil thought he knew. He smiled widely and thought about Marie. He had tried to talk her into doing it in one of the public rooms in the house. Lord knows, they’d been in every linen closet. But she had always said no.

“Those rooms are formal and dangerous,” she had insisted. “Why, we’d be put out without a shilling if we did anything so outrageous!”

Cecil had it all worked out. Sunday mornings the family was at church, and so were the servants. He simply had to wait until he was on rotation to stay in the house, or switch with one of the other footmen, and she could plead a headache.

“No,” she had kept saying. But now he’d tell her that her very own mistress had done the same. Cecil stood quietly at his post, waiting for someone to emerge from the Chinese Salon, an optimistic glow in his eyes.

Chapter 12

C
harlotte opened her eyes some twenty minutes later. Her headache was gone and she had a delicious sense of warmth. Even her irritability had vanished. I’m drunk, she thought, feeling her head reel slightly as she sat up. Alex was sleeping soundly. At least he didn’t sleep with his mouth open. At that moment he opened his eyes and stared at her wordlessly. A glimmer of a smile lit her eyes. Still without saying anything he pulled her over against his side.

“Sleeping together,” Alex finally said in a tone of mock disgust. “Just like two old men on a bench in the sun.”

“Would you like some tea?” Charlotte smiled. “Just to keep you awake, of course.”

Alex hated the stuff. “Lapdog brew. Just the thing for an old gaffer like myself.”

“Would you prefer sherry? Or something stronger? I suspect,” Charlotte said primly, “that Keating’s special drink has made me tipsy, and so I shall drink some tea to ameliorate the situation.” She walked to the door and pushed it open. Cecil’s face fell when he saw her. She looked perfectly groomed and composed. The young lady had not been doing anything untoward in that room. He trotted off to bring a tea tray.

Charlotte turned around. Alex was comfortably sprawled on a hideous Chinese settee chosen by her mother at the height of the rage for things Oriental. The arms were sleeping lions, their eyes picked out in red lacquer. But Alex … he was beautiful, Charlotte thought with an inner sigh. He was wearing an exquisitely cut coat of dove gray, which contrasted ruthlessly with the untamed masculinity breathing through his muscled thighs. Her resolution was weakening.

Alex raised his heavy-lidded eyes and said abruptly, “We need to talk.” Charlotte nodded and sat down next to him.

Upstairs the duchess was becoming worried. Surely her daughter had been unchaperoned far too long. She walked quickly around her chamber a few times. At first she couldn’t believe it when Marcel told her he had reversed himself and now approved the match. But when he detailed all the awful details of Alex’s first marriage, she agreed. Adelaide sighed. Now if only Charlotte could bring herself to discuss what had happened three years ago….

Marcel walked into her bedchamber through the connecting doors leading to his own chambers.

“Time to go, dearest. We’ll be late. You know that I hate to be late.”

“Oh, Marcel.” Adelaide turned an anguished face toward him. “We can’t go anywhere. Why, Charlotte and Alexander Foakes are still closeted in the Chinese Salon … don’t you think we should join them? They’ve been together, unchaperoned, for over forty-five minutes!” She yanked on the bell cord vigorously.

“Nonsense,” her husband replied. “Charlotte’s a grown girl. She won’t get up to any tricks. Besides, Campion told me that she had a tea tray and a light luncheon sent in. Does that sound like a seduction to you? Now, it’s time to go.” He firmly swept his reluctant wife toward the door.

“But what will he think of me?” she wailed. “We can’t simply leave them unchaperoned!”

“Listen, Addie. You told Charlotte all about the reasons why I originally forbade the marriage, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then, Alex obviously needs some time to explain about his first marriage and the annulment, and all the rest of it that I told you.”

“Perhaps we should just say good-bye?”

“Nonsense,” Marcel said again. “We’ll leave word with Campion.”

Marcel followed his wife down the stairs, ready to push her out the door if need be. He knew as well as anyone that leaving his daughter unchaperoned would be considered a piece of great folly in some circles. But he was playing a deep game, he thought proudly. Not for nothing was he considered a wily poker player. He liked this earl. In fact, he liked him more than he had liked any of Charlotte’s other suitors. He fancied Alex had the right combination of strength and intelligence to cope with Charlotte’s painting and general stubbornness. But he shrewdly reckoned that Alex had quite a job before him convincing Charlotte, and so he had told him, straight out. Women didn’t like to marry men with reputations of this sort. Now, if Alex had had a reputation for whoring and the like, he wouldn’t see any problem. But a reputation for being a limp lily—no. Charlotte had her pride, as much as the next woman.

Alex had listened to him silently, his black eyes inscrutable. But Marcel fancied his point had sunk in. Now, what he, Marcel, would do in this situation would be to
convince
her. Yes,
convince
her. And that might take a while, he thought with an inward grin. Under no circumstances was Marcel going to let Addie bounce into the room and ruin the mood. Down in the hallway he dismissed the footmen and told Campion to keep an eye on the place. (Campion immediately understood the master’s vague direction meant to keep inquiring eyes away from the door to the Chinese Salon.) Then Marcel triumphantly bore his wife off to a musical luncheon.

Back in the Chinese Salon, Charlotte sat bolt upright beside Alex.

“Why don’t you want to marry me?” he asked, finally.

Startled, she swung her head to look at him. He looked so handsome, and almost—could he be a little anxious? Charlotte’s resolution wavered again. But no. She marshaled her reasons: He really only wanted a nursemaid,
and
he had forgotten their encounter three years ago. Which meant that he would be out propositioning girls in gardens whenever she turned her back.

“Mayn’t I simply refuse?”

“No,” Alex said indomitably. “Not when you kiss me the way you do.”

A faint blush crept up Charlotte’s cheeks. Oh, God, he did think she was a shameless wanton. If she mentioned what happened three years ago, he’d probably just walk out. Irrationally, she didn’t consider the difference between Alex walking out and her refusing his proposal.

A little silence fell.

“Let me guess,” Alex said in a somewhat softer voice. “You heard the rumors about my being incapable, and—”

Charlotte shook her head frantically, eyes fixed on the couch cushion.

“You didn’t hear the rumors, or that isn’t the problem?”

“I didn’t … I mean, I did hear, my mother told me, but I knew….” She bit her lip. She felt as if she must be crimson by now.

Alex gave a bark of laughter. “You knew,” he said. “You’re—remarkable, Charlotte.” He reached out a lazy finger and stroked her neck.

“Don’t!”

He withdrew his hand as if it had been burned. There was another silence. Then: “I’m waiting, Charlotte.” His tone was grim.

Charlotte raised her eyes to his, pleading for understanding. “I know what
ton
marriages are like,” she said in a near whisper. “I don’t want one like that. I—” She broke off suddenly as a brisk knock heralded the entrance of a tea tray. Campion brought it himself, beaming avuncularly at the couple as he deftly set up a small table.

“I have brought a small luncheon as well, Lady Charlotte. The duke and duchess asked me to give you their regrets, my lord, and tell you that they have an unavoidable appointment. However, they would very much like you to join them for dinner. If you need anything further, perhaps you might summon me with the bell cord, as we have had to place the footmen elsewhere.” Campion bowed his way out of the room.

Very clever of the duke, Alex thought, instantly appreciating Marcel’s hand in all this unwarranted privacy that was being accorded to him and Charlotte.

Charlotte busied herself with the tea tray and tried to think what it was she really wanted to say.

“Do you love me?” she asked bluntly.

“Love you?” Alex was completely startled. His first impulse was to say “Yes, of course,” and press a kiss on her lips. But he wanted this marriage to be different from his first, he reminded himself. To begin without lies.

“No,” he finally said, deliberately. Charlotte’s body was rigid. “But, and this is a fair question, Charlotte—do you love me?”

Charlotte opened her mouth but Alex kept talking. “You see, I don’t think that love is something that happens the way writers pretend. All those lines like ‘who ever loved, who loved not at first sight’ were made up by poets, not by real people. I thought I loved my first wife the minute I saw her,” he continued slowly. “She looked so much like a girl I met before, here in England. She looked innocent, chaste, and beautiful … like a girl who had been living in a convent. To my mind, she was untouched and untouchable.

“So I told her I loved her, and she told me she loved me, and we married two weeks later to the great rejoicing of her family. But do you know why they rejoiced so much?”

Charlotte shook her head.

“Because no one else in Rome would have married her.” Charlotte just looked confused, so Alex smiled at her, a lopsided, self-condemning smile. “She had slept with a good many of the Roman gentlemen who danced at my wedding, you see.” Charlotte’s eyes widened. Alex shrugged. “More fool I.”

“I’m sorry,” Charlotte said rather lamely.

“I thought a good deal about love at first sight in the following year. Our life together was hell. She didn’t love me, and I found out within a week or so that I didn’t love her either. Love, I think, is something built on trust—and trust comes only with time. Do you see what I mean?”

Charlotte nodded. She was having a hard time putting together Alex’s turbulent black eyes, talking about his wife’s infidelity, and the fixed idea she had that he himself would be unfaithful once they married.

“Do you believe,” she half whispered, “that trust is a matter of … of not being with other people after marriage?”

Alex nearly smiled. So Charlotte was thinking of adultery when she talked of a
ton
marriage! Perhaps her father had a wandering eye.

“I think that fidelity between a man and woman is the only basis for marriage,” he said firmly. He took her hand and started a slow seductive massage of her palm. “I would never betray you with anyone.” He pulled her palm against his lips. “As a matter of fact, I don’t think I would have energy left for anyone else.” Alex leaned closer, his breath warm on her cheek.

Charlotte pulled back again. “You told me that you were looking for a nursemaid,” she said weakly. Why did all her reasons seem so nonsensical now? She felt like an idiot.

Alex simply pulled her against his body, a strong hand pushing up her chin. “Do you think I want to do this with a nursemaid?”

His voice was oddly hoarse, Charlotte thought. She gulped and shook her head like a mesmerized rabbit.

“Or this?” He bent his head and brushed his lips across hers. His lips caressed hers, slowly, enticingly, asking for something…. Charlotte began to tremble.

“Was there anything else you wanted to say, Charlotte?” Alex asked, a little unsteadily. “Because I don’t mean to silence you.”

His breath is sweet, Charlotte thought. “Are you sure you don’t remember meeting me before?” she gasped, before the last rational thought fled from her mind.

Alex withdrew slightly and looked down at her. “Sweetheart, I didn’t ever meet you.” His mouth swooped down on hers again. “How could I forget this loveable forehead? Or your eyebrows?” He punctuated each phrase with a kiss. “Or”—his voice was deepening into velvet—”your eyelashes? They lie so inky-black against your cheek. Or your stubborn little nose?”

Desperately, Charlotte pulled back. “Are you absolutely sure?”

Alex finally realized that the question was truly important to her. His eyes searched hers. “I am quite certain,” he confirmed. “I could never have forgotten you. As soon as I saw you at the ball, I knew—” He broke off.

But Charlotte guessed. He knew he wanted her. He just didn’t remember that he’d already
had
her. A single tear trailed down her cheek.

Alex brushed it away tenderly. “Does it matter, Charlotte? Really? Isn’t the first time we met just part and parcel of the myth of falling in love at first sight? Why not pretend that you never met me before the ball, and to hell with the past?”

Oh, God, Charlotte thought despairingly. Another tear followed the first.

Alex’s eyebrows clamped together. What was going on here? Why did it matter when he met her? He searched his memory again … but he knew it wasn’t any good. Before coming back from Italy he’d probably been to only seven or eight
ton
parties in his life. And Charlotte didn’t even come out until the year he left for Italy. He stared down at her, his body painfully aroused just by the sight of her, even when she was crying.

Charlotte made an effort to get hold of herself. Think rationally, she told herself. Don’t be a widgeon! So he doesn’t remember you. He probably forgot all about making love at the masquerade ball because he thought the girl was a trollop, and that’s not the same thing as sleeping with a lady. But now he’s saying that he won’t run around seducing women in gardens. He’s
promising
. And adultery is what you were afraid of.

She gave a broken, tiny smile that lit Alex’s heart. “I’m sorry to be such a wet goose,” she said. “I never cry!”

“Aha!” Alex said. “You see, I am making the right decision. You will be a lovely mother for Pippa, because that’s the
only
thing she knows how to do well.”