Gabrielle was so excited, she fairly vibrated. “Oh, Charlotte, do you think Mr. Santeer will be there? I so admired his last exhibit at the Royal Academy. All of those huge canvases with big, muscular men and horses…all that masculinity gets my juices flowing.
Margot sniffed. “The last time your “juices” set to flowing, we had to burn your underclothing.”
Gabrielle frowned and gave her a nasty bump on her way out to the carriage.
“Do you think she really meant that?” Margot threw a peevish look toward Gabrielle’s receding backside. “Or is it because she’s so vain, she’s leaving her spectacles here?”
“Um, I’m fairly sure she’s excited about tonight.” Charlotte kept her fidgeting hands behind her to hide her anxious need to get the two of them out the door before her guest arrived at seven.
“I think you want to get rid of us,” Margot accused suddenly. “You didn’t even hear what I said.”
“Why? Um, no, of course not. What made you think that?” Charlotte’s cheeks burned at being caught out.
“Maybe it’s the endless dishes Lilith’s been preparing all day. She never cooks like that for just the three of us.”
Charlotte nearly cried in relief when Margot finally shook her head and strode out the door. Just when she thought she was gone, Margot turned back and leaned her head inside. “Please be sure to have the linens changed after you’ve had your way with whoever you’re planning to seduce tonight.” She turned and scampered down the steps to the waiting carriage before Charlotte could protest her innocence.
Turning away from the door, she wondered whether she dared invade Lilith’s kitchen one last time to make sure everything was perfect for her supper that night with Mr. Colwyn.
* * *
Col’a first suspicionthat he was in deep trouble was when the hackney dropped him off a few streets away from Charlotte’s villa. Vanity was something he thought he’d abandoned long ago, along with the other shame of his youth, but apparently not. At the last minute he realized he couldn’t bear for her to see him arrive in a shabby rented carriage.
As he walked toward her home, an odd glow came from her tiny jewel of villa. The closer he got, the more his nerves jangled. The front garden was filled with lighted candles. Even the small pond was illuminated with lighted, floating discs of wax. Each step up to the front entrance had massed, lighted candles to either side.
He knew from his previous surveillance that she had expensive gas lighting within the villa, but tonight the inner wall sconces appeared to be extinguished. Nothing remained but the glow of what had to be hundreds of candles. Christ, the woman must have spent a king’s ransom on candles.
A creeping, spider-like sense crawled up his back. She was re-creating a scene from one of his sexual adventures detailed in the accursed journal pages.
“Good evening, sir. I trust your trip out from the city was not overly tiring.”
Her butler was a mountain of a man. In fact, Col was certain his face was familiar from the London boxing milieu. He knew Charlotte’s servant was making a subtle reference to the fact that Col was approaching the villa as if he’d walked all the way from his humble lodgings on Great Queen Street.
He refused to take the bait and gave the man a civilized reply. “Not at all. As you can see, it’s a beautiful April evening.” Col turned in a half-circle, lifting an arm toward the nearly cloudless sky where a few early stars were shining nearly as brightly as the candles surrounding the two men. “Nothing like a brisk stretch of the legs.”
“Come in. Miss Smythe awaits you at the chess board.”
* * *
Charlotte claspedher hands to hide the jittery shaking she couldn’t seem to quell. She wouldnotshow fear in front of this man. But she had to know. She had to know if what Mr. Colwyn elicited in the lower depths of her body was real. She had to know if this was a man with whom she could share a bed.
She’d lined up all the chess pieces on her personal board in the front drawing room. Sitting at her usual white side, she waited for the Bow Street runner to assume the black side.
After Sam showed him in and indicated he should take a seat opposite her, she had a sudden inspiration. “No. Let’s see what Mr. Colwyn can do if I let him dominate the game from the white side.” When she stood to switch sides, she took off her shawl and could hear Mr. Colwyn’s sharp intake of breath. The deep rose satin dress she’d chosen for the evening had a décolletage so low, a glimpse of the tops of the dusky aureoles of her nipples showed above the fabric.
“I’ve never played white before” was all he managed to croak before quickly taking a seat.
“There’s nothing magic about playing white, except you get to be the aggressor and lead the game.” She assumed a seat on the black side but didn’t cover up again with her thin wool shawl. Instead, she let the luxurious length of fine wine-colored paisley-patterned wool drop to the floor.
The man across from her studied the board so long without lifting his head that she wondered if perhaps he’d fallen asleep. And then suddenly, he spoke so low, she thought she might be imagining his words.
“Miss Smythe…”
“Oh, no. Charlotte, please.”
“Charlotte…,” he started and then sank into silence. After a long while, he continued, “I cannot give you what you want.”
“How do you know what I want?”
