Quickly, she shed her dress and took up the new gown. It was far more elaborate than anything she had worn before. Stepping into it, she began to struggle with the intricate buttons. She heard the door open and looked around, expecting to see the maid who had attended her or perhaps Aunt Phyllis, informed by her son that Amelia was acting very strangely.
It was neither.
A tall, broad-shouldered, blonde-haired young man stood in the doorway—or filled the doorway rather. He had the frame of a warrior chieftain, a physical presence that made it feel as though she were standing close to him even when he was several feet away.
His hair hung to his shoulders, and his cheekbones were high and slanted. He looked like a prince of the distant east, strange and exotic. And quite the most beautiful man Charlotte had ever seen…
“I am glad, for once, that it is notIwho is late,” he murmured.
“Who are you?!” Charlotte breathed before flushing deeply.
Amelia clearly knows him, why else would he walk into her bedroom unannounced and uninvited?
The man arched an eyebrow, one of his mouths quirking into a smile.
“How odd. But I shall play along, Amelia. I am Seth Redmaine, Duke of Bellmonte, and...”
He advanced into the room, moving with impossible grace for a man of his stature. Charlotte found herself breathless with anticipation as he neared her. When he was close enough to touch, he stopped. Charlotte found herself disappointed, wild thoughts of being swept into his arms running through her mind.
“And?” she asked with a gasp.
“Yourbetrothed,” Seth grinned.
CHAPTER 4
Charlotte gaped. It felt like an eternity that she stood there looking at this handsome man with the noble appearance of a prince and the smile of a rogue. Her pulse quickened, and butterflies romped in her stomach. Control came quickly when she reminded herself that this man knew Amelia.
He is betrothed to my sister? Why would she not tell me? If she told me nothing else, why would she not share this with me!
“Betrothed or not, sir. It is not appropriate that you are in a lady’s bedchamber while she is dressing,” Charlotte said firmly.
The man smiled as though she had said something funny.
“I must apologize for not attending Hyde Park last week as promised. Urgent business with my solicitor detained me.”
He strolled across the room, casually walking over to the escritoire. As his eyes fell on the letter that Charlotte had begun to pen, she rushed toward it and folded it. He looked sidelong at her.
“You write to yourself, Amelia?”
Charlotte’s creativity deserted her in such close proximity to him. Those green eyes were the brightest and clearest she had ever seen. His face was not perfect—his nose was a tad too thin, and his jawline too sharp—but somehow, the whole was breathtaking in its beauty.
He is Amelia’s betrothed, so I cannot harbor any attraction for him. Yet I must be attracted to him until Amelia returns. I must live her life. Oh Lord, what a tangle! I will have words for her when I finally see her.
“Obviously, this is a letterforme, notbyme,” Charlotte replied, “why would I address a letter to myself?”
“Indeed, but it looked incomplete. Who would send a half-finished letter?”
“Perhaps it is to be a serial as we get in the newspapers,” Charlotte suggested.
The smile broadened, and Charlotte found herself returning it. It was impossible not to. That smile was boyish and joyful, the smile of a man who loved life and could not contain thatenjoyment. She found that she could think of no one else who gave her that feeling.
I think this man is interesting and hope that his claim to be betrothed to Amelia is not some wicked joke. Or that he and Amelia are already lovers. Oh Lord, I could not go that far to maintain a pretense!
She felt herself blushing at the thought. It was all too easy to picture this man bereft of his clothes. From his frame, she could tell that his physique was comparable to Hercules. His coat and waistcoat did little to disguise the size of his arms and shoulders or the bulge of his pectoral muscles above a flat stomach. The idea of that body against hers was intoxicating, deepening her blush.
But it would not be her name that he whispered in the throes of passion. It would be her sister’s…
That thought calmed her, acting like a bucket of cold water.
