Inside, they were greeted by a woman with jet-black hair coiled high upon her head, a pincushion strapped to her wrist, and a measuring tape draped like a badge of office around her neck. She offered Charlotte a warm smile—one that faltered the moment her eyes landed on Seth’s disheveled state.
“How may I be of service, milady, milord?” she asked, the words sugar-sweet but cautious.
“I wish I knew,” Charlotte murmured, frowning as she wriggled her arm free from Seth’s unyielding grip. “Would you care to explain, Your Grace?”
“My fiancée would like a new dress,” Seth replied swiftly, “and I see a number of eminently suitable garments displayed here. We would like to try a few. Could you point us to an area where we could be afforded some privacy?”
The dressmaker hesitated, glancing at the garments displayed on a row of polished wooden mannequins.
“Well, Your Grace, it would be far more appropriate to have a gown tailored. You may not be aware, but the female form requires precise—”
“I assure you,” Seth cut in, flashing a smile that was all teeth and provocation, “I amintimatelyfamiliar with the intricacies of the female form. We'll start with one of these. Pick something you like, darling.”
Charlotte blinked up at him, stunned.
He is behaving like a madman. What in heaven’s name is he trying to prove now?
Forcing composure into her spine, Charlotte offered a stiff smile and drifted toward the row of gowns. Her fingers skimmed the fabrics until they settled on a blue silk dress, the shade deep enough to rival twilight.
“That one,” she said quietly.
The dressmaker hurriedly stripped the mannequin of its garment. Seth took it from her. The woman led them to the rear of the shop, where a curtain was drawn aside. Beyond the curtain were stand mirrors and a chaise. Seth seized the curtain and yanked it across in front of the astonished proprietor.
Charlotte glared at him. “Am I to change in front of you now?”
She wondered if she would comply if that was his request. Stripping down to her undergarments in front of a man would have scandalized her a few weeks ago. Now, she wasn’t sure whether she was scandalized… or thrilled.
He didn’t answer. He tossed the dress aside. It missed the chaise and crumpled to the floor. Before she could reach for it, he caught her by the arms and kissed her.
Hard.
Charlotte stiffened. Her eyes flew open in shock, but his kiss didn’t falter. It was fierce, searing, almost wild—less a kiss than a claim. Her thoughts scattered like startled birds in trees. She gripped his sleeves, caught somewhere between resistance and surrender.
Then, just as abruptly, he broke away, holding her at arm’s length.
“I didn’t feel the difference before,” he muttered, breathing hard. “Now I do.”
“What difference?” Charlotte exhaled shakily.
His jaw tightened. “A letter arrived. I do not know precisely when it arrived, but it is, frankly, impossible.” His gaze honed in on her visage, as if searching for a truth. “It is fromyou… Except written from Scarborough, and written for the purpose of breaking off our engagement. The reason cited is that you love another.”
A chill gripped Charlotte’s chest, sharp and sudden. A letter from Yorkshire—fromScarborough—there could be no doubt. Ithadto be Amelia.
Finally, our ruse has been discovered, and Amelia herself shattered the illusion. She is not at Hamilton House after all. Why did she not warn me beforehand?
Seth’s voice broke through her spiraling thoughts. “Can you explain,” he asked, quietly but intently, “how you can be here in London and send me a letter from Scarborough at the same time? Or why you would lie beside me in that boat, kiss me as though nothing else existed… and then write to say you love another?”
She looked up into his eyes, expecting fury, mockery—anything but what she found.
He wasn’t angry. He was bewildered. Almost… hurt.
There was a wild flicker in his gaze, as if some part of him already knew the truth and had hoped—foolishly, desperately—not to be right.
But why? His behavior has not told me that he cares for Amelia, so why should her rejection of him sting as much as it so clearly does?
“Amelia...” he began, voice rough.
Charlotte pressed her fingers to his lips to silence him.
