Charlotte examined his face in the moonlight for a moment, wondering how it was that someone as interesting as he was could have gone unmarried for so long. Surely, there must have been a plethora of women who fought for his attention.
Henrietta Carter suddenly came to her mind; she certainly seemed to be more than interested in the marquess. A strange wave of unexpected dislike suddenly filled her mind. Henrietta had never done anything to her, yet she kicked against the notion of her liking someone like James Sinclair.
“Which moon do you prefer?” Jameson turned to her after a few moments of silence.
“I … I guess I’ve never given it much thought.” Charlotte frowned, flustered by the unexpected route her thoughts had taken.
What did it matter if Henrietta fancied the marquess or not? It wasn’t as if he were a suitor of Charlotte’s; they barely even knew each other.
“I really enjoyed singing with you; your voice is just as beautiful as your playing.” The marquess shot her a lazy smile that set her heart racing once more. The man had a smile that could charm a cat out of a tree if he wanted it to.
“I didn’t realize that you could sing like that either.” She felt herself relaxing in his presence, acutely aware of his arm brushing against hers. Tiny bumps shot up her arm, spreading over her skin in a scintillating manner. Jameson’s mere presence left her flustered and wondering why she reacted around him the way that she did; she could hardly string a reply together when asked a question.
The feeling between them was loaded with anticipation as she noticed the strong outline of his jaw and the woody scent of cigars on his jacket. The deep smell of his cologne wafted on the breeze, mingling with the roses in an intoxicating manner.
“We haven’t had a lot of time to get acquainted, but I think I love music just as much as you do. I’ve always found solace in music, even as a child.” His voice trailed off on a dreamy note as he looked out over the dark gardens.
Stealing a glance in his direction, Charlotte felt a strange fluttering in the pit of her stomach. Lord Jameson Sinclair was a handsome man; his presence commanded authority in a gentle manner that left her feeling safe and at peace. Yet there was something utterly muscular and strong about him, a kind of attraction that she’d never noticed in a man before. Lord Dunham certainly never made her stomach flutter with nerves.
“That is something we have in common; my parents encouraged my musical interests above any of my other accomplishments. So, if ever you see me painting a picture or stitching a pillow, please know that it is against my will.” Charlotte laughed freely as the marquess turned to look at her.
“Is that so?” Jameson lifted an eyebrow, smiling at her in a lazy manner that set her chest aflame.
“I once tried to stitch a few flowers onto a pillow; my poor mama said it was lovely, but my father said he was afraid that the pattern would frighten any guests that ventured into the parlour.” She recalled the memory with great fondness as a gentle smile curved her full lips.
Chuckling from deep within his chest, Jameson shook his head. “Your parents sound like they were wonderful people. I wish I could have met them. You must miss them terribly.” His eyes swam with honesty and understanding as he held her gaze.
“More than anyone will ever understand.” Charlotte let out a sigh. It was refreshing to speak of her parents without anyone giving her a pitying look. She soon realized after her parents’ death that any mention of their names would bring about a series of pitying sighs from people she’d rather avoid.
Speaking to the marquess, however, felt refreshing as he smiled at her with nothing but understanding. The man sympathized with her without making her feel as if her grief was a burden to him.
“I like speaking to you like this; we should spend more time alone without any interruptions,” Jamesons remarked and glanced back at the open doors where the ball was in full swing.
Realization dawned on Charlotte as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water in her face.
“Is something the matter?” Jameson came up straight as he noticed her backing away, her eyes widening with fear.
“We are alone with no chaperone on a dark terrace.” Charlotte’s eyes darted to the open doors, her heart beating fast from fear of being caught.
The guests seemed to be having a good time, laughing and chattering while others danced or took turns on the pianoforte. If even one of them happened to glance in their direction, Charlotte’s reputation would be ruined beyond repair.
“I don’t think anyone can see us.” Jameson tried to reason with her, taking a step forward and hiding his body behind a large shrub. The way he glanced over his shoulder let Charlotte know that he wasn’t unsympathetic to her plight.
Concealing herself in the shadows, Charlotte sought a way of escape. “My reputation will never recover if I am seen out here with a gentleman. Uncle Reginald will be furious!” Charlotte hissed and turned to leave, noticing that her only way of escape was to slip inside without anyone seeing. Following the shadows along the wall until she reached the doors was her only option at present.
Spotting a walkway, she hurried off, not realizing that her foot had hooked on a piece of uneven paving; time seemed to freeze as Charlotte observed the world in a descending crescendo of blurry images. Flailing her arms, she reached for a hold of anything at all that would stop the inevitable fall.
Strong hands gripped her waist, spinning her around just before she hit the floor. Her chest rose and fell with equal amounts of confusion and panic as Charlotte opened her eyes.
“Did you get hurt?” Jameson breathed deeply as he looked her over, his eyes dipping to her chest where the neckline had slipped, exposing the creamy flesh of her bosoms.
“I … I don’t think I did.” Charlotte’s breathing came in sharp intervals as she struggled to regain a hold of reality. The starry sky above Jameson’s head matched his eyes, accentuating the deep blue.
“I’m only glad I was there to break your fall.” His voice seemed deeper as Jameson pulled her up, keeping his hands securely placed on her waist.
The moment seemed to linger as Charlotte’s eyes fell to his lips, taking in the deep breaths that seemed to match hers. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of a nearby shrub, blowing pieces of Charlotte’s hair across her face. The sudden fall had loosened a few of the strands that she had inadequately attempted to pin to the back of her head.
“You should be careful.” Jameson swallowed hard, glancing down at her chest once more before allowing his gaze to linger on her full lips. His face came closer, stopping mere inches away from hers.
