“It’s complicated.”
She snorted in amusement. “It always is, isn’t it. But complicated isn’t impossible.”
Resisting the urge to shift in his seat, Ralston stared back at her. “When did you become so wise?”
Eleanor snorted. “There is something to be said for preferring to be the observer rather than the observed. I see things, Ralston. And I understand your reluctance. It won’t be easy to claim your own happiness within the structures you are obligated to support. But you deserve it.” Her eyes caught and held his. “We all do. And if anyone can handle the unnatural pressures of such a situation, I reckon it is you.” She shrugged and offered a subtle smile. “And…though I cannot claim to know her, I suspect Miss Dickson is not the type of woman to shy away from a challenge either.”
Ralston looked at his sister with a more discerning eye. “Wise, indeed,” he murmured.
Eleanor’s smile widened, as she accepted the compliment with a gracious nod of her head.
Chapter Twenty-One
Charlotte was slowly,but with undeniable certainty, coming to abhor the endless rounds of London parties. The balls, the roues, musicales and dinners and soirées were all the same. The same faces, the same music, the same food and conversation. It was exhausting in its lack of uniqueness.
Even so, she attended every one. She smiled and engaged in small talk and danced. And yet not a single worthy gentleman had made an offer.
To be fully fair and honest, it was no one’s fault but her own. Her aunt had been more than gracious and had been endlessly enthusiastic about introducing Charlotte to as many prospective grooms as she could find. Mrs. Dove-Lyon had also presented nearly a half-dozen opportunities. But Charlotte had rejected them all. This one was not quite rich enough. This one didn’t have enough of his peers’ respect. That one was powerful but didn’t seem to have any interest in social influence.
In truth, they were mostly excuses. And she feared she knew why.
Redington.
Despite her recommitment and determination to forget him over this past week, he’d utterly distracted her from her purpose.Days after convincing herself to leave her experience with the marquess in the past, she still craved it with a hunger that made her tremble late at night when she lay in her bed. Why did she constantly relive the luxurious, passionate sensations of his mouth moving over hers? The heat and force of his tongue and his hands and his strong, unflinching body. Why did she so desperately imagine just one more night of having him on his knees, desperate and begging for her to command him?
The man had revealed himself to possess surprising depths, but the mysteries had only begun to be discovered. There was so much more she wished she could explore in the complexities of his desire and his surrender.
And now she had that explosive experience at Lord Gresham’s dinner party to add to her heated memories. She’d expected another summons to the Lyon’s Den that night when she returned home. And when it arrived, she’d been tempted. Terribly so. But she ignored it. And the next one. And the next.
But then they stopped.
His parting words the night of Gresham’s dinner party had made it clear that he expected to continue their…conversation. But after those first three nights, she hadn’t heard from him or caught even a glimpse of him. Perhaps, he’d finally acknowledged that their time together had concluded.
The thought was a painful one despite her resolve to believe the same.
It didn’t escape her notice that if she hadn’t been so quick to decide she hated him after that first encounter, the Black Widow may already have had her married to the man. And would that have been so terrible?
Not for her, certainly. She’d have gotten the exact type of husband she’d wanted, as well as the man she craved with all her being.
But she knew the marquess too well now. And she was quite aware that she would not make a proper wife for him. She would have brought nothing to the union—no grand title or elevated pedigree, no elegance or grace or social influence. Even her wealth, which was certainly a lot in some respects, was paltry in comparison to his own.
Though he might desire her and enjoy their time together at the Lyon’s Den, he would want more—require more—in a wife than she could ever provide. Any time she acknowledged that, she berated herself for even thinking about herself in proximity to such a role.
That was what had finally prompted her to go to Mrs. Dove-Lyon late last night. To insist they finally bring an end to their arrangement. She promised that she would agree to the next gentleman the Widow brought forward, no more excuses or prevaricating.
The other woman had stared at her in silence for an uncomfortable amount of time before replying. “As you wish, Miss Dickson. It shall be done.”
Charlotte had expected to feel relief after the decisive meeting. But she hadn’t been able to sleep all night and felt herself in an odd trance throughout the day.
And now here she was, in the middle of another blasted ball, and she could not keep her thoughts from roving over every encounter and memory of the marquess.
Tonight’s event was one of the grandest of the season and though she hadn’t encountered the marquess at any social events in the last week, it was extremely unlikely that he wouldn’t escort his sister to such a promising marriage market. Surely, it was too much to expect she would make it through the night without…something. A glimpse. A word. A brief encounter?
The anticipation was so consuming, she could barely focus on anything else. Names of people she’d been introduced to since arriving were completely lost. Conversations had barely registered. Even the dances she’d engaged in were a vague memory. Everything was an abstract blur of pastel gowns and dark-coated gentlemen.
She was in the middle of a country dance with Lord Something-or-other when the arrival of the Marquess of Redington, along with his sister, Lady Eleanor Fairchild, was announced. She truly tried not flinch or glance to the grand ballroom entry or break into a fine sweat, but she did all three in rapid succession.
And—just like that—the world became clearer, brighter, more vividly colorful.
