Charlotte awoke in an ornately carved bed that was most definitely not her own. As she lay staring up at the canopy, she tried recalling the details of the previous night. Her sore, stiff arm provided a poignant reminder of the encounter with the dragoons. Her memory began to get fuzzy, however, right at the point Hannah had placed the flask under her lips.
Flashes came slowly. The carriage ride to Tavish’s. Matthew watching her with such solemn worry. Laughter. Pan screeching about Banshee. The moonlit walk to the orangery.
Suddenly, the staccato images smoothed into a harmonious, steady stream. Her conversation with Matthew, the almost kiss, his confession—they all flooded back, the edges misty and dreamlike but otherwise clear.
Charlotte waited for the hot flush of embarrassment, but it did not come. Not even the faintest whisp. She had asked a person who she desired to kiss her. It was not wicked or wanton or even forward. A man would not be faulted for making his longing known. Why should she? Charlotte was tired of false propriety, and she was done with Society dictating what her emotions should be. Instead, thrills shot through Charlotte—glorious and full of exuberant possibilities.
I have esteemed you since I first laid eyes upon you in the foyer of your parents’ house.The memory of Matthew’s hoarse, throaty voicecaressed Charlotte. Delightful chills coursed freely down her body. Reaching behind her back with her injured arm, she snagged one of the fluffy pillows and hugged it tightly against her chest. Although Charlotte had never been one for squealing, a happy squeak erupted from her. The sound filled the quiet room, and Charlotte squeezed the eiderdown even tighter.
The enormity of Matthew’s admission struck her. He didn’t just fancy her now. He had. For years. Over an entire decade.
It occurred to her that ten years was a long period to desire someone. They had spent much of that time apart. A tweak of concern pricked Charlotte’s bliss. She was accustomed to people only seeing the facade that she presented. They admired her outward glitter but knew nothing—and frankly cared nothing—for what lay inside. Apart from Alexander and a few friends like Calliope, no one wished to see Charlotte’s true self. Had Matthew crafted her into some sort of an ideal? Had he actually fancied her for years or who he dreamed her to be?
Charlotte laughed shakily at the dismal thought. Here she was tearing apart Matthew’s feelings, when she had not even had a chance to fully explore her own attraction to him. Staying abed woolgathering would resolve nothing. She needed to see him again… and soon.
Ten o’clock.Her parting words to Matthew echoed in Charlotte’s mind.
Goodness, what was the time? Between the alcohol she’d imbibed, the late-night activities, and her injury, there was no telling how long she had slept.
Charlotte bolted upright and hissed at the sharp pain in her left arm. Ignoring the spasm, she tore back the bed-curtains with her right hand. Sunlight streamed into the room from a large window. Charlotte bounced to her feet looking frantically for a clock. To her surprise and relief, one with a delicate porcelain face hung on thewall, cheerfully ticking away. It was a statement to Mr. Stewart’s wealth that he had a timepiece in a mere guest room.
Quickly, Charlotte padded across the floor and checked the slender copper hands. It would be ten o’clock in less than fifteen minutes.
Sweet anticipation sizzled through her. As she turned to bolt from the room, she caught sight of her reflection in a rather large mirror, another display of Mr. Stewart’s riches. But Charlotte barely noticed the gilt-covered curlicues that framed the shiny surface. She was too focused on herself. She looked a terrible fright, her hair hanging in wild clumps from her sagging coiffure. Any trace of makeup had rubbed away. What little fabric remained of her left sleeve dangled above the white bandages stained a light pink near the wound. Her dress was crinkled and rumpled. At certain angles, Charlotte could even detect the sight of dried blood staining the silk.
Goodness knew what had happened to her basket of clothes. Most likely, it had been left in Mr. Belle’s hackney carriage. Charlotte had no choice but to meet Matthew looking like an atrocious mess… unless she opted to stay in her appointed room until fresh attire could be provided.
Charlotte tapped her foot as she considered her reflection. Then she watched as a catlike grin spread across her otherwise wane face. Why not? Why not appear just like this and stop trying to look perfect for oneunshining moment.
The idea felt more scandalous than even an assignation in a hothouse. A laugh—bold and merry—burst from Charlotte. Before she could change her mind, she allowed the wild feeling to sweep her forward. Pausing only to don footwear, she sallied from the room and down the elegant hallways. By the time she reached the main garden promenade, she was practically running. She hadn’t moved with such unrestrained quickness since childhood. Shealmost felt like a girl again, pounding off to a new adventure in the woods.
As Charlotte rounded the final bend, she could spy Matthew through the large, impressive windows. He sat patiently on a stone bench with a book open in his hands. She paused for a brief moment, watching this scholarly, heroic man who set her ablaze. He was so calm, so intellectual, but last night she had watched him fly across rooftops.
Her pace slower now, she quietly resumed walking. When she opened the orangery’s door, a blast of perfumed warmth enveloped her. In the room to her left, monkeys chattered. Pan fluttered in and out of the tall palm fronds as he inspected Charlotte. Although he shot a menacing one-eyed glare in her direction, he otherwise seemed to accept her presence and quickly returned to his roost beside Banshee.
Apparently absorbed by his book, Matthew did not notice her entrance. Instead, he methodically turned a page.
Charlotte was about to announce her presence, but ten chimes suddenly rang. The clear sound surprised her as she realized that Mr. Stewart must have a clock tower installed on his estate.
When Matthew lifted his eyes, Charlotte was ready. She smiled at him and simply said, “It’s ten o’clock. I’m here for my kiss.”
The book dropped from Matthew’s fingers just as the bells stopped. The thick tome made a faint thud, but Matthew didn’t look down. His gray eyes remained riveted on hers.
He rose slowly, almost as if she were a wildcat that would scamper away if he moved too quickly. She tried smiling in encouragement, but his first step remained tentative. He took one more. Then another. Then a fourth. By the fifth, he walked with more confidence.
She stood near the doorway, waiting for him to come to her. His strides were rapid now. She could see his chest rising and fallingas if he’d run a long distance instead of traversing only a few feet. Suddenly, she felt winded too, in a wonderful, heady way. Her chest hurt but with utter sweetness.
Matthew stopped in front of her, the toes of his shoes almost touching hers. Their body heat mingled in the already heavy air of the orangery. For a moment, neither spoke.
They simply looked.
Charlotte had never known a mere glance could carry so much meaning. Her skin tingled with an awareness she did not entirely understand, but she fully embraced. Emotions—molten and lovely—swirled in a lovely dance. Her heartbeat and her breathing seemed delightfully erratic, flitting here and there like iridescent butterflies in a beautiful fairy-tale dream.
“You are positive this is what you desire, Charlotte?” The rich undertones in Matthew’s voice seemed just as sensual as the aromatic atmosphere of the glasshouse.
She reached for him with her right arm, cupping the back of his head. Half of his hair fell loose from his queue, a silky curtain against her hand. Unable to stop herself, she brushed her fingers through the smooth strands and then against the faint, scratchy stubble on his cheek. His eyelids fluttered shut at the contact, and she heard him inhale sharply.
“Most assuredly, Matthew.” Her words sounded as bold as she felt, and her heart trilled.
