“What am I looking at?”
She laughed again, then said, “It is as if all the inviting bibelots and whatnots have been placed in here. The drawing room was so plain, one would think you had just moved in, and your dining room could best be described as stark. But here, you have attractive paintings and all these beautiful books, and that pretty silver candlestick. Anyone would proclaim the Persian rug under my feet to be most welcoming. Why, you even have a plant, looking healthy, if I may say.”
“I think you’ve insulted most of my home,” Charles told her without rancor. In fact, he found it amusing she would be so frank. “But I’m glad you like my study. Here is where I spend most of my time.”
“I can see why.” She wandered around the entire room, running her hand across the back of his leather chair, looking at his desk, even the papers strewn across it, which most would consider an insolent invasion of privacy. But when she did it, Charles didn’t mind. Eventually, she stopped in front of his bookcase where she began to peruse the titles. The entire occurrence gave him an odd but pleasurable feeling of familiarity.
He had an upholstered chair by the glowing fire, only one since it was his private domain, and beside this a lamp table. He took her wine glass from the edge of his desk and set it on the table beside his, then he stood beside her to find the particular books.
Her intoxicating fragrance filled his head as he bent to a lower shelf and withdrew the two-volume set ofThe Star-Chamber.He handed her one of the books.
“It has everything,” he proclaimed, tapping the cover with his glasses before putting them on and flipping through the pages. “History, a thrilling story, that Gothic aspect everyone seems to love so much, and court scenes.”
She laughed again. “And court scenes.”
Charles wanted to kiss her at that moment more than he wanted to take his next breath. But he was a gentleman. He handed her the other volume and stepped away to put some distance between them. Picking up his wine glass, he took a quick sip and watched her while she opened the book.
“Your name is Charles!” She stared at him from across the room, having read the bookplate on the inside cover. “Is it really?”
“Yes,” he said, knowing instantly that the coincidence of their names would also make her laugh, and it did, a sweet bubbling sound.
“How strange I never knew it. No one told me, although I suppose I never asked. Charles Jeffcoat,” she mused.
“Charles Jeffrey Jeffcoat,” he said, just to tickle her funny bone again.
“It’s not!” And she clutched the books to her while she chuckled.
“You’ve found a good humored doxy,” came his father’s voice from the hallway, and Charlotte went absolutely silent.
They both turned to the Earl of Bentley. His father stood in the doorway, his gray-streaked hair still predominantly brown and, at that moment, uncombed and in frightful disarray. He wore a dressing gown over his clothes in lieu of a coat. Charles could see he had on neither tie nor cravat of any kind, and his shirt under the robe was open at the throat. Naturally, he also wore his favorite slippers.
Charles couldn’t help rolling his eyes. His father spoke without malice, simply stating what he thought was the truth and in no uncertain terms. Evidence would have one believe there was a light-skirt in the study, for what other kind of woman would be alone with a man, drinking wine and behaving in such a relaxed fashion?
“Father, she is not a doxy. He glanced at Charlotte to gauge her reaction. She looked more curious than anything and, thankfully, not insulted. “Miss Rare-Foure, allow me to introduce to you the Earl of Bentley.” Then he turned back to his father. “Miss Rare-Foure is a family friend.”
“What family? Not ours,” his father pointed out, slipping his hands into the pockets of his housecoat.
“My sister is the Duchess of Pelham,” Charlotte spoke up, ignoring his unfriendly tone.
“Ah, Pelham!” the earl exclaimed. “Known him since he was wet behind the ears. Goes on about nothing except coffee, but a good sort, I suppose. Andheis a man with a superior mother.”
Charlotte glanced questioningly at Charles, but this wasn’t the time to discuss his own mother’s numerous flaws. He merely shrugged, hoping that imparted everything and nothing.
Charlotte seemed to catch on. “Yes, the Dowager Duchess is a wonderful woman who treats my sister very well indeed.”
“Hmph,” his father said. “Did I miss dinner?”
“Yes, sir. Wasn’t a tray brought up to your room?” Charles reminded him of his usual custom.
His father shrugged. “I suppose it was, but I had intended to visit with you.”
At these words, Charlotte stepped forward. “My lord, why don’t you come in and have some wine with us. Or do you prefer brandy? It’s much more pleasant in here than downstairs anyway. Perhaps you would care for some dessert.”
She looked to Charles for confirmation, and he realized her shopgirl skills of making customers at ease was, as he’d suspected, the same as those of a good hostess.
“Yes,” he agreed. “Father, come sit down by the fire. We were just discussing books.”
His father was still frankly studying Charlotte, who handled his impolite stare with aplomb.
