He didn’t say anything.
“Lord Jeffcoat, are you going to remain silent until we part?”
“Maybe,” he muttered.
“Whyever for?”
“Because I have behaved abominably and should be whipped.”
She felt the urge to giggle at his serious tone after their pleasant kiss, but then she imagined him stripped bare for a lashing and sobered at the thought of seeing his torso.
“I ... I am sorry if I have caused you distress,” she offered.
“You!” he exclaimed. “You are not the one to be sorry. I am the one who is supposed to be reasonable and rational and cautious and ... and protect your innocence. Instead, I mauled you and stole a kiss.”
This time, Charlotte could not contain her good humor. She tried to press her lips together, but her laughter spilled out.
“Oh, my lord. You know as well as I that I threw my arms around you.”
“AfterI had already embraced you,” she pointed out.
They stared at one another.
“Is it really so terrible?” Charlotte couldn’t refrain from asking.
He sighed. “You have asked such before, and you know the answer.”
“I know,” she conceded, “my reputation is at stake, but perhaps not if we come to an understanding.”
He looked shocked, actually paling.
What had she said that was so shocking?
“Miss Rare-Foure, there can be nounderstandingthat allows for a single man and a single woman to make light of the restraints of civil society. We ignore decorum and tear apart those restraints at our own peril.”
Lord Jeffcoat paced, and she imagined him doing so, back and forth, before the bench of some lofty judge as he made his case.
“If discovered, you would be labeled a light-skirt at worse or a loose woman at best. I know all too well that I would be forgiven in society’s eyes as being tempted beyond reason by your charms.”
“And are you?” Charlotte knew she ought to stop prodding him, but she couldn’t. He was so proper with his perfect cravat and his gray gloves.
“Am I what?” he snapped.
“Tempted beyond reason?” she asked.
“Argh!” he exclaimed and walked away from her again. But then he turned and walked back.
“Miss Rare-Foure—”
“You could call me Charlotte,” she pointed out, “when we are alone, seeing as we have kissed. Twice.”
He clenched his jaw.
“And I could call you Charles. Only, as I said, when we are alone.”
“We will not be alone again,” he vowed. “We mustn’t.”
She sighed. “The arrangement I referred to was the kind couples make when they like each other and have an understanding.”
