“Is it serious? Your expression suggests it is.”
“Nat has left London to follow her. They may not return for our wedding. I hope you won’t be offended should they fail to attend.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Of course not. Married couples have disagreements. We will, too, I am sure.”
Of course they would. But even so, his words disturbed her.
“It’s upsetting to hear about them, but why this?” He lightly traced the faint line between her brows with a finger. “It seems a little excessive for a family quarrel. They will work out their differences. I hope when we’re married, you will confide in me.”
“I want no secrets between us, Charles.” She gazed over his shoulder, unwilling to meet his eyes. She kept something from him, and he was astute enough to sense it. But didn’t he have one or two of his own? Or was it a woman’s role to turn a blind eye to them. Well, she would not. If she discovered Charles had a mistress, knowing herself, she would not run away as Eliza had done. She would confront him, despite her mother’s advice to never question a man’s fidelity.“Some men are unfaithful, Nellie,”she’d said this afternoon.“One must accept it. A lady never displays those concerns in public.”
“Nellie?”
“Yes, Charles?”
She turned away from examining a fine oil painting of some rustic scene on the paneled wall. She couldn’t have described what was in it had he asked her.
Tilting her chin up, Charles forced her to look at him. “Why did you ask me to kiss you at the soiree?”
Her heart hammered. “It was merely an impulse. Did you mind?”
He gave a short laugh and dropped his hand. “Well, perhaps it’s best not to examine the reason too closely, for that might spoil the mystery. It’s not something I’ve done, stealing such a kiss when thetonwas on the other side of the door.”
“Never, Charles?” She was empowered by the thought that she might surprise him and get the better of Drusilla and other women like Amanda Forrester, who watched him like hawks watched their prey. Even the French mistress if she had to.
Charles moved closer. When his dark head bent toward her, she stilled, waiting for him to reach for her, wanting him to. The heated look in his eyes told her he desired her.
“Never,” he murmured and traced a thumb over her bottom lip. For a moment, the only noise in the room was a clock clicking somewhere, and her heartbeat in her ears.
Charles broke eye contact and stepped away. “Everyone will wonder what happened to us. Perhaps we should remove ourselves from further temptation and return downstairs.”
Absurdly disappointed, Nellie walked through the door he held open for her.
She took his arm to descend the stairs. Women didn’t live by the same rules as men, and if she ever had to fight for him, well then, she would.
At the end of the evening, Nellie joined her parents in their town carriage. “I did warm to Jason and Beverly,” she said.
Jason had been amusing company. He had imbued the occasion with gentle humor during dinner, and at one point, had them all laughing, including her father, who was not easily amused. She and Beverly were instantly at ease with each other, and she felt sure they would become good friends. Charles, on the other hand, had become rather thoughtful. He’d sat back and allowed Jason to entertain them.
Why hadn’t Charles kissed her? Surely the temptation was difficult for him to resist? She saw the heated desire in his eyes. He was conscious of his position, she supposed. Nellie had no such concerns. She wanted him to kiss her, and more, and didn’t much care what happened after that. Was she without shame? She suspected she might be where Charles was concerned. He stirred something within her that no man before had done.
Nellie had lost the thread of her mother’s conversation. Something about the wedding, she merely nodded and returned to thoughts of Charles. She appreciated his expression of concern for her. He deserved her trust, as he’d done nothing to make her doubt him. He was not Nathanial. Not all men were cut from the same cloth.
“I shall place an order with Beverly’s dressmaker, Madam Ambre, to make me a crimson ballgown, Mama.”
Her mother looked shocked. “Crimson? Surely not.”
“Lady Blake wore crimson the other evening. She looked wonderful.”
“You are too young to wear such a color. Lady Blake has been married for years. She is a mother.”
“Nevertheless, it would suit me better than the beige lace Madam Bonnet has suggested.”
Seated opposite them, her father folded his arms. “You’ll set tongues wagging, Nellie.”
He looked quite sour. He was never a good traveler. She didn’t know why he always insisted on riding with his back to the horses. In her opinion, gentlemen could be silly. He would certainly disapprove of the gown she had in mind. It would feature a low-scoop neckline and be made of crimson satin with an overdress of silver like fine gossamer. She was confident such a gown would make Drusilla envious, dressed in her blacks. The pleasant thought lifted her spirits. As a married lady, she might choose to wear whatever she wished.
She shrugged off the weight she’d carried since her first Season when she’d tried to be the daughter her parents wanted and failed when none of the suitors came up to the mark. Many had bored her. They had inflated opinions of themselves, talked too much of their wealth and their stables, and were either disinterested in her, or amused that she liked to read. She couldn’t see herself spending the rest of her life with one of them.
