‘Are you hurt?’
Charlotte pressed trembling fingers against her neck. ‘No. But if you ever touch me like that again—’
Fury surged through her.
‘I am not your mistress. How dare you!’
The infuriating smile returned immediately.
‘Indeed, I do not dare,’ he interrupted quietly, lifting both hands in surrender.
‘How could you say that to such a vile creature?’
Then his expression sharpened slightly. ‘You would be wise not to wander the corridors of this house alone at night. One day you may encounter genuine danger.’
With that, he turned back towards the card room.
‘I had no idea you kept such depraved company that no lady in this house is safe!’ Charlotte called furiously after him.
But the impossible man merely continued walking without looking back.
Trembling with outrage, Charlotte stormed upstairs, muttering deeply unladylike language beneath her breath all the way to her room.
Still simmering with irritation by the time she reached her room, Charlotte dragged her comb rather carelessly throughher hair when poor Sarah finally appeared, looking positively haggard after a full day confined to the kitchens.
‘Oh dear, you look dreadful,’ Charlotte said unhelpfully.
‘I feel worse,’ Sarah moaned. ‘I tried to escape the kitchen duties again today, but I think Mrs Dent has grown suspicious. She watched me like a prison guard all day, so I never had a chance.’
Charlotte’s disappointment must have shown for a fleeting moment, but she quickly softened. ‘Never mind. Try to rest.’ She crossed to the washstand and handed Sarah a small tin. ‘Mrs Wilberforce made me this balm. Apparently it works wonders on bruises and blisters. And I spoke to her about bringing you back upstairs. She said she would look into it.’
Sarah could have wept with gratitude. Throwing her arms around Charlotte, she sighed into her shoulder.
‘Thank goodness. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.’ She opened the lid, sniffed cautiously, then applied an exceedingly generous amount to her feet.
‘Ah, that feels good.’ She looked up curiously. ‘Any luck with the guests?’
‘Aside from Wolverton propositioning me in the corridor this evening.’ Her hand drifted unconsciously to her waist where Lord Stanley’s hand had rested earlier. ‘And Lord Stanley is no better. He made—I mean—he said several highly inappropriate things as well.’
‘Lord Stanley? I am astonished.’
‘Why?’ Charlotte demanded, clearly annoyed. ‘I told you already—he is every bit as degenerate as the rest of them.’
She glared vaguely at the room itself, as though the furnishings bore personal responsibility for Lord Stanley’s existence. Unfortunately, the memory of his hand at her waist returned once more, causing an entirely inconvenient flush to creep into her cheeks.
Sarah noticed immediately.
‘Well,’ she said slowly, ‘your new wardrobe certainly cannot be helping matters. And the country air appears to suit you.’
Charlotte quirked a confused brow. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Your complexion is positively glowing. I am not surprised you are turning their heads. You ought to be careful wandering about alone.’
Charlotte laughed outright. ‘You are absurd. They are merely foxed. Any unfortunate female crossing their path would do just as well.’
Sarah shook her head. ‘This lavender gown is very becoming on you. Your mother always dressed you in those dreadful pale pastels before. They washed you out completely or made you appear matronly.’ She tilted her head thoughtfully. ‘Who would have guessed that becoming a governess would improve your appearance?’
Charlotte tutted and tried to dismiss her remarks.
