Reckless (19 page)

“Are you coming in with me?”

It took her a moment, but eventually she released her pent-up breath, forcing herself to relax. Slowly, carefully, so as not to jar her body onto that desperate ride once more.

“You don't fight fair,” she said in a small voice.

“No, I don't. Not when I want something.”

She looked at him in the filtered lamplight. He was beautiful, she thought, from his tawny mane of hair to his long, wicked fingers, to that hard, thrusting piece between his legs. Everything about him was beautiful, and she wanted to lie next to him, kiss him, roll in his arms.

She was still wearing her thin kid gloves. She peeled one off, very slowly, looked up at him with a sweet smile and slapped him as hard as she could.

She had a lot of strength. It whipped his head back, and she knew the blow had to have hurt, because her hand was numb. And she didn't have an ounce of regret.

“Now, if you're tired of playing games,” she said coolly, “I'd like to go back to my house.”

He didn't move for a moment, didn't touch his face. The mark of her hand was beginning to show, the outline of her fingers against his pale, cold skin. And then he smiled.

Leaning forward, he knocked against the small window that connected to the front of the carriage, and gave the driver the address in Grosvenor Square.
Then he sat back patiently as the carriage moved forward.

The drive was a short one—less than five minutes, and during that time he said absolutely nothing. She could feel his eyes on hers, as tangible as a touch, but he made no effort to move closer, no effort to change her mind. He seemed almost pleased with the outcome of their battle, which surprised Charlotte. Did he want her or didn't he? Was this all some elaborate game? Were there wagers at his club as to whether he could once more entice the red-headed virago into his bed? If so, he must have bet against himself to be so cheerful.

She wouldn't ask him. She was being foolishly fearful. If he had planned this then word would get to Lina, and her cousin would tell her. So he hadn't lied. He'd simply run across her when he had no other, more pressing plans. Doubtless he was telling the truth, that he'd forgotten about her entirely after their brief liaison in the country. Which was a good thing, was it not? Everyone needed to forget about it. Most importantly, she did.

She could see her crumpled loo mask on the floor of the carriage, and she leaned down to pick it up, ignoring the little shiver of reaction that tightening her muscles had given her. She felt exquisitely sensitive, ready to explode, like a mirror shattering into a thousand pieces. He took the mask from her and tied it on her face methodically. Just in time; those ridiculous
tears were starting again. She'd be delighted when she finally moved past this absurdly weepy stage in her life. She had barely cried when her parents had died. These tears made no sense—they were totally unlike her.

With a great effort she summoned an impressive scowl, willing herself to be still. When the carriage came to a stop, Adrian hopped down, reaching up a hand to her. She would have liked to ignore it, but the narrow steps were unwieldy, and falling into the mud would be the coup de grâce of the night. She took his hand, stepped down and tried to pull away, but his fingers had closed over hers.

He smiled down at her, but she could see that odd, haunted expression in the back of his hard blue eyes. “I expect this has given you a complete disgust of me.”

“Is that what you wish?”

“It would certainly be for the best. For both of us.”

She looked up at him in the lamplight. She could see the imprint of her hand quite clearly, and it shocked her. And pleased her.

The street was solid beneath her feet, and she locked her knees so they wouldn't betray the lingering weakness. “Goodbye, Lord Rohan,” she said. The door to Lina's house stood open, the footman wait
ing patiently. “I don't expect we'll see each other again.”

His smile was slow, mocking, irresistibly devilish. “Would you care to wager on that, my love?”

T
o Charlotte's relief Lina hadn't returned home yet. She wouldn't have to make excuses as to where she'd been, and by the time Meggie appeared from belowstairs, looking both rumpled and pleased with herself, Charlotte had managed to get her tears in check and regain some measure of composure. Her body still felt on the very edge of exploding, but by taking calm, deep breaths she seemed to be able to maintain her calm. To fight the crazed, irrational urge to run out the front door and down the streets back to Adrian's house.

“You've been tupped,” Meggie said flatly, taking one hard look at her. “Miss Charlotte, I thought you knew better—”

“I certainly have not!” she said, managing to sound both innocent and indignant. “Lina and I got separated and I took a hackney home.” She took a closer look at her lady's maid. “If anyone's
been misbehaving, it's you. I thought you swore off men.”

“Have you seen the new undercoachman?” Meggie said with an appreciative smirk. “He could tempt a saint to lift her skirts, and Lord knows, I'm no saint. But don't try to change the subject. You've got that look about you.”

“That look comes from being tired. I just want to go to bed.”

“As long as you promise you haven't already been to bed,” Meggie said smartly.

“Or what? You'll refuse to serve me?”

“Don't be daft, Miss Charlotte,” Meggie said, her voice softening. “You need a nice cup of tea, don't you? I can have Cook—”

The knock on the door stopped her in the midsentence, and Charlotte's heart flew into her throat. It was Rohan, come back for her. It didn't matter why or how, she'd do anything he wanted. No one would make a social call at this hour—there was no one else it could possibly be.

She jumped to her feet, moving toward the door, when Meggie moved in front of her, a troubled expression on her face. “Mr. Jenkins will answer the door, Miss Charlotte,” she said.

She felt herself flush. At this rate she'd never be able to fool anyone. She sat back down, determined to be calm. Why had he come back? He must have been feeling as bereft as she was. Was there any way
she could throw herself into his arms and beg him to carry her off and finish ravishing her?

Of course there was. All she had to do was ask. Tell him. Proving to everyone she'd finally lost her mind.

Jenkins appeared at the salon door, his long face showing no reaction to the unexpected visitor. “The Reverend Simon Pagett to see Lady Whitmore. I explained she wasn't at home, but he's asked to wait, and I wondered if you might be willing to receive him in her place, Miss Spenser.”

Not by a blink of an eye did she show her reaction. And yet Meggie moved close enough to put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Sorry, love,” she whispered.

Meggie had always known more than she should, and been far too quick to guess the rest. Charlotte straightened her back, cursing herself for a fool. “Of course we'll receive him, Jenkins. Lady Whitmore should return at any time now.”

A moment later the vicar was ushered in, and Charlotte had her first chance to get a good look at him. She'd seen him at a distance when she'd arrived back at Hensley Court, bruised and battered and badly shaken from her fall, but she hadn't been able to form an opinion. Now she needed a distraction quite badly, so as she rose and curtsied she took covert stock of him.

Interesting. Lina had told her he was old, and
sour, and mean-spirited and quite the most miserable human being she had ever met, and if she never saw him again she would be very glad.

She'd lied. Simon Pagett was probably somewhere short of forty, with a lean, wiry body and the kind of face that had seen too much. It was a serious face, but he had really fine eyes, and some women might find his mouth to be sensual. Which of course was wrong in a cleric, but the vicar didn't appear to be someone who'd lived a sheltered life of abstinence.

“I'm sorry to disturb you, ma'am, but I'm looking for Lady Whitmore.”

“Do sit down, Mr. Pagett. Is Lord Montague…has he worsened?”

He didn't sit. “I'm afraid so. He's asked for Lady Whitmore, and I'm hoping she'll return to Sussex with me. If she can tear herself away from her pressing social obligations.”

There was a note of censure in his voice. “You disapprove of social obligations, Mr. Pagett?” Charlotte asked, wondering if this was how Lina had formed her negative opinion.

He smiled then, ruefully, and Charlotte was momentarily charmed. He must not have smiled at Lina, or her opinion would have risen considerably. “Of course not, Miss Spenser. I must confess it's been a long ride from the country and I'm worried about Montague. It's made me a bit short-tempered.” He
glanced around him. “If I might ask, where
is
Lady Whitmore?”

“At Ranelagh with Sir Percy Wainbridge,” she said.

“Do you expect her to return tonight?”

“Yes, she expects me to return tonight,” Lina's sharp voice came from the doorway. “I'm not in the habit of traipsing off to spend the night with my lovers.”

Mr. Pagett turned abruptly, and there was an immediate tension in the air. “I have no idea what you're in the habit of doing, Lady Whitmore. I was given to understand that you do exactly what you want to.”

But Lina had already moved past the insult. “Is Monty dead?” she asked in an anxious voice, tension vibrating through her body.

“Not yet,” he said, and Lina's shoulders relaxed slightly. “But I'm afraid it won't be long. Thomas has asked if you would like to come say goodbye.”

“No, I would not,” Lina said flatly, shocking Charlotte as well as Pagett.

Pagett nodded grimly. “In that case I'll take my leave…”

“I won't say goodbye to him,” Lina said. “I refuse to let him die, and that's exactly what I shall tell him. Do we leave tonight or is the morning soon enough?”

Was there a look of approval in Pagett's eyes? If
so, Lina didn't notice it. “Traveling at night is more difficult.”

“So it is. I gather by your answer that tonight would be better. Meggie, go upstairs and pack for me. Charlotte, I presume you want to stay here?”

Alone, in London, with Adrian Rohan a few streets down? “I want to come with you,” she said, rising. “I'll go help.”

“Is there anything you need to do before we leave, Mr. Pagett? I keep a coach in London—there's room for you if you'd like to leave your horse here.” Lina's voice was cool again. Odd, when she was usually so warm and flirtatious, even with those who disapproved of her.

“I prefer to ride,” he said.

“Then I'll simply have to send Sir Percy on his way, change my clothes and we'll be ready.” She disappeared out the door, and they could hear her voice just beyond the door. “Percy, my love, I'm afraid I've been called out of town, but Jenkins will see that you're properly looked after.”

“I wouldn't think of interrupting your lovers' tryst,” Pagett said.

Sir Percy hobbled in, aided by one of the sturdy footmen. “Demme, afraid I twisted me ankle,” he wheezed. “Just call me a carriage, love, and I'll be fine.”

“Percy, your house is more than an hour out of town. You'll stay here. It's horribly rude to leave you
like this, but I know my servants will take most excellent care of you.”

Amid much protestation and fuss Sir Percy was aided up to one of the second-floor bedrooms by three footmen and the austere Jenkins, and then Lina turned to the vicar, who was watching her out of half-closed eyes. “I'll be ready in less than an hour.”

“Isn't he a little old for you?” Pagett drawled, deliberately provocative.

Lina turned to Charlotte. “You see why I told you he's an odious human being?” she said brightly. She looked back over her shoulder. “Indeed, you need to ride your horse, Mr. Pagett. There's only room for three in the carriage and we'll need to take Meggie. I can only hope the weather will change and there'll be a nice, icy rainstorm to accompany our journey.”

“We're not likely to have ice in April, and I doubt you'd enjoy traveling by coach in that kind of weather anyway. I have one more call to make, and then I'll be ready to accompany you.”

“Another social call? At this time of night?” Lina said archly. “There are other people you treat as rudely as you do me?”

“Would you have preferred I wait until morning, Lady Whitmore?” he asked in his steady voice.

She glared at him. “Point taken. We'll be ready within the hour. If you're not here we'll go ahead without you.” She swept from the room without another word, not even looking at Charlotte.

Simon Pagett met her curious gaze with a wry smile. “She doesn't like me, I'm afraid.”

“Perhaps you might get along better if you didn't criticize her.”

“I'm not sure if that's a good idea,” he said, half to himself. “By your leave, Miss Spenser.”

After he left, Charlotte found Lina rushing around her rooms, flinging clothes around as Meggie and one of the upstairs maids tried to keep up with her. “Do you need help, dearest?” she called out to Charlotte as she paused in the doorway.

“It won't take me that long,” she said. “You didn't tell me that Mr. Pagett was so young.”

“Didn't I? Well, I suppose he is. Younger than he looks, apparently. But he's got the soul of a crabby, mean old man.”

Charlotte remembered his wry, charming smile and the odd expression in his eyes when they rested on Lina. “If you say so,” she said doubtfully.

Lina already had a trunk mostly filled, with enough on her bed to fill another.

“How long are we planning to stay?” Charlotte asked. “You're packing enough for the entire season.”

“Well, one never knows what might come up. I need to bring my new dresses, but I wouldn't want to be without some of my other clothes. I wouldn't want Mr. Pagett to think my new colors and necklines have anything to do with him.”

“Why should they?” Charlotte asked, momentarily mystified.

Lina's laugh was brittle. “Indeed, why should they? Are you packed, dearest?”

“It won't take but a moment. No, Meggie, you stay and help Lina. You know it won't take me more than a minute or two to get what we'll need, and Sussex is not at the end of the world. We can always send back to London if we've left too much behind.”

“Of course we can,” Lina declared feverishly. She came over and gave Charlotte an exuberant hug. “I'm glad we're leaving, aren't you? You don't want to risk running into Adrian again, and I'm dreadfully, dreadfully tired of town right now. The countryside will be perfect.”

Charlotte looked at her askance. “But Lord Montague…” she said doubtfully.

“He's not going to die, Charlotte. I refuse to let such a dreadful thing happen. He's got years left, I've been assured of that.”

“Who assured you?” she asked, remembering Lord Montague's pale, frail appearance. “A doctor?”

“Well, in fact I believe it was Adrian Rohan,” Lina admitted. “But his cousin, that awful Frenchman, used to be a doctor, so I imagine that's the next best thing. Adrian says that in another month or so Monty will be out doing something absurd like rowing on the Thames or dancing half clad and well to the boughs in Hyde Park after midnight.”

Charlotte said nothing. Clearly Lina had no desire to believe anything else. If Lord Montague lasted another month Charlotte would be much surprised. There would be no reason for Pagett to summon them if the end wasn't near. But they would take things as they came. At least she was getting far enough away that she wouldn't be tempted by Adrian Rohan ever again.

 

Adrian was in a thoroughly foul mood. His insouciance had only carried him so far. Once Charlotte Spenser walked into the house, his lazy smile vanished. He dismissed his carriage—the walk back to Curzon Street was short and he needed to work off his bad temper.

He'd certainly handled that well, he thought savagely. He'd thought to make her so mad at him that she wouldn't ever countenance touching him again. Then, when he'd decided to have her after all, he'd worked her into such a state of excitement that his own arousal had been painful. And then she hadn't given in.

He cursed at the thought. What kind of games was he playing? He wasn't sure if he wanted to win or to lose. And what the hell was wrong with him? Charlotte Spenser? She was older than he was, for God's sake. She was an antidote—no one wanted her. She'd had at least one season, he supposed, since he remembered dancing with her, but clearly no one
had offered for her, and by now she was a complete spinster, thirty if she was a day, with no possibilities, no future except as a companion to Evangelina Whitmore. Why in God's name had she rejected him? Shouldn't she take her pleasure where it was offered? It wasn't as if she could lose her virginity twice.

Her lie about turning into a whore like Lina was totally unbelievable. But that didn't mean it wouldn't always be the case. He'd shown her, quite effectively, the kind of pleasure that could be had between a man and a woman. With Lina's habits there'd be scores of randy men, and Charlotte would be there. With her glower, to scare them away. With her deliciously long legs and copper-colored hair and luminous eyes, with her creamy skin and delectable mouth. Once someone got her in bed they wouldn't let her go, and the thought infuriated him.

If she was going to have an illicit affair it was going to be with him. The little idiot didn't realize that partners weren't interchangeable. That what went on between them had been, for want of a better word,
special
. There'd been something rare and dangerous between them during those two dark days, some kind of connection that he'd never felt before. And the damned feeling had lasted, disturbing with his sleep, leaving him bored with the beautiful, experienced women he could easily have.