“I thought you would never come.”
Miss Charlotte let out a squeal of surprise, then quickly clamped her hand over her mouth. Her wide eyes cried at him –What is wrong with you?– and Alexander couldn’t stop himself from chuckling.
“I am sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I only wanted to talk to you.”
She glowered at him. “And do you often hide in the shadows in the dead of night in order to speak to ladies you wish to speak to?”
He lowered his head, chuckled again. “No. I must admit I do not. But I didn’t know how else I could get you alone.”
“And why, pray tell, would you wish to get me alone?”
He paused, his lips parted as he gazed at her. She was tired, that much was evident. Her hair had begun to fall from her pins, framing her face in a tousled way. Her cheeks were flushed with pink, and her eyes alive with all that had happened that evening. She looked for all the world as if he’d already taken her with that soft post-love-making glow.
She stared back at him, equally captivated, swallowing back her desire. There was something between them, somethingconnecting them. Some power that drew them ever closer. It he tried to pull away, some invisible force would drag him back.
And I would not resist.
“I… um…” He licked his lips, swallowed. His eyes remained fixed on her face, as if he couldn’t pull them away, no matter what. “I only wanted to commend you on your singing tonight. I found it...” His jaw worked as he tried to find the words to explain the emotional response he’d had to the music.
“Well, that’s very kind of you,” she said.
Her voice had softened, her anger now a mild simmer, and she, too, couldn’t pull her eyes away. Her breast rose and fell as it had when she finished singing. He wanted to embrace her, to feel that against his own chest.
He moved almost imperceptibly closer, his eyes on his lips. Could he kiss her? Would she allow it or run away? He moved closer still. He had no control over his movements, his desire pushing him forward.
“Not at all. I…” He stammered, his words not as smooth as they normally were, but his voice was low and husky. “I know you dislike me, my lady, but—”
“I don’tdislikeyou, Your Grace,” she said quickly, and he could see in her eyes that it was true. “But perhaps… perhaps the line between tension and passion is a fine one.”
“You’re right,” he whispered, moving closer still. “And I must admit, I am feeling rathertenseat the moment.”
He reached out to touch her cheek, the softness beneath his fingertips. She leaned into it for the briefest of moments, and Alexander’s heart raced with the possibility, the chance that he now had.
“Charlotte,” he whispered. “I—”
She tensed and pulled away suddenly, as if realizing what she was doing.
“I am sorry, Your Grace, but we cannot do this.”
He watched her hurry past him and into the darkness of the weaving corridor, his body crying out for her return.
Chapter 11
The following morning, after a hearty breakfast, the four of them gathered outside the front door to greet Lord and Lady Hurtle.
“Mother!” Chelsea cried, running to her. For all her complaints about her mother, Charlotte knew that Chelsea would never be without her. “I’ve missed you.”
Lady Hurtle, long known to Charlotte as Aunt Rebecca took her daughter’s embrace lightly then shooed her away.
“I’m glad to see you, too, Chelsea, but really. I’m positively exhausted and could do with a bath. Give me a little space.”
“Was it a dreadful journey?” Charlotte asked. She avoided embracing Aunt Rebecca, though she rubbed her arm affectionately.
“We survived, didn’t we, dear?” Lord Hurtle declared. “Now, who are all these people in my home?”
Aunt Rebecca tutted loudly. “Honestly, Graham. Surely you recognize Chelsea and Charlotte!”
“I do,” he said. He wore a sour expression, but beneath that, his jolly friendliness shone through his chubby cheeks.
