“That has to be one of the more fantastic stories I’ve ever heard,” Lucien said, with a shake of his head.
Hugh threw his head back and released a deep breath. “I know. Believe me. I thought I was going mad. You’ve never met such a ragtag collection of lovable misfits in your life.” He started to pace. “Where in hell is your butler?” he snapped.
He’d sent the servant to locate Charlotte and bring her to him almost a half hour past. The Remington manse was vast, but not that vast.
“You are wearing a hole in my rug, Montrose,” Lucien said dryly.
Cursing, Hugh stilled, staring down at the elegant Aubusson rug beneath his feet. He spun about as the door to the study opened. The butler entered, a prime example of an upper servant with his impassive face and unflappable demeanor. Snorting, Hugh realized he liked Artemis better. Artemis would have told him why Charlotte was absent immediately, unlike Remington’s butler, who waited to be asked before he would speak.
“Out with it, man!” Hugh barked. “Where is Mrs. Riddleton?”
The butler turned his head to Hugh with a disdainful sniff. “Apparently there was a collision between two footmen as they carried Lord Merrick’s trunks up the stairs. Mrs. Riddleton took the injured party to the kitchen. I informed her of your summons, my lord, but she said you would understand why she was unable to respond immediately.”
Throwing up his hands, Hugh turned in exasperation to Lucien, who sat calmly behind his desk. “I swear, Remington, that woman is a magnet for the injured.”
Laughing, Lucien rose and moved toward the door. “We’ll go see how they’re faring. Then we’ll retire somewhere private, and you can inform Mrs. Riddleton about Glenmoore’s presence.”
When they reached the kitchen, they discovered a well-tended footman eating hot buttered scones, and no Charlotte. The servant leapt to his feet, flushing guiltily, but Remington waved him back down.
“Where the devil did she go?” Hugh asked a scullery maid, who stammered so terribly with fright in the face of his ill humor, he could hardly comprehend her.
“There was an ac-cc acci-ci-”
“Bloody hell. An accident?”
The maid nodded, and Hugh shot a glance at Remington, who was beginning to scowl.
“What happened now?” Lucien barked.
“Lady Denby broke her cup, Mr. Remington, and cut her finger.”
“Where?”
“The upper sitting room.”
Hugh and Remington took the servant’s stairs to the upper floor, where they found Lady Denby with a bandaged finger, and no Charlotte.
Lucien sketched a quick bow before asking, “Do you have any idea where we can locate Mrs. Riddleton, Lady Denby?”
The buxom brunette batted her eyelashes and offered a coy smile. “Why, Lucien Remington, whatever do you need Mrs. Riddleton for?”
“I need her,” Hugh growled. He was starting to feel a mild panic under his frustration. If Charlotte was traipsing all over the premises, she was very likely to run into Glenmoore.
Lady Denby arched a brow. “I see. Well, I would try the stables, then, Lord Montrose. I believe she mumbled something about checking on a horse.”
He released a deep breath and moved toward the door.
“The stables?” Lucien asked, following on his heels.
“Yes, yes, she’s mad for horses.” Hugh moved down the hallway with impatient strides. “One of my new carriage bays was injured when my wheel broke. She fussed over him the entire way here.”
Lucien’s soft chuckle earned him a scathing glance over Hugh’s shoulder. “A magnet, you said.”
When they reached the stables, Hugh found his horse sporting a liniment-covered foreleg, and no Charlotte.
“Damn and blast and bloody, everlasting hell!” Hugh cried, kicking a stall door and sending a fine spray of hay into the air. If he didn’t find her immediately, he would go mad. Well-and-truly mad.
His heart raced in a desperate rhythm as he pictured Glenmoore finding Charlotte before he did. She’d promised to keep Gwen hidden in return for the use of the manse. Who knew how Glenmoore would react if he discovered the two had not only left, but were attending a large social function. The duke had discarded her clothes and jewelry, and spent the last three years ensuring that she had no life whatsoever. Hugh could only imagine the malicious temper that would goad a man to retaliate so viciously against a woman as kind and nurturing as Charlotte.
“I’ve never seen you like this,” Lucien said softly.
“Like what?” Hugh snapped, his hands clenching into fists.
“Like this. So concerned for another individual. Even when I wished to court Julienne, you weren’t this upset.”
Hugh growled. “ ’Tis the damned Derbyshire water. I’ve never been the same since. I’m completely mad.”
“Yes, dear brother, I believe you are quite mad for her.” Remington’s hand came to rest on his shoulder. “It was bound to happen sometime.”
“What was bound to happen? What the devil are you rambling about?”
“You’re in love with her.”
Lucien offered a commiserating smile as Hugh gaped and then sagged into the abused stall door. “I know just how you feel. Someone had to tell me, too. I think men who are accustomed to lives of carnal indulgence find it harder to acknowledge how dependent their happiness can become on one woman.”
Shaking his head, Hugh considered himself carefully. He’d known Charlotte for such a short time. How could it be possible that he loved her already?
“How do you know?” he asked. “How can you be certain?”
“When you are in love, you cannot stand to be away from your lover. Her touch, her smile, her attentions, are necessary things. You admire her above all other women; her faults are what you find charming. You want to care for her, protect her, be all things to her. Your desire for her stuns you, humbles you, and makes every other female pale in comparison.”
“Good God.” Hugh scrubbed a hand over his face. “That sounds dreadful. And terrifying.” He dropped his hand and sighed. “And very much like the way I feel about Charlotte.”
Patting him on the back, Lucien gestured toward the stable door. “Let’s go find her, shall we? Before you expire.”
“Oh, it’s lovely,” Gwen breathed, running her hands reverently over the tiny pearls that encrusted the sleeves of Charlotte’s gown. “I’ve never seen a garment so fine.”
Charlotte eyed her reflection with both longing and trepidation. The satin gown was a beautiful green that complimented her eyes and brought out the striking hue of her hair. “I couldn’t possibly—”
“Nonsense,” Julienne cut in, resplendent in mauve-colored silk. “That dress looks much better on you than it ever has on me. You must wear it.”
Turning, Charlotte gave Hugh’s sister an impulsive hug. “Thank you so much.” Having been occupied all afternoon with entertaining Gwen and helping wherever she was needed, she hadn’t had the opportunity to see Hugh at all, and she missed him dreadfully. She was pleased to think that when he finally saw her, she would look as she did now, dressed in a green very much like the robe she wore the first night they made love.
She was also quite willing to admit that her infatuation with the handsome earl was rapidly progressing to deeper waters. A few hours without him, and she felt bereft. She wondered where he’d been all day, how he’d occupied himself, if he’d thought of her at all and missed her, if only just a little.
“I cannot wait until the moment Hugh first lays eyes on you,” Julienne said, with a smile. “I’ve waited so long for him to find his footing and a steady companion.”
“Find his footing?” Charlotte asked.
“Yes.” Julienne waved her arm carelessly. “His entire life he’s fallen into one scrape after another. Don’t misunderstand, he’s very intelligent and inherently kind. He simply has a tendency to leap before looking. He says and does things before considering all the consequences, and then regrets his actions later. Hugh has made an effort to change over the last few years, but it may be a while yet before he becomes a man that one would call responsible. There were a few times when I wondered …” She shook her head. “But you are a sensible sort, confident and poised, and Hugh is obviously quite taken with you. You’ll be a good influence on him. I can tell.”
Charlotte frowned, attempting to reconcile the picture painted by Julienne with the image she bore of Hugh—a man who was strong and resourceful.
“Shall we go down to dinner now, ladies?” Julienne asked, effectively squelching the questions Charlotte had been about to ask.
“Oh, yes, let’s!” Gwen cried.
Shaking off her sudden unease, Charlotte turned to look at Guinevere. Dressed in the ice blue gown, Gwen’s creamy skin was displayed to perfection. But there was something missing from the ensemble, and despite how hard she considered it, Charlotte could not remember what it was.
Collecting the elbow-length gloves the abigail held out to them, they left Julienne’s dressing room and headed toward the main staircase. Several other guests also left their rooms, and Charlotte studied the latest fashions carefully, eager to see what was new and popular. A bright bauble on a passing baroness caught the light, and suddenly she remembered what it was Gwen’s dress was missing.
“Please go on ahead,” she said, stopping in the middle of the gallery. “I forgot something.”
Gwen frowned. “What is it?”
“The diamond brooch that goes so beautifully with that gown.”
“You would allow me to wear that?” Gwen’s eyes widened.
It was one of the few pieces of jewelry Charlotte had remaining, and it was one of her favorites.
“Of course. I think the dress looks almost naked without it.” And the fact was, after this week the chances of Gwen mingling with Polite Society were very slim indeed. Charlotte wanted to ensure the young girl enjoyed every moment to the fullest.
“Well, we should retrieve the brooch, then,” Julienne said with a smile.
“Please proceed without me,” Charlotte urged. “You have guests to attend to, and Gwen is so excited. I hate to delay either of you.”
As the two women moved away, Charlotte lifted her skirts and ran to her room. Hugh was certainly waiting downstairs by now, and she couldn’t wait to see him. There was so much yet to learn about each other, so many questions to ask. Clutching the diamond-encrusted piece in her gloved palm, she backed out of her chamber and shut the door.
“I thought that was you.”
She stiffened at the familiar voice behind her.
“Only a woman of your breeding would run down the hallway like a hoyden.”
Taking a deep breath, she turned around. “Good evening, Your Grace.”
The Duke of Glenmoore smiled and sketched a mocking bow. “Good evening, Your Grace.”
“I detest it when you call me that,” she said tightly, her gaze raking his stocky form. He remained unchanged from the last time she’d seen him, a year ago. He was still handsome, with his dark brown hair and even darker, almost black eyes—eyes that radiated none of the warmth she found in Hugh’s. Once she’d found Jared appealing; now she wondered why.
“I detest that you married my father. Some things cannot be changed. Such as our agreement.” He stepped closer. “What are you doing here?”
She lifted her chin. “Whatever I please.”
Jared laughed, a harsh sound lacking any humor. “Decided to make a laughingstock of the old man after all?” His gaze narrowed. “I will not allow you to besmirch the Kent name.”
Charlotte forcibly restrained herself from taking a step back. Any sign of weakness would only fuel Jared’s ire. “No one knows who I am.”
“Charlotte,” came the soft, hesitant voice down the hall. “Are you well?”
She turned her head toward Gwen and managed a reassuring smile. “I’m fine. Please go wait downstairs.”
Jared glanced down the hall, and his face darkened with fury. His hand lashed out, gripping her upper arm in a brutal vice. “You brought my bastard to a social gathering? Are you mad?”
Gwen gave a pained gasp, then turned on her heel and ran back down the hall.
Furious, Charlotte slapped his face, inwardly cursing the material that prevented a satisfying sting. “Unhand me. You make me physically ill.”
“As does the sight of that mistake, dressed in finery and mingling with Society,” he bit out.
“She is not a mistake! In fact, Guinevere is the only decent thing you’ve ever accomplished in your lamentable life. In return for your scorn, she has remained hidden, at the cost of her childhood and the chance to make friends. What more could you ask of her?”
“To know her place, something you never appeared to have learned.”
“I have remained hidden as well,” she argued. “No one knows who I am, nor do they know who Gwen is. Ignore us, and no one will be the wiser.”
He yanked her closer, hovering over her like an avenging specter. “I want to know why you’re here and what you intend, and I want to know now! If your aim is to extort money from me, I’ll tell you now I refuse to give you a shilling more than what was bequeathed to you.”
“Release her, Your Grace.” The voice down the hall, though soft, was laced with menace.
Charlotte turned her head to find Hugh coming toward them with obvious predatory intent. His shoulders squared, his jaw tense, he looked ready to do damage, and she was awed. She simply couldn’t think for a moment, arrested by the sight of him, beautiful in black and shrouded in fury. A force to be reckoned with.
The duke, unaware of the danger, didn’t even spare him a glance. “This is none of your affair, Montrose.”
“I would listen to him, Jared,” she murmured, having no doubt, by the look of him, that Hugh was willing to ignore the Glenmoore title to protect her.
As she relaxed under his touch, Jared stiffened and glared at Hugh. “What do you want?”
“At the moment I want you to release my fiancée. Then I want you to step away and go about your business.”
Charlotte gaped. Then her heart began racing so fast, she swayed on her feet.
Jared looked at her with raised brows. “Marrying down, Charlotte? At least this peer isn’t on his deathbed.”
“Go to hell,” she snapped, tugging at her arm. Rescuing her was one thing. Lying to a duke of Glenmoore’s power would only lead to trouble.
Releasing her, Jared stepped back. “She’s after money, Montrose. She’s a mercenary female, if I ever saw one. Do you know anything about her? Her past? Anything?”
Hugh stopped mere inches way. “I know everything about Charlotte and Gwen and the whole morass. I shall be taking them all off your hands. The only thing you need concern yourself with is the dispersing of Charlotte’s trust, which I’ll set aside for Gwen, as your father intended.”
Jared’s face broke out in a grin. “Ah, I see. What a perfect match you two are.”
“What are you talking about?” Charlotte asked crossly.
“This is about the widow’s trust, Charlotte dear.” His gaze returned to Hugh. “You should know, Montrose, that the stipend is negligible. Not enough to keep you in the style to which you’ve become accustomed. Certainly not enough to wager.”
Hugh stiffened. “This is not about money.”
“It is for Charlotte,” the duke said. “It’s always about money for Charlotte.” He looked at her. “Do you know anything about your intended, dear? Did he tell you how he wagered away almost every shilling of the La Coeur funds? He was forced to sell his sister to Remington to bail them out of debt. Why do you think an earl’s daughter married a bastard?”
Suddenly Charlotte’s nausea became a very real hazard, and she clutched her stomach in a vain attempt to still its roiling.
“Lady Julienne chose Remington of her own accord,” Hugh growled.
“She was set to marry a marquess,” Glenmoore continued, digging in deeper, as he relished Charlotte’s obvious distress. “But then Lord Fontaine cast her aside when he realized how far in his pockets Montrose was.”
“Lies!” Hugh glanced her way, his face flushed, his fists clenched.
Glenmoore arched a brow. “Are you claiming you weren’t nearly destitute from irresponsible gambling?”
Hugh’s expression could have been set in stone. “That was long ago.”
“Only a few years, I believe.” The duke’s smile was filled with malice. “Regardless, I was on my way to join the rest of the party, and I don’t wish to hold up the proceedings. Congratulations, Montrose. Charlotte. I’ll await your missive detailing where I should direct Charlotte’s pension. Also, since you won’t require the manse anymore, I’ll make arrangements to sell it.” Glenmoore walked away, leaving destruction in his wake.
Hugh was so furious for a moment, he could hardly think. When Gwen collided with him on the stairs and blurted that her father had cornered Charlotte, the rage he’d felt had almost overwhelmed him. If he had any doubts earlier about his feelings for his paramour, he didn’t any longer.
“You should never have told Glenmoore we were affianced!” Charlotte groaned. “He will mention our engagement to someone just to embarrass you. This is a disaster.”
Hugh stepped closer to offer comfort. She was frighteningly pale, her mouth and eyes rimmed with lines of tension.
Trying for levity, he placed a hand over his heart and gave an exaggerated sigh. “You know, a man could be irreparably damaged by such a response to his proposal.”
She flinched. “We must go down and correct this mistake. Whatever will your family say when they hear of this?”
Hugh tapped a finger to his chin. “Congratulations?” he suggested.
“You are impossible. Lady Julienne warned me that you were known for being irresponsible and jumping into situations headfirst. I had no notion what she was talking about until now.” She attempted to pass him, and he sidestepped into her path. “Hugh, the guests will gossip if we hold up the meal.”
“Perhaps, but it won’t be too untoward in this company.” At her raised brow, he explained. “Julienne and Remington have been relegated to the fringes of Society for years. Only the most daring and licentious of guests will deign to associate with them. Glenmoore attended only because he wishes to enter into a partnership with Remington, who has the devil’s own luck when it comes to making money.”
She tilted her head back to look at him, her entire body tense and expectant, like a bird prepared to take flight. Hugh’s heart sank to his stomach. She didn’t look even remotely like a woman pleased with an offer of marriage.
A sick feeling of dread pooled and then hardened in his gut. “Don’t you think we should discuss my proposal?”
Charlotte stumbled backward, her eyes wide and stricken. “Good heavens, you weren’t serious!”
Hugh moved toward her, his heart racing in near-panic. “You were afraid my affections would be temporary. You worried I would cast you aside and leave you and your menagerie destitute. I’ve resolved that. As my wife, your comfort will be assured.”
She shook her head. “We hardly know one another.”
“I think we know each other very well.” He stepped closer and reached for her hand, which she didn’t raise to meet his. “Don’t you care for me, Charlotte?” he asked softly. “Even a little?”
Her fingers tightened on his. “Of course I care for you, Hugh, very much. But …”
“I searched for you all afternoon.”
“You did?” She began to tremble.
“I did.” Lifting her hand, he held it to his cheek, despising the glove that separated his skin from her touch. “I needed to find you, to warn you about Glenmoore, but you kept moving, and I could never catch you. I was quite desperate for you, actually.”
“Hugh …”
He nuzzled into her palm. “I waited in your room for nearly an hour. Where did you go after you left the stables?”
“I-I was in Julienne’s room.”
“Ahh … I was sick with worry. I couldn’t bear to think of you facing Glenmoore alone.”
“Oh, Hugh …” Her fingers curled, cupping his cheek. “I am accustomed to caring for myself.”
He leaned into her touch, the warmth of which burned through her glove and heated his blood. No other woman had ever affected him as Charlotte did. “There is no weakness in relying on someone to assist you and care for you. The only weakness is in allowing yourself to suffer when support is at hand.”
Beloved green eyes swam with tears. “But I cannot rely on you, Hugh. I do not know you well enough. Just in the last half hour, I’ve learned things about you that have shocked and disturbed me, not just from Glenmoore, but from your sister as well.”
Raw pain, piercing and wounding, cut him to the quick. His eyes slid closed. “Please don’t say that,” he murmured hoarsely, pulling her against him, needing the physical closeness, because he felt her withdrawing. “Don’t judge me by my past.”
“There is more at stake here than just you and me, Hugh. You’ll regret this rash proposal later. I am not a suitable wife for you. The burden of those I bring with me will begin to weigh on you. You will come to resent me and then hate me. I lack the breeding to be a proper countess. You would—”
Hugh covered her mouth with a kiss, cutting off her words. Her lips melted into his, and he groaned, pressing his advantage, his hands stroking her back until she opened with a whimper. She returned his ardor in equal measure, kissing him as if it were the last time, as if they never would again. Her arms lifted, her small hands cupping the nape of his neck, holding him close. The lush, ripe mouth that he loved so much moved feverishly under his, forcing his desire to rise up to match his anger and fear, then far surpassing both.
Pulling away, he rested his damp forehead against hers. “What are you afraid of?” he asked softly. “Being abandoned or discarded? I’m not Glenmoore. I won’t take all that you are or all that you have, and leave you with nothing.”
“I-I’m not afraid.”
“You are. Afraid to trust. Afraid to hope. Afraid to love.”
“Hugh—”
“Have I disappointed you, Charlotte? Have I promised you something and then not delivered?”
“Not yet, but—”
“Not ever. You either trust me to support you, trust me to be a good husband, to love you and care for you … You either trust me, or you don’t.”
She melted against him, her slight weight necessary and welcome. He hugged her close, squeezing her, until there was no space between them. He held his breath, waiting.
“Please understand,” she begged. “I am responsible for the care of Gwen and the others. My decisions must be made with my head, not my heart.”
He recoiled as the import of her words struck home. “You refuse me.” His voice was a pained whisper, his heart aching as he stepped away. Her touch, which he had been longing for, was suddenly painful.
Hugh struggled to control his breathing, unsure of what he could do or say to erase the tormented look he saw in Charlotte’s eyes. There was sadness there, a deep well of it. Her gaze said good-bye as surely as her kiss had.
It was then he realized there was nothing he could say. Her fear was too powerful. Even with an offer of marriage, she still couldn’t trust him. Shaking his head, he turned away, his throat clenched tight. He strode down the hall, suddenly anxious to be away from her and the cloying agony that twisted inside him.
“Wait!” she cried after him. “Please don’t go. Not like this.”
He knew she would chase him down as she had before, so he lengthened his stride. Hugh left her and the wondrous dream of happiness far behind him. He didn’t look back. He couldn’t.
He loved her too much.