Charlotte’s account of Viscount Savage
March, five years ago
London, England
Playing Keep the Crown with her sisters was always a sweaty affair, so once Charlotte was convinced that Sera was no longer in despair over having been jilted by her fiancé—assuming she had ever been in despair to begin with—she climbed to the roof of their aunt’s home. Using her hands as a pillow, she lay on her back, face to the moon, and let the London chill sweep through her walking gown into her bones.
Unlike her sisters, she enjoyed the colder weather. She rarely wore gloves unless prompted by civility and avoided scarves at all costs. Perhaps it was because she was heavyset, warmed by her own body, but she never needed material encumbrances to feel comfortable. Her pale skin puckered as the breeze fanned over her bare arms. From this vantage point, she was privy to all the sounds of the neighborhood. Water gurgled in a neighbor’s fountain. Hedges whispered against one another. Clattering horses made their way through cobblestone streets.
She imagined the lives connected to these sounds, the people within the houses. Her sister Bridget was always credited with having the most active imagination among them, but Charlotte’s inner life was just as vibrant, if secret.
She’d learned long ago that being plain was the same as being invisible. It did not matter if you were helpful and competent when you had a tall, striking eldest sister who was the same. It did not matter if you were well read when your beautiful, romantic sister had already read all the books in the library. Your analytical mind would never be as intriguing as that of your pixie-like sister—although, granted, Charlotte made no claim to being one-tenth the intellectual that Dinah was. And no matter the vibrancy of your red hair or the tilt of your gray eyes, you would never be considered attractive when your youngest sister had been declared the diamond to eclipse all diamonds, and henceforth, all other women would be compared to stones less precious.
Charlotte was used to being unseen and unnoticed. It was quite possible that her sisters had not even realized she’d quit the game. They loved her. She knew that. But they also loved to win.
“Is this seat taken?”
The low, male voice startled her, and she hurriedly sat up. The sight of his face nearly sent her rolling off the roof. He was the most beautiful man, certainly of her acquaintance and possibly to ever have been born. He wore fitted breeches and a white linen shirt with its sleeves rolled up, its ties undone at the neck. Surely she would have been distracted by the skin, by the tensile strength of his arms, had it not been for those penetrating green eyes.
For a girl who had never felt seen, she now felt studied.
“May I?” he prompted, nodding at the empty bit of roof beside her.
She was at a momentary loss as to how to proceed. Had a man found her alone in a room, she would have sought the company of her lady’s maid. Had a gentleman sought conversation without introduction at a ball, she would have been within her rights to cut him dead. But there was no protocol she had been taught for this scenario.
She had always assumed her education to have been comprehensive. Her father, were he to be informed, would be dismayed it was not so, especially after the coin he had spent to ensure they had every advantage and then some not available to the society members who found trade beneath them… although they seemed happy to enjoy the spoils of her father’s labor.
“I’m afraid I cannot vouch for the availability of this space,” she said. “I have only just arrived myself, and this is not my roof.”
He grinned and seated himself anyway, only a foot away from her. “You are the middle one,” he said. “Miss Charlotte Belle.”
Her name sounded so simple coming from his lips, as if they needed no introduction, needed nothing beyond each other in order to speak. “I thank you for letting me know. I had wondered about my own identity.” She sounded breathless to her own ears and struggled to remain seated. It seemed inappropriate to lie down with him here. Or at least, more inappropriate than the current situation.
“Rude of me,” he mused. “I should introduce myself.”
She knew who he was now, of course. There was only one man so notorious, one man whose exploits at meeting women were so read about and reported on, so scandalous, one man whose beauty was so outrageous. “Does Viscount Savage need an introduction?”
“Not according to my press.” He looked around them, at the landscape of rooftops and tiles that stretched for miles in all directions. “The pitch of this roof is greater than it appears from below. You probably shouldn’t be here.”
“You aren’t even invited.”’
“You should probably go inside,” he said. “For your own safety.”
“You should stop telling me what to do.” She had no idea what made her so bold, except that he was looking at her, seeing her. Beneath his gaze she seemed to exist. In existing, she was becoming more herself, the Charlotte that she often buried deep beneath society’s rules, and politeness, and love for her family.
“You’re a curious thing. Not what I expected given what they say.”
“You are exactly what they say.”
His lips twisted up. “Then you should know what to expect next.”
She did not expect it. There was knowing a man to be a rake and there was finding yourself on the receiving end of his kiss, especially when you were not the kind of girl whom men sought for that purpose.
He closed the distance by leaning in—surely this was not the first time he had kissed a woman he ought not, based on his disturbing command of the situation. His hands rested on her neck, tilting up her head. His lips slashed against hers, then insistently moved in the opposite direction until her swift intake of breath finally let him explore her with his tongue, which he did in languid lashes. No sooner had she become used to that than he nipped at her mouth and drew his lips down her neck.
She had begun this madness with a single thought: This would be her only chance. Not her only chance to be kissed. While she was plump, she was also rich beyond measure and there would be someone who wanted to marry her. No, this was her only chance to feel desired, however fleeting. For whatever else there was in Lord Savage’s eyes, there was a deep, dark desire.
Not that she should have felt flattered. She was sure he desired anything and everything. He was a rake, after all.
But the look he’d given her had made her quake, and now there was this, and all the rationalizations in her head were replaced with a pleasant hum that became an insistent roar through her blood.
He pulled back and ran his hand across her temple and into her hair. With a gentle squeeze of the hand still on her neck, he tilted her head further so that she might look up at him.
“I didn’t—” she said.
“Didn’t what?”
“Expect this.”
His grin set her insides somersaulting. “I should hope you didn’t expect it. I am known for my ability to shock and awe.”
She shook her head clear of the fog and turned. “Is that all?”
“All of what?” He cocked his head.
“Is that all there is of… kissing?” She had felt there should be more. She had wanted more. She wanted it again. Now.
He laughed. The other accounts of meeting Lord Savage did not mention that he was so easily merry. “No, there is much more, but I’m afraid I cannot show you.”
“But… why not?” She tried to cover the petulant tone in her voice, like a child who has been forbidden sweets.
The groove in his brow deepened. Even with that, he was beautiful. “Because kissing you is not my purpose here. If I am to be honest… and we should be honest with each other. Can we promise that, Miss Charlotte?”
“Are you often dishonest?”
“Yes, I am. See? An honest answer regarding my dishonesty. I will pledge you my honesty in all things, if you promise it in return.”
She nodded, sitting straighter, feeling infinitely more adult and important now than she had in her entire life. “Honesty in all things.” Saying it felt important and, most of all, like the beginning of a relationship instead of the end of a brief moment. The beginning of something that she was sure no one else had—a secret, something special, all to herself. She squinted, as though she might see into him, see beyond the pretty face.
“What are you doing?” he asked as she leaned in and furrowed her brow.
“Looking at you,” she said.
“But you have seen me.”
“Looking more deeply. Despite your claim that you are often dishonest, I believe you to be an honest man. An honorable man.”
He chuckled. “And are you a woman of your word?”
“Most women are,” she said tartly. “At least as much as men can be.”
The slightest of smiles lit his lips. “Then let us begin. I kissed you because I felt like it, and also because I believed it would make you more amenable to what I am about to ask of you. That is to say, I am taking advantage of my reputation as well as your innocence. My purpose here is to recruit you to my cause, a mission of the Crown, of utmost importance.”
Her father had once warned her against men, especially those with pretty faces. They will tell you what you want to hear, my sweet, because you have something they want. A fortune. They will turn your head and make you promises they cannot keep. Beware of these men, Charlotte.
Could it be that Lord Savage was such a man? Yet he had not made her promises, not attempted to turn her head. Instead, he promised her meaning and importance.
“Why me?” she asked. “And what cause?”
“To see your sisters married to Englishmen, primarily because there is fear in some circles that your father may move his business interests to Boston.”
“But we are English!”
“Currency, alas, knows very little citizenship. The fact remains that it is in the vested interest of the Crown to see your sisters married well, and fortune aside, the latest jilting of your youngest sister by the Duke of Rivington’s son does not bode well for your family’s reputation. We must act quickly to reestablish Miss Seraphina’s ties to the dukedom, and to ensure the rest of your sisters are similarly matched.”
“Dinah does not want to marry.”
“Ah, you see, this is exactly the intelligence I need,” he said. “But we will come to that in time. It is likely worth knowing why she does not want to marry in order to overcome it.”
Charlotte worried her lip. See her sisters married? Of course, if they wanted to be married, she would gladly assist, whether the Crown requested it or not. But there remained a nagging question. “Am I not to be married?”
“Of course you are.”
“Then why me?” she repeated.
His elbows rested on his knees as he rubbed his hands together in the cold. “I hesitate to tell you, and yet I did promise you honesty, did I not?” He glanced at the sky and let out a sigh, as if he could not believe the situation. “I gave you my word, and I shall keep it, no matter what you might think of me. I had believed I could exert control over you more easily than your sisters. Not because you are less intelligent, but because you are the middle child. You have neither the obstinacy of the eldest nor the privilege of the youngest. You are a peacekeeper, a mediator. You are the most likely to go unnoticed. That makes you very, very valuable.”
She snorted, mostly because she had just been thinking that very thing. “But you noticed me,” she said.
His green eyes, visible in the moonlight, seemed to twinkle, or perhaps she imagined it. “I notice everything.”
“What would you have me do?”
“Primarily intelligence gathering about your sisters. Possibly also scouting missions. We may need to meet, possibly alone. I would not compromise your reputation, but you must realize the meetings will thoroughly compromise you if we are caught, because you must leave behind your chaperone.”
“And what if we are caught?”
“It would be unfortunate. I would likely have to marry you, which would do neither of us any good. I suppose I must marry—such is the burden of the title—but you won’t do.”
She hadn’t thought she would, but still, the remark smarted, and for one brief moment she envisioned kicking him off the roof. For only a moment, of course. But she allowed herself the pleasure of the image anyway.
“Why ever not?” she asked.
“I wouldn’t love you. It is nothing personal. I’ve found no use for the emotion, but if there’s one thing I know of a girl who lies on the roof looking up at the sky, it is that she wants to be loved.”
Charlotte did want to be loved. Very much so. But at the moment, having been seen, having been noticed… Well, that seemed enough.