Page 3 of A Lady's Dangerous Secret
A torn hem?
An empty dance card?
Whatever it was, it was unimportant. Thetondid not interest James one bit.
CHAPTER TWO
Finally.
Charlotte saw the two gentlemen near Lady Carrington and Lady Bridget had stopped talking. Aunt Frances did not skip a beat and waved at the earl. “Lord Carrington!”
He raised his eyebrows and gave a slight bow as his mother proceeded to introduce Charlotte to her handsome son, who closely resembled his sister. Charlotte realized he was a friend of one of her brothers whom she had only met once. She gave him an obligatory, polite smile with as much gusto as she could manage, which was not much.
Lord Carrington asked her for the honor of the first dance with the insouciance of a practiced aristocrat.
Touché.
The attractive blond earl did not hold Charlotte’s interest, and her eyes darted to the black-haired gentleman next to him, but her aunt grabbed the dance card from her wrist before she could take a better look. “Lady Charlotte would love to dance with you, my lord.”
Lord Carrington, in his blue, superfine long-tailed coat, white waistcoat, and white expertly tied cravat, took her dance card and wrote his name for the first dance.
Charlotte pretended to smile as the earl handed back the dance card. “Thank you, my lord,” she said, hoping her voice sounded appropriately submissive. She did not know how long she could play the role of biddable debutante.
She took a moment to peer around her aunt for a better view of the other gentleman. A pair of stormy-gray eyes suddenly emerged from behind her aunt’s head and caught her gaze.
Charlotte was taken aback.
The combination of black hair and tumultuous eyes made her feel as if she were trapped in a squall and was being pulled out to sea. Despite the danger, she could not break their eye contact, and was swept away in the chaos. The mystery man bowed. Charlotte realized he had been introduced, but she had not caught his name. She did not worry since she assumed he would ask her to dance, as had Lord Carrington, and his identity would soon be revealed.
He was midnight personified, with a black long-tailed coat, waistcoat, and knee-breeches. They were only brightened by the white of his cravat and stockings, like the moon and its reflection piercing the darkness of the night. From the way he carried himself, Charlotte reasoned he must be an aristocrat.
Lord Carrington and this gentleman made a formidable pair of light and dark. Both tall and broad-shouldered, they held their chins elevated in an imperial manner, which had been bred into thetonfor generations. This mystery man, though, wore a brooding look on his face and was more muscular than his friend the earl. His shoulders were a bit more expansive, his sleeves a bit tighter, and his pants a bit more…fitted.
Charlotte’s eyes jumped to the unknown man’s face, hoping her perusal had gone unnoticed. The corner of his mouth twitched, and she felt her cheeks redden.
The slight movement of his mouth disappeared in a moment. She wondered if it had happened at all. What was left was a somber visage. He began to address her, “Lady Charlotte?—”
“We must be off to fill your dance card!” Aunt Frances quickly clutched Charlotte’s upper arm and pretended not to hear the man, before she dragged her away from the group and into the crowd.
Charlotte looked behind her and reentered the stormy eyes of the stranger. She raised her wrist with its attached dance card and held up five fingers, before she was forced to turn around by her aunt’s determined walk.
From that point on, Aunt Frances whisked her around the ballroom and ensured she was visible to all marriageable gentlemen. Her dance card was soon filled with eligible, titled suitors. Each time a gentleman was about to write down his name, Charlotte asked him under her breath to leave the fifth dance open. She did not dare to complete her act of subterfuge until her aunt was distracted. That moment came when Aunt Frances ran into her friend who wore a turban with enough feathers for Charlotte to fear there was a live bird attached to her head. This feathered gentlewoman had dire news to tell her aunt involving some elopement to Gretna Green. Her aunt became so absorbed in the titillating story that she left Charlotte unguarded. Charlotte slipped the dance card off her wrist and wrote a name next to the fifth dance.
Lord Silverstone.
A fitting name for a man with eyes the color of silver metal. She let out the breath she did not realize she was holding. Her respite was brief, however, because her aunt finished hearing the entire sordid elopement tale, and was ready for Charlotte’s next gentleman cause.
Aunt Frances tapped Charlotte’s dance card. “I have reserved this waltz for a very special suitor.”
“Oh?” Charlotte said. She had learned to save her breath when her aunt was on a mission.
“Yes, the Duke of Westcliffe will be attending. I have confirmed it with him personally. We have known each other for ages, and he has promised a dance with you. He’s in need of a wife and would like to have the matter settled quickly.”
They approached the next cluster of smartly dressed ladies and gentlemen.
Charlotte worried her bottom lip while she reasoned through her aunt’s words. First, if her aunt had known the Duke for years, that meant he was not young. Second, if he required a wife urgently, that meant he needed an heir. Third—Charlotte paused as the predicament became clear—she would be the perfect wife.
Fear welled inside Charlotte. She needed a titled husband, but she had hoped she could have some say in the matter. Why had her aunt not mentioned this earlier, instead of parading her about the ballroom?
