Page 6 of A Lady's Dangerous Secret
He let out another unexpected laugh. Was he dancing the waltz with the daughter of an earl in a glittering Mayfair ballroom, or was he heckling for kippers on the docks with a fishmonger’s wife?
Regardless of his opponent or any attraction between them, he knew one thing. He had to win.
“Agree. What happens if you cannot guess it?” he said.
“I will not lose.”
He had never met any woman, let alone a lady, who was so blatantly confident. He had to admit, it was not as repulsive as he would have thought.
“This is a wager. We must have solid terms before we begin. If you cannot guess my identity, you’ll grant me a kiss,” he challenged.
“I agree to your terms,” she said with a competitive gleam in her eyes.
James would not lose.
Charlotte convinced herself she did not need seven guesses to determine Lord Silverstone’s identity. The critical step was to gather as much evidence as she could before her questioning started. Each time they spun, Charlotte caught the salty scent of the sea mixed with an herbal, exotic note. Her brother Arthur, the one with whom she would debate esoteric topics, always pointed out that she did not see the forest for the trees. Nevertheless, Lord Silverstone’s scent was critical to who he was. She reviewed in her mind his appearance, including the way he carried himself, and made mental notes.
“I’m ready to ask my first question, and you must be truthful,” Charlotte said.
He gave her a sardonic look. “You wound me, my lady. Accusing me of cheating before we’ve even started?”
“One can never be too sure. I shall start off broadly. Where do you come from?”
Before her dance partner answered, he stared at her in an unnerving manner. Her fingers fidgeted on his shoulder in discomfort. She broke eye contact first. This was not off to a good start. She did not appreciate Lord Silverstone’s distraction technique. She could not let him rattle her.
“Birmingham.”
Birmingham, Birmingham, Birmingham.
Her mind worked through anything she knew about the city. Charlotte had not a clue what peerage included Birmingham. She felt a tinge of remorse, but nothing her brain could not solve. She cycled through nuggets of information she had discussed with Arthur.
Nothing came up.
The musicians continued to play the waltz in the background, and Lord Silverstone led her across the dance floor. She delved further into her memory to articles she had read in the newspaper, an unladylike habit in which she partook during her mostly unsupervised existence in Shropshire. Her thoughts churned for a bit longer until…the Lunar Society! Charlotte knew she had read about a group of intellectuals and forward thinkers in Birmingham several years ago.
She reassessed Lord Silverstone. He did not strike her as a free thinker, especially if he was an aristocrat. He seemed more of the domineering and inflexible type, which made the Lunar Society comical.
“What are you grinning about? All I gave you was a city,” he said.
“I was just thinking of the Lunar Society and picturing you standing on a table, pulling out your hair, and arguing about Plato.”
“You have an active imagination,” was all he could mutter before he twirled her.
Not an intellectual. More importantly, his response confirmed he was much too serious. She still figured that he was a lord, but could she be wrong? Her aunt did give him the cut direct, but she assumed it was because he was a rake or had some other ghastly reputation.
“What is your father’s title?”
“He doesn’t have one.”
“I see,Mister Silverstone.” His answer surprised her. There were gentlemen not born into the nobility, but he exuded the arrogance of the aristocracy.
She sifted through other categories of gentlemen and almost scoffed out loud when she thought of her dance partner standing in the pulpit as a man of the cloth. She doubted he was particularly pious; however, she could picture him scolding the congregation and preaching fire and brimstone. Still, it seemed unlikely. Law or medicine were not good fits either.
What next?
Landed gentry. Charlotte felt she was getting closer, especially because his physique suggested he was not idle. She had the nagging feeling she was missing one more category.
His scent flooded her senses. It was the scent of the sea being carried by the wind.
