Page 7 of A Lady's Dangerous Secret
“The Royal Navy?” Charlotte asked. She had been so deep in thought she did not realize that he had been looking above her head. His eyes darted down to her level.
“What’s the question?”
What an infuriating man!
“Allow me to rephrase my query so that you can understand it, sir. Are you serving in the Royal Navy?”
“Yes.”
Success! Charlotte’s eyes traveled up and down his powerful frame. She hoped to glean any clue as to his rank. Charlotte paused. Why was he not properly attired in uniform? Boney’s wars had thankfully wound down, but he just said he was an active member of the military.
Charlotte could not dwell on his attire, and analyzed him further. He was confident—which she had wrongly attributed to an aristocratic birth—and appeared close in age to Charlotte’s older brothers. He could have been in the Royal Navy at least a decade and become some sort of officer.
She took a lucky guess. “Are you a captain?”
CHAPTER FOUR
James could not look at Lady Charlotte. If his eyes caught her profile for more than a few moments, his mind wandered. The beginning of their waltz was relatively innocent. What would her delectable lips taste like? Would it be like her scent, innocent yet seductive? But as the dance went on, his mind traveled down a darker and more erotic path. Just a glimpse of her elegant neck prompted him to picture her in the throes of passion with her head flung back while he rutted her endlessly.
I need to bed a proper whore, James convinced himself. He had been near celibate for too long. He had avoided the doxies at the many ports of call during the war, worried about contracting the pox. Now that he was in London and had coin to spare, he could rid himself of this pent-up sexual frustration at a fashionable establishment.
“What’s the question?” James never missed a word of any conversation. Yet, today, on more than one occasion he was asking others to repeat themselves.
He could only blame women.
First, it was the unidentified woman who had disrupted his life and forced him to London. Currently, it was the bold and alluring daughter of the Earl of Pulverbatch.
“Are you a captain?”
“Yes,” James answered, without divulging any more information. How many questions had that been? Four? Five? He had lost count, but he knew he could not give her anything else. The questions would only become more personal, and he was already starting to feel restless. He thankfully detected the closing notes of the waltz.
It was time to go.
“It has been an honor, Lady Charlotte, but I’m afraid I must take my leave.” Captain Silverstone bowed and turned abruptly, before being swallowed by the crowd.
Charlotte stood dumfounded. Had she said something to scare him away?
She let out a huff of breath. The dratted man had left before their wager ended. It was quite unsportsmanlike of him. She would not hold back in reprimanding the cheater, ladylike or not. But first she had to see him again, and there was no guarantee that their paths would cross.
The musicians began the opening notes of the next dance, and she realized she was still standing on the dance floor, appearing thoroughly unsettled. She hurried to the side of the ballroom and stationed herself near the windows. She needed to compose herself.
A glance at her card revealed a baronet’s name written beside the next dance. Her partner was only a baronet? Perfect, a dance she could skip. Although the baronet must be powerful or wealthy for her aunt to allow him to partner with Charlotte. But it did not matter. She needed the utmost protection from theIncident,and that meant getting to the top of the socialhierarchy, where the law could not touch her. The best safeguard would be to wed a duke. Preferably a duke who was not old enough to be her father…or her grandfather. But she may not have that option. How many unwed dukes could there be?
Charlotte crept along the periphery of the ballroom with her back to the towering arched windows and her eyes trained on the goings-on of the guests. She would eventually reach a door to the gardens if she continued her current path. Her feet shuffled along the wall of windows while she tried to blend into the background. What a foolish thought. As if anyone in this ballroom besides her aunt would even notice her.
Speak of the devil.
Aunt Frances and another woman walked arm in arm near the door that was Charlotte’s means of an escape from the ballroom. Her aunt always seemed to know everything that was happening, and her sudden appearance further cemented her omnipotence. Charlotte sprang away from the wall and walked straight into the group of onlookers watching the couples glide across the dance floor. There had to be another way for her to find a moment of peace.
After what felt like ages of weaving through the throng of people, she was able to duck out of the ballroom into a doorway. She found herself in an adjacent room, but guests spilled over into the space and clustered in boisterous groups. She walked past them with her head down and continued onward until the din of the music faded. She entered the next room, confident that she had found a place to relax, but she was sorely mistaken.
It was the ladies’ retiring room.
Charlotte paused in the doorway, weighing her options. Return to the stifling ballroom and her aunt, or immerse herself in a gaggle of ladies gossiping and fixing their hems? She chose the latter as the lesser of two evils.
She took a few hesitant steps forward, not wanting to agitate the bank of swans before her. Fortunately, the birds in the room barely glanced at her, too busy preening and worrying about their own appearances to take note. She collapsed onto a settee and closed her eyes for a moment.
She missed home.
