Shirley Kerr (21 page)

Her features twisted into a grimace. “I am to be the decoy tonight, so that Aunt Hermione does not suspect Steven’s activities.”

“While he gets to experience the fun and adventure, without you.”

“Exactly!” She resisted the urge to stamp her foot only because Alistair seemed to understand her frustration.

“Then we will just have to make sure you have fun and adventure of your own tonight, won’t we?”

C
harlotte was just descending the staircase at eight o’clock that evening when Alistair arrived. She knew her pale blue silk gown was flattering to her coloring and figure, but the smoldering expression in his eyes as he swept his appreciative gaze over her, head to toes, made her feel like she was a work of art.

As soon as she reached the bottom of the stairs, he raised her hand to drop a soft, warm kiss on her knuckles. “You look divine.”

His touch and his smile sent her pulse racing, and his simple declaration warmed her as no effusive praise would have done. “You look quite handsome as well.” His black coat and breeches, white shirt and stockings, were elevated beyond the ordinary by a waistcoat of sky blue silk. A sapphire stick pin winked from the folds of his snowy cravat.

According to the rumors that Molly had shared while getting Charlotte dressed, all Moncreiffe had to do was smile at a girl a certain way and she would swoon at his feet. Looking at him in the brightly lit foyer, with the light from the chandelier gleaming in his golden brown hair, the flash of white teeth when he smiled, she could easily believe the rumors to be fact.

Aunt Hermione came down the stairs next, attired in a regal gown of rich purple velvet that perfectly suited her silver-streaked golden hair.

“I am a doubly lucky man tonight,” Alistair declared, and made an elegant bow. “I shall be the envy of all who see us.” He dropped a kiss just above Hermione’s hand.

“Oh, you silly man.” Hermione let out a chuckle. “Do go on.”

With a conspiratorial grin, Alistair complied. He showered both women with effusive compliments as he helped them into the elegant carriage and they started off, climbing the heights of absurdity and making them both giggle for a good portion of the drive to the Grishams’ town house.

Charlotte enjoyed the silliness—this was a facet of Alistair she had not seen before—but found herself eager to discover what plans he’d referred to. She suffered through the receiving line and the wait to be announced into the ballroom, juggling her curiosity with annoyance at Steven and wondering what he was doing at that moment. Had he reclaimed the box yet?

A delicious shiver ran down her spine when Alistair leaned over to whisper in her ear. “Patience is a virtue, Charlotte.”

She looked up, and almost melted at his mischievous smile. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to me.” He winked.

This flutter of anticipation in her stomach was entirely different from when she was about to embark on a mission, but no less intoxicating. She had racked her brain all afternoon, trying to think of what he had planned for this evening, and had come up blank.

At long last they completed the niceties of settling Aunt Hermione among the dowagers, and Alistair fetched her the obligatory cup of punch.

“Run along now, children.” Hermione fluttered her fan toward the dance floor, where the musicians were striking the first chords of a waltz.

Charlotte gave her aunt a kiss on the cheek, then slipped her hand in the crook of Alistair’s arm, and he led her out.

He spun her into the dance with just as much grace as she remembered from their first dance together, the same day that they had met by such unconventional means. Goodness, that had been less than one week ago. She had foolishly tried to play the simpering debutante with him, but he had seen right through her subterfuge. And he’d seen a great deal more since then.

She waited until they had settled into the rhythm of the waltz, moving together in perfect unity, before speaking. “Is the view to your liking as much as last time we danced?”

“I beg your pardon?” He affected a puzzled innocence, but she detected a knowing glint in his eye.

“My freckle. I noticed the first time we danced that it was of particular interest to you.”

They both glanced down at the freckle in question, which was just visible at the neckline of her bodice. It served as a measuring stick of sorts, the point beyond which she would not allow her gowns to be cut any lower.

“I admit I found it quite distracting at first. But of course you’re well aware of that, and use it to your advantage.” His voice held no censure, just a statement of facts.

“A woman must use whatever weapons she has at hand. So to speak.” It was not her intent to lead him on, and their relationship would end as soon as she had the box, but the words he’d used rankled. “You no longer find it distracting?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but apparently thought better of it and twirled her instead. When they faced each other again, he bent to whisper in her ear, his intimacy camouflaged by the steps of the dance. “A great many things about you drive me to distraction, Charlotte.”

Another shiver danced down her spine.

He straightened into the proper position, the picture of propriety. Only his wickedly handsome smile remained.

She had to look away to get her emotions under control again. The rumors about him were proving all too true, and she feared she was in danger of swooning. That, or dragging him to the nearest darkened corner, throwing him to the floor, and discovering if he had any freckles of his own. She desperately needed something else on which to focus her thoughts. “About these plans for tonight…”

He shook his head. “My, you are impatient.” He tightened his fingers on hers. “It’s not for another hour or so. You should try to enjoy the dancing. Is not my charming company sufficient for your pleasure?” He lowered his voice to a husky purr on the last word and gave her a look so seductive, her toes curled.

Her breath caught, and released a few seconds later with a whoosh. This time she couldn’t blame her breathlessness on Molly tying her stays too tight. She’d gone back to wearing the corset slip she’d favored in France, which did not offer quite as much support but allowed far more freedom of movement.

Alistair had given her fair warning when they kissed in the park, and she had foolishly forgotten his determination to carry through and make their betrothal real.

Now that she was firmly reminded that they were engaged in conflict, she should be able to enjoy their skirmishes without losing sight of her battle plan.

She did indeed take pleasure in the rest of the dance, relishing the feel of his hand at the small of her back, like a hot brand, the comforting strength of his hand holding hers, though they were separated by gloves. Dancing so close, she couldn’t help but feel light and dainty in his arms, powerfully reminded of just how tall, handsome, and charming her fake fiancé was.

When the music ended, Alistair escorted her back to Aunt Hermione. She hid a flash of disappointment when he did not sit down beside her, but excused himself and disappeared into the swirling, colorful crowd. Grudgingly, she allowed she couldn’t keep him to herself all
evening long. They were allowed only one more dance together.

She did not have long to stew on the matter, as several gentlemen acquaintances came to request dances. All were polite, and probably handsome in their own right, but none compared favorably to Alistair.

By the time she returned from taking part in a stately polonaise, Alistair was chatting with Hermione, along with a small group of men and women. She recognized two of the party, Mr. Clarke and Sir Dorian, and guessed that the women beside them were also interested in astronomy.

Alistair quickly made the introductions, presenting her to Miss Davidson and Mrs. Lumby as his fiancée. She should be accustomed to it by now, but hearing him say the words still made her pulse flutter.

He turned to Aunt Hermione. “Our host, Lord Grisham, is also a member of The Royal Society, and has set up a special display for us. It should be ready by now.”

“Off you go, then,” Hermione said with a smile.

“Shall we?” Alistair held his arm out for Charlotte, and they followed the other two couples out of the ballroom and deep into the house.

Instead of going down the hallway and to another room as she expected, the group turned the corner and climbed the servants’ stairs.

“Is this the pre-planned part of the evening?”

“Most assuredly.” He squeezed her hand on his arm.

She couldn’t make out the words in the conversations between the other two couples, but the general air of
excitement was contagious. Her flutterings of anticipation increased.

They continued up, one flight after another, until they reached the door to the roof.

“This seems vaguely familiar,” Charlotte whispered, remembering the last time she’d been up on a rooftop. “If you had warned me, I could have worn a warmer dress.”

“Not to worry.” There was a chair near the door, piled high with blankets. Each of the men grabbed one and draped it around their lady’s shoulders just before they stepped outside into the crisp night air.

Alistair and Charlotte were the last in the hallway. Instead of draping the blanket from behind or beside her, he stood in front, and brought the edges of the blanket together just beneath her chin. His eyes grew serious. “Much better circumstances than the last time I did this.”

She nodded.

“Your…bruise…did not make it uncomfortable to climb the stairs, I hope?”

She reached up to hold the blanket, resting her hands on top of his. She wished neither of them were wearing gloves. She’d become accustomed to his warm, bare touch, to the point of craving it. “Stairs are more comfortable than sitting, I assure you.”

His gaze had remained fixed on her mouth while she spoke. “That’s…good.” His voice dropped to the barest whisper. He leaned forward, his head tilted to one side.

Her breath caught. She tried to moisten her lips but her mouth had suddenly gone dry.

Voices beyond the open doorway made him look up. He straightened. She clenched her fist in frustration.

He cleared his throat. “Shall we join the others before they wonder what’s become of us?” He gave her a slow smile, and gestured grandly for her to precede him out the door.

A brief afternoon rain shower had washed the air clean, and the clouds had obligingly moved off. Stars glittered brightly overhead, with the moon not due to rise for several hours yet. The tallest parts of the London skyline were shown in silhouette, black voids against the backdrop of stars.

Down on the roof, she heard the hushed conversations far better than she could make out the pale blur of faces of the other astronomers. Miss Davidson laughed aloud at something Mr. Clarke said, but quickly covered her mouth with her gloved hand.

Here, five stories above the London streets, the canopy of stars seemed to call for reverent tones, as if they were in a giant cathedral.

Alistair took her hand and guided her to the center of the roof, where she discovered three telescopes had been set up, each about a dozen feet apart. A shuttered lantern marked the location of each tripod.

“This is an annual event,” he explained. “Lord Grisham hosts a week-long star party at his country estate every summer. Lady Grisham insists on coming back to the city for the Little Season, so he plans a smaller gathering up here while she hosts the ball downstairs.”

Charlotte heard a different voice then, deeper than
those of the other men in their group, though she couldn’t make out the words.

“Let me introduce you.” Still holding her hand, Alistair led her to the cluster of people around the telescopes. “Lord Grisham, may I present my fiancée, Miss Parnell.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, so to speak, Miss Parnell.” She could barely see the blur of his face, but heard the rustle of fabric and knew that he had bowed.

“Likewise, my lord.” She curtsied, amused that they were keeping the formalities even though they were in almost complete darkness.

“Everyone, may I have your attention, please?” Lord Grisham said, raising his voice to a normal conversational level.

The other discussions immediately halted, and everyone took a step closer.

“Mr. Clarke’s refractor is being used for the Messier Challenge tonight, Sir Dorian plans to use his for comet hunting, and Moncreiffe’s is for viewing…whatever you please. There are chairs around the table as usual, and of course, a footman will be up with more refreshments shortly.”

“Jolly good host,” Sir Dorian said.

“As always,” Mr. Clarke seconded.

“Which object are you on now?” That was Mrs. Lumby, who had accompanied Mr. Clarke.

“Number twenty-two,” Lord Grisham replied. “And it’s giving me a devil of a time.”

“One would think it would get easier each time one located it,” Alistair said.

“One would think that, yes,” Lord Grisham growled.

There was a smattering of laughter, and the group dispersed to the various telescopes.

“That probably sounded like gibberish to you. Let me explain.”

Charlotte shook her head, then remembered Alistair couldn’t see her. “Not at all. I’ve been meaning to ask if you’ve ever attempted the Messier Challenge, or rather, how many times you have found all of the objects on Messier’s list in one night of observations.”

Certain that his silence meant his jaw had gone slack, she wished she could see his expression. When he still did not answer, she continued. “We are discussing the French astronomer, a famous comet-hunter, who made a list of all the objects he found in the night sky that were not comets, yes?”

“Yes.” There was a flash of white as he gave a broad grin. “How many of the objects have you seen?”

“I’m afraid that all of my viewing through a telescope or spyglass has been aimed at things of a more earthly nature. I’ve only seen drawings of the objects in books.”

“Then we must make haste to remedy such a glaring gap in your education.”

He led her to the middle telescope, where Sir Dorian and Miss Davidson were debating the merits of equatorial mounts versus altazimuth mounts.

“Looking at anything interesting?”

Sir Dorian scratched his chin. “I think the last thing we looked at was M29, in Cygnus. Isn’t that right, Miss Davidson?”

“Yes, but it was already moving out of the field of view, so you’ll have to adjust the ascension and declination.”

Alistair let go of Charlotte’s hand to pull off his gloves before he bent to look through the telescope, and made a slight adjustment. “Yes, that’s M29, an open star cluster in Cygnus, the southern cross.” He guided Charlotte closer. “Take a look.”