To Wed a Wicked Earl (13 page)

“You cannot deny how handsome! Are you not happy your mother permitted you to come instead of trolling about those ancient pathways and caves looking for spirits?” She wobbled her head in a gesture of disbelief, which looked quite comical considering her costume. “No doubt your mother hadn’t counted on the earl to attend. My mother and I can scarcely believe he’s here. Perhaps Tristan talked him into it. He and his grandmother are invited every year, but never come. I can’t imagine why he would come this year. Can you?”

“Actually, yes,” Charlotte muttered, smiling pointedly at Lady Rosalind, who returned the friendly gesture as they walked past. “Everyone knows the reason he is here. And 
she’s
 it.”

“Yes, well, that may be true, you know, but insofar that I know…and I am in the know as you well know…”

“Lizzie, you may very well hold the record for using the word ‘know’ the greatest number of times in a single sentence.”

“…she doesn’t have any apparent interest in the man.”

“She’s simply abiding by the duke’s wishes,” Charlotte offered with a lift of her shoulder.

“Oh, that’s right! You’re close friends with the duchess. How could I have forgotten? How are the newlyweds?”

“Brilliant,” Charlotte answered with a grin. “Though they are hardly newlyweds any longer. They’re traveling again. Wales now and then on to…Ireland, I think.”

“Now that she has married, surely you don’t see her as often. You must miss her.”

Charlotte smiled wistfully. “Quite. But she’s happy and that makes me happy. She has written, but I fear they’re never in one place long enough for me to respond in kind. We’ll catch up when they return.” She wondered what Madelyn would say if she knew of her friendship with Rothbury.

Actually, she did know what her protective friend would say. She’d tell her she was absolutely mad and should stay far, far away from Lord Rothbury. And she would be right, of course.

As they rounded a marble column, the tall, stiff collar of Lizzie’s costume accidentally slapped a glass of punch out of someone’s hand.

“I say!” the man protested.

Wide-eyed, Charlotte blinked up at her cousin, but Lizzie continued prattling, oblivious to the havoc unfolding behind her.

Charlotte cringed. Thankfully, a footman bearing a towel happened by. Giving the guest an apologetic smile, Charlotte quickened her step to catch up with her cousin.

“Hmm.” Lizzie tapped her finger on her chin. “Now there was something else I was going to say, but I’ve forgotten.” She turned her head, nearly toppling the entire contents of a tray of full wineglasses. Only the deft hand of another footman saved the tray teetering in his grasp from dumping on another guest.

“Lizzie, perhaps we should find somewhere to sit,” Charlotte suggested. “Your costume…”

“…is hideous. I know. And these awful feathers make my nose itch.”

“Well, at least 
your
 mother didn’t insist you dress as a shepherdess,” Charlotte muttered with a rueful smile. “I don’t think there’s a person in this room that I haven’t accidentally whacked on the back of the head with this dashed shepherd’s crook.” She eyed the thing crossly, then glanced at her cousin and her wide collar. Between the both of them, they could very well obliterate the entire ballroom. The idea had merit.

“Indeed,” Lizzie murmured. “But you do look adorable, really.”

“Adorable’ isn’t the word. In fact, I can think of three more-appropriate words right off the top of my head. ‘Absurd.’ ‘Ridiculous.’ And ‘mortifying.’”

“You 
do
 stand out,” Lizzie offered weakly, with a hesitant smile.

Well, that much, Charlotte mused, was undoubtedly true.

She stole a glance at the couples swirling about the dance floor. Most of the young ladies wore bejeweled half masks and diaphanous white gowns, which floated teasingly about their ankles, drawing the appreciative glances of many gentlemen.

Charlotte’s frock, however, had a stiff petticoat underneath, which made her feel quite like an overstuffed pastry puff. And on Charlotte’s small frame, it undeniably gave the appearance that the dress wore her instead of the other way around.

At least she could find comfort in the fact that she had miraculously avoided the dreaded Viscount Witherby this evening.

“Charlotte,” Lizzie whispered a clear warning in her voice. “Don’t…turn…around. In fact, you should just run.”

She closed her eyes on a slow blink, then mouthed, “Witherby?”

Lizzie nodded, worry evident in her gaze. “Just go,” she said without moving her lips.

Charlotte stepped forward only to have her cousin grab her by the shoulders and thrust her in a different direction. “Go hide in the library. We’re redecorating. No one’s allowed in there.”

Trusting Lizzie blindly, Charlotte charged forward into the dense crowd, dragging the shepherd’s crook along with her, of course. For once she was glad to have the dratted thing. Its reputation for bodily harm must precede it, for those who happened to spare it a single glance veritably jumped out of the way, which sped up the normally lengthy process of crossing a crowded ballroom.

In no time at all, she reached the corridor that led to the sanctuary of the deserted library. She hurried onward, paying no heed to the fact the hall grew quiet and substantially darker the further along she went.

Lizzie had said the library was in the process of being redecorated and was off-limits to guests. It made sense that there weren’t any people milling about the hall.

A cloud of white seemingly emerged from an intersecting hall right before Charlotte’s eyes. There was no time to stop or even slow her momentum. Before she could utter a squeak, she slammed directly into Lady Gilton.

As both women collided, Lady G remained upright, steadying herself with an elegant hand braced on the wall.

Charlotte, however, wasn’t so lucky. She tripped over what she would have sworn was m’ lady’s own dainty foot, and found herself and the stupid shepherd’s crook flying to the floor. She landed on her hands and knees with a jolt.

“My word,” Lady Gilton said with a soft chuckle. “In a terrible rush, are you?”

Easing back to her haunches, Charlotte breathed deeply while she waited for the throbbing ache in her jarred knees to subside. “Pardon me,” she breathed, “I didn’t see you.”

“Funny, that,” Lady Gilton said with a smirk that Charlotte couldn’t see as much as she could hear. “Do you not agree? I mean, considering that for once in your life you were actually wearing your spectacles inside a ballroom.”

Good Lord, her spectacles! They must have flown off her nose when she fell. Never mind the beautiful woman with the tart tongue who was now slinking back toward the ballroom without so much as a by your leave.

She patted the floor frantically, sighing in relief when she found them. Hurriedly, she put them on, thankful that they hadn’t been broken.

Taking care to stand, Charlotte retrieved her crook and continued down the shadowed corridor, albeit slower and with a noticeable limp.

She jiggled the handle of the first door she came to, but it was locked tight. Ignoring the wild beat of her heart, she tried the next door. She gave a sigh of relief as it opened easily on well-oiled hinges, making nary a sound.

Silently, she slipped inside, surprised to find the cluttered room awash in golden candlelight radiating from the elaborate brass sconces set on the far wall.

Softly closing the door behind her back, Charlotte took a brief inspection of the cluttered room. A vast array of stacked chairs, settees, tables, tall armoires, and other unidentifiable articles of furniture sat covered in either dust or swaths of white sheets. Linens were draped along the walls of bookcases, presumably to keep dust or paint from reaching them.

Charlotte’s brow furrowed. Why on earth would Lizzie’s mother order such a room to be lit? She shrugged, dismissing the thought.

Stepping deeper inside, she nearly tripped over a plump, tasseled pillow leaning against the leg of a chair. Using her shepherd’s crook, she poked it out of her way.

And that’s when she heard it. A soft swish. Like that of someone adjusting their position.

A shiver spilled down her spine and the air felt heavy. She remained perfectly still. Perhaps it was a cat, she thought. Then she heard it again. And again, the swishing noise becoming more persistent and agitated like someone or something was struggling to free itself.

A grunt, definitely a man’s grunt, came from the back of the room.

Her instincts told her to leave, to get the bloody hell out of the room. Now. But something else made her stay. Be it curiosity, or blatant stupidity.

With silent footsteps, she crept around a tall, wide armoire blocking her view from the full length of the room.

And what a view there was to behold. Her mouth dropped open and she quite forgot to breathe.

There, on a spindle-legged chair positioned against the far wall under the warm glow of the twin sconces, sat Lord Rothbury, blindfolded with his own cravat, his hands tied together, secured behind the back of the chair.

In vain, she tried to swallow, only it felt as if her throat had been doused with sand.

Good Lord! Why on earth was he tied up?

His shirt lay open, displaying the tawny skin of his broad chest, his flat nipples, and the sparse golden hairs that brushed the plane of his muscled stomach. Her greedy eyes remained fastened on that sleek, bare stomach, mesmerized by the rise and fall of each breath he took.

A voice in the back of her mind told her she should look away. After all, he was sin embodied. But what a sight he was for her starved eyes.

His dark blond locks lay in splendid disarray and he gave his head a quick jerk, tossing away the hair that fell across his forehead. He was unsuccessful, the silky strands sliding back into their former position. He blew out his frustration on a low growl.

Just what the earl was doing tied up, in an arousing state of undress no less, in one of their hostess’s spare rooms, Charlotte did not know. She could only imagine it had something to do with his amorous pursuits. But he had gone off with Lady Gilton and Charlotte had just bumped into the woman. Surely they couldn’t have done whatever it was they intended to do in such a short time. Could they?

Well, what she did know, however, was that she was an idiot for befriending a rake and then expecting him to behave properly and make good on his promises.

She desperately needed to get out of this room. If anyone should happen upon this room and the picture it presented, her reputation would be utterly ruined. She turned to leave…no matter how shamefully intriguing his position happened to be.

“Whatever your little game is, count me out,” Rothbury’s cultured voice cut through the room. “I’ve business to attend to. And you have no right to be angry. Untie me now, Cordelia.”

Charlotte gasped, clapping her hand over her mouth. Why would Lady Gilton leave him here?

Her face and neck ignited with heat. “You 
are
 shameless,” she whispered heatedly.

Imagine, delving into risky love-play when scores of people milled about down the hall in the ballroom. She had never known, only wondered, of the games lovers played behind closed doors. Indeed, the Earl of Rothbury was a wicked, wicked man.

But still, she mused, looking at him with a thoughtful tilt of her head. He did look rather…helpless.

Rumpled and vulnerable. Like a beautiful, restrained beast, his bonds gave the illusion he was approachable, harmless, when in fact he was just as dangerous or rather even more so now because of his budding fury.

What if he was a victim of some trick? Who would have ever found him? Perhaps she should untie him.

No. She shook her head. She would not. His deviant, greedy mind got him in his current position and she didn’t care what happened to the rogue. Shaking her head, she silently chastened herself for trusting him with her friendship. In fact, maybe he wasn’t much of a friend after all.

Her parents were right to forbid her to be anywhere near Rothbury. He was depraved. Immoral. Irredeemable.

And he could bloody well keep the favor he owed her. She didn’t want it any longer.

She turned to leave, tiptoeing toward the door.

Skirting around a pedestal table, she looked up at the door across the room and frowned, hesitating.

As soon as she walked out that door, everything would go back to the way it was before. She still would be shy Charlotte, sweet Charlotte, never-even-came-close-to-kissing-a-man-before Charlotte.

Tomorrow would come and she would still be unmarried, with no future prospects other than Witherby. At the end of the year she’d probably find herself unhappily married to him, forever joined. Good Lord, she most definitely would have to kiss him, wouldn’t she?

Reaching the door, she placed her hand on the brass knob. She would never in her life forget the arousing sight of Lord Rothbury in such a scandalizing position.

Maybe just one more look. It’s not at all like it was back in his bedchamber. He doesn’t even know you’re here. You can look all you want.