What Not to Bare: A Loveswept Historical Romance (15 page)

Sarah kept up a steady stream of conversation as they walked home, but Charlotte didn’t hear a word.

Her mind was awhirl with so many different thoughts—annoyance, and more, that her uncle had thought she required being paid attention to; gratitude that he had asked; pleasure at how distraught David had seemed when he’d waited for her anger; and then …

Oh, and then.

How she felt with him was definitely something extraordinary. Likely when she was an old woman, she’d look back on her memories of this time and sigh, in that wistful, old-woman way. She’d never understood precisely why certain older ladies got that far-off gleam in their eyes as they reminisced about their romantic pasts, but now she definitely knew.

She almost felt like sighing now, and it was barely fifteen minutes after the event.

Of course her mind was already working on how to get to visit him again—she couldn’t go the following day, as her mother would suspect something; plus, it was her mother’s at-home day. Perhaps Lady Anne would come to visit with her mother, which would be nice.

Although how could she keep something so exciting to herself? But she didn’t think Lady Anne should have to be the keeper of such a secret. Her throat constricted as she thought what she might say.
Yes, I visited Lord David on my own, with only my maid, and then we spent a significant amount of time in his salon, during which time my gown was removed. By him
.

That was far too much to ask someone, even someone as kind as Lady Anne, to remain completely discreet about. She wished she had a sister, someone she could share these kinds of things with.

Although if she had a sister, probably the sister would be the Pretty One in the family, and Charlotte would be the Eternal Burden, and the Pretty One would not take it
well when the most attractive man ever paid her sister such attention.

Or worse, he would pay the Pretty One such attentions, and Charlotte would be eaten up with jealousy.

Perhaps it was just as well she only had Christian as a sibling. She doubted he had any wish to be treated as David had just treated her, and as for recognizing how handsome the man was … well, he’d barely acknowledged Charlotte’s friend Violet was pretty, and it was understood between their families that Christian and Violet would marry.

No sisters was likely a good thing. But she still had the problem of wishing she could talk to someone about such things, if only to find out if it was natural for a lady to react so … so
vehemently
when kissed and touched by a man.

What if she was an unnatural woman? What if David was secretly appalled at her behavior? She felt her cheeks burn as she recalled just how eagerly she’d turned her back so he could undo her buttons. How she’d leaned into him as he kissed her. How she’d longed for him to touch her bosom and further explore her entire body.

Now it wasn’t just her cheeks burning. The rest of her felt aflame.

“Miss, are you all right? You’re looking quite flushed.” Sarah was looking at her with a concerned expression. No wonder; Charlotte probably looked as though she were about to catch on fire.

“I am perfectly all right, thank you,” Charlotte said, forcing herself to swallow to rid herself of the enormous lump that seemed to be in her throat.

“Do you recall where my mother and I are going this evening?” Perhaps if she changed the subject, she could settle herself.

Sarah peered more closely at Charlotte. Which Charlotte definitely did not want. What if her recent activity was written all over her face?

“Don’t you remember, you are staying home this evening. You said you had some correspondence to take care of, and your mother agreed to let you have an evening off.”

“Oh, of course. I had forgotten. Thank you.”

Tonight she had to write her column, perhaps about chemises. And what seeing them did to a gentleman.

She felt her heart beat faster as she recalled his reaction. How his eyes had
darkened to those deep-lake-at-midnight pools. How he’d held her, and kissed her, as though they were the only two people in the world, and the holding and the kissing had to be done or the world would end.

He was not appalled at her. She knew that, deep in her heart. He had
liked
doing all those things with her. And she liked doing all those things with him, not to mention talking to him, and watching him try to answer her questions, even if he was distracted by her clothing. And dancing with him.

It was a good thing, she thought wryly to herself, she had no intention of falling in love with him.

Of course, she also knew she lied. She was a little bit in love with him already, and if she wasn’t careful, he would break her heart.

But meanwhile, she did have that pesky men’s smallclothes question. Which she was determined to answer—firsthand, ideally—as soon as she possibly could.

She and Sarah arrived home—already!—and thankfully her mother was not waiting to pounce on her the moment she walked in the door.

Perhaps the unmarried bachelors had taken the day off. Of course, her mother did think she’d been at the museum already. Twice in one day would seem excessive. Desperate, even.

She handed her coat and hat to Bennett and ascended the stairs to her room. Sarah scooted ahead of her and opened the door, giving her an inquiring glance.

“No, thank you, I am not in need of you for a few hours. We have dinner at eight o’clock, correct?”

Sarah nodded. “Yes, miss.”

“Return at seven thirty, then, to help me dress for dinner.”

Sarah nodded again, and Charlotte walked into her room, closing the door behind her. She stood for a moment, just looking around her room.

What to do first? Take notes for her column or relive every single moment of the past hour?

Who was she trying to fool? She’d relive every moment no matter what else she was doing, so she might as well get some work done.

With that resolution, she walked purposefully to her desk, where a blank sheet of
paper and a pen sat waiting for her. Almost staring at her with a baleful eye. Or that could be her imagination.

She sat down and picked up the pen.

“Chemises,” she wrote. Followed by “fabric, smallclothes, colors, hats, and gloves.”

That was not a column. It was a list.

She had to focus. But a part of her mind—a significant part of her mind—kept thinking about him and how he had felt. And how much she wanted to undress him as thoroughly as he had her. More, since he’d already told her men didn’t wear anything like chemises under their clothing.

What had Anne said about choice? About the decisions young ladies were allowed to make?

Not very many, that was for certain.

She bent her head over the paper and scratched lines through all of the words she had written.

“Choice,” she wrote.

***

An hour or so later, she put the pen down, folded the paper, and slipped it into her desk drawer. She would give it to Sarah to get to the newspaper office tomorrow, while she and her mother were receiving visitors.

She glanced at the clock—seven already. She reached her arms behind her and stretched, feeling how her back had stiffened as she was hunched over her desk. How did Emma do it regularly? This was hard work, and she’d barely been doing it for a week.

Perhaps Emma didn’t take quite so long or have to do so much research for it.

She put thoughts of her friend and the column aside as she allowed herself to recall just what it had felt like. She went to stand in front of her mirror and turned to the side so she could see part of her backside.

He’d seem quite taken with it, putting his hand there and everything. She couldn’t quite see what the fuss was about, honestly.

Had she ever really thought about what a person’s behind looked like? Hers was usually hidden underneath her gowns. Gentleman’s backsides were much more readily available to view.

She put that on her list of things to do next time she saw David: examine his behind.

Not the worst task she’d ever had.

She turned back around and looked at herself for a minute, then shrugged and spun around to lie on her bed.

She had about fifteen minutes before Sarah was coming to dress her, and she was exhausted, what with all the subterfuge, kissing, groping, and writing she’d done.

It was a good thing they weren’t going out tonight. She didn’t think she could be properly sociable.

The knock came right on time, and Sarah entered without waiting for Charlotte’s call. “Your mother, my lady, has brought a guest to dinner. A Mr. Goddard.”

Charlotte sat straight up on the bed, her mouth dropping open. “No. Really?”

Her mother was intensifying the pressure to accept Mr. Goddard, wasn’t she? Allowing him to come to dinner when it was to only be family certainly said something.

Something Charlotte definitely did not want to say.

But if she was obviously trying to dissuade him, her mother would put the pressure on even more.

She would have to be both diplomatic and calculated. In other words, completely opposite to herself.

She took a deep breath, then clambered off the bed to let Sarah dress her. For her next strategic move.

One that could decide her very future—if she let it.

***

“Look who I ran into,” her mother said as Charlotte walked downstairs. “Mr. Goddard,” she added, as though she were trying to help Charlotte identify him, “who’s been gracious enough to accept an invitation to dinner, or it would be just us.”

“Ran into” likely meant “arranged with,” but never mind that. And why would it be so bad to be “just us,” anyway?

Oh, of course, unless one of the “us” was the EB.

“How lovely to see you, Mr. Goddard,” Charlotte said, extending her hand to him. He took it, and bowed over it, not quite touching it with his lips.

She tried not to snatch it away and rub it on her gown when he let go.

“Your mother was kind enough to ask me to dine, and since I can think of no place I would rather be, here I am!” he said, spreading his arms wide, as though he were an exhibit at the museum.

The unmarried bachelors would likely not be intrigued by viewing this specimen, given that she was the intended audience, and even she was not impressed.

“Let us go into the living room while we wait for Lord Jepstow. I cannot think what is keeping that man,” her mother muttered as she led the way.

“I can go find him if you’d like,” Charlotte offered.

Her mother gave her a pointed look, as if she knew precisely what Charlotte was thinking.

Hopefully she did not, since Charlotte would be in way worse trouble than merely being asked to marry someone she did not want to. She would end up shut in a box for the rest of her life, or worse—made to wear dull clothing, or never be allowed to ask another question for the rest of her life.

“We will send Bennett.” Her mother went to the bellpull and yanked it, hard, as though she were expressing her displeasure at her husband for not being there with the motion.

“Please, sit down, Mr. Goddard.” Her mother indicated the sofa where Charlotte was just about to sit. She quickly moved to the chair opposite the sofa, ignoring her mother’s glare.

Mr. Goddard settled into his seat and clasped his hands across his chest. “I had a letter from my children’s governess this morning. My eldest, Lucas, caught a frog and set it loose at the dinner table.”

Judging by his disapproving tone, Mr. Goddard would probably not like it if she shouted “Bravo” in response.

“It sounds as though your son needs some guidance,” her mother said, casting a significant look at Charlotte.

Honestly, could her mother be any more obvious? Although perhaps she shouldn’t ask such a question—her mother could definitely be more obvious. It seemed, however, that her mother had not yet decided to test the efficacy of an enormous sign reading MARRY MY DAUGHTER.

“And my daughter, Lydia, spends far too much time inside reading. I have informed her no gentleman wishes to marry a bluestocking. But she will not listen.” He shook his head. “It has gotten to the point where I have forbidden the purchase of any additional books. Thankfully my forebears were not particularly well-read, so our library is rather meager.”

“Thankfully,” Charlotte echoed, reconsidering the possible advantages of living in a box.

She glanced over at her mother, whose expression was still hopeful. How desperate was her mother for her that she was willing to overlook the fact that Mr. Goddard was an incredibly pompous and ignorant ass?

Perhaps she should not consider that too deeply.

The door opened, and Bennett entered. He cleared his throat. Oh dear, Charlotte thought.

“Lord Jepstow is not dining at home this evening, my lady. He left for his sister’s house about half an hour ago. His man said Lord Jepstow informed you.”

Her mother twisted her face up into an expression of displeasure. “He might have told me, but I don’t listen to half the things he says. This is a bother.” Then she recalled they had a guest and eased her face back into some semblance of normalcy. “I am so sorry, Mr. Goddard. You will have to be the only man at the table.”

Had he looked like a smug prig before? That was nothing compared to how he reacted when her mother announced that. How could she possibly bear to look at that face every day?

The answer was that she couldn’t.

“Dinner is served, my lady,” Bennett said. He held the door open as they rose to their feet.

“Mr. Goddard, you may escort Charlotte in, if you please.”

Charlotte took the arm he proffered and followed her mother out the door to the living room.

At least Cook was an excellent cook; Charlotte hadn’t realized quite how hungry she was until she smelled the roast that followed the soup course. And with her mother and Mr. Goddard taking care of all the conversation, she could pay attention to her dinner.

Since paying attention to them would likely put her off her dinner.

She couldn’t help but hear some of what they said; mostly inanities about who was at which party and how this year’s events were not as good as previous years.