Page 22 of Always the Chaperone
“I think,” Charlotte said breathlessly, not looking away, “that I may need a chaperone of my own after all.”
William laughed shakily. “I am determined, Charlotte. I will marry you.”
Her eyes widened, and her lips parted in astonishment. “Marry me?”
He nodded. “God’s teeth, Charlotte, you do such things to me… I think I may actually marry you.”
She blinked rapidly, staring unbelieving at him. “No, William.”
Her hand had found the door handle, and she opened it, slipping inside and closing it swiftly behind her.
William turned, breathing heavily, gazing at the deserted street. What a magnificent woman. He would make her beg for him, his touch, and his name—before the month was out.
Chapter Seven
It was astruggle to keep a smile on her face as Charlotte came to the end of another circuit at the Pump Room. Every day during the Season, especially when the weather was unfavorable, people would come here to see and be seen. She was a St. Maur, so of course, she was here.
She inclined her head in response to someone’s curtsey but did not pause to talk. It was impossible; the room was so full and the slow but steady movement of the crowd so continuous, she was swept away.
The whole of Bath was here, and though Charlotte recognized many faces, there was not a single person she wished to converse with. Her thoughts were so rapid, she needed to untangle them first.
“Your Grace, or can I call you William?”
Charlotte looked over to the other side of the room and saw him.
He was well hidden by a screen of young ladies, all standing around him with beaming smiles and wide eyes.
A smile crept across Charlotte’s face as she continued to promenade around the room. Poor William. It was a curse really, to be so handsome and so eligible. He probably hadn’t got a word in edgeways with those ladies.
No sooner did the thought cross her mind, did she regret it and scold herself for such an opinion.
Why should she criticize or condemn other women—especially women she did not even know—because they happened to be smiling at a man she…
How did she feel about him?
Her mind jumped back to that heady kiss, three days ago. Her back against her front door, his arms around her, and his lips…
Charlotte bumped into an elderly gentleman who looked severely affronted.
“Mind where you are going, Lady Charlotte,” he said crossly, a deep frown across his forehead. “‘Bad enough these misses pay no heed to their elders!”
“My apologies, my lord,” she said hastily, but he had already shuffled off.
Yes, it was easy to see how quickly people could fall in love after a kiss like that. True, she ought to have restrained herself as a lady of good breeding, but she had not wanted to. She wanted to kiss William and be kissed by him all over.
Her smile disappeared as a flush crept up her neck.
“Your brother, the Marquess, is he not here?”
A plaintive voice rose above the chatter, and she saw, to her surprise, that the circuit of the room had brought her close to William and the girls. One of them was pouting, but instead of being captivated, William caught Charlotte’s gaze.
He rolled his eyes and grinned before he replied.
Charlotte was forced to look away as she laughed. There was something about that man, something playful and yet so serious.
What a jest between them! He would not seriously make her an offer, not to the chaperone. He jokingly asked to marry her, and she just as jokingly refused.
But what if he had not been in jest?
