Page 49 of Charlotte's Kisses

It was entirely indecent for him to see her in her thin night dress, her hair unbound and hanging about her. However, did it truly matter since he had seen her naked bits up close and personal?

Probably not.

But, more importantly, just because Hugh was outside her chamber did not mean he was devoted to her. She might have fallen in love—yes, she was head over heels, helplessly in love with the man—but obviously, he did not feel the same way about her. Since his list of mistresses was concealed in a box on top of herescritoire, she needed to temper her emotions and keep him at bay.

Shielding her heart beneath a layer of attitude, she scowled at him as he bent down and lifted the sash. He stepped into her chamber, closed the window behind him, and passed by her as if she had invited him in, which she had not, at least not in words.

However, her tingling body wanted him close. How could she not? She was a woman, after all, and his wet garments clung to his hard contours. He was not wearing a tailcoat, and his soaking-wet shirt left nothing to the imagination.

What perfection. Shoulders so strong they could carry the weight of the world, biceps whose purpose was to protect, and a chest that could cradle and comfort. Hopefully, she was not licking her lips and salivating as she forced herself to look away from his muscular thighs and enticing bulge.

Lord above, she needed strength if she meant to resist him.

“What do you want?” she asked with feigned impatience.

Seeming unphased by her terse question, his voice was gentle and compassionate. “I have been worried about you. Are you well?”

She lifted her chin and told him the truth. “I am exceedingly miserable.”

Either he was quite good at faking concern, or he really had been fretting about her. His brow furrowed, and his jaw clenched. “Has Lady Chesterhill once again done something to cause you grief?”

Charlotte snorted at the understatement.

Hugh stepped closer and placed a hand on her shoulder, warming her to her very soul. Why was she so helpless against his charms?

“I swear, I will send that woman to hell,” he growled.

He seemed to sincerely hate her stepmother. So why would he have had an affair with her? Nothing made sense anymore.Especially the way her legs trembled when he placed his hands on her cheeks, then gently lifted her face until their gazes locked. How could she be both overcome with desire and anger?

“Tell me what is wrong? What has she done to hurt you this time?” he asked.

She had been so self-absorbed that she just now noticed he was covered with fresh bruises. Her anger and frustration morphed into concern.

“Oh, Hugh? What happened? Were you in another fight?”

“Do not worry about me. I am fine. Did she ruin another of your dresses? Hell’s teeth, has she harmed another one of your pets?”

His concern muddled her resolve. She turned her back to him and paced the room, finally halting before him. “You need to go.” She pointed at the balcony. “Now.”

Hugh frowned. “Fine. I will leave. But not before you tell me what has you so distraught.”

He looked so overwrought that Charlotte wanted to reach for him. She formed fists and squeezed until her fingernails dug into her palms.

“Please, tell me,” he insisted.

Even though he was a scoundrel, they had shared intimacies. Perchance she owed him an explanation. Where should she start?

“Papa says I must marry Lord Nash,” she declared.

Why in the devil had she started with that? Did she want Hugh to come to her rescue?

He gaped.

“But I will run away before I marry him.”

“You will never marry him, not if I have any say over it,” he spat out venomously.

Men and their possessive natures. She would not be flattered by his jealousy. She planted her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Why would you have any say over who I marry?”