An Imprudent Lady

Elaine Golden

As a young woman, Lady Charlotte Fortney learned what passion truly was from her handsome neighbor, Daniel Walsh. When they were discovered, her father sent the lowly doctor’s son far away from their precious daughter.

Years later, spinster Charlotte is content to watch others play the courtship game—until Daniel returns from India, rekindling a desire that time could never erase. But Daniel seems to have set his sights on another woman, the one match Charlotte would do anything to prevent. He may be willing to give her up—if Charlotte gives herself in exchange….

Book one of the Fortney Follies series.

What is it about historical romance that fascinates and delights us as readers? Is it the different lifestyles? Political intrigue? Unusual locations? Fashions? As a writer, I’m drawn to all of the above. I like to explore how people might have lived and loved, what they experienced throughout time.

It is with great delight that I am able to share with you this Undone! short story, my debut romance. It’s the story of Charlotte and Daniel, young lovers separated under the worst of circumstances and reunited years later. How will they overcome their past so they can explore a future together?

Most of all, I hope that you enjoy their story and I would love to hear from you! Visit my website at www.elainegolden.com or email me at elainegolden.author@gmail.com.

To Rodney, for his unfailing encouragement and support. To Carroll, for never doubting I had it in me. To Linda, for taking a chance and publishing this unknown author. And to all of the wonderful folks at AbsoluteWrite who make writing less of a lonely craft.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CHAPTER ONE

“If it weren’t so early in the Season, Lady Charlotte, I’d declare your sister a singular success.” Lady Bromwell nodded toward Angelica on the far side of the room.

Charlotte Fortney smiled and nodded politely. At thirty-five, she observed the festivities from her usual place within the congregation of matrons and chaperones that watched the room with attentive eyes. As a confirmed spinster, Charlotte was content to monitor the courting rituals of others unfolding under the gilded candlelight of the ballroom. Her location had the added benefit of allowing her to keep a watchful eye on her young sister.

“Is that Stanwall dancing with Angelica?” asked her mother, the Dowager Duchess of Wainsborough, as she joined her.

“Indeed it is,” Charlotte said. “And the second dance set tonight. All of the gossips will be atwitter on the morrow.”

Her mother chuckled. “Excellent. Stanwall would be a brilliant match.”

“He would bore Angelica to tears.” Charlotte took a sip of lukewarm punch.

“I fail to see how that is a deterrent, Charlotte. One doesn’t look to a husband for diversion. Stanwall is wealthy, titled and from a prestigious bloodline. Angelica would do well as his countess.” Her mother studied the couple with the alertness of a predator watching its prey.

Stanwall returned Angelica to her throng of admirers then bowed with formal precision and took his leave. Angelica turned her attention and smiles to another suitor without a single glance at the departing figure.

“Drat,” her mother grumbled.

“Why the rush to wed her off, Mother? Allow her to enjoy this first Season and focus your wedding aspirations on one of the boys. Heavens knows they’re not making any progress on their own.” The sisters bracketed two bachelor brothers in age, so her male siblings were viable targets on the marriage mart and had been for some time.

“Don’t think I haven’t tried. They’re as slippery as eels,” she said and sniffed as if wounded. “Besides, I’d like to see one of my girls wed.” The words were careless, as if her mother had said her thoughts aloud without realizing it.

Charlotte stiffened. “I should have liked to have wed, as you well know.” At one time, Charlotte would have done anything to wed one man in particular. And she had given up everything as a result when she could not.

At least her mother had the courtesy to look appalled for her words, although if one didn’t know the duchess well it would have been difficult to tell. Her mother’s control was such that she froze when embarrassed with no undignified stammering or blushing. After a long hesitation, she inhaled and turned her full attention to Charlotte.

“Indeed. I should have said that I would like to see one of my girls well wed.”

And there it was—the admonishment for selecting the wrong man. A man who wasn’t well set in the eyes of her parents.

A long moment passed before Charlotte dared to speak. “Proceed with care, Mother, and reflect upon the last time you attempted to meddle with a daughter’s affections. And the consequences.”

“I recall all too well, Charlotte, and I won’t be as lax this time.” Her mother glanced about to ensure no one could overhear them. “She’ll be wed and secure before she has the chance to ruin herself. I won’t tolerate another scandal to suppress.”

Perhaps it was the stress of launching Angelica in her first Season that brought out the spitefulness; she’d been denied the event with Charlotte. But Charlotte had learned long ago to retreat in the face of parental opposition, and she followed that ingrained response now. After all, it wasn’t done to bicker in public. Charlotte sketched a curtsy for form’s sake and fled the room and her mother as discreetly as possible.

Memories threatened to swamp her as she left the ballroom. The images were oddly fresh for having occurred so long ago, although she had never entirely forgotten. How could she, when the course of her life had altered so completely? The exposure now, after so many years of burying them, was shockingly raw, washing her with pain.

She slipped into the ladies’ retiring room to hide until the despair was once again suppressed, and it was nearly half an hour before she recovered sufficiently. She needed to return, but she felt exposed, as if a tiny window to her soul had been revealed.

Charlotte studied her reflection critically in a gilt-edged mirror provided by their considerate hostess. At least she hadn’t cried, although it had been a near thing. Red, swollen eyes would have been impossible to explain away. Hopefully, she would be able to hide her vulnerability from the curious.

Charlotte pinched her cheeks for color, took a deep breath and summoned a broad, false smile. She could do it. She could return to the gathering and leave the past where it belonged—in the past. And, somehow, she’d find a way to stand up to her mother, for her sister’s sake if not her own. It was too late for Charlotte.

Her pace picked up as she hurried down the corridor toward the ballroom, eager to reclaim the evening. Then she rounded a corner and plowed, nose first, into the wide chest of another guest. Her heart lurched and she swayed a moment before a strong grip steadied her.

Lud, she was clumsy. If she’d been paying proper attention, she wouldn’t have nearly run the poor fellow down.

She withdrew a step and looked up, but the apology died on her lips. Her pulse seemed to slow and the world dimmed to a narrow point. The orchestra and the din of the crowd faded, muffled like sound carried underwater.

Him.

Her past, her heartbreak and her perpetual purgatory wrapped in one starkly masculine package.

CHAPTER TWO

“Don’t you dare faint, Charlotte,” Daniel Walsh snapped. “I won’t catch you.” The fact that he had already reached to steady her belied his words.

If he hadn’t spoken, she’d have believed it another dream. How many times over the years had she imagined suddenly coming upon him in a crowd or finding him in some random place? Somewhere along the way, the bittersweet dreams of love and passion and reunion had curdled into a nightmare of hopelessness.

Daniel’s grip was hot upon her skin despite the evening gloves that encased his hands, and she was reassured that this was no dream; it was her nightmare come to life.

He looked both the same as she remembered and altogether different, if that were possible. He still stood precisely three inches taller than she, and broad shoulders gave evidence that he was no longer a gangly limbed youth. Deep wrinkles were now etched into his face, baked by the same harsh sunlight that had darkened his skin to the patina of well-aged oak.

But his eyes were the exact same shade of melted chocolate that she remembered. She hadn’t been able to choke down a cup of the stuff in years because it reminded her of the rich depths of his gaze.

Charlotte had no idea how long they stared at each other in awkward silence.

“I’m perfectly fine now, thank you,” she said, amazed that her voice barely wavered. For good measure, she added a courteous, “Mr. Walsh.”

His blond brows rose, and he dropped his hands as if scalded. His mouth twisted, but not with amusement nor disdain. It was an expression she had never seen before and had no idea how to interpret.

“Mr. Walsh,” he murmured as if he’d never heard his name before, and he stared at her as if trying to read her mind. Then the moment broke and his familiar manner transformed to aloof courtesy. He bowed slightly.

“My lady,” he said, but it sounded like an admonishment. “I beg your pardon. Entirely my fault.”

Her chest tightened at the distance in his voice; it was as if he were gone all over again. She wondered, for the countless time, why he had left, what she had done and why he had never seen fit to write.

“Where—?” she began, reaching out with words that ended up failing her.

She simply didn’t know where to begin. What does one say to a former lover after nearly twenty years? Age and time separated them now. This was not the boy that she had fallen in love with; this was a man she didn’t know. They simply didn’t prepare young ladies for this sort of thing in finishing school.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he murmured and then pointedly stepped around her, fastidiously avoiding further contact.

Charlotte watched in dismay as his coattails twitched around the corner and he disappeared. She battled the urge to dash after him.

To what purpose? To stop him and beg him to…what? Take her back after all of these years?

Despite her soul’s clamor that she knew him still—had always known him—she didn’t really. It had been too long. For all she was aware, Daniel Walsh could have a wife, half a dozen children and a blissful life.

Just the thought of it twisted her stomach. She leaned against the wall, feeling flushed and ill. Lud, what if he did?

“There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you, Charlotte.” Her mother sailed toward her with all of the hauteur of His Royal Highness’s best warship. “We’re leaving. Now.”

She seized Charlotte’s wrist and set off toward the entryway. Charlotte trailed behind like a moored lifeboat in her wake.

They found Angelica already huddled in her cloak and looking pleased that they were leaving early. Three suitors circled, pouting and carping about their leave-taking and generally making a nuisance. Irritated, Angelica waved away the men and their promises to call in the morning.

“Mother,” Charlotte said, heart still pounding from the encounter with Daniel. “You cannot imagine who I just—”

“Not now,” her mother snapped and looked about as if she expected to be attacked by miscreants. Angelica’s eyes widened as she watched their mother’s unusual behavior. “Wait until we’re in the coach, if you please.”

“But you’ll never believe who I just saw, Mother,” Charlotte said and turned back to stare at the spot of the collision. “I can’t leave without—”

“You can and you will, Lady Charlotte Fortney,” her mother said in the low tone that she had perfected to manage her progeny. “Don’t you dare embarrass me and ruin your sister’s chances for a good match.”

“But—”

“You will get into that coach right now, Charlotte, and return home with your sister and me. No further questions.”

Charlotte continued to stare down the hall, silently willing Daniel to return. To prove the encounter wasn’t the wild imagination of a broken woman.

She recalled his beloved features, sharpened and toughened now by time. The familiar eyes with the unfamiliar distance and coldness. Her heart might ache for him as much as ever, but Daniel Walsh was a man she no longer knew. He had a life and a history apart from her, and she was unlikely to find a place in it again.

So, like the dutiful daughter she had always tried to be, she followed her mother into the night.

CHAPTER THREE

Even after all of these years, Charlotte Fortney could cause his heart to seize.

She looked even better than he remembered. She wasn’t the same—how could she be, with the passage of so much time? Her brown hair looked just as rich and thick as when she had been a young girl, and she’d traded the softness of youth for the full, elegant curves of a mature woman.

Daniel gripped the top edge of the bureau harder, hoping to keep from lashing out. To keep from sinking his fist into the plaster wall like he wanted. Like he’d done innumerable times before when the pain and the need and the want of her had become too much to bear.

God, he’d barely stifled the impulse to embrace her. His palms still ached with the prurient urge, so he clenched them, hoping to squash the feeling. He was amazed that she could still elicit such a reaction.

He eyed the bright, hand-painted wallpaper longingly and imagined pulverizing one of the cabbage roses beneath his fist. Reason reminded him that it would be unwise to damage his host’s home, and he suspected that Vinedale would be disappointed after the trouble he’d taken to secure the invitation.

Daniel had known when he returned to London that he was likely to run into her. When he’d begun to receive invitations to tonnish events, he knew the odds would only increase. But the reality was not as he had anticipated.

When he had looked down to assess the woman who’d run into him, he’d ended up immobilized, clenching her arms instinctively to keep her from falling but staring as if he’d seen a ghost.

The only person he’d ever met with eyes the color of Chinese jade was Charlotte Fortney; the only woman he’d ever given his heart. And, subsequently, had it broken.

When his stunned mind began to work again and he realized that the woman before him really was Charlotte, he’d gone as cold as a corpse because none of the preparation had done him a whit of good. He’d just stood there gawping like a schoolboy.

Watching the raw emotions cross her face, he wondered if she knew the hardships he’d faced? The life he’d been consigned to?

When the emotions had turned to horror and her complexion had leeched of all color, he might as well have taken a punch to the gut. Clearly she was horrified to see her once-spurned lover. Had she encouraged her family to dispose of him to one of the most unpleasant corners of the world?

So, he’d snapped at her, unable to contain the turmoil of decades. And when he thought he couldn’t stand the thick silence that knit between them, she had spoken with her mother’s cool hauteur and called him Mr. Walsh.

Mr. Walsh! What an affront that was after years of her ragged, lusty whispers echoing in his memory. Haunting him.

Oh, Danny! Yes!

And he knew that he had to escape her presence before he seized her by the shoulders and shook her until her hair fell down and he could see if it was even longer than he remembered.

Now he stood in some strange room packed with the gaudy, gilt-covered furniture of the prior century trying to regain his composure, and he wondered how in the hell he could face her again with civility, when every animalistic impulse raged to reclaim her.

Slowly he released his grip on the bureau, and he stared at the dark, red-brown wood gleaming in the lamplight. Mahogany. Even if it had been bastardized with baroque whimsy, the bureau was a stout piece of furniture. Sturdy.

So, he balled up his fist and smashed it into the flat, glossy top. Over and over, until his knuckles split and blood spilled upon the surface.

CHAPTER FOUR

It had begun innocently enough all those years ago—a youthful crush on a handsome country neighbor. Nothing untoward might have come of it, had Charlotte not tripped upon an overeager puppy and broken her arm. Daniel had been shadowing his father before beginning his medical studies, and by the time she had healed enough to remove the splint, Daniel had begun to flirt back and call alone to inquire about her progress.

“What do you think you’re doing, my lady? You’ve just had your bindings off!”

Charlotte gasped and dropped her trowel. Since she was the only one besides the gardeners to use the orangery, she hadn’t expected anyone to search her out in the hothouse. As it was Daniel, her heart raced and not solely from surprise.

He grasped her bare, dirty hand in his own and carefully inspected her forearm. Long fingers stroked the tender underside, and her blood hummed in response. “You should have a greater care or you’ll reinjure the limb,” he said.

Charlotte inhaled slowly and his scent tickled her senses. He smelled of sunshine and clover, and the only thing that Charlotte could focus on was how much she wanted to be embraced by him. To sink into him.

Then, bold thing that she was, she leaned forward and kissed him.

And he didn’t respond.

How embarrassing! What was she to do now?

In the end, she just stood there, her puckered lips smashed against his warm, surprise-softened ones. Just when she’d begun to pray a giant rift would open in the ground and swallow her, Daniel moved.

Tentatively, as if he couldn’t help himself, he began to kiss her back. For a moment it was a shy jumble of bumped noses and misplaced hands. And then something changed, shifted, and it was the most natural thing in the world.

Charlotte twined her arms about his neck and held on, while Daniel showed her what desire truly was. She was enflamed by him, oblivious to everything around her. His scent enveloped her and his taste… When he teased her with the tip of his tongue she thought she’d swoon.

Never had she imagined that giddy sense of inevitability, of unadulterated rightness that she had felt in Daniel’s arms.

The coach lurched to a halt, returning Charlotte to the present and her brother’s town house. She shook her head to dispel the last of the memories and followed her mother inside.

“Where’s Wainsborough?”

“In the study, my lady,” intoned the butler as the coach clattered off toward the mews.

“Come along, Charlotte,” her mother said, pausing only for Carlisle to extract her cloak. “Off to bed with you, Angelica.”

Charlotte and Angelica exchanged a worried look, but the younger girl followed instructions and disappeared up the stairs. Charlotte followed her mother in search of her eldest brother.

Oliver Fortney, the sixth Duke of Wainsborough and a consummate gentleman in all things, stood immediately as they entered the room.

“Secure the door behind us, Carlisle,” her mother instructed as she crossed the threshold.

“Good evening, Mother. Charlotte,” Ollie said. He would not regain his seat until the women had taken their own. From the evidence on the side table, Ollie had been reading with his brandy. “To what do I owe this pleasure? The Barrows’ ball not the crush expected?”

Charlotte smiled and selected the blue damask chair across from him. Her brother was so affable these days, now that their sire wasn’t around to berate him over some imagined inadequacy.

“Wainsborough, we have a crisis.”

His brows shot up at this declaration, and he straightened from the lounging posture he’d resumed. While the Dowager Duchess was frequently dramatic and outspoken, nothing was deemed a crisis unless it had the potential to bankrupt families and irrevocably damage reputations.

Charlotte blinked and the knot in her stomach tightened. No wonder her mother had put her off; she already knew about Daniel. Daniel and everything about him had always been a crisis.

“What’s troubling you, Mother?” he asked quietly.

“He’s back.”

Ollie frowned. “Who’s back?”

“Him,” she said with a vague wave toward Charlotte.

Ollie turned questioning eyes to his sister and she took pity at his confusion. “Mr. Daniel Walsh,” Charlotte said and swallowed hard, realizing that it was the first time she’d spoken his name in years. Decades, perhaps. It had been easier not to agitate her parents by reminding them of the source of an old crisis.

Oliver leaned back in his chair, no less surprised than the rest of them for this development. He tossed back the remaining finger of brandy in his glass, set it down, then changed his mind and refilled it liberally from the crystal decanter at his side.

“I assume this is your Mr. Walsh, Charlotte, and not another by the same name?”

Charlotte’s chest ached at the thought of Daniel as hers but she schooled her features when she realized her mother watched her closely.

“It was Doctor Walsh’s son, Daniel, yes,” she said, but it seemed an absurd question. Why else would Mother feel we have a crisis, Brother?

“I see.”

“Well, what are you going to do?” Her mother eyed Ollie expectantly.

“Nothing, I imagine. It’s not as if I can have him thrown out of the country.”

“Why can’t you? It’s been done before.”

Both Ollie and Charlotte gaped at their mother, who remained placid and unperturbed. Waiting.

“I don’t understand, Mother,” Charlotte finally managed to say.

“I mean exactly what I said, young lady. Your father had the fellow removed. Before. Your brother can have him removed again. The Wainsborough name carries much power and influence.”

The mantel clock’s ticking was the only sound for a long moment. Charlotte bit the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming as the implications registered.

“Is that the reason Daniel disappeared, Mother? He didn’t leave to seek his fortune, as you had me believe?” Charlotte’s voice quivered with anger. The lies and falsehoods her parents had used over the years fell away. “You broke my heart.”

“We believed it was for the best,” her mother replied with a haughty little sniff, though she sat as still and cold as a marble statue.

Charlotte could well believe her father had thought that way, but she was stunned to find her mother had gone along. After everything, Charlotte had thought her mother an ally.

“You should have been able to leave that fancy behind and accept a good match.”

Of course. It had been more important that her daughter marry well than be happy.

“But… I wasn’t…” Charlotte sputtered then she grit her teeth and paused to take a deep breath.

Her mother closed her eyes. “No. You were not, though little did I realize at the time.”

Tears welled and broke free, forging trails of misery down her cheeks. Why had it been so important to be a dutiful daughter when her feelings accounted for nothing?

Ollie cleared his throat and Charlotte could feel his sympathy from across the room. He had once idolized Daniel as only a teenage boy could.

“What did Father do to him?” Charlotte whispered and gripped the chair arm tightly. If it hadn’t been Daniel’s wish to leave, he wouldn’t have gone easily. Had he been beaten into compliance?

“He purchased the boy what he desired and could not afford—a commission in the army.” She paused. “To the furthest post he could find, of course. There aren’t ships that depart often for India, but there was one that made off soon enough. They held the ship until young Walsh could join his regiment.”

“Oh, God.” It wasn’t true. Daniel had no interest in soldiering; he had wanted to follow in his father’s trade.

“You knew better, Charlotte,” her mother admonished. “You were raised for better than the son of a physician, much as I appreciate Doctor Walsh and all that he does for our tenants.”

Charlotte covered her face with her hands and let the tears stream, releasing a tiny bit of her anguish.

So the duke and duchess had sold her lover and shipped him off to a foreign, malaria-ridden land in order to save the slight loss of face they would have weathered if their daughter had married a simple mister. They had left her to stumble through life an empty husk, blindly following the rules after Daniel was gone. Her interlude with Daniel had been the only time she had dared to break them.

She was thankful that she had thwarted her parents over the years by declining one eligible gentleman after another. How could she consider another after all she’d given to Daniel? How that must have galled them!

Charlotte wrapped her arms across her stomach, trying to contain the pain within.

“How did…?” The words seared her throat, but she had to know. “How did Father know? About us? About what we had meant to each other?”

Her mother gazed back, unblinking.

That tears it.

Charlotte was done following the rules, trying to conform, and living a life of insignificant routine. From now on, she would choose her own way.

Ollie cleared his throat again. “Ahem. No need to hash through it all now, is there? I can see you’re distraught, Charlotte. You should lie down before you do yourself ill.”

“No!” She staggered to her feet, distrust swelling. As much as she hated it, clearly she could trust no one but herself. What if her mother convinced Ollie it was his obligation to remove Daniel? “I won’t go. You’ll do something to send him away again.”

“Now, Char—”

“No!” She was around the desk before she thought to move, clutching at Ollie’s lapels. “Promise you won’t send him away. Hasn’t enough been done already?”

“Hush, Charlotte!” her mother ordered.

“Promise me, Ollie!” She shook with desperation.

He covered her hands with his and looked at her with a mixture of sadness and reassurance. “I promise, Charlotte. I won’t do anything to your Daniel. I promise, love.”

A sob escaped, crashing past the relief his promise engendered. When Ollie gave his word, he kept it. Daniel would be left alone.

“Wainsborough! I cannot allow you—”

“Be silent, Mother,” he commanded then he gathered Charlotte’s shuddering body into his arms. “Perhaps you should retire.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Getting drunk helped.

Daniel finished a brandy and accepted a freshly filled tumbler from an efficient servant. He looked around the gentleman’s club, quiet now in the early morning.

Cards had worked as a distraction for a while, then billiards when he’d grown restless. And finally, in desperation, he’d resorted to drink.

Now he was pleasantly numb enough not to think about her. About how tempting she was. And how very near, no longer a world away. He was numb enough not to wonder if she tasted the same, if she welcomed a lover with the enthusiasm she’d once given him.

God, the afternoons they had spent wrapped in long, luxurious embraces. He’d convinced himself that he could indulge in sexual play so long as her virginity remained intact. That he could sufficiently govern his desires.

But the more they explored, the more he wanted, until making her entirely his had been but a formality that was eliminated one lazy, late-summer afternoon.

“Oh, Daniel,” Charlotte had whispered as she lay trembling and flushed in the dappled sunlight of the orangery. Each time he held her, tasted those lush lips, he lost a little more of his resolve. “Don’t stop.”

“I must, Char. Before we go too far.” He reared back on his hands, hoping the small distance would help his determination. But her luminous eyes, heavy lidded with innocent ardor, ensnared him. He wanted to see them dilate in passion, in the ecstasy that he could show her.

“It’s all right, Daniel. I trust you.” At the graze of her fingers on his cheek, he suppressed a tremor of his own. He wanted to claim Charlotte, in as permanent and as primitive a way as possible.

“You don’t know what you ask.”

“I know what I yearn for, Danny. We’ll find a way to gain father’s approval, even if I have to tell him I’ve been ruined. It’d be worth it—you’re worth it. I love you.”

Daniel groaned at the soft declaration. The words were a gift he had coveted for a long time, but they were also a curse. Now given, he wasn’t certain he could deny her allure any longer. “I love you, too, Charlotte. Know that. Always.”

As Charlotte moved restlessly beneath him, unconsciously heightening his lust, he felt his control slip. His erection throbbed between them, a silent demand.

With her glowing eyes and ravished mouth, Charlotte was the personification of a claimed woman, one he wanted more than anyone else. Enough to risk her father’s wrath and her reputation, if he had to. Pray God, he didn’t.

He’d find a way to claim her as his bride, to garner her father’s approval. Whatever the price, he would pay it. And she was his now, in nearly every way. What did holding back accomplish when they were so committed to each other?

She wrapped her arms about his neck, pulling, encouraging him to return to her. Heart racing, he eased over Charlotte and gently cupped her breast, delighting in the way her nipple puckered beneath his thumb.

She encouraged him with little sounds when he eased her bodice down, and she barely hesitated when he eased her gown up. And then he was unbound, cradled in precisely the spot he both longed for and feared.

Sultry skin beckoned him and, unwittingly, he brushed the head of his erection against her. Startled by the sensation that raced his spine and the echoing cry of pleasure from Charlotte, he did it again. The decadent feel of those moist folds on his throbbing length nearly made him come.

“You’re certain? I don’t want to hurt you,” he gasped, not entirely sure he could cease, but willing to try if she needed him to.

“Yes.”

Blood thundering, he snared a kiss and slowly nudged into her, amazed by the warmth that enveloped him. Blinded by it. Hungering for more. He pushed farther.

When she flinched, he paused, chagrined. He was causing her pain and shame took hold. He shouldn’t be doing this. Not now. Not here on an old cushion in a dank and dirty hothouse.

“Are you all right?”

Her smile was tender. “Are you?”

Guiltily, he began to pull away, but Charlotte stopped him by the simple expedient of wrapping her legs about his waist. The new position spurred his lust higher.

“Don’t go,” she said.

“I’m hurting you.”

“Not any longer,” she said, and then shifted, arousing him further by her untutored movement.

Passion blazed and he clutched her shoulders as instinct took over. He moved, stroking and stoking the flames of ardor, unable to look away from her as the pleasure peaked, ecstasy exploding upon him in molten rivulets. Charlotte cried out her own joy and caressed his back, and Daniel collapsed, exhausted. He pulled her to his side, tucking her close.

One way or the other, Charlotte would be his wife. It was only a formality.

Or so he’d deluded himself at the time. Daniel knocked back the rest of his drink, waved the servant away and staggered to his feet. He squinted against the bright light that now filled the front of the club and winced as the room lurched.

Perhaps getting drunk didn’t help as much as he’d thought.

CHAPTER SIX

The gossip was unrelenting. Two days later and everyone was talking about one Mr. Daniel Walsh.

“Apparently he saved Vinedale’s life in their army days—”

“—rich as Croesus from trading in Indian goods. And none too sore on the eyes—”

Some were convinced that he was an opportunistic interloper bent on wheedling his way into the ton through some fine, but desperate alliance. Others—like the blushing, goose-brained, marriage-mart beauties—were convinced that he was the most romantic figure to arrive in a long time.

Studying Daniel as unobtrusively as possible, Charlotte had to agree with the latter assessment; he was a fine specimen, bedecked in Bath superfine and one of the most intricate cravat knots ever devised. He’d always been handsome, but now there was a refined quality about him.

At the moment, he led a dance partner through the steps of a lively Scotch reel. Charlotte loved to dance, and she watched the pair with a twinge of envy. She’d brave the scandal of a waltz to be led so by him. As she’d once braved the same to taste pleasure within his arms.

“Is he the one, Char?” Angelica whispered loudly in her ear.

“Is who the one what, dear?” she said evasively, glancing about for a distraction as a mild wave of panic washed over her. She didn’t want to discuss Daniel with her sister tonight. Or ever, really. “Oh, is that Ellen just arrived?”

Angelica rolled her eyes at the obvious diversion. “I know all about your Mr. Walsh.”

Charlotte immediately forgot about Ellen. “You know what, precisely?”

“Enough, I’d imagine. I’ve read your journal.”

“You didn’t?” She glanced around wildly, with a sense that the room was closing in, but the brocade-covered walls appeared to be in exactly the same place as when they arrived. Thankfully, no one was near enough to overhear.

“Well, not all of it,” Angelica said with a sigh. “You moved your hiding place, and just when I was getting to the marrow!”

Oh, God. Charlotte stared at Angelica, unable to utter a word.

“So, I thought that might be him from your effusive descriptions and the odd way you’ve been behaving since the Burrows’ ball. I know you loved him then. Is he the reason you never married, Char?”

After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded dumbly. It was the truth and, unlike her mother, she wasn’t about to lie for her own benefit. She’d never thought anyone might read her childish writings. The first thing she’d do when they returned home would be to toss that stupid journal onto the fire grate and watch the flames consume it.

“Well!” Angelica turned to watch as Daniel returned his dance partner to her chaperone, bowed and wandered over to his friend and sponsor, Earl Vinedale. “He’s handsome enough, I suppose. D’you think he’s married?”

As the panic subsided, Charlotte found her voice. “Not if the gossips have it aright.”

“Good. Do you still love him?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered, studying the wooden floor, which gleamed from diligent buffing. One of the ladies had lost a pink ribbon and it skidded back and forth across the floor, set to flight by one dancer’s foot or another.

Was it possible to build a relationship anew from the razed remains of a childhood love? Did she want to?

“Oh, dear. I think he’s coming over!” Angelica’s hands fluttered until she remembered the fan that dangled at her wrist and began to absently worry the slats and lace.

Sure enough, Vinedale and Daniel were making their way toward them. They were striking men, one older and fair, the other taller and dark. Her heart skipped and Charlotte wondered, not for the first time, if the poor organ was going to give out from the wild shifts in emotion.

Vinedale, an old school chum of Ollie’s, greeted them with the warmth of long-term acquaintance.

“May I present to you Mr. Daniel Walsh, formerly of Bombay, India?” Without waiting for a reply, since it would have been exceedingly impolite to decline the introduction, he turned toward Daniel. “Mr. Walsh, may I present Wainsborough’s sisters—Lady Charlotte Fortney and Lady Angelica Fortney.”

Daniel greeted them with smooth courtesy and a polite smile. He bowed first over Charlotte’s hand, then Angelica’s.

“La! From India, sir? How very exciting,” said Angelica. “Tell me, is it true what they say?”

Charlotte’s throat had developed a sizable lump that coincided with Daniel’s approach, and she was afraid to attempt conversation. Thankfully, Angelica’s natural effervescence saved her from looking a mute fool.

Daniel’s brow rose. “That would depend upon what they say, my lady. Of what do you refer?”

“That the women of India must throw themselves onto their husband’s funeral pyre and die by cremation at his side. Is it true?”

“Ah.” He smiled. “You refer to sati.”

“So it is true!”

Charlotte felt queasy, but she wasn’t sure if it was due to Daniel’s proximity or the thought of women dying in such a way.

“Sati is indeed an ancient Indian tradition of self-sacrifice that some widows choose.”

“How barbaric!” Angelica studied him closely. “Did you witness such a thing?”

“No, indeed. The practice has been outlawed by British law, so sati is rare these days.”

“Thank heavens. I can’t imagine.”

Vinedale decided to poke at the embers of her sister’s outrage. “You can’t imagine loving a husband so much?”

“Certainly not if he was anything like you, Vinedale!” she replied with a sniff that would have done their mother proud.

“What if he were something like Carston?”

Angelica froze and Vinedale grinned like a brother who knew he’d landed a particularly smart barb. Apparently, Ollie had been talking overmuch about his youngest sister.

Charlotte turned to Daniel, desperate to change the subject. “How long were you in India, sir?” she asked politely. Though she knew the answer, it was a logical question to pose to a new acquaintance. While Ollie might speak openly about the trials of getting his youngest sister wed, it was unlikely that he would air the tarnished past of his spinster sister.

“Nearly nineteen years, my lady. I received an army commission and post in ‘98. An offer, one could say, I was unable to refuse.”

She bit her lip, stifling an apology. They could hardly pursue that topic in public. “And what brings you to London now? After nineteen years, I would think you permanently settled abroad.”

When he shrugged, the cut of his dark jacket framed the movement and emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. “I didn’t have much more than a military life for most of that time. In ’14, when the East India Company’s trade monopoly dissolved, I sold my commission and invested in a small export enterprise. It’s been successful enough that I could hire an agent to run the offices in Bombay.”

“You’ve done well for yourself, Mr. Walsh.”

Daniel accepted the praise with a brief nod. “I had always planned to, Lady Charlotte. It merely took longer than I anticipated.”

Angelica swatted at Vinedale with her fan, and he responded with a grin and another cheeky dig. Their antics helped to keep her thoughts safely away from the dreams they had once shared in hushed whispers.

The fading strains of the orchestra heralded the end of one dance and the start of another. Vinedale offered an arm to Angelica and they ventured toward the dance floor, leaving Charlotte and Daniel in awkward silence. After a long moment, Daniel quirked a brow.

“May I have this dance, my lady?”

Charlotte hesitated. Could she manage the steps without making a cake of herself? She drew back in alarm when she realized the music was the waltz she had all but wished for earlier.

“You’re not afraid, are you, Lady Charlotte?”

It was a husky whisper, designed for her ears alone. She shuddered from the intimacy and the bittersweet memories the words held for her. Daniel had learned long ago that she never backed down from a challenge.

She accepted his arm and they began a slow revolution about the floor, bobbing and swaying in time to the music and other couples.

They had never danced before, but that didn’t mean that they were strangers to each other’s arms. Wonder and joy would have overwhelmed her if he hadn’t held her at precisely the correct distance expected by society. How very unlike the impulsive Daniel she had once known.

“You’re looking well, Charlotte,” he said with an intimate tone that sent shivers down her spine. His face was still impassive, at odds with the warm, deep voice that did silly things to her pulse.

“Thank you,” she managed to say. Then she added, hesitantly, “Daniel.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

God, she felt good in his arms. So good that he was hard-pressed not to tug her forward and enfold her in a tight embrace.

He led her into a quick spin before he tried to speak. There was much that he wanted to ask. Uncertain where to begin, he settled upon the question burning the brightest in his mind.

“Why did you never marry, Charlotte?”

She swallowed hard and looked away. “Is it true that you saved Vinedale’s life?”

It was a pitiful attempt to change the subject, but he let her. This wasn’t the place for that inevitable conversation, and he wasn’t entirely certain that he ever wanted to have it.

“Yes, in our salad days, before he inherited the title.”

“Was India terribly dangerous?”

“At times it was.”

They reached the end of the dance floor and Daniel executed another tight turn with military precision. He also used the maneuver to pull Charlotte closer. It was a selfish thing to do, but his blood hummed and he could barely wait until they crossed the room so he could do it again. He hadn’t felt that thrum of excitement in some time, and apparently he enjoyed torturing himself.

“I see,” she said, pulling his attention back to their conversation.

No, she didn’t, but he wasn’t about to regale her with stories of war and pestilence and a barren lifetime in an unforgiving land.

Charlotte didn’t say anything further, and he was content to let the conversation wane while he focused on plotting the next turn.

He broke into a cold sweat this time. God, he’d managed to brush the crests of her breasts. It was no wonder the dance was considered indecent by the more conservative ton.

She could still evoke an instant surge of lust in him. When he felt a telltale twitch in his groin, he decided it would be wise to resurrect the conversation, as a diversion if nothing else. What subject would be innocuous enough to avoid both the pain of the past and any further stirring of his passions?

Since Vinedale had dragged him over for introductions as a pretense to spend time with Angelica, perhaps he could discover something about the chit. Vine was considering courting her.

“Your sister is most charming, Lady Charlotte.” That should do it. Flatter her family. A subject Charlotte would be interested in, was socially acceptable and would keep them out of emotion-ridden territory.

Was she trembling? It was hard to do more than sense and, with her eyes now fixed upon his cravat pin, it was impossible to read her expression for clues.

“Thank you, Mr. Walsh. We are most proud of Angelica.”

“I was surprised your parents had another, after little Francis.” Daniel had learned of the stillborn boy from his father. At the time, the duchess had raged and threatened her husband. After three miscarriages and a stillborn, wasn’t it apparent that her childbearing days were done? She’d fulfilled her duty with a daughter and two sons.

Daniel tightened his grip when Charlotte stumbled slightly. He’d take advantage of any excuse to pull her closer, despite his brain’s warning that there could be very visible and embarrassing consequences. It had always been so with Charlotte.

The Charlotte in his arms was glowing as if from within. Her rose silk gown lent a becoming blush to her skin. The triple strand of pearls at her throat drew his gaze to the little indentation at the base that housed the softest skin he’d ever kissed. Was he so smitten again that he imagined he could see her pulse leap?

“It was, indeed, a…surprise,” she said, so softly that he could barely hear her. Her eyes remained carefully fixed on his cravat. Had he smudged the cloth somehow?

“It would appear she’s quite popular with the bachelors.”

No response. That had to be one intriguing stain.

“Is there anyone that Lady Angelica is sweet on, do you reckon?”

Still no response. Why wouldn’t she look at him? Was she even listening, or just counting the dance steps until she could escape?

“Or are her emotions still unattached?”

That was definitely a twitch, so at least she was listening, although he wasn’t having much success with the topic. Vinedale was bound to be disappointed.

“I can see that subtlety is not assisting me, Lady Charlotte. May I be blunt?”

“Indeed. I would appreciate it.” She still wouldn’t look up, but at least she was now responsive.

“Very well,” he began, and then paused for a deep breath. Why was it so difficult to approach matters of the heart, even when they were matters of someone else’s heart? “I wondered if Lady Angelica might consider the attentions of a new suitor.”

Shock was the last reaction he expected, but it rolled off her in waves like the heat from a potter’s kiln. She blanched a ghastly grey that even the pink of her gown could not overcome, and then she finally looked up at him. In horror.

“Charlotte? Are you all right? You don’t look well.” That wasn’t entirely truthful; she looked as if she’d seen the dead arise.

Had she turned her ankle? That didn’t make sense, as she was still moving smoothly, easily following his lead. Her eyes blazed.

“Don’t…you…dare!”

“What?” He frowned. What had he done?

“Don’t you dare to consider calling upon my sister,” she hissed. Two spots of color appeared high on her cheeks, like a child would apply when left alone with her mother’s rouge pot.

He smothered a smile, fascinated by her reaction. Of course he hadn’t deliberately sought it, but he couldn’t have chosen a better subject to spur her jealousy if he’d tried. He couldn’t deny the tiny surge of pleasure that she was jealous. Did that mean she still cared?

“And if I did?” he asked softly. He wasn’t above using it to his benefit.

She stopped dancing abruptly and glared at him. If he hadn’t been expecting a reaction, it might have led to a disastrous spectacle in the middle of the spinning dancers. As it was, they were at the edge of the floor, so agile couples were able to dart past.

“I’d stop you. By whatever means necessary,” she said, then abandoned him to the parquet and the curious regard of strangers.

Now that sounded immensely intriguing.

CHAPTER EIGHT

It was easy for Charlotte to find out where Daniel lived and even easier to get there. As he’d purchased the old Evansleigh town house, his residence was a mere two streets away from her own.

Naturally, she waited until the house settled down for the evening then, draped in her grandmother’s old wool cape, Charlotte slipped out the kitchen door. She should have been horrified by her own behavior, and perhaps she was beneath the determination that drove her. Proper ladies did not go about unescorted at night. But as she had decided to no longer depend upon propriety as a guide, she didn’t dwell on the thought.

The deep hood, designed to cover the towering wigs of the last century, flopped about and obscured her vision so she was able only to see a step or two ahead. The inconvenience was of no consequence, as it stood to reason that if she couldn’t see out very well, then neither could others see within and recognize her.

“Who the damned—!”

It wasn’t the butler who answered the bell with that growl. She could make out the rumpled figure and bleary eyes of Daniel if she held back a corner of the droopy cloth.

He leaned forward and lowered the lantern to illuminate her face. Then he cursed again, grabbed her hand and pulled her into the hallway. The black-lacquered door slammed behind her.

“I’m glad you’re still awake, Daniel,” she said, eyeing his shirtsleeves uneasily. He’d doffed his jacket at some point so was no longer properly dressed, but it wasn’t as if he’d been expecting her.

He shoved aside her hood and glared. “What, in the name of all that’s holy, are you doing here?”

Startled by the undercurrent of anger in his booming voice, Charlotte almost departed as abruptly as she had arrived. He looked tired and agitated. Well, so was she.

“We need to talk,” she said, gathering her determination.

“You’re damned right we need to talk, but not at this hour and most certainly not here. Go home, Charlotte.”

“No.” She quaked but was pleased that her voice didn’t waver. Much. She wasn’t used to standing up to others, but she was resolute. “This won’t keep.”

Daniel stepped around, reopened the door and looked outside. Then slammed the door shut again. “Where the hell is your escort?”

“I’m not here to discuss my escort or lack thereof. I’m here to discuss you, Daniel, and your designs upon my sister.”

He ran a hand through his hair, tousling the golden curls further. He started to say something, then stopped and pinched the bridge of his nose as if to allay a headache. With a resigned sigh, he turned and stalked away, leaving her to follow.

Apparently, he’d been in the study when she rang. A fragrant fire crackled in the fireplace and an open decanter of something that looked suspiciously like brandy sat in the center of his desk. Charlotte removed her cloak and draped it over a side chair.

“May I have one?”

He quirked a brow but courteously filled a cut-crystal glass and avoided touching her fingers when he handed it to her. She sipped the contents, savoring the burn and respite it provided. Let him think what he would.

“Say what you’ve come to say.” Daniel stood beside the hearth scowling, arms crossed.

Lud, he was imposing.

Charlotte set down the glass. “I’ve come to ask you not to court Angelica.”

“As opposed to demanding it, as you did earlier?”

She couldn’t restrain a blush. “Yes.”

“Why?”

She closed her eyes. “Because she’s my sister, Daniel.”

“No other reason?”

“Should there be?”

“Perhaps not,” he said, sounding closer than before. When she opened her eyes, she found Daniel before her, so close that she caught the musky scent of him, and she trembled in response.

He rubbed his jaw and studied her. “If there’s no reason than that, I suppose you have come to offer suitable inducement?”

“What did you have in mind?” she whispered, distracted by the urge to bury her nose in his warm neck.

“Hmm.” His eyes raked her body, encased in the same rose gown, now wrinkled from the evening’s activities. Was it getting hotter in there?

“What do you want, Daniel? Be specific,” she said.

He stepped closer and her pulse accelerated.

“You.”

The bold declaration washed over her and a primal response stirred within. When he reached to touch her bottom lip and rub it softly with his thumb, she thought her heart stopped. Surely the abused thing couldn’t survive this turmoil again.

“You want specifics, Charlotte?” he asked. “I’ll give them to you. I want you. In my bed.”

Her soul trembled, demanding she accept, like a thief rattling the iron bars of his cell to demand release. The shock of it was that she would take any opportunity to get close to Daniel again, even if it was a base demand. She wanted to oblige for purely selfish reasons, but she wasn’t so far gone to forget her purpose tonight.

“In exchange for which you will not pursue Angelica?”

“As you wish.”

She wanted to accept his proposition, but the consequences of letting Daniel back into her arms and, subsequently, her heart might prove disastrous. Nothing about this proposal suggested anything long-term; an ending was inevitable. Could she survive loving and losing him again?

Without uttering the words, she opened her mouth and engulfed the tip of his thumb, stroking the soft pad with the tip of her tongue. His eyes widened, riveted to her lips.

When she gently eased the digit in farther, sucking gently, the dark brown of his irises melted like warmed chocolate, and he groaned.

“If you do that again, I’ll take that as an accord,” he murmured.

Charlotte had ached for this man for years. And here he was, offering her what she had yearned for.

So, God help her, she did it again.

CHAPTER NINE

With a groan, Daniel grasped her by the nape to haul her forward. She eagerly met his kiss, so achingly slow and tender that she lost all sense of time. It was a simple touch of the lips, a silent exploration and rediscovery of the magic of kissing each other. And he tasted of the brandy he’d consumed earlier.

Passion ignited in her veins, like a spark set to aged tinder, and she couldn’t get close enough or hold him tightly enough. She pressed into his torso, encouraged by his hand at the base of her spine. The kiss ravaged her soul, and she clutched the open collar of his shirt as if she could hold him there forever.

With the banked passion of decades fanned to life, they didn’t make it past the door, or even so far as the sofa that flanked the fireplace.

Daniel’s hand slid low and cupped her buttock to hold her in place as his pelvis rolled against hers. The hard ridge of his erection rubbed inquisitively and her hips echoed the movement. A shudder racked her frame, and he murmured unintelligibly in reply. Then his other hand slipped around, and he lifted and set her on the edge of the desk.

“Don’t move,” he ordered hoarsely. With a violent shove, he sent the blotter and every other article on the desk crashing to the floor.

Charlotte would have giggled but she found her arms filled again with Daniel and the notion dissolved like sugar in hot tea. Amidst a long, insistent kiss, he nudged apart her knees and pressed her back onto the desk until he leaned above, dominating her world. She arched into his touch, hungry for more, and he obliged by cupping her breast.

But it wasn’t enough. She wanted those fingers on her bare skin, and she wanted to touch him in return. She pulled aside his collar to stroke the searing skin underneath.

Hot kisses trailed across her cheek to the sensitive tendon at the side of her neck, where Daniel paused to lick tantalizingly down to her shoulder and then back to her ear.

“God, angel. You taste like a dream.”

This was decidedly better than any of the erotic dreams that had left her hot and needy and incomplete over the years. Hunger bloomed, flooding her senses.

She was desperate to touch him, to slide her fingertips across his flesh. It took a couple of tugs, and Daniel’s assistance by shifting his weight, but she managed to pull his shirttails free. She burrowed her hands under the pool of linen and discovered raw heat. She hesitated when she brushed the patch of hair upon his chest. At nineteen, Daniel had been smooth and the unexpectedness of it reminded her of the past when she’d been awash in the moment.

Then Daniel groaned again and whispered, “Touch me some more, Charlotte. Please, just touch me,” and she let the moment steal her away again. Now her palms ached to explore his chest, but that didn’t prove enough to satisfy her restlessness. She wanted to see him. To study the man he had become and the changes the years had wrought.

When she tugged on the shirt again, he obligingly pulled it off and tossed it aside. And there he was, muscles sleek and gleaming in the firelight. Her joy at the sight was eclipsed only by the scars she could make out in the dim light. Old scars. Scars that marred one shoulder and the pectoral muscle beneath.

“Oh, Daniel,” she whispered and traced a pale seam with her fingertip. “Look at you. Were you hurt badly?”

He shrugged and leaned forward, stifling her words with another consuming kiss. He gathered her, lifting her by the shoulders in counterpoint to his hips, which ground seductively against hers. Her laces loosened at his tug, and his lips moved to her neck, leaving a trail of fire down the length. He nudged the shoulder of her gown aside as he descended, exposing a breast covered in nothing but a thin chemise.

“Look at you, angel,” he whispered and palmed the soft curve. “A bit more to you than before.” The opposite shoulder fell free and her other breast received similar treatment. “But these nipples are every bit as pretty as I remember.” As he spoke, his thumbs grazed the puckered peaks and she groaned, lust pooling between her thighs. His eyes dilated at her cry, and he did it again, clearly relishing her response and demanding more.

“Kiss me, Daniel,” she begged, rocking against him. He inhaled deeply.

“As you wish,” he murmured, and then he tugged free the ribbon of her shift. His warm lips engulfed one nipple, and he continued caressing the other with his thumb.

Her heart pounded and her breath came in quickening gasps. She ran her hands down his broad back, enjoying the muscles that shifted beneath her touch. As he continued to kiss her, she felt an urgency she could no longer contain.

Her inquisitive hands returned to Daniel’s waist then drifted lower. With one, she eased her fingers under the waistband of his breeches, and with the other she boldly stroked down the length of his erection. Daniel reared back, looking as wild as she felt, on the verge of losing control.

Good. She wanted everything: every breath, every sensation, every thought.

She smiled and, feeling more than a little wicked, stroked him again.

In a quick move, Daniel seized the hem of her dress and hauled it up, exposing the length of her legs to the cool air and his heated gaze. When the material cleared her hips, she lifted in wanton invitation, enjoying the sight of Daniel as he watched her. Obligingly, she widened her legs farther.

One hand reappeared from the length of her skirts and he passed a gentle finger across the rosy center she’d exposed. Only once, as she’d done with his hardened flesh moments before.

“You’re so wet here,” he said, then raised the finger to his mouth and lapped at the moisture he’d acquired. “I want to lick you until you sob.”

Charlotte wasn’t embarrassed by the whimper his words evoked, just enflamed by the image he wrought. He smiled at her reaction and she wondered if he recalled as well: he’d only done it once before and, if memory served, she hadn’t just sobbed then. She’d screamed.

She wanted everything. Whatever he wanted she would welcome. She was his. Always had been.

“But it’ll have to be later, my angel. I almost came off when you touched me through my trousers.”

With deft fingers he had his falls undone, and his thick, turgid cock sprang free. He stroked the length once, twice, gauging her reaction as he touched himself. Her groin heated even more, if that were possible.

Charlotte leaned upon an elbow and slowly ran one hand down her stomach, easing over the corset and bunched silk until her palm rested atop her mound. Then she slipped her fingers into the slick folds and separated the sensitive, eager flesh for him.

“Here, Daniel,” she whispered, unusually husky to her own ears. “I want you here.” She felt her insides contract in anticipation. “Now,” she begged, and he accommodated, easing into her swollen, aching flesh. She closed her eyes to the pleasure as she adjusted to the feel of him. When he was deeply seated, she wrapped her legs around his hips and laid back to focus on the intimate sensation.

Daniel leaned over her again, and his hips stilled. She whimpered, desperate for a deep, stroking pace.

“Look at me,” he said. When she didn’t immediately comply, he reached down and flicked her nipple. The sensation was sharp but not painful, and her eyes flared wide in pleasure. “Do you feel this, Charlotte? What is between us, even after all of this time?”

“Yes,” she said, shuddering as she tried to move, but he held her immobilized, eyes boring into hers.

“Don’t ever deny me again,” he demanded.

“I didn’t—”

He thumbed her nipple again and her lids fluttered.

“I don’t want to hear what you did or didn’t do. I want your promise of what you will do. Do you understand?” With a long, smooth motion he withdrew, then pushed satisfyingly home only to pause again.

“Yes,” she whispered, awash in sensation. She tried to wiggle, to urge him on, but he remained still.

“Never again, Charlotte. Don’t ever deny me again. You’re mine. Say it.”

“You’re mine,” she repeated obligingly, claiming him when she knew that he was demanding her surrender.

His hips began to move, forward and back, raw sensation and rising passion. She braced her hands on the slick desk for better leverage, to increase the friction.

“That’s it, angel,” he whispered. “Give it to me. Just like that.”

She gasped for breath and a thin sheen of sweat broke across her skin, sensitizing it further. Daniel leaned forward and laved a nipple hungrily. Charlotte wrapped her arms around his head, holding him in place just above her heart.

And then she burst, sensation pouring over her in pulsing waves. She heard Daniel cry out and felt him shudder with his own release, but her lips were numb and she couldn’t have uttered a word if she’d needed to.

She knew she’d savor every detail for the rest of her life, especially when he kissed her temple and whispered so softly that she almost didn’t hear him. “Yes, angel, and I’m yours.”

Her heart soared at his quiet surrender when he had begun as a burning marauder. It was as if he, too, saw how they belonged together. And always had.

Perhaps they really could begin again.

CHAPTER TEN

In the aftermath, two things became clear to Daniel. First, that he’d never stopped loving Charlotte. Second, that his legs were falling asleep from pressing into the sharp edge of the desktop.

He propped himself above her gloriously disheveled figure. With her eyes still closed from her ecstasy, he was able to study her closely.

There were so many years between them. They had each lived an entire lifetime, and hers was etched in the faint feathering of skin at the corners of her eyes.

He didn’t care; he still wanted her. God, he always had, and he suspected he always would.

That was the crux of it, wasn’t it? That she’d never wanted him enough to keep him. Or to find him after her father had sent him away. Charlotte had never loved him in return. Or, maybe she had, in that distant, selfish way of the privileged.

He pulled back and stood, at once regretting it when the warmth of her thighs fell away from his hips.

When he’d offered the proposition, he had hoped to exorcise her from his system, once and for all. Now he felt exposed, vulnerable in a way he hadn’t been in years. But it was only the illusion of emotional intimacy that their physical congress had created.

“That was quite nice, my dear,” he said, then winced. He hadn’t meant to sound flippant, but no other words came. He fumbled with his clothes so he didn’t have to meet her gaze.

“Oh!” It was a tiny sound, as exclamations go, but he heard the embarrassment behind it. It took her longer, but she managed to wrestle her skirts down and her bodice up, though he was going to have to help her with the laces that she tried and failed to reach. Without a word, he stepped around to assist then offered her a hand down.

“I’m sorry, Charlotte. I didn’t mean that as it sounded.”

Charlotte stood, though she leaned against the desk as if her legs wouldn’t support her. The fire lent her an ethereal glow, and she absently patted at her hair, which had miraculously held its shape.

“It’s all right, Daniel.” Her smile was tremulous. “It was rather nice.”

The feeling of intimacy faded in the silence that descended like a blanket of snow. A shadow crossed Charlotte’s face as if she felt the change, too.

“About Angelica,” she said. She took a deep breath then let it out slowly. “There’s something you should know.”

He folded his arms and tilted his head. Why was she so preoccupied with the girl?

It was laughable that she thought he would notice another when she was around. Angelica might be pretty, but she wasn’t Charlotte. Vinedale was welcome to Angelica so far as he was concerned, not that he’d be so plain as to say so at the moment. He’d already made an ass of himself.

As she struggled for words, he began to grow concerned. Her complexion had turned waxy.

“Well?” he prompted. “What’s it to do with me, then? I’ve already told you I won’t court her.”

“Yes.” The whisper was so soft he could barely hear her.

“Why so concerned for her?” He smiled encouragingly. “Not that I mind a good show of jealousy from time to time, but whatever else you may think, I’m a man of my word. I’m not interested in your sister.”

“I’m not jealous,” she grit out. “That’s what I mean to tell you, Danny. It’s not to do with such a petty emotion. It’s…she’s…” Her voice cracked. “Mine. Yours. Ours.”

He froze.

She couldn’t mean what he thought…could she?

He stalked across the room toward her and, if it was possible, she paled even more. One hand settled on her stomach as if to still the turmoil within but she stared back, unblinking. The brave woman.

He leaned in farther. “Our what, Charlotte?”

She swallowed hard. “Our daughter.”

He cursed and reared back, swiftly calculating. By God, it could be. He’d never imagined. Emotions in turmoil, he moved away from Charlotte.

As if a dam had been breached, the words came rushing from her in a liberated stream. “I was so young and naive—I hadn’t any idea for a time. But Mother suspected, I think, because she announced a holiday and off we went—just the two of us—to Italy for the year. I couldn’t keep her as my own, of course,” she said and glanced his way before she returned to her study of the burgundy Oriental rug. “But I could keep her close if it was thought she was my sister. I didn’t need to give her up.”

Like you did me?

The room fell silent when she stopped talking. Daniel could only stare as her words pressed in on him. She wiggled in discomfort then began anew to fill the void.

“I named her for you. Angelica. You used to call me ‘angel’ and I wanted her to have your endearment even if she didn’t have you to raise her.”

His heart clenched. He’d lost so much more than he’d ever realized—stolen by her family when he was sent away. Somehow, he could justify that she hadn’t cared enough for him to write, but this…to keep this from him was unfathomable. She wasn’t blameless after all.

His temper finally snapped.

“You had my child and you didn’t see fit to notify me? Send a simple note to give me the happy news?”

She floundered. “I…I tried, Daniel…but my letters—”

“I never received any letters from you. Nothing. No word. Ever.” He was unable to hold back the pain. When would it end?

She nodded. “I know that now but…well, that doesn’t matter,” she mumbled, then looked up. “Do you see now why I had to halt your interest? If you hadn’t received my letters, you couldn’t know….” She winced and let the words die.

He couldn’t hold back the rage and no longer wanted to. He had a child. With Charlotte.

“Goddammit!” Nothing felt so good as the plaster giving way when his fist crashed into the wall. He struck three more times for good measure, darkly satisfied with the resultant hole and shattered wooden slats that gaped like a mouth full of broken teeth.

Her family had robbed him of this. By sending Daniel packing, her father hadn’t kept only Charlotte from him, but his own child. And now the daughter that he had never known was old enough to marry. It still didn’t seem possible, but he knew that it was.

He blamed her father. And her mother. And, yes, he even irrationally blamed Charlotte. His intellect told him that Charlotte had been as much a victim as he had, but his heart ached and demanded retribution.

“Get…out,” he said, so low and choked he wasn’t even sure it was a sound. When Charlotte reached an unsteady hand toward him, he rallied. “You and your damned family destroy everything you touch. Get the hell out of my house before I do you an injury.”

“Danny—”

“Now!”

He could feel the last shred of control giving way. Never in his life had he feared causing harm to someone he loved, but tonight was testing his limits. He had no idea what he might be capable of under the circumstances.

Charlotte must have sensed the danger, for she slipped out without a further word. Only the scent of orange blossoms lingered to taunt him.

He proceeded to aerate the plaster further before he was done.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Despite having cried herself out by the next evening, Charlotte was still unpresentable. Even to family members, if she’d had any inclination to join them, which she hadn’t. After sleepless hours of racking sobs, punctuated by the throbbing reminder of their lovemaking between her thighs, Charlotte was as listless as ever.

The pain was as consuming as it had been when she was sixteen years old and Daniel had disappeared. She had nearly forgotten the depth of the ache and wondered if she would be able to survive it this time.

It was amazing how silent the town house had become, now that her mother had departed for a fete with Angelica in tow. Even the servants had settled down as they finished their duties for the day. The stillness was a welcome salve to her ravaged emotions.

For the first time in hours, she rose from the tangled sheets of her bed and dispassionately studied her red-rimmed eyes in the mirror. She poured fresh water from the delicate blue china ewer and rinsed away the burn and brine from her tears.

Heavy footsteps on the stairs indicated that Ollie was still about and likely headed to his room to ready for his own nocturnal diversions. Usually he spent an evening at his club, away from society balls and routs and marriage-minded debutantes. So, when he rapped at her door, she was startled. Her head began to throb sharply, and she tugged on a robe for decency before opening the door.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Char, but I thought this might be the best opportunity to speak with you alone.”

“I’ve the megrims, Ollie. It’s not a good time….” She tried to close the door, but Ollie stepped forward to obstruct her.

“I know,” he said. “That’s why I’ve come. There’s something you need to see.”

She hesitated, but Ollie had that look of their mother at her most determined.

“Come in, then.” She waved him toward a chair while she curled up on the cream sofa before the hearth. She hugged a velvet pillow as if it could fill the emptiness within her. “What is it?”

He balanced a small coffer on his knee, cradled between his large hands. It was a simple little oak box, without markings or fancy fittings, of a type her father once used to collect inconsequential miscellanea.

“Do you know, I recall when Daniel Walsh used to come about. Before.”

She closed her eyes and the empty spot in her chest ached. This was the last thing she wanted to discuss. “I fail to see what that has—”

He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “You used to pine for him when he didn’t come about, and you conjured some very creative maladies that required his father to come and examine you. So that Daniel would come as well.” Ollie frowned, staring into the banked fire. “I was a few years younger and sent down from school for misbehavior the last time he came ‘round. Do you remember?”

“I suppose that I do,” she said softly. “Some business about painting the school master’s carriage pink, wasn’t it?”

His smile was brief. “Just so. Father was so angry he ordered me to my room for a fortnight. I used to sneak out to the orangery to break the tedium. No one ever went there.”

Charlotte froze. She and Daniel had frequently met in the orangery for just that reason.

“Or almost no one,” he continued, looking haunted, and she knew then that he’d discovered them.

She buried her face in the pillow, but it did nothing to stifle the heat flooding her cheeks. How embarrassing to be discovered trysting by one’s younger brother!

“Rest assured that I didn’t spy, Char. Whenever I came upon you, I simply returned to my room,” he added hastily and her discomfort eased a little. “What did I care what you were about? If it was something against Father’s endless rules, I was delighted to be an accomplice in the breaking of them.”

She smiled a little at the thought and relaxed as he talked, easing from the flimsy shelter of her pillow like a tortoise from its shell. She rested one cheek on the tufted edge and studied Ollie from her sideways position. Was he just looking to share bittersweet memories?

“Then Father called me from my confinement and announced that he was betrothing me. To Roberta Milligrew…” He grimaced. “God. Roberta Milligrew!”

His dismay was understandable. Roberta was at least five years older than Ollie and mean as a viper.

“I argued, Char, and pled my case. And, in the end I even begged, but Father was having none of it. ‘You won’t do better than Lady Roberta, so I’m securing her for you,’ he said. And, of course, what he meant was that eligible daughters of dukes were rare as hens’ teeth and he wouldn’t have anything less for his heir.” He shook his head. “The old goat. He wouldn’t have to live with her.”

“What did you do then?” Clearly, since he’d never married, he’d managed to get out of the bargain somehow.

He stared down at the gleaming little coffer, his knuckles whitening as he gripped it. Then he looked directly at her, eyes bleak.

“I demanded to know why you could have the boy of your choice while I had to settle for a nasty shrew I couldn’t even hold a conversation with.”

Her vision blurred around the edges. It was Ollie?

After all of these years, she had thought it was mere ill luck that had brought her father that fateful day. She would have sworn, before then that the Duke of Wainsborough hadn’t even been aware that he owned an orangery on that estate.

Ollie had given her over? Her beloved brother?

“I’ve come to beg your forgiveness, Charlotte. For the spiteful and jealous youth that I was and for the pain and loss I caused you by my careless words.” He swallowed hard. “I should have told you years ago, but I didn’t want you to hate me as you should have done. I’m so very, very sorry.”

Fat tears seared her cheeks and she squeezed the pillow tighter. Apparently she hadn’t yet cried herself dry after all.

“Oh, Ollie. Why do you tell me this now?”

“I’m shameless enough to never have mentioned it, Char. Except that it’s starting all over again between you, isn’t it? Or it could, if the past were put to rest. Am I right?”

“It’s all so raw. The pain’s fresh enough. Whether or not we can come to terms with the past, though, remains to be seen. It may be irredeemable.”

“That’s why I’ve come. Why I’m willing to show you my true nature as the horrible, selfish brother who ruined your life. No, don’t try to make me feel any better about this—it’s the truth, much to my shame.” Suddenly, he leaned forward and offered her the little wooden box. “I found this last year after Father died. I haven’t any idea why he saved them, other than to privately gloat.”

The clasp was worn and the box proved to be filled with papers. No…letters. Old letters, for they were yellowed and spotted with age and handling, and each was addressed to Charlotte with the same bold handwriting. Daniel’s handwriting.

With a gasp, she pushed aside the pillow and let the contents of the coffer spill across her lap.

Dozens and dozens of letters, and every one of them unopened. She stared at the sea of folded and sealed parchment, too frightened to open them, to know the contents.

“Father had these?” she whispered. “All of these years I thought Danny had left me without a word….”

“Yes.”

“How could he?”

“I’ll not defend the man, Char. I didn’t even like him.” Ollie stood up and crossed the room to push aside a curtain and stare into the dark night. “He did it a-purpose, that’s clear. But I’ll be damned if I’ll be an ally in this deceit any longer. If Mr. Walsh had never returned, I might have kept them—or better yet burned them—but he has and I can’t. You deserved to know the truth and to have them.”

Tentatively, as if expecting it to bite her for trying, she selected one, cracked the seal and unfolded the stiff missive.

My angel…

Tears began to flow anew, but she ignored them as her eyes devoured the contents of Daniel’s thoughts and words from across time.

How I long to hold you in my arms, forever…

…cannot blame your sire for thinking me an unworthy upstart…

…determined to prove my worth…

…I beg: Wait for me, beloved!

CHAPTER TWELVE

The next morning, Charlotte moved to the parlor as if in a dream. She’d felt strangely dissociated from reality since Carlisle had delivered the calling card.

Mr. Daniel Walsh.

She paused before the doorway, so nervous that she thought she’d faint. Was he here to rage at her further?

She’d been up all night reading his letters from over the years, and she knew she looked far from her best. She felt emotionally bruised and spent, but she didn’t care what had brought him. Even if he were to be hateful and cruel, she was thrilled that he was here, back in her life, for the rest of it if she could manage it. The battle for his feelings might seem insurmountable, but it would be worth it.

Daniel was worth it.

At her nod, Carlisle closed the door behind her and left them alone in the painfully bright, yellow drawing room.

If it were possible, Daniel looked even worse than she did. His hair was in as much disarray as the other evening and his jaw was covered with a dark gold smudge of new beard. His eyes were rimmed with red and deep shadows clung beneath. It didn’t appear he’d been sleeping much, either.

“Hello, Daniel,” she said quietly. Since he hadn’t retained his hat and gloves, it seemed he intended to stay longer than the few minutes of a formal courtesy call.

Manners dictated that he couldn’t sit until she did, but she was so disquieted by his presence and her fresh visit with the past that she couldn’t make herself take a seat.

“Charlotte.” He shifted his weight as if he meant to step toward her then stopped. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“What can I do for you?”

He ran a hand through his hair and her palm itched to follow. Instead, she tried to soothe it by rubbing absently at her skirt.

“I received a parcel last evening.”

She frowned. “A parcel?” So had she, but she doubted his was anything like the peek at the past hers had proven.

“Indeed,” he said. “From your brother.”

Her stomach bottomed. If Ollie had given over Daniel’s old letters to her keeping, had he also found the ones she’d written?

Oh, God. He had.

“These.” Daniel picked up a beribboned stack of papers, yellowed with age, which she had not noticed on the side table. “Do you recognize them?”

Charlotte felt a flash of heat, then cold, as shock rolled through her. Daniel studied her closely, waiting for something. She nodded but couldn’t think what to say.

“I read every single one of them last night. Twice.”

Absently, he ruffled the edge of the stack like one would a deck of playing cards. She trembled, waiting for his conclusion. Was he embarrassed by her youthful ardor? Disgusted by her desperation and pain when she had failed, over and over, to find him? He didn’t look it, he looked…strange. As if he were trying to contain strong emotion.

Then, decisively, he dropped the letters back onto the table and strode toward her.

“I owe you an apology, Charlotte. I accused you of not trying to contact me and, clearly, that’s not true. You tried to reach me through my father, then through any number of acquaintances, despite the damage that would have done to your reputation.”

As if she’d ever had a concern for her reputation. She would have gladly traded it for any word of Daniel.

“Those letters to Mr. Thornton, Charlotte. Is that the infamous Mr. Thornton from Bow Street?” He reached out and softly stroked her cheek with his thumb. “Did you hire that runner to find me?”

“I tried.”

“And no doubt would have succeeded had your sire not interceded.”

“I’m sorry.”

He frowned. “Don’t you ever…ever apologize to me, Charlotte. It is I who owe you the apology. I’m bound for an everlasting damnation for my accusations and ill thoughts.” He stroked down her cheek. “Can you ever forgive me, angel?”

A sob caught in her throat. “I have your letters now, too, Daniel.”

“Do you?” The thumb skimmed her lower lip, tempting her with the tiniest touch when she wanted so much more.

“The cache Ollie found must have contained them all, for he gave me yours last night as well.” She had a hard time focusing for the tears that pooled in her eyes and threatened to spill. “I didn’t know—”

“Shhh.” He pulled her into his arms, and she proceeded to fall apart.

When her sobs ceased, he led her to the sofa and sat at her side, his large, warm hands carefully cradling hers. “Charlotte. There’s something I need to know.”

“Yes?”

He swallowed and stared at their clasped hands. “Would you have married me? When you found out about the child, would you have been happy with me?”

“Daniel, I would have married you with or without the baby. You had only to ask.”

“Well, then.” He blinked like an owl then stood and patted his pockets absently. When he carefully knelt before her and reclaimed her hands, his eyes were clear and guileless, boring into hers with savage intensity. “Will you now, Charlotte? Will you marry me?”

She lost her breath.

“Marry me,” he implored. “I know that I may seem a stranger after so long, but I’m still the boy that you knew, Charlotte. I love you. Even more so now that I understand the tragedy of our youth and the amazing gift of a child that you have given me.”

“I don’t—”

“Give us a chance at the life that we should have had, Charlotte. My heart is yours—it always has been. Marry me, angel.”

She studied his earnest face, identified the emotions simmering below the surface and knew them for the truth. Before her was the only man in the world for her, and he was offering his heart and an opportunity to share his life.

There might be nearly twenty years of unknown between them, but they had the rest of their lives to discover it. Did she have the nerve to seize all that he offered?

“Yes,” she said.

“Yes?” It was telling that he was surprised by her response.

She nodded and lunged, wrapping her arms about his neck. He crushed her to him and kissed her desperately, as if he meant to consume her whole. His lips were hot and ravaged her while she simply forgot herself, lost in his arms.

“I can’t keep my hands from you,” he whispered and he reared back to look at his hand on her breast, fingers dark and bold against the pale muslin of her gown. Her nipple perked in anticipation and she watched, mesmerized, when he slowly pinched the peak. Heat pooled and her loins throbbed in response.

“I don’t want you to.”

A loud throat-clearing interrupted the interlude. Carlisle, apparently worried at the length of the visit behind closed doors, had worked up the courage to open the drawing room door and now looked into the room nervously.

With a wild grin, Daniel released her, jumped to his feet and greeted Carlisle with a forceful thump on the back. “Wish us well, chap. She’s just agreed to be my wife! Now, where’s the duke to endorse this union?”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A month later found Daniel ensconced in the warm intimacy of his carriage with his new wife and their daughter.

The havoc the two women had brought to his life both amazed and delighted him. At times he felt like a man immersed in sunlight after a lifetime of living in the dark. Oh, he made a show of being put out by all of the commotion, but secretly, he reveled in the attention, even if he still couldn’t use his front parlor or the dining room for the mess.

When Daniel helped Angelica alight from the carriage at their destination, he marveled at her composure. The discovery that her new brother-in-law was actually her father had apparently left her none the worse for wear. Daniel would have liked nothing more than to acknowledge her to the world, but the risk to Angelica’s reputation necessitated the secret be guarded closely. After discussing the matter at length, he and Charlotte had agreed that Angelica deserved the truth, but she should be protected at all costs. It was enough that he held the knowledge in his heart.

Angelica did not appear to be worried or apprehensive about this evening. Hell, he was more nervous than she.

He turned back to assist his wife, and Charlotte grinned down at him in the dim light. How could she find his discomfort amusing?

It wasn’t easy for a fellow with a newly discovered and grown daughter to escort her blithely to the hallowed halls of Almack’s, of all places. He wasn’t keen for her to find some chap to take her away before Daniel had a chance to get to know her properly. And the assembly tonight was designed for no other purpose than to facilitate matrimonial matches.

He offered his arm to Charlotte and watched as Angelica pranced gaily ahead. Why hadn’t he noticed before that his little girl had the same guinea-gold curls that he did? The realization warmed him.

Then he noticed several young dandies clearly ogling more than her artful coiffure. A warning glare prompted them to hastily turn their attention elsewhere. If Vinedale showed up with similar inclinations, Daniel would be hard-pressed not to soundly trounce him.

“Isn’t she too young for all of this?” he grumbled to his wife, not for the first time this evening.

She smiled serenely. “Of course not, my dear. She’s a year later than most.” She gave him that look. “As you well know.”

He frowned. “Well, there’s nothing wrong with keeping her home for another Season—or seven—is there?”

Charlotte just rolled her eyes.

“Seriously, angel. What’s the big rush to the altar?”

Angelica found a friend and paused to share news in giggles and whispers. She glowed in her white muslin gown.

“I have one word for you, my dear,” Charlotte said and leaned over to whisper hotly in his ear.

Daniel stumbled. By God, he hadn’t thought of that.

He tugged Charlotte into a dark alcove and pinned her against the silk-draped wall. The press of her breasts as she leaned toward him in welcome never failed to stir him, and his pulse quickened. “Grandchildren, did you say?” he growled, careful to pitch his voice low so that only she could hear. “I’m not done trying for a son. Or another daughter. Or both.”

He licked and nipped at her earlobe, itching to uncover and stroke her flesh. Wanting to lose himself in her.

When he eased his hand around to squeeze the curve of her buttock, Charlotte wiggled encouragingly and quirked a brow. “Now?”

He’d only intended a brief taste, but he should have known better. After so long, his need for her was unassailable—he suspected he’d never get enough. Despite the very public venue and the likelihood of discovery, the moment their lips touched, he was undone.

“Always.”

Look for A Disgraceful Miss by Elaine Golden, book two of the Fortney Follies series, in March 2011 wherever ebooks are sold!

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Since writing a report on Pompeii in the 6th grade, Elaine has been fascinated with history. Growing up, she daydreamed about how people lived in other eras. After all, she was planning to be an archaeologist so it was good practice! When Elaine discovered historical romance, she was immediately hooked.

Elaine Golden is a debut author with Harlequin Historical Undone! and her current work is set in Regency England.

When she isn’t writing, Elaine loves to travel and explore historical sites first-hand, from Bath and Stonehenge to the catacombs of Paris and the ruins of the Port Arthur penal colony. She also loves to make heirloom quilts for family members, but only manages one or two a year.

Today, Elaine lives in the Nashville, Tennessee area with her husband, her real-life hero of over 20 years.

ISBN: 978-1-4268-8544-0

An Imprudent Lady

Copyright © 2011 by Elaine Golden

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Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Author Note

Dedication

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

About the Author

Copyright