The Captivating Lady Charlotte (Regency Brides: A Legacy of Grace #2)(40)

“Lady Charlotte, forgive me! I have no wish to argue with you.”

Heat still streamed through her chest, but aware their intense discussion was attracting attention, she fixed a smile on her face. “Nor I you.”

He sighed, a little theatrically, she thought. “It is growing rather warm in here. Perhaps we should find someplace cooler.”

“Perhaps.”

He rose and offered his hand before addressing her mother. “Lady Exeter, might I return your daughter to the ballroom?”

“I suppose so.” She frowned a warning at Charlotte. “I trust you remember you are promised to Lord Carmichael for the next dance. Remember, he is destined to be an earl one day …”

“Yes, Mama.” She followed the silent tug as the viscount led her away. “I thought we were going to the ballroom?”

“I could not very well tell your dear Mama we were not, could I?” He smiled, his teeth gleaming. “We’ll go there first, and then move someplace quieter.”

“But what if Lord Carmichael sees me?”

“We shall take good care not to see him.”

“Oh, but—”

Her protest was swallowed up in the hubbub of the ballroom, the laughter and music drowning out her concerns. Yes, she suspected Lord Carmichael would not miss her terribly, and people would probably assume she was still in the supper room, but still … why was Lord Fanshawe so keen to risk such a breach of propriety?

The sight of her brother brought a measure of relief. “Henry!”

“Charlotte, Freddy.” He clapped Lord Fanshawe on the back. “I see you’ve been doing the pretty with my sister.”

“Henry, have you seen Lord Carmichael anywhere? Mama says I must dance with him.”

“Good heavens, why would you ever want to dance with a man like him? A complete and utter rake if you ask me.”

Who was the next gentleman she was promised to? “How about Lord Bracewell?”

“Bracewell? Good gracious! Why does Mama fix you up to dance with such men? Bracewell is nothing but a windsucker. Always rattling on about things nobody has the slightest interest in.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Lord Fanshawe said, his hand tugging hers. “Come, my dear—”

“No, I really think—”

“Freddy, you really missed something in the card room just now. Ashbolt just dropped five thousand! I couldn’t believe such deep play, but they say that hag he married is the reason he’s playing so wildly tonight, that she’s put the hard word on him, so—”

“Lord Fanshawe, please.” Charlotte tugged at her hand, but the viscount’s grip only tightened. She glanced over Henry’s shoulder. Saw the duke speaking with her father; surely he would help her. Look up, she silently pleaded, look up! But for all his constant watching, he was not attending now.

There was a hush as the crowds parted for the Prince Regent and royal princesses. Charlotte scanned the room for a savior. Who could release her? Even the rakish Lord Carmichael would be preferable to this.

“Ah, Charlotte, there you are!” Lavinia approached, wearing a stiff smile. “Henry, Lord Fanshawe.”

“Lady Hawkesbury.”

“Lord Fanshawe, please excuse my cousin.” She looked pointedly at his hand.

His grip loosed. “Oh, but—”

“Surely you do not wish my cousin to forget her obligations?” She eyed him like she espied a particularly nasty insect, before turning to Charlotte. “Your mother does not want you to forget your dance with Lord Carmichael.”

Charlotte forced herself to smile brightly. “How could I forget? I cannot disappoint him. Please excuse me.”

Lavinia turned to the others. “Good evening.”

“Good evening,” Henry and Lord Fanshawe echoed, the latter’s reply sounding as if through gritted teeth.

A shiver rippled through her. Surely he had not intended something nefarious. But in such a setting, with so many witnesses, it would not take much at all for a lady’s reputation to be ruined, or for a scandal—or the presumption of one—to force a couple to the altar.

“Thank you, Lavinia.”

“I’m sorry if you do not like to hear this, but I do not trust that man. He smiles too quickly with his lips, but never with his eyes.”

Charlotte nodded, unable to disagree.

Lavinia drew her to where the sets were forming. “I cannot see Lord Carmichael, can you?”

“No.”

“Oh well. Ah, look. Here is my friend.” Lavinia smiled at the plain girl Charlotte had noticed earlier. “Charlotte, please permit me to introduce my dear friend Catherine Winthrop to you. Catherine, this is my cousin, Lady Charlotte Featherington.”

After an exchange of curtsies the older girl smiled, genuine warmth lighting the corners of her honey-brown eyes. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Charlotte.”

“And you, Miss Winthrop.”

“I’m sure you don’t remember, but I was at Lavinia’s wedding last December.”

“Oh! I’m afraid—”

“Charlotte!” Mama drew near, the frown in her eyes reserved for Lavinia’s friend. “Excuse us, Lavinia, but I must steal Charlotte for a moment. Her dance partner is waiting.”