The Marquis and I (The Worthingtons #4)(56)

How ridiculous he was. He reminded her of a cat who insisted on remaining on one’s lap after having been made to get down. Charlotte took a deep breath. “Very well. Have it your way.”

“Thank you.” His lips touched her knuckles and a frisson of awareness slid up her arm. Now what was she going to do?





Chapter Nineteen


A few evenings later, Con caught himself from scowling as that popinjay Harrington led Charlotte to the floor. It was only a country dance and should not matter to Con. Endicott had managed to snag one of her waltzes, and a young Lord Henry, who considered himself a poet, had got the other. There were two more after supper, but they didn’t count. Worthington never remained past supper. That, Con had discovered, made standing up with Charlotte more of a prize to the other gentlemen.

Even though he had managed to remain by her side most of the evening, the fact that her former suitor would not bow out gracefully and admit defeat irritated him to no end. The man had even attempted to insinuate himself on her other side and place her hand on his arm. As luck would have it, another set had started and she went off with her partner. That was the only thing that had stopped him from doing something he would most likely be sorry for later.

“You put me forcibly in mind of a caged lion,” Endicott said. “For a moment, I thought you were going to plant Harrington a facer.”

Close, it had been very close, and would have been extremely stupid. “He should find another lady.”

“I imagine he was nonplussed when he got back and discovered you were engaged to Lady Charlotte.”

“In that case, he should not have left Town,” Con replied loftily. “Ladies do not like to be ignored.”

“True, very true.” Endicott smirked before ambling off.

Con was sure that Charlotte was merely being polite to the worthless fribble. But the fact that she had still not agreed to marry him—not that he had asked; he knew better than to press a reluctant lady—rankled. The only thing in his favor at the moment was that she did not appear to prefer any other gentleman.

If only he could think of something that would focus her attention on him as the gentleman she wished to wed. Thus far, carriage rides in the Park, visiting at her sister’s home, and dancing with her in the evenings had not done the trick. And as far as he was concerned, time was not on his side. If he allowed her to return to the country without a firm commitment of marriage, he’d have lost his chance.

Then again, he had received an invitation to dine with them before tomorrow evening’s ball. Yesterday’s ride in the Park must have done some good after all. It might also mean that she did not care about Harrington. That, though, might be wishful thinking. The puppy would not go away, and Con was still not happy about Worthington’s refusal to allow the engagement to be announced in the paper. Not that it truly mattered. Everyone knew they were betrothed.

The dance ended and Con pushed himself off the pillar he’d been leaning against. “It is time for the supper dance.”

After which he and Charlotte would join her family and they would leave. Once again not allowing him any time in private with her. Somehow, he had to get her alone. He knew one way he could convince her to marry him.

*

The next night, his mother caught up with him in the corridor. “I am dining with Lady Bellamny and shall see you at the ball.”

“Have a good time.” He handed his mother into her town coach, then tapped on the roof and stood back.

“I shall, my dear. You as well.”

He planned to do just that. This was the evening he would find a way to be alone with Charlotte.

A footman lowered the steps to his carriage. “When we arrive, ask the Worthington coachman when you should return to collect me.”

Several minutes later Con jumped down from the coach and strode up the steps to Stanwood House. As expected, the door opened. Once the butler had taken his hat, he was escorted to a drawing room where Charlotte, Worthington and his wife, and Lord and Lady Merton were drinking sherry.

“I trust I am not late?” Con said as he entered the room.

“Not at all,” Charlotte answered. His chest tightened when she came forward and held out her hands to him. “Dotty and Merton arrived a few minutes ago.”

Con lifted first one of her ungloved hands to his lips, then the other. “You look enchanting.”

A faint pink hue, the color of her favorite roses, caressed Charlotte’s cheeks. “Thank you. You are very dashing as well.”

He captured her gaze, searching their blue depths for a sign that she felt something for him other than their newly formed friendship, but instead of awareness, he saw confusion.

Before he could figure out the reason, a woman coughed and Charlotte glanced at her sister. “Would you like sherry or wine, my lord?”

Devil it. He must find a place to be alone with her. “Sherry, please.” While Worthington poured, he greeted Lady Worthington. “Thank you for inviting me to dine with you.”

“You are welcome.” She smiled and glanced at Charlotte. “However, it was my sister’s idea.”

That was a welcome surprise. “Was it?”

Charlotte blushed again. “It made more sense . . .”

“I can see that.” But he’d be damned if he knew what it meant. Seeking to turn the subject, he said, “The house is much quieter than before.”