point of view, sir.”
He gave an exasperated snort at the “sir.” “Every society has its own rules, Charlotte. Ours in England are different, but we have our reasons for them.”
“What reason can account for making a butler less of a man than a baron? Explain that to me please,” she demanded. “Or an American custom less civilized than an English one.”
“That’s simply the way it is,” he blustered. “A man’s hereditary birthright and position—”
“Don’t say any more.” She took a step back from him. Maybe the earl was not so admirable, after all. She wasn’t sure what it was that had made her act like a silly goose for a moment. Now she saw him clearly. He was narrow-minded and shallow and not at all the kind of person a woman would want as the father of her children. Imagine the awful things he would teach them!
She had left the room without another word. And had not spoken to him for two days. Of course, he had not said a word to her, either. Until this morning at breakfast, when he had demanded herpresence in the salon for flirting lessons after luncheon.
Thank goodness Olivia would be with her. Thank goodness she had realized what a reprehensible character the earl really was before she lost her heart to him. He could flirt all he wanted with her—she could flirt all she wanted with him—and it was not going to affect her one teensy weensy little bit.
Unfortunately, that foolish hope was dashed the moment she entered the salon and laid eyes on the dastardly fellow. Or rather, the moment he settled his vivid gray eyes on her.
Her heart bounded around inside her like an excited puppy. At the same time, her chest felt as if it were being squeezed by the sugar press that crushed the cane on her father’s plantation. She felt dazed and disoriented, fluttery and faint.
“Charlotte? Are you all right?” Denbigh asked.
His husky voice sent a frisson of awareness skittering down her spine. “Of course—” She had to clear the frog in her throat before she could say, “Of course I’m all right.”
Olivia took her place in the upholstered wing-back chair near the fire and took up her knitting, while Denbigh reached for Charlotte’s hand and led her over to sit beside him on the claw-footed sofa.
Unfortunately, the instant he sat down beside her, the vision rose in her mind of what he had beendoing to Lady Frockman on that same sofa. And what it might feel like if he did that to her.
She made the mistake of looking at him, and found him staring back at her intently. She quickly lowered her gaze—a very unCharlottelike thing to do. Which she realized, too late, had revealed her distress.
“What’s wrong, Charlotte?” Denbigh asked in a voice soft enough not to be overheard by his sister.
“Nothing.”
“In any other woman, I would believe you’re simply being demure,” he said. “But not you, Charlotte. You brazenly look a man in the eye. So I ask you again. What’s wrong?”
He lifted her chin with his forefinger. The last thing she wanted to do was look at him, but it was the only way she could prove she was not upset. She lifted her lids and stared into his eyes. And felt herself falling.
He removed his hand reluctantly. Before he did, his thumb brushed across her chin in what might almost have been a caress. “Charlotte …”
She waited for him to complete whatever it was he wanted to say. He didn’t use words. He simply looked deep into her eyes, took her hand in his, and stroked his thumb across her knuckles. He lifted her hand to his lips, and kissed the back of it, leaving a damp spot that cooled in the air.
Suddenly, he dropped her hand. “You’ve let me go too far,” he announced.
“What?”
“It is perfectly appropriate to gaze lovingly into a gentleman’s eyes,” Denbigh said, “but when he begins kissing—even your hand—he has gone too far. It is not to be allowed. Not before you have my approval to continue the courtship. Is that
He gave an exasperated snort at the “sir.” “Every society has its own rules, Charlotte. Ours in England are different, but we have our reasons for them.”
“What reason can account for making a butler less of a man than a baron? Explain that to me please,” she demanded. “Or an American custom less civilized than an English one.”
“That’s simply the way it is,” he blustered. “A man’s hereditary birthright and position—”
“Don’t say any more.” She took a step back from him. Maybe the earl was not so admirable, after all. She wasn’t sure what it was that had made her act like a silly goose for a moment. Now she saw him clearly. He was narrow-minded and shallow and not at all the kind of person a woman would want as the father of her children. Imagine the awful things he would teach them!
She had left the room without another word. And had not spoken to him for two days. Of course, he had not said a word to her, either. Until this morning at breakfast, when he had demanded herpresence in the salon for flirting lessons after luncheon.
Thank goodness Olivia would be with her. Thank goodness she had realized what a reprehensible character the earl really was before she lost her heart to him. He could flirt all he wanted with her—she could flirt all she wanted with him—and it was not going to affect her one teensy weensy little bit.
Unfortunately, that foolish hope was dashed the moment she entered the salon and laid eyes on the dastardly fellow. Or rather, the moment he settled his vivid gray eyes on her.
Her heart bounded around inside her like an excited puppy. At the same time, her chest felt as if it were being squeezed by the sugar press that crushed the cane on her father’s plantation. She felt dazed and disoriented, fluttery and faint.
“Charlotte? Are you all right?” Denbigh asked.
His husky voice sent a frisson of awareness skittering down her spine. “Of course—” She had to clear the frog in her throat before she could say, “Of course I’m all right.”
Olivia took her place in the upholstered wing-back chair near the fire and took up her knitting, while Denbigh reached for Charlotte’s hand and led her over to sit beside him on the claw-footed sofa.
Unfortunately, the instant he sat down beside her, the vision rose in her mind of what he had beendoing to Lady Frockman on that same sofa. And what it might feel like if he did that to her.
She made the mistake of looking at him, and found him staring back at her intently. She quickly lowered her gaze—a very unCharlottelike thing to do. Which she realized, too late, had revealed her distress.
“What’s wrong, Charlotte?” Denbigh asked in a voice soft enough not to be overheard by his sister.
“Nothing.”
“In any other woman, I would believe you’re simply being demure,” he said. “But not you, Charlotte. You brazenly look a man in the eye. So I ask you again. What’s wrong?”
He lifted her chin with his forefinger. The last thing she wanted to do was look at him, but it was the only way she could prove she was not upset. She lifted her lids and stared into his eyes. And felt herself falling.
He removed his hand reluctantly. Before he did, his thumb brushed across her chin in what might almost have been a caress. “Charlotte …”
She waited for him to complete whatever it was he wanted to say. He didn’t use words. He simply looked deep into her eyes, took her hand in his, and stroked his thumb across her knuckles. He lifted her hand to his lips, and kissed the back of it, leaving a damp spot that cooled in the air.
Suddenly, he dropped her hand. “You’ve let me go too far,” he announced.
“What?”
“It is perfectly appropriate to gaze lovingly into a gentleman’s eyes,” Denbigh said, “but when he begins kissing—even your hand—he has gone too far. It is not to be allowed. Not before you have my approval to continue the courtship. Is that
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