Page 5 of Charlotte's Kisses

And then… Charlotte could not think about the incident without tearing up. Her stepmother had set Charlotte’s lovebirds free. She denied it vehemently, but the birds were merrily singing on Charlotte’s balcony in the morning and gone by that afternoon. The cage door had been closed and latched. How in the dickens would two little birds have escaped then closed and locked their own door? And Charlotte had adored Romeo and Juliet with all of her heart. If she replaced them, who knew what Suzannah might do.

Despite all of the heinous things Suzannah had done, Charlotte attempted to join her in the drawing room each evening. She would order them warm cups of chocolate and biscuits. “How was your day, my lady?” she would ask. Her stepmother would snort and then ensure there was a heaping dose of cutting insults served alongside their evening repast. Twice she’d poured the chocolate on Charlotte’s embroidery, claiming it was an accident.

“Charlotte,” someone behind her said.

She recognized that voice. Lord Nash. Dash it all. Not now. Not when she was in the middle of making a plan to fix her life. Even though her father hoped for a match between Charlotte and George Nash, they should not be alone. She feigned a smile, then faced him. His red mask, which matched the brilliant shade of his waistcoat, swung from his fingers.

“Good evening, my lord.”

“Good evening, my lady. Are you well?” he asked. “When you left the ballroom, you seemed quite distraught.”

“I am having a lovely time.” Apparently, her new forthright personality did not involve honesty. “But we cannot be alone without a chaperone.”

“Of course, my lady.” He bowed. “Now that I know you are well, I will take my leave. I hope you allow me to add my name to your dance card.”

Ha! And her stepmother thought no one would ask her to dance. Perchance when she returned to the ballroom, she would barge right up to Suzannah and point out that Lord Nash had asked her. Surely, Papa would be delighted. But how to break it to him that she had no interest in courting George without upsetting him, because lately, Papa was consumed with something. What, she knew not. But his brow was always furrowed, his skin had become an ashen shade of gray, and he disappeared into his study for long periods of time. Meanwhile, his wife’s maleficence multiplied.

Another epiphany hit with a thud. Instead of tiptoeing around Papa, she’d confront him and ask what the dickens was wrong. Afterward, she would tell him she did not favor George enough to marry him.

Something rustled in the tree line running alongside the gardens.

“Hmm,” she murmured as she perused the area. Moonlight and lanterns lit up the gardens, but the forest off to one side remained in shadow. There was movement and a crunching sound in the vegetation. She tilted her ear.

“Perchance ’tis a parcel of deer munching on leaves,” she said as she swiveled to face Lord Nash. However, he’d disappeared into thin air as if he were an apparition or a figment of her imagination.

She blinked and rubbed her eyes.

Something snapped.

Had someone just stepped on a twig? Thereupon, there was a resoundingcrash.Then,heaven forbid, a man’s moans.

She swallowed hard. “George?” she croaked.

Lord Nash stepped into the light. With his mask now in place, he brushed leaves from his exquisite tailcoat that was much too small for him.

“Thank heavens you are unharmed.” Dare she admit she thought he’d disappeared as if they were in some gothic ghost story?

He sauntered to her. “I am well, my lady.”

Why had she never noticed Lord Nash’s toe-curling baritone? Or that his shoulders were extremely broad? In stark contrast, his hips tapered in, giving him the physique of a warrior. She’d always thought his chin a bit pointy. However, when wearing a mask, his jawline was chiseled to perfection.

Wait a dashed minute. Who was this well-built man in a too-tight coat, and where had he stashed Lord Nash? “Where is George?” she asked, a sharp edge to her question.

The masked stranger softened his voice and cautiously moved as if she were a skittish bird. “Do not be afraid, my lady.”

But she wasn't afraid of him. Maybe she should be since it seemed he had incapacitated Lord Nash and stolen his coat and mask. But call her curious. Fascinated even.

The clomp of approaching footsteps startled her. A moment later, she relaxed, for it seemed Lord Nash had returned for his stolen belongings. Unfortunately, her theory was problematic because it sounded like more than one person stomped toward them.

“Shite. There is no time to explain.” Her mysterious stranger grasped her around the waist. Before she had time to protest, he had pushed her back against the Oak, his torso pressed against hers.

“Kiss me,” he demanded.

“I will not.” She’d never kissed anyone, let alone a stranger. Never mind that he was physically attractive—God-like, stunning.

Caged between his hard body and the tree trunk, she placed her palms on his chest, intending to push him away. Instead, she halted, frozen in place as the intoxicating scent of spicy ginger enveloped her, wrapping her in its warmth. She inhaled again. Good gracious. Perhaps if she had eaten that dang tart, she might not be in this deprived state, helpless to the charms of this masculine specimen.

His lips crashed against hers. When she gasped, his tongue slid into her mouth.