“Far too wordy.” He watched her with a strange look in his eyes.
“Of course, the harpsichord came first. But it could not be played loudly or softly. It only had one volume. The instrument’s limitations made it inferior to other instruments––music often expresses emotion through volume. In 1709, an Italian harpsichord maker named Bartolomeo di Francesco Cristofori created the gravicembalo col piano e forte. But you likely know that already…” Oh, lord, she’d practically been lecturing him.
“You’re the damndest servant I’ve ever met.” A half smile danced on his lips though.
“Your cravat’s becoming untied.”
A full smile now. “It’s been choking me all week.” He seemed far less brooding than he had when he initially entered the room.
“I’m sorry.” Charlotte wasn’t sure why she’d apologized. But yes, she was sorry that he had betrothed himself, sorry Miss Fairchild didn’t understand the man he was.
“Why are you here?” He surprised her with such a question.
“You mean, here, in the music room? Or here working for Viscount Denton?”
“Your father passed away. Haven’t you any family who could take you in?”
Oh… “I have a brother who lives on the outskirts of Bath. But he already has too many mouths to feed. And it isn’t as though I’m not able bodied.” She hated that this gentleman would feel pity for her. “It isn’t as bad as it seems…” Only it was. She hated being a servant.
“Were you close to your father?”
Charlotte nodded. She pretended to have found a particular difficult smudge on the shining wood. Her father had been everything to her, even before Oliver had moved away. “His death came as a shock. Apoplexy. He’d always exhibited good health.”
“I think you’re likely to rub the shine right off of that.” Charlotte didn’t realize what he meant for a moment. Then she glanced up to see the teasing in his gaze. He had realized she was trying to avoid looking at him.
“I ought to see if Miss Fairchild has need of me.” But he’d turned so that he was straddling the bench now, and caught at her wrist, preventing her escape.
“Let me enjoy you for these few minutes.” He seemed far too serious. “Please,” he added.
Charlotte swallowed hard. She wanted the same, but she had far more to lose than he.
“Why?” Nothing about any of this made sense. Impossible a voice inside her head urged. If only she could believe it. Perhaps if he admitted it to her once, admitted that he experienced this oddly intoxicating attraction as well, they could acknowledge it and put it behind them forever.
His thumb began moving back and forth over the pulse on her wrist. Her breathing hitched. “Why?” He echoed her question. “Because I’m inches from becoming officially betrothed to a lady I can barely stand to sit in the same room with for more than ten minutes. Because I’ve responsibilities I cannot ignore. But, most of all, because I can no longer ignore the spell you’ve cast upon me.” He remained sitting, but with her diminutive height, her eyes were nearly even with his. “Let me kiss you Charlotte.”
Her heart beat so quickly she half expected it to burst from her chest and charge out of the room. She went to answer him, but nothing emerged from her mouth.
“Would you like me to kiss you?”
She should lie. She should deny wanting anything of the sort.
“Yes,” she whispered. The one word was all he required.
A gentle tug from him and suddenly she was sitting on the bench again. This time she was between his legs, their faces only inches apart now. “But you shouldn’t,” she added.
“I’m well aware of that.”
And then his hand was at the back of her mob-capped head, pulling her even closer. Charlotte parted her lips and waited.
Oh, yes.
She tasted exactly as he’d imagined she would. Honey. Sweet. Velvety. Warmth. Her lips opened without coaxing, mingling their breath.
Anthony turned his head to access her mouth more easily. An overwhelming… rightness swept through him. Everything about her excited and invigorated him. Yet he felt as though he’d held her like this a million times.
How could he live the entirety of his life without having this, without having her, ever again?
He’d allow himself this moment. “Charlotte,” he whispered. Saying her name aloud made all of this more real, somehow. She’d haunted his dreams, tantalized him from a place just out of bounds. But today, in this moment, he’d managed to break through those barriers, eliminate societies boundaries.
“M’lord,” her whisper barely reached his hearing over the blood rushing through his veins.
“Anthony.” He shouldn’t. He oughtn’t. But God only knew how much he wanted to hear his name upon her lips.
“Anthony,” she whispered. “You must… We. We must stop.” She labored to speak the words, but he heeded them against his own inclinations.
Although ending the kiss, he didn’t release her person. And she hadn’t expected him too. She hadn’t relinquished her grip around his neck and her face remained buried against his chest.
She intoxicated him as no spirits ever could.
If this were only about him… He choked on a wave of unexpected emotion.
When he went to press his lips against her hair, his lips landed on the muslin fabric of her cap. Scattering reason and rational thought to the wind, he gripped the material and tugged it off.
She didn’t fight it, but instead tilted her head back and met his gaze, catching his breath with her beauty.
White fire, he could see, even braided and pinned up. Not just gold, but yellow and white and amber threaded together. He wanted nothing more than to…
“It’s beautiful.” But his voice caught. “So beautiful.”
“But you cannot,” She reminded him. “You have obligations.”
He shook his head as though dismissing his duties, his responsibilities, if only for this instant. “I could take care of you. Purchase a cottage nearby. No one need know––”
And then several offkey voices, singing ironically enough the same song Charlotte had sung for him, drifted through the corridor. A group of jovial-sounding guests approached. Staring back at him in horror, Charlotte jumped off the bench as though scalded. She searched around, seized the cap from him, and sprung to the other side of the room.
What had he just done? Had he actually suggested she become his mistress? It was nothing he’d ever considered for himself. And by the look on her face, he’d insulted her in the worst way. She was a damned vicar’s daughter, for God’s sake! What in the hell had he been thinking?
But she was also alone in this world.
“We can use the pianoforte. Billings plays well enough.” Miss Fairchild had opened the door with several of her cousins following behind her. “Ah, Lord Mapleton. I wondered where you’d gone off to.” She turned to the three gentlemen and ladies behind her. “You all remember Lord Mapleton, my, er, ahem. Lord Mapleton is Father’s favorite neighbor. He’s stranded because of this awful storm.” She’d barely covered her near slip. Nothing was official yet, after all. And then she caught sight of Charlotte near the window.