Page 12 of A Lady’s Dangerous Secret (Scandalous Secrets #1)

Charlotte paused so the footman could open the door of the coach and saw a shadow move behind the equipage before disappearing into the darkness.

She figured it was a gentleman who was also tardy for the evening’s events.

Before she could ponder further, the door swung open, and the footman helped Charlotte inside. She sat opposite her aunt.

Then it began.

Her heart fluttered and her skin moistened with sweat. Her hands flew to her neck in an attempt to thwart the constriction in her throat. She tried to fight the demon that possessed her body, but she could not. Her panicked gaze flew from corner to corner of the coach like a cornered animal.

“Charlotte! Charlotte!”

Her body shook. Silken, gloved hands clutched her upper arms. She continued to tremble until she felt those hands shake her forcefully. The panic partially subsided, and she found her aunt looking at her. Aunt Frances released Charlotte’s arms and sat back against the squabs.

“Swooning is one thing, that’s why you have smelling salts, but these attacks of the nerves are too much. You are neither the first nor the last woman who must secure a husband.”

Charlotte’s heart still raced, but the worst of the moment had faded.

She unconsciously ran her hands down the front of her dress, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles while she tried to remain calm.

Her hands brushed against her reticule, which contained her pistol, and gave her a degree of reassurance.

She had learned the best way to overcome these episodes was to focus on an object. She found such a target in the ruby pendant adorning Aunt Frances’s turban. It fortunately gave the appearance she was looking at her aunt as well.

Charlotte’s voice wobbled. “You know how I feel about these things.”

Her aunt harrumphed and closed her eyes to rest before her upcoming Society performance.

Despite focusing on her aunt’s headpiece, flashes of that fateful day and the carriage ride afterward wedged their way into her mind.

She continued to stare at the ruby, but the red morphed into blood and her breathing quickened.

She scanned the interior of the vehicle and desperately searched for a different object.

She locked her eyes on her aunt’s diamond necklace, and forced herself to take deep breaths while staring at the sparkling stones.

She remained transfixed on the jewel until sooner than she would have liked, Aunt Frances’s eyes flew open. “Have you recovered?”

“I’m ready to be sold to the highest bidder,” she quipped.

“You’ve already been chosen by Westcliffe. He’s the catch of the Season. Tonight is your opportunity to shine.”

They entered the Sotherton home and joined the other guests in the queue for their names to be announced. Her aunt chatted with those around them until they were finally presented.

The ball was already a crush. Aunt Frances’s eyes flicked around the ballroom, searching for the Duke.

Luckily, she did not have to look long, given that the Duke of Westcliffe was situated toward the front.

It was evident by the female crowd of marriage-minded mothers surrounding him.

He stood at least two heads above the throng of women, and saw Charlotte and her aunt.

A look of relief washed over his face. He excused himself and sidestepped the swarm of females.

The Duke’s long strides quickly placed him before her. “Lady Charlotte, it’s a pleasure to see you this evening.”

Charlotte could not help but smile. Are you truly happy to see me or are you happy to find an escape from the vultures who circled you?”

“Charlotte!” her aunt admonished.

“No need to worry.” He turned his head toward Charlotte. “It is both, of course. Since I have to leave early tonight, may I have the first dance?”

“I would be delighted, Your Grace.” He wrote his name on her empty dance card. They engaged in small talk awaiting the start of the dancing.

Soon the sounds of the musicians warming up floated through the din of the crowd.

The attendees found their partners and headed to the area partitioned off for dancing.

On this part of the parquet floor, an artist had chalked a night sky that included a full moon, stars, and even a comet.

Intricate planets had been placed at the periphery to mark the dance floor’s borders.

Charlotte’s stomach clenched.

The tableau brought to mind a certain brooding man with hair the color of darkness and eyes that matched a wintry sky. The ornate chalked scene before her disassembled, courtesy of the soon-to-be dancers’ feet, much like any hope of a future with Captain Hughes. Her fate had been determined.

“Lady Charlotte?” She did not even realize her destiny was looking at her with a puzzled look.

The image of Captain Hughes was swept from her mind in order to focus on the swirling green and gold of the Duke’s hazel eyes.

He looked dapper in his blue superfine long-tailed coat, white waistcoat, and elegantly tied cravat.

The Duke held out his arm to Charlotte and then led her to the dance floor for a quadrille.

Although there was less opportunity for speaking than the waltz, they were still able to exchange light banter throughout the dance.

After the final notes sounded, Charlotte genuinely smiled.

He grinned back and looked more relaxed than when he was surrounded by the earlier group of women.

For that, Charlotte was grateful. Although she could not ignore their age difference, the Duke of Westcliffe was a good man and the best match for which she could have hoped, given her dire circumstances.

He led Charlotte off the dance floor before depositing her with her chaperone, then he looked thoughtfully at Charlotte. “Have you ever been to the coast?”

“Just once, but never to Kent,” she replied earnestly.

“I want to show you Romney Castle. It’s not too far from the water, and you can smell the salt in the air when the wind blows.”

The corners of Charlotte’s mouth lifted of their own volition as she pictured herself standing with her arms outstretched on her imagined version of the famed White Cliffs of Dover.

“I would love to visit,” Charlotte said. She paused.

A snippet from a recent newspaper article flashed through her mind. She looked at the Duke quizzically. “Is there much smuggling near your land? I understand that the Crown wants to guard the Kent coastline.”

The easygoing face of the Duke fractured for a moment before reappearing. “I see you follow current events closely,” he replied evenly.

Charlotte’s cheeks flushed. She could not scare off the Duke of Westcliffe with her inquisitiveness. She was supposed to know nothing of the world except for the latest fashions and Society on-dits . “Forgive me, Your Grace.”

The Duke looked taken aback. “You misunderstand me. I’m not deterred by your intelligence. I would hate to spend a marriage with an insipid woman. You bring up a difficult topic. Smuggling is, let us say, divisive in Kent.” He shrugged his shoulders, attempting insouciance .

“I can’t imagine. Regardless, I would be honored to see your home and the coastline.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

Charlotte studied his face. He seemed sincere.

The Duke turned to her aunt. “You have a wonderful niece, Frances. I must speak with a few House members regarding a bill that’s on the table next week before taking my leave. I will see you and Lady Charlotte again soon.”

Her aunt beamed and looked around to ensure others had caught the Duke of Westcliffe’s flattery.

“I’m quite flushed from such an exhilarating dance with His Grace.

I’m going to freshen up in the retiring room.

” Charlotte chose this moment to take advantage of her aunt’s good humor from the Duke’s praise.

Aunt Frances nodded her head absentmindedly, having already spotted another Society matron approaching.

Her aunt could not pass up an opportunity to gloat.

Charlotte slipped away toward the door to the gardens on the opposite side of the room. She needed a breath of fresh air, and wove through the elegantly dressed guests, avoiding a silken hem here and a polished men’s shoe there.

A murmur spread through the crowd before she could reach the doors to exit. She followed the gazes of those around her to the front of the ballroom.

Even from a distance, Charlotte could see the tall figure of Lord Carrington perusing the scene before him in an amused manner. Next to him, an equally imposing man stood, with silver eyes sweeping over the crowd, lips pursed and face grimaced.

Charlotte bit back a gasp.

Captain Hughes was dressed as an officer, and he was absolutely breathtaking.

The blue coat of his Royal Navy dress uniform hugged his broad shoulders, and was fashioned with two golden epaulettes.

The white waistcoat underneath glowed in the candlelight and matched his form-fitting white breeches and stockings.

He was every bit the imposing naval officer and exuded power.

There was something about a man in uniform, and this particular specimen was magnificent.

Captain Hughes already haunted Charlotte’s thoughts, especially when she lay alone in her bed at night. How could she think of anyone else ever again?

The Captain flinched as throngs of mothers and debutantes descended upon Lord Carrington and him. He shifted on his feet uncomfortably. Instead of feeling sorry for him, Charlotte felt a different sensation.

Is this jealousy?

She was baffled. When she saw the same group of matrimonial predators around the Duke, she empathized with him, but felt no resentment. Now, she wished she was the one in front of Captain Hughes vying for his attention.

It is jealousy!

Charlotte pushed that startling conclusion aside. She had to marry the Duke of Westcliffe to save herself. There was no other choice. She turned around and hurried to the doors leading outside. She needed to escape before any other untoward thoughts entered her mind.

James felt cornered by the marriage-minded mothers and their giggling debutante daughters who encircled him.

This agony was why he never wore his uniform in public.

Alas, Lady Carrington had insisted, and he could not say no to her.

James tried the tactic of ignoring the young women thrust before him by looking over their heads at the crowd.

He looked down to see several mothers simultaneously tap his forearm with their fans to draw his attention.

It felt as if a flock of birds had descended upon him and were pecking his arm in hopes of finding a plump worm.

He clenched his teeth and used all his restraint to keep a placid look on his face while he continued to ignore them.

He told himself he was scanning the guests gathered in the ballroom in order to avoid interacting with the women, which was true, but there was more.

He searched for a blue-eyed beauty whose wit and intelligence intrigued him.

James knew he had no right to an earl’s daughter, but he could not stop thinking of Lady Charlotte.

There.

He saw a chestnut head making its way toward the balcony. He was not surprised to see her escape the crush of the ball. He gazed down at the women looking up expectantly at him and said in the same commanding voice he used for his sailors that brokered no argument, “You must excuse me.”

He emerged from the group then swiftly walked to the doors leading outside, the revelers parting and making way for his imposing form.

He felt the eyes of the ton boring into his back but resisted the urge to turn around.

Fortunately, the music started for the next dance, which provided them with a diversion and allowed James to escape.