Page 3 of A Lady’s Dangerous Secret (Scandalous Secrets #1)

CHAPTER THREE

L ady Markham opened her ball with a bang by choosing the infamous waltz as the first dance.

Charlotte partnered with Lord Carrington, which was not unpleasant.

Despite a sad look in his eyes, he was an amiable gentleman, and seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say.

He even threw in a quip about her adventurousness as a tree-climbing young girl.

The quality of her partners then swiftly declined, and she was subjected to hearing them drone on about their dull interests and accomplishments without once asking Charlotte about herself.

If the fifth dance had not been approaching, she would have gone to the ladies’ retiring room to take a break.

Instead, the pulse at the base of her throat fluttered in anticipation of dancing with the mystery man.

It was to be another waltz, and Charlotte was eager to compare it to her experience with Lord Carrington.

The earl had felt comfortable and almost brotherly, especially since he was Will’s Eton friend.

She certainly appreciated his attractiveness, but in a more scientific manner.

Nevertheless, he would be a much better choice than an ancient duke.

Her only concern was if the earl was powerful enough to offer her sufficient protection from the Incident . Could she risk it?

A tall body suddenly blocked Charlotte’s view of the ballroom.

She was by no means petite, but this man towered over her.

She slowly raised her eyes from his black jacket and waistcoat to a smartly tied but simple white cravat.

Her eyes traveled farther to a hint of stubble on a square jaw, a straight nose, sharp cheekbones, and then… those eyes.

Yes, she had found Lord Silverstone.

He looked down expectantly at her, and a smirk broke through his surly countenance.

“You seem to enjoy perusing my body yet again, Lady Charlotte.” Charlotte stared at him trying to keep a neutral expression on her face.

She had trailed behind her brothers long enough to not be discomfited by bawdy jests.

“Lord Silverstone,” Charlotte said, before realizing her faux pas . Her hand flew to her mouth.

His brow furrowed. “Silverstone?”

Charlotte stilled for a moment, then squared her shoulders and slowly lowered her hand from her mouth. “I missed your introduction, sir, and I had to hold a place on my dance card,” she said without a hint of remorse.

He let out a hearty, baritone laugh, and suddenly, his stormy eyes cleared into a winter sky. Stark yet beautiful.

Charlotte’s insides tingled as his laugh reverberated through her body, but she did not have time to analyze this surprising feeling.

The musicians started the introductory notes of the waltz, and in the blink of an eye, Lord Silverstone’s stern facade returned.

He promptly bowed to her, while she prayed he was the titled aristocrat who could save her.

Did I just laugh?

James could not remember the last time he had felt even an ounce of mirth.

Now, after only spending minutes in the company of a female member of the ton , he had laughed.

He assessed his well-being. He must have developed some sort of malady to act with such levity.

He performed a cursory evaluation. He did not feel feverish or lightheaded, his stomach was in working order, and he had no new aches or pains.

He could not identify a medical reason to cause him to act unlike himself.

Luckily, his self-assessment did not take long, because the next thing he knew, Lady Charlotte was in his arms. Novel sensations overwhelmed him.

He almost dropped his hands from her body due to the burning in his fingertips, which was similar to grabbing the pot off the fire before it cooled.

He inhaled, trying to calm himself, but a new scent emanated from his dance partner and assaulted his senses.

Honeysuckle and jasmine.

Innocent but spicy.

Who is Lady Charlotte ?

“I didn’t think I was that boring,” a feminine voice challenged. James looked down and fully appreciated the visage of Lady Charlotte for the first time.

Her cornflower-blue eyes danced with mischief.

James tried to divert his gaze elsewhere, but it was of no use.

Lady Charlotte mesmerized him. She was not the traditional beauty, but her attractiveness could not be denied.

Below her striking eyes, dainty freckles smattered her nose.

Even he knew they were not fashionable, but on Lady Charlotte, they were perfect.

Just another reason she did not fit the mold of a typical debutante. But that was not a bad thing.

She had high cheekbones, and her rosy lips looked like they were just waiting to be kissed. The faintest collection of freckles danced along the Cupid’s bow of her upper lip. James wanted to taste each one personally.

He had to stop.

He had never waxed poetic about a woman’s appearance in his life.

“I was just observing the scene,” he said.

“We’re dance partners, so it’s only proper you tell me your name,” she said.

“I’m not just going to hand it over,” he said.

“Fine, we’ll have a wager,” she countered.

“I thought ladies didn’t gamble.”

“Lord Silverstone, I am not your typical lady.”

James could see her mind working.

“You don’t seem like a man who would give up so easily.”

How did she do that? She doesn’t even know me.

His eyes narrowed. “What is your wager?”

She grinned. “I will ask up to ten questions to determine your identity.”

“Five,” he said.

Her freckled nose crinkled in a delightful manner. “Seven and that’s my final offer.”

He let out another unexpected laugh. Was he dancing the waltz with the daughter of an earl in a glittering Mayfair ballroom, or was he heckling for kippers on the docks with a fishmonger’s wife?

Regardless of his opponent or any attraction between them, he knew one thing. He had to win.

“Agree. What happens if you cannot guess it?” he said.

“I will not lose.”

He had never met any woman, let alone a lady, who was so blatantly confident. He had to admit, it was not as repulsive as he would have thought.

“This is a wager. We must have solid terms before we begin. If you cannot guess my identity, you’ll grant me a kiss,” he challenged.

“I agree to your terms,” she said with a competitive gleam in her eyes.

James would not lose.

Charlotte convinced herself she did not need seven guesses to determine Lord Silverstone’s identity.

The critical step was to gather as much evidence as she could before her questioning started.

Each time they spun, Charlotte caught the salty scent of the sea mixed with an herbal, exotic note.

Her brother Arthur, the one with whom she would debate esoteric topics, always pointed out that she did not see the forest for the trees.

Nevertheless, Lord Silverstone’s scent was critical to who he was.

She reviewed in her mind his appearance, including the way he carried himself, and made mental notes.

“I’m ready to ask my first question, and you must be truthful,” Charlotte said.

He gave her a sardonic look. “You wound me, my lady. Accusing me of cheating before we’ve even started?”

“One can never be too sure. I shall start off broadly. Where do you come from?”

Before her dance partner answered, he stared at her in an unnerving manner. Her fingers fidgeted on his shoulder in discomfort. She broke eye contact first. This was not off to a good start. She did not appreciate Lord Silverstone’s distraction technique. She could not let him rattle her.

“Birmingham.”

Birmingham, Birmingham, Birmingham .

Her mind worked through anything she knew about the city. Charlotte had not a clue what peerage included Birmingham. She felt a tinge of remorse, but nothing her brain could not solve. She cycled through nuggets of information she had discussed with Arthur.

Nothing came up.

The musicians continued to play the waltz in the background, and Lord Silverstone led her across the dance floor.

She delved further into her memory to articles she had read in the newspaper, an unladylike habit in which she partook during her mostly unsupervised existence in Shropshire.

Her thoughts churned for a bit longer until…

the Lunar Society! Charlotte knew she had read about a group of intellectuals and forward thinkers in Birmingham several years ago.

She reassessed Lord Silverstone. He did not strike her as a free thinker, especially if he was an aristocrat. He seemed more of the domineering and inflexible type, which made the Lunar Society comical.

“What are you grinning about? All I gave you was a city,” he said.

“I was just thinking of the Lunar Society and picturing you standing on a table, pulling out your hair, and arguing about Plato.”

“You have an active imagination,” was all he could mutter before he twirled her.

Not an intellectual. More importantly, his response confirmed he was much too serious. She still figured that he was a lord, but could she be wrong? Her aunt did give him the cut direct, but she assumed it was because he was a rake or had some other ghastly reputation.

“What is your father’s title?”

“He doesn’t have one.”

“I see, Mister Silverstone .” His answer surprised her. There were gentlemen not born into the nobility, but he exuded the arrogance of the aristocracy.

She sifted through other categories of gentlemen and almost scoffed out loud when she thought of her dance partner standing in the pulpit as a man of the cloth.

She doubted he was particularly pious; however, she could picture him scolding the congregation and preaching fire and brimstone.

Still, it seemed unlikely. Law or medicine were not good fits either.

What next?

Landed gentry. Charlotte felt she was getting closer, especially because his physique suggested he was not idle. She had the nagging feeling she was missing one more category.

His scent flooded her senses. It was the scent of the sea being carried by the wind.

“The Royal Navy?” Charlotte asked. She had been so deep in thought she did not realize that he had been looking above her head. His eyes darted down to her level.

“What’s the question?”

What an infuriating man!

“Allow me to rephrase my query so that you can understand it, sir. Are you serving in the Royal Navy?”

“Yes.”

Success! Charlotte’s eyes traveled up and down his powerful frame. She hoped to glean any clue as to his rank. Charlotte paused. Why was he not properly attired in uniform? Boney’s wars had thankfully wound down, but he just said he was an active member of the military.

Charlotte could not dwell on his attire, and analyzed him further. He was confident—which she had wrongly attributed to an aristocratic birth—and appeared close in age to Charlotte’s older brothers. He could have been in the Royal Navy at least a decade and become some sort of officer.

She took a lucky guess. “Are you a captain?”