Page 42 of Rogue of My Heart

She was simply too excited for today’s meeting to risk missing any of it. Still, despite the thrill still coursing through her veins, she forced herself to appear calm. She was quite good at seeming calm when she wasn’t.

Despite her many suitors, she had little hope of ever securing a husband. There were…complications…within her family that made marriage impossible for her. Her father’s health wasn’t good, and he often required attention and comfort only she could bring. Even without that burden, she’d rejected far too many suitors at this point for her to expect a decent match. Therefore, she’d long ago resigned herself to spinsterhood.

She had little in her life or her future to look forward to, other than these meetings of the Ladies’ Amateur Sleuth Society. As long as her father needed her, she couldn’t accept a proposal of marriage. Knowing that, she tried to protect her heart from attachment of any kind. She didn’t dare let her attention settle on any man, for that would lead to even more heartache.

She tried not to care that this behavior had earned her a reputation as the worst kind of flirt. That was easy enough, since she cared little for her own reputation, though occasionally, men like the Earl of Winthrop did use her reputation as an excuse to take liberties.

Someday her situation might change and she might be free to marry, but she knew by then, few truly eligible bachelors would consider making her an offer—certainly not any of the men her age who were looking for wives and had the resources to be selective. Those men had families wise enough to steer them clear of her. Which meant she would ultimately be left to a much older man. Most likely someone who’d already married and buried some other wife, and now wanted nothing more from his second—or possibly third—wife than someone pretty, pliant, and plowable.

Nature had blessed her with the first of those qualities, but she struggled mightily to feign the other two qualities.

She had very little in her life that brought her joy other than her friendship with these women. Very little to look forward to.

Except now, thanks to the Jack of Hearts, she had one more small—very small—thing that brought her joy. The memory of his kiss. She held that memory tight to herself as she turned to her friend Willow.

“I’m surprised you’re here today,” Charlotte said to Willow. “Shouldn’t you be packing for your honeymoon?”

“Yes, I should.” Willow beamed, the glow of her recent marriage to James Sterling, an Inspector with the Scotland Yard. “But James got assigned a new case last week and he’s right in the thick of it, so we can’t leave tomorrow as we were originally planning,” Willow said. “So I shall be here, should we happen upon a mystery of our own to solve.”

“Things have been awfully slow for us,” Amelia declared. “Were it not for the Jack of Hearts, we’d seldom have any mysteries to discuss. And even then, he has left us all in the dark for so long, I’m afraid his trail is rather cold.”

“Perhaps that’s for the best,” Willow said.

“Nonsense,” Amelia said with her characteristic bluntness. “I, for one, am still determined to unmask that rogue.”

Willow gave a huff. “If he is no longer thieving, then we will be unable to unmask him. And as you have pointed out, it’s been weeks since he’s put in an appearance. Furthermore, after we spoke to several of the ladies from whom he’d stolen at the last few gatherings, he ended up with more paste pieces than real. Hardly a crime to be pilfering fake jewels, now is it?”

Nerves bubbled inside Charlotte’s stomach. She’d been eager to share her news—all of it—but on the ride over here she’d had second thoughts. She would tell them about her interaction with him, but that kiss...that kiss was just for her. A secret between her and Jack. She would need that secret for a long time to come. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder if that was his real name. That seemed unlikely, even though if felt as if she should know his real name. Like she deserved to know it after he’d kissed her like that. Because certainly, he had to have felt all the same things she’d felt. Not merely the sensations of his lips up on hers or his tongue licking against hers. No, this had been more. She was certain there had been a fundamental connection between them that went far beyond a scoundrel stealing a heated kiss from lady.

“I’m not so certain that his trail is cold,” Charlotte said.

Meg squinted at her. “What do you know?” Then she gasped, her hand flying to her chest. “Do you know who he is?”

Charlotte could not help herself as she smiled brightly at her closest friend. “Sadly, no, I do not know his true identity, but I have met him.”

“You all did, though, right? At Meg’s masked ball,” Willow said impatiently. “And I missed it. As usual.”

“You missed it because you were out in the gardens in a heated embrace with James,” Amelia pointed out.

Willow waved a hand in front of her, but could not hide her own smile.

Charlotte had to admit seeing Willow lose her heart had been fascinating. Though her friend was a beautiful woman, she’d never before attracted the attention of men. Willow was far too intelligent, too opinionated, and too focused on her own interests to lose her mind over a man. Thank goodness, Willow’s family had been well enough situated that she’d never had to temper her personality to conform to society’s expectations.

As a well-renowned bluestocking, she’d never attracted the attention of ordinary, boring men of the ton. But James was different. He’d seen and appreciated all of Willow’s eccentricities. Now Charlotte’s friend was slightly less intense, less buttoned-up and proper, but only slightly so. Love had mellowed her.

And Charlotte was jealous. She’d give anything to be able to own herself the way Willow did. To walk into a room and not care one bit if people noticed how pretty she was. But Charlotte didn’t have that luxury. She had only one defense to keep people at bay. Only one way to keep them from looking too closely at who she was, who she wasn’t, and the secrets she protected.

“Out with it, Charlotte!” Meg shouted, pulling Charlotte out of her woolgathering.

“No, I didn’t mean at Meg’s ball,” Charlotte said.

Amelia sucked in a breath. “You had another encounter with him?” The brunette slid to the edge of her seat. Out of all of them, Amelia was the most inquisitive. She’d been the one to start their group because she’d been obsessed with solving mysteries after reading the Sherlock Holmes stories. Now she wrote her own fictional detective called Lady Shadow.

Charlotte toyed with a long strand of hair. “I might have.”

“Oh, stop being so coy and spill the details,” Meg said.

“Pregnancy makes you impatient,” Charlotte said, pointing a finger at Meg.