Page 52 of Rogue of My Heart

She was beneath him in every way that should matter to him. She flirted with every man who crossed her path. She seemed incapable of anything deeper or more permanent than a flirtation. Yet her beauty bewitched him.

He long ago gave up hoping she might be better than an empty, but visually appealing, ornament. He didn’t expect anything more than that from her, but he damn well expected himself to have better taste than that. Better sense than that.

He’d be damned if her kiss would be the only to stir his passions. He was an eligible bachelor; it would not be so difficult to find a bride should he decide he needed one. His sister and mother had been pestering him about that very thing for years. Once he was married to another woman, his desire for Charlotte would wane, and then finally disappear.

All kisses aside, tonight had been about one thing only. The end of the Jack of Hearts. Three months ago, he’d finally retrieved the last of the jewels he’d sought, the jewels that rightfully belonged to his family. Yes, the time had come for Jack to disappear, and with him, his desire for Charlotte Reed.

Five

Charlotte had not slept well at all. The thoughts Jack’s second kiss had plagued her mind and sleep had been difficult. What little she had gotten had been riddled with strangely erotic dreams of Edmond, of all people, which had made her feel flustered and off-kilter all morning.

She’d finally crawled out of bed and made notes on her observations from the opera the night before. Observations not related to Jack’s stolen kiss, or his mysterious threat about not being the only masked thief in town. She had just finished jotting down something about Lord Winthrop when there was a scratch at the door.

The lady’s maid she shared with her mother and sister came into her room. “Your mother has requested you down to her parlor, Miss Charlotte.”

“Charlotte, dear, come and sit,” her mother said as Charlotte peeked her head in the parlor not five minutes later.

Charlotte stepped into the room, and stopped abruptly when she found that her mother was not alone. It was not often that they hosted guests. Their house was modest and callers were likely to notice the obvious limited number of servants. Generally, she and her mother, and now Frannie, made visits themselves, rather than entertaining at home.

But today, three other women sat at the edge of their seats, teacups perfectly balanced on their knees, and all looking at her as she entered. She immediately spotted the chips and scratches in each of the teacups. It went without saying the women would have noticed them too. Especially since each of them wore visiting gowns in the most recent fashions. The expensive fabrics made Charlotte’s palms itch to feel the lush textures.

While she assumed her mother knew these women, she had never realized they were friends. The tall one in the middle was overly thin, her pale skin stretched across her frail frame giving her a hollowed, almost eerie appearance. Charlotte was not certain of her name. The two women flanking her were more familiar though. Lady Margaret Vesper on the right, her neck and hands dripping with jewels, and on the left, the formidable Dowager Duchess Roper.

Charlotte couldn’t speak for the middle woman, but the other two were well-known gossips. The most disconcerting part of the scene though was that all three women were looking directly at her with their lips tightly pursed, while her mother’s face was apple red.

“Sit down, Charlotte,” her mother said tightly.

This was not a simple invitation to join them for tea. Something was wrong. Something dreadful. Her stomach rolled with a wave of trepidation.

“Is Frannie all right? Anthony?”

“Yes, dear. The family is all fine.”

Charlotte kept her attention on her mother, and tried not to think about the disapproving looks from the other women. Their perceptions of her mattered not. People always thought what they wanted regardless, never bothering to look very deeply to uncover the truth. Nausea whirled through her stomach and she pressed a hand to her flesh.

Her mother eyed the other ladies, who in turn, nodded at her to proceed. Her matriarch took a deep breath, then her shoulders sagged in defeat. “It appears that you have been compromised.”

Everything in the room seemed to stop, the noise, the movement, even Charlotte’s breath. Compromised? But how could that be? A riot of sensations cascaded through her body. Her palms sweat, her heartbeat sped, and her head pounded

“I don’t understand,” she ventured.

“The opera house,” Lady Vesper said. “Do not be daft, girl, you were caught.” Her curt tone sliced into Charlotte.

Oh God. She felt the blood drain from her face. Panic flooded her and she felt very much like a scared fox caught in the hunt.

Compromised.

With the Jack of Hearts!

She had been careful, hadn’t she? They had been alone in a darkened hallway while everyone else had been watching the opera. On her way back to her seat, she had seen no one. How was it possible that they had been seen?

“The Jack of Hearts, that vile thief,” the middle woman said, her voice deep and scratchy. “You were kissing that man.” Every consonant she spoke was enunciated perfectly.

Her mother looked at her. “Is what they say true?”

Charlotte eyed them all before she spoke. There was no delicate way she could answer without implicating herself. Surely they could be persuaded to keep a secret. It was merely a kiss, her virtue was still intact.

“Yes, he did kiss me, but it was brief and chaste and nothing else happened,” she said. “My reputation should not be ruined.”