Page 32 of A Perilous Passion

“Where did he mark your card?” Aunt Flora queried, taking her wrist and perusing the little rectangle of ivory. “You’re not due to stand up with him for a good half hour. Plenty of time to cool down and eat. There’s a very good peppered ham on the buffet table.”

“I don’t see Lord Culverdale about,” declared Thea. “But Lady Culverdale is dancing over there.”

“He’s probably at cards or smoking a cigar on the terrace or drinking port,” said Hester. “A proper host would never leave his own ball.”

“I’m sure he won’t let Charlotte down. Ah, here comes Lucinda with some of the ham,” said Aunt Flora.

When Charlotte’s turn about the floor with the Earl of Culverdale finally came, it could not have been more different from her dance with Rafe. Their host arrived just after the music started, so they had to force their way into the crowd of dancers and try to catch up. Culverdale’s hands were chilled, and he was out of breath before they even began the dance. Which might have accounted for the fact that he didn’t engage her in conversation—which, as patron of the ball, he might be expected to do.

It brought a wry grin to her face to think how warm she’d felt in Rafe’s arms, compared with how cold she felt in Lord Culverdale’s. She hoped, for the sake of his wife, that he didn’t have some torpor of the blood. Whereas Rafe had felt stunningly alive and full of vigor, this man gave off as much vibrant energy as a cadaver in a tomb.

Another irksome fact was that his shoes were depositing a gritty substance on the dance floor. Her silk slippers crunched on something like salt, or more likely, sand. How could he have come across sand in the middle of Dorchester, unless he’d taken a moonlit gallop to the nearest beach? But she really didn’t care what he might or might not have been up to.

She’d rather think about Rafe’s invitation. Should she go to him? He’d be taking a risk coming to her house tonight. Why put himself in danger? Perhaps the danger was now past and he wanted to let her know.

Even so, they really shouldn’t meet. Not after Mama’s unequivocal veto. Besides, Charlotte fully expected to be exhausted from the night’s exertions, wanting nothing more than to collapse into bed.

Rafe was a presumptuous rake, undeserving of her worry. It would serve him right if he waited outside the cottage for hours and was chilled to the marrow. That would be his own fault, not hers.

He’d promised her nothing, given her no good reason to want to see him. He’d only teased and taunted her, and made lewd remarks. What did it matter if he was bravely hunting down felons instead of living an aristocratic life of ease? That made no difference to her.

She’d be wise not to meet with him.

She must find him immediately and tell him categorically not to come.

She scanned the crowded ballroom, then strode purposefully around it like a cat in search of prey. She investigated the buffet room, poked her head into the card room, and through the main entrance doors. She even went up to the balcony for a better view of all the guests. To no avail.

In fact, she hunted for him for almost half an hour.

But Rafe had completely vanished.

Chapter Fourteen

“What a splendid evening, don’t you think, Charlotte?” exclaimed Mama as they rattled their way home in the hired carriage. “The Culverdales have performed a major coup. From now on, they can do no wrong in this neighborhood, mark my words.”

“I felt sorry for Dorothea Daniell,” said Aunt Flora. “She’s such a delightful young lady, yet she had barely a name on her card.”

“Ah, but how full was dear Charlotte’s!” her mother said. “You must be exhausted, child, and your slippers worn to threads.”

Charlotte didn’t give a fig about her slippers. She rubbed at the side of her face where her now discarded mask had chafed, her mind in a whirl. Her heart was clattering like a bird-scarer, and no thought, breath, or movement, could calm it down. Far from relaxing into exhausted sleep, she knew she’d toss fitfully about, wrestling the urge to peep out the window to see if Rafe was waiting below.

Or worse, climbing up the trellis.

She would have to go down to the garden as soon as the rest of the house was abed and tell him to go away directly and not annoy her again.

Having made this resolution, her heart gradually reverted to its usual rhythm, and, once they arrived home, she was able to say her good nights with such composure, no one could have guessed she had an assignation planned.

No, not an assignation. Just a brief meeting to set things straight.

The clock had struck three before the household was quiet enough for her to go downstairs. She changed into an old gown and wrapped a voluminous shawl about her shoulders, to make it quite clear she had no interest in stoking Rafe’s desire, and took from her dressing table the small bottle she’d hidden behind the mirror.

She softly unbolted and opened the kitchen door, sending some animal scurrying away amongst the lettuces. The bright moon edged the laurel leaves with silver as she crept around the side of the house to the shrubbery below her bedroom window.

Though she thought her movements completely silent, a shadow immediately detached itself from a dark patch of foliage and strode toward her. She halted and raised her head, ready to tell Rafe in her most quelling tone that he must leave at once.

But she’d barely opened her mouth when he pressed his lips ardently to hers.

Her struggle against him was short-lived…and would have been pointless in any case. The man gave no quarter. She surrendered to his kiss until she felt she was drowning, until all willpower had left her, and he was the only certain thing in the world holding her up. He pulled her close against his body, until she felt her very soul had melted and joined with his.