She wished she could claim outrage, brand him a cad, but her honor wouldn’t permit such a patent falsehood, nor allow her to place any blame for what had happened between them on his shoulders. She could have stopped him. Should have stopped him. But she’d chosen not to. And now, as she always had, she would simply have to live with the consequences of her actions. But in this case her actions could well threaten the respectability for which she’d fought so long and hard. What on earth was she thinking to risk it all for a clandestine kiss?

With as much dignity as she could muster, she disentangled her fingers from his thick, silky hair, pulled her other hand away from the warmth of his chest, then stepped back, out of the circle of his arms.

Deftly twisting her disarrayed hair into a passable chignon, she pulled her bonnet back into place, securely tying the bow beneath her chin. “We must go back,” she said, feeling much more in control now that her hair was tidy. Now that he was no longer touching her.

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Lady Bickley and Mr. Stanton must be concerned by our prolonged absence.”

“That is not what I meant.” Reaching out, he ran a single fingertip over her cheek, stilling her with a whisper of a touch. “But I think you knew that. I think you know, as I do, that we cannot erase what just happened between us. That from now on, everything will fall into one of two categories-before we kissed, and after we kissed.”

Those words, spoken in that low, fervent voice, threatened to weaken her still-wobbly knees. Stepping back, out of his reach, she raised her chin and adopted her most brisk tone. “Nonsense. We can and will forget it.”

“I will not forget it, Meredith. Not if I live to be one hundred.”

Dear God, neither would she. But one of them had to be sensible. “Please understand that I accept my share of the blame for this.” She attempted a lighthearted laugh, and was quite impressed with the results. “Clearly the romantic atmosphere adversely affected both our judgments. We must not make such a to-do over a meaningless kiss.”

“You truly believe that? That it was nothing more than the atmosphere? That nothing significant passed between us?” He stepped closer to her, and although he did not touch her, his nearness made her heart skip several beats. “You honestly believe it will not happen again?”

“Yes.” The word sounded forced even to her own ears. “Once can be discounted as simply poor judgment. Twice would-”

“Place it in a different category altogether.”

“Yes.”

“A category labeled ‘a mistake of gargantuan proportions. ’”

“I’m glad you agree.” Relieved that they’d reached an understanding, she plunged on before he could change his mind or further discuss their kiss-a topic she longed to forget. “We really must rejoin the others.”

He inclined his head, and they proceeded back toward the supper boxes in silence. Meredith kept her distance from him, careful not to brush her arm against his. No good could come of this impossible attraction to him. They belonged in different worlds. He was destined to marry a woman of his own class-once he broke the curse. And if he failed to break the curse, he couldn’t marry. Either way, she could only ever be a temporary diversion for him, a plaything to be tossed aside when the games were finished, and she would never allow herself to be that to any man. An image of her mother’s face rose in her mind, and she squeezed her eyes shut. No. She would never make the same mistakes Mama had made. Never do what Mama had done.


Charlotte cracked opened her bedchamber door and peeked into the corridor. The light flickering beneath Albert’s door indicated he’d finally lit his candles and retired for the evening. Assured that she would be alone, she hurried to the kitchen to make herself a much-needed pot of hot, soothing tea. She pushed open the kitchen door and halted as if she’d walked into a brick wall. Albert leaned against the wooden work counter, a biscuit in one hand, a steaming cup in the other hand. Her appearance in the doorway froze his hand halfway to his lips. He appeared as startled and disconcerted as she.

Charlotte’s heart slapped against her ribs as she took in his appearance. His light brown hair was badly disheveled, as if he’d overindulged in his habit of raking his long fingers through the thick strands. The glow from the low burning flame in the grate cast his lean features into stark shadows, accentuating the shading along his jaw-line from the nighttime stubble of his beard. Her gaze traveled downward, and her heart threatened to cease slapping altogether.

He wore the dark blue flannel robe she’d given him for his last birthday, almost a year ago. At the time, she hadn’t thought twice about purchasing such a personal item for him-he was Albert, after all. Part of her family. But after he’d opened her gift, he’d hugged her, pressing a warm kiss to her forehead. Simple gestures of gratitude, nothing more. Yet it was as if she’d taken a blow to the head. He’d never done such a thing before. Indeed, it sometimes seemed that Albert went out of his way not to touch her- as if he sensed her aversion to a man’s hands on her-and she’d appreciated his sensitivity.

That hug and tender kiss to her forehead were the first time in her life a man had ever touched her with kindness and gentle care. With friendship. Without expecting or wanting more from her. It was a revelation, and one that had set her on this destructive course of impossible, unacceptable feelings for Albert.

Her gaze traveled downward, and her mouth went dry. The robe gaped open at the chest, revealing a V of hair-dusted skin. Skin she instantly wanted to touch her lips to. The robe ended just below his knees, revealing his calves, one noticeably more muscular than the other due to his injured leg. His feet were bare. Desire, strong and unwanted, gushed through her, and she bit her bottom lip to contain the moan of longing that threatened to spring free. If she’d been capable of it, she would have laughed at herself and the sheer irony of this situation.

When she’d arrived on Meredith’s doorstep five years ago, badly beaten and pregnant with a child, the identity of whose father she could only guess at, she’d sworn she’d never want another man to touch her again for as long as she lived. And she’d kept that vow. Until she’d given Albert that damnable robe.

God help her, she had to make these feelings go away, but how? He was a loving, caring, decent young man who deserved a beautiful, innocent, adoring young woman. Not a jaded, homely, used-up former whore five years his senior. He knew what she’d been, how she’d lived her life before Meredith took her in. He’d always been kind enough to never throw her past in her face, but that only made her love him more.

“I thought you’d gone to bed,” they said simultaneously.

Charlotte forced a weak smile, trying her utmost not to show how unnerved she was. “I could not sleep. I thought some tea might help.”

He nodded toward the kettle, his gaze never leaving hers. “I already made some. Yer welcome to it.”

Relieved to have something to do that allowed her to turn away from him and busy her hands, Charlotte set about pouring her tea, but her attention remained riveted on the man behind her. She heard him set his cup, then the biscuit, down on the counter. Heard his shuffling gait as he crossed the floor, then stopped behind her.

“Why couldn’t ye sleep, Charlotte?”

He stood close. Too close. It took all of her strength not to step backward until her back touched his chest. “My… my mind is just busy. Wondering how Meredith is faring at Vauxhall. How about you?”

The instant the question left her lips, she longed to snatch it back. What if he couldn’t sleep because he’d been thinking about some beautiful young thing he was smitten with? He’d never spoken of anyone, but she knew all about young men his age and the urges that ruled them.

“I couldn’t sleep, because, like ye, my mind was busy.”

She drew a deep breath, summoned her courage, then turned to face him.

He stood no more than two feet away from her. “Are you worried about Meredith?” she asked. “It is after midnight.”

“No. If she were alone with that Greybourne bloke who looks at her as if she were a pork chop and he were a hound, I might be. But other folks are there. Actually, it’s you I’m worried about, Charlotte.”

“Me? Whatever for?”

“Ye haven’t seemed yourself lately.”

Dear God, had she revealed herself? “In what way?”

He frowned. “Can’t explain it exactly. Like yer out of sorts. With me.” His gaze searched hers. “Have I done somethin‘ to upset ye?”

“No. I’ve merely been tired lately.”

“I can see that. Ye’ve circles under yer eyes.” Before she realized what he was about, he reached out and brushed the tip of his index finger under her eye. She drew in a sharp breath at the heat his feathery touch shimmered through her. Jerking her head back, away from his hand, she pressed her hips against the counter and leaned as far away from him as possible.

He slowly lowered his hand. There was no mistaking the stricken look in his eyes. “Charlotte… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” He dragged unsteady hands down his face. “But surely ye know I’d never hurt you.”

Shame filled her that her reaction would make him think for even an instant that she’d believe he’d hurt her. But how could she tell him that she’d rejected his touch not because she didn’t trust him, but because she did not trust herself? Unable to form a word around the lump in her throat, she merely nodded.

None of the tension left his expression or stance. “I’m glad ye know that. And I’d never let anyone else hurt ye. Not ever again.”