Chapter One
London,
1817
The morning began tranquilly enough.
Finished with her breakfast, Miss Charlotte Hurst reached for the neatly
stacked pile of correspondence beside her plate, when the doors to the dining
room unexpectedly flew open and the butler entered, his normally impassive face
flushed, his mouth pinched into an uncharacteristic frown.
Standing just inside the doorway,
Hopkins turned toward Charlotte’s brother, Phillip Hurst. “My lord, there’s a
man who insists he must see you. I explained you don’t receive visitors before
breakfast, but he said he couldn’t wait, that the matter was urgent.”
“Did he now?” Phillip cut a bite of ham
before spearing it with his fork. “Did this man give you his name? Or explain
the nature of this urgent business?”
“He gave his name, sir. He said it
was—”
“Norwood.”
A tall, dark-haired gentleman strode
into the room, finishing the butler’s sentence in a commanding,
lord-of-the-manor voice.
Startled, Charlotte dropped her correspondence,
scattering the pages in an untidy disarray upon the table. Drat the man and his
unheralded appearance.
“Don’t blame your servant, Hurst,” the
gentleman said, coming to a halt beside Phillip’s chair. “He made it quite
clear you don’t take visitors during meals. However, this cannot wait.”
Phillip laid down his fork. “You may
go, Hopkins. I’ll attend to this.”
“Very well, sir.” With a nod, the
butler departed.
“I can scarcely imagine any business
between us that couldn’t wait, Norwood,” Phillip said.
“Can you not?” The man slapped a
newspaper down on the table in front of Phillip. “Then read this. Perhaps it
will jog your memory.”
Charlotte blinked, her interest
sharpened. So this was the Earl of Norwood. She’d certainly heard of him,
although they’d never been introduced. His social set and hers didn’t have much
in common. Her brother knew him, since they were both peers in the House of
Lords, but this hadn’t led to any sort of acquaintance between Charlotte and
the earl.
Still, all of London knew Lord Norwood
was a rising star in the world of English politics, and that among his greatest
political assets, aside from his impressive family and social connections, were
his poise and unflappability, though he seemed to have only a tenuous grip on
those traits this morning. He was angry, that much was clear. Less obvious was
how it concerned Phillip.
Her brother ignored the earl’s command.
“Since Hopkins is usually allowed to usher in our guests, I must presume you
have a singular reason for interrupting our meal in this irregular way.”
“I do.” If Lord Norwood noticed the
hint of censure in Phillip’s voice, he gave no sign of it.
Phillip glanced at his unfinished
breakfast, then picked up the paper and began to read. The earl’s gloved hand
slapped softly against his thigh, producing a rhythmic tap,
tap, tap that sounded
unnaturally loud in the otherwise quiet room.
Since Charlotte remained an invisible
entity—Lord Norwood had not yet spared a glance in her direction—she took the
opportunity to study him. His manners left a great deal to be desired, but she
couldn’t say the same for his looks. He was undeniably handsome with dark brown
hair that showed a tendency to curl, and well-appointed features. His lips were
firm and finely molded, his nose straight and patrician, and his slate-blue
eyes, framed by dark lashes, had faint laugh lines at the corners. However, no
hint of humor showed on his face at the moment. Instead, his gaze was stern and
unwaveringly fastened on Phillip as he bent over the newspaper.
After a moment, Phillip pushed the
paper aside. “I’m as mystified as you are. I’ve no idea how that came to be
published.”
Lord Norwood gave her brother a hard,
assessing stare. “Then perhaps she does,” the earl said tightly. His gaze swung
for the first time to Charlotte, with a look so scorching she had to stifle the
impulse to place more distance between them.
“If you think that, you’re barking up
the wrong tree.” For some reason, Phillip looked amused rather than affronted
by the earl’s angry insinuations. “However, Charlotte can speak for herself.”
He slid the newspaper across the table to her. “Have a look at this.”
She hesitated, wishing the earl’s
attention hadn’t shifted away from her brother. Lord Norwood glared at her as
if she were an annoying insect he’d like to squash. For one defiant moment, she
considered refusing, if for no other reason than she didn’t care for his rude,
high-handed manner, but her curiosity surpassed this rebellious urge.
“If I must,” she said, deliberately
keeping her tone cool and disinterested. She moved her neglected correspondence
out of the way, then unhurriedly reached for the paper and drew it over, aware
that her lack of haste was fanning the flames of the man’s wrath, and yet
unable to behave otherwise. Her dislike of him had overruled any spirit of
cooperation.
She read through the offending item,
then once more, slowly this time, to make sure she hadn’t misunderstood. Cold
tendrils of apprehension swirled through her, settling in a tight band around
her chest as the implications of the brief paragraphs sank in. No wonder the
man was so angry.
It was the announcement of her
betrothal to the Earl of Norwood.
Shocked, she looked back at the earl,
blinking stupidly. How had it come to be in the newspaper? It was false and
utterly ridiculous. For heaven’s sake, she wasn’t even acquainted with the man.
But true or false—it hardly mattered. This announcement could still ignite a
firestorm of gossip that would upend her quiet, well-ordered life.
“Well?” Lord Norwood demanded.
The blood pounded in her ears at his
accusatory tone. Her actions required no defense. On the
contrary, if anyone had behaved indefensibly, it was the earl. Even now,
apparently convinced of her guilt, he looked as if he’d like to leap over the
table and shake a confession out of her.
“If by ‘well’ you mean to imply I have
any knowledge of who published this”—she gestured toward the paper with a
dismissive flick of her wrist—“disabuse yourself of the notion right now. I
didn’t have anything to do with this, and I welcome it no more than you.”
A look of utter incredulity crossed
Lord Norwood’s handsome face. “Forgive me if I sound conceited, Miss Hurst, but
there are any number of young ladies who would more than welcome the chance to
align themselves with my fortune and title, and—”
“And I assure you I’m not one of them,”
she cut in coolly.
His lips pinched together for a second.
“Furthermore, this wouldn’t be the first time a lady tried to entrap a
gentleman by dubious methods.” He leaned forward and placed both hands on the
table, his face so close to hers she could see the darker band that rimmed his
blue eyes and smell the spicy scent of his shaving soap. “But make no mistake,
I’ve not offered for you, nor shall I feel bound to honor a nonexistent
engagement just because our betrothal announcement appeared in the Morning
Post. It seems to me the only party who would benefit is you.”
They remained nearly nose-to-nose,
Charlotte smarting from the sting of his last words. She searched her mind for
a suitably scathing reply, but the perfect set-down eluded her. She settled for
meeting his angry gaze with a defiant one of her own.
At last, he straightened and crossed
his arms. “So, Miss Hurst? Do you still deny you had anything to do with this?”
It was his impossibly haughty
expression, coupled with that presumptive I-know-you’re-guilty tone that loosened her tongue at last.
“I’ve already denied it,” she replied,
“but you, with your colossal arrogance, have determined I must be guilty
because of your faulty assumption that I’d welcome an alliance with you.” She
paused and took a deep breath, determined to maintain control of her temper,
especially since he seemed to have such a fragile grip on his. “However,
nothing could be further from the truth. Most of society may put a premium on a
man’s fortune and title when weighing his worthiness as a prospective husband,
but I do not. I’m much more interested in the content of a man’s character than
the contents of his purse.”
Her verbal slap hit the mark. The color
rose on his face as he drew in a sharp breath.
“To put it plainly,” she continued. “I
may not know you very well, but I’m completely sure you’re the last man I’d
want to marry.” She shook her head. “No, not even the last man, because that
implies a circumstance in which I’d agree to marry you, and I can say with
great certainty you’re not a man I would ever choose to marry.”
He scowled at her in disbelief for a
long, thunderous moment. Charlotte watched with a certain fascination as he
struggled to control his emotions. A vein throbbed at his temple, his jaw
tightened like a vise, and the muscles in his throat worked furiously, though
no words slipped through his tightly clamped lips.
Once more she resisted the urge to put
more space between them. Her rational side insisted his gentlemanly instincts
would prevail over any murderous impulses he might presently harbor. And if not,
surely Phillip’s phlegmatic nature wouldn’t prevent him from leaping to her
defense if necessary.
After several seconds of glaring at her
in strained silence, something in the depths of Lord Norwood’s stormy gaze
shifted and the rigid lines of his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. He’d
become, once again, the unflappable aristocrat.
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