Читать книгу An Imprudent Lady - Elaine Golden - Страница 7

It had begun innocently enough all those years ago—a youthful crush on a handsome country neighbor. Nothing untoward might have come of it, had Charlotte not tripped upon an overeager puppy and broken her arm. Daniel had been shadowing his father before beginning his medical studies, and by the time she had healed enough to remove the splint, Daniel had begun to flirt back and call alone to inquire about her progress.

“What do you think you’re doing, my lady? You’ve just had your bindings off!”

Charlotte gasped and dropped her trowel. Since she was the only one besides the gardeners to use the orangery, she hadn’t expected anyone to search her out in the hothouse. As it was Daniel, her heart raced and not solely from surprise.

He grasped her bare, dirty hand in his own and carefully inspected her forearm. Long fingers stroked the tender underside, and her blood hummed in response. “You should have a greater care or you’ll reinjure the limb,” he said.

Charlotte inhaled slowly and his scent tickled her senses. He smelled of sunshine and clover, and the only thing that Charlotte could focus on was how much she wanted to be embraced by him. To sink into him.

Then, bold thing that she was, she leaned forward and kissed him.

And he didn’t respond.

How embarrassing! What was she to do now?

In the end, she just stood there, her puckered lips smashed against his warm, surprise-softened ones. Just when she’d begun to pray a giant rift would open in the ground and swallow her, Daniel moved.

Tentatively, as if he couldn’t help himself, he began to kiss her back. For a moment it was a shy jumble of bumped noses and misplaced hands. And then something changed, shifted, and it was the most natural thing in the world.

Charlotte twined her arms about his neck and held on, while Daniel showed her what desire truly was. She was enflamed by him, oblivious to everything around her. His scent enveloped her and his taste … When he teased her with the tip of his tongue she thought she’d swoon.

Never had she imagined that giddy sense of inevitability, of unadulterated rightness that she had felt in Daniel’s arms.

The coach lurched to a halt, returning Charlotte to the present and her brother’s town house. She shook her head to dispel the last of the memories and followed her mother inside.

“Where’s Wainsborough?”

“In the study, my lady,” intoned the butler as the coach clattered off toward the mews.

“Come along, Charlotte,” her mother said, pausing only for Carlisle to extract her cloak. “Off to bed with you, Angelica.”

Charlotte and Angelica exchanged a worried look, but the younger girl followed instructions and disappeared up the stairs. Charlotte followed her mother in search of her eldest brother.

Oliver Fortney, the sixth Duke of Wainsborough and a consummate gentleman in all things, stood immediately as they entered the room.

“Secure the door behind us, Carlisle,” her mother instructed as she crossed the threshold.

“Good evening, Mother. Charlotte,” Ollie said. He would not regain his seat until the women had taken their own. From the evidence on the side table, Ollie had been reading with his brandy. “To what do I owe this pleasure? The Barrows’ ball not the crush expected?”

Charlotte smiled and selected the blue damask chair across from him. Her brother was so affable these days, now that their sire wasn’t around to berate him over some imagined inadequacy.

“Wainsborough, we have a crisis.”

His brows shot up at this declaration, and he straightened from the lounging posture he’d resumed. While the Dowager Duchess was frequently dramatic and outspoken, nothing was deemed a crisis unless it had the potential to bankrupt families and irrevocably damage reputations.

Charlotte blinked and the knot in her stomach tightened. No wonder her mother had put her off; she already knew about Daniel. Daniel and everything about him had always been a crisis.

“What’s troubling you, Mother?” he asked quietly.

“He’s back.”

Ollie frowned. “Who’s back?”

“Him,” she said with a vague wave toward Charlotte.

Ollie turned questioning eyes to his sister and she took pity at his confusion. “Mr. Daniel Walsh,” Charlotte said and swallowed hard, realizing that it was the first time she’d spoken his name in years. Decades, perhaps. It had been easier not to agitate her parents by reminding them of the source of an old crisis.

Oliver leaned back in his chair, no less surprised than the rest of them for this development. He tossed back the remaining finger of brandy in his glass, set it down, then changed his mind and refilled it liberally from the crystal decanter at his side.

“I assume this is your Mr. Walsh, Charlotte, and not another by the same name?”

Charlotte’s chest ached at the thought of Daniel as hers