Royal Regard

Chapter Seventeen, Part 1

"Good afternoon, Sir," Charlotte said as she curtsied to Nick in his library. While he stepped down the ladder he had been climbing to return a book near the ceiling of the second floor, she moved to a side table to relieve herself of the drawstring reticule that matched her dress, snow-white silk trimmed with black lace and red ribbon. She shrugged off the contrasting crimson silk spencer and draped it over her bag.

"Lady Firthley, a pleasant surprise." He reached the balcony, and then took the spiral staircase to the lower floor. When he crossed the room to make his leg, he bowed over her hand and offered, "Please, do be seated." He indicated a clutch of brocaded armchairs and a red horsehair loveseat in a loose semi-circle near the fireplace.

"You are very kind, Sir." She gracefully took a seat on the loveseat before the fire, spreading the fall of her gown and crossing her legs at the ankle, the tips of her crimson satin shoes poking out from underneath, almost precisely matching the rubies in the hilt of his great-great grandfather's saber, hanging above the hearth.

When last they spoke, Lady Firthley had been adamant Nick take back every offensive word in his ill-fated proposal, and had vowed to give him the cut direct until he knew exactly which they were. Huntleigh had helped untangle the mess, though Lord Firthley, when approached, only took the occasion to laugh, clap him on the shoulder, and ask whether Nick was certain he wanted to be leg-shackled.

Nick tried a compliment, the best technique he knew for relieving female pique, knowing this visit would certainly be rife with that.

"The ribbon is most fetching, especially with the black lace." He winked at her. "Whoever suggested it must have very good taste."

"Why yes, he does," she smiled. Nick released his tortured breath when the gambit worked. "Thank you so very much for noticing. I had the outfit made especially for a certain gentleman." He coughed as she fluttered her fan.

"I hope you will call me Charlotte, and I will call you Wellbridge, if you have no objection. Rude to assume, but we have met more than a few times and are about to have a much closer association." She dipped her head, peeking at him from the corners of her eyes.

Nick stood abruptly and backed away toward the door to make sure it was open. She sent tiny glances his way, batting her lashes behind her fan. She bit her bottom lip as her hand lifted to her throat, breasts heaving as her breath grew faster and shallower. He sputtered and nearly ran to the open doorway, bellowing down the hall, "Blakeley? Is there tea?"

Once he was entirely unmanned, but not a moment before, she laughed aloud. "Not that type of association, though I am flattered you have now considered it." She couldn't help giggles falling out of her mouth at his horror, like minor-key musical notes tripping off their staff. "I do hope you end up my brother. You are ever so much fun to tease."

"Oh, good Heavens. I thought you meant—"

"It is clear what you thought, and it is quite droll. I shall now be able to say, 'I spoke of an affair with Wellbridge, but in the end, Lord Firthley won out.' It is enormously comical, considering."

"Considering?"

Her laughter stopped as fast as a rolling penny under an urchin's foot.

"Considering Bella."

The name was a gauntlet thrown into the center of the room. He startled, nearly backing into the doorjamb as Charlotte expanded, "She's told me everything now. Well, nearly everything. Whatever she hasn't, I expect to learn from you."

"My lady—" There was no way he would be pulled into a conversation with a female on the basis of, I know everything. Tell me more. He wasn't quite sure he could talk his way out of it, but wouldn't go willingly. His hip brushed against the door latch and he stumbled on the threshold.