Prologue
Abingdon Park, Christmas Eve, 1807
Charlotte stared in wide-eyed horror as Nathaniel White rounded the corner at the far end of the otherwise empty hallway. Breathless at the mere thought of coming face to face with the notorious rake, she did what any other reasonable eighteen-year-old daughter of an earl would do.
She sought refuge in the nearby window dressings.
Peering out from her hiding place, she held her breath and watched the Earl of Abingdon’s nephew strut past. She did not make a sound. But still, Nathaniel White turned as if he could sense her presence in the empty corridor.
But why in Heaven’s name would he choose this particular moment to notice her? No one ever noticed her. And certainly not men like the one facing her now.
“I assure you, there is no need to hide in the curtains,” he murmured. Clasping the fabric to her chin, Charlotte stifled a gasp as he walked toward her rather paltry hiding place. There was no place left for her to go apart from out the window. But how would she explain a broken glass pane to her hostess?
“My humblest apologies Lady Abingdon, I simply couldn’t spend another minute in your parlor watching my father fawn over his mistress in front of the neighbors, men and women who regard my mother as a friend. I could not listen as he laughed at her bawdy words while my mother spends yet another Christmas banished from her home and her children. Thus, I escaped to the hall where I encountered your nephew. One glance at him and I felt inclined break your window and leap head first into the snow.”
Charlotte turned the words over in her mind. It was not a speech she wished to deliver. The Countess of Abingdon would think her mad to speak openly of such indelicate matters; a young lady should never acknowledge her father’s mistress, not even when forced to endure the woman’s presence morning, noon and night. Nor should she hurl her body through a glass-paned window.
And regardless, it was too late. While she’d been pondering her explanation to her hostess, the lady in question’s nephew had drawn closer. He now stood within arms’ reach.
“I don’t bite.” He gently pulled the curtains from her clenched fists as he spoke. His alluring tone reminded Charlotte of a purring cat, or given his imposing size, perhaps a lion. Standing over six feet tall—practically a full head height above her five foot four inch frame—with broad shoulders and muscular limbs, the man reminded her of the statues she’d seen in books.
Of course, the statues wore far less clothing—usually nothing more than a well-placed leaf—which led her to wonder if Nathaniel White would look far better out of his formal attire than he did in it.
And that thought made her face burn. If she’d glanced at her reflection surely her color would match the crimson curtains.
It was the first time she’d ever truly desired to see a man naked. Given that she had not been formally introduced to this particular man—she would wager her best horse that he did not have the slightest clue who she was apart from a somewhat plump girl who’d taken up residence in the curtains—her current train of thought did not bode well for a successful first season in London. She may have been raised primarily by her father, a scoundrel in his own right, but still, Charlotte suspected that well-bred young ladies were not suppose to imagine gentlemen in the nude.
His dark eyes danced with merriment and a hint of mischief as Charlotte’s cheeks burned.
“You don’t believe me, do you?”
What could she possibly say? That she’d been far too busy wondering how he would look when separated from his clothes to worry about whether he would sink his teeth into her?
If she’d been crimson before, she turned cherry red at the thought of his mouth on her skin. Heaven help her, she wanted this man to kiss her.
“Perhaps I should show you,” Nathaniel White growled as he closed the gap between their bodies with a single step. He then lowered his head and ever so slowly brushed his practiced lips across her cheek.
Her cheek!
As far as first kisses went, it was hardly the perfect moment a young lady dreamed of when she imagined her first taste of a man’s lips. Not that this particular man had even bothered to touch her lips. In fact, Charlotte wondered if it was even a kiss at all. And she would have voiced some objection had she been able to speak.
Instead, she gasped. For air.
It appeared that she had been holding her breath throughout the imperfect first kiss.
Tilting her chin up, Charlotte waited, her eyes wide with anticipation, for him to continue his seduction. The mere touch of his lips against her cheek had nearly sent her tumbling to the ground at his feet in a dead faint. She could hardly imagine what would happen when he kissed her lips properly. She might never breath again.
Instead, he drew back a step and murmured, “My dear girl, your eyes could rob a man of his very soul.”
With those words, Charlotte’s self-image shattered.
Until that moment, she had always held firmly to the belief that she was a stout woman with plain brown hair and plain brown eyes. But now, she possessed eyes that, in the words of a renowned seducer, could steal a man’s soul.
Turning the words over once more in her mind, Charlotte was not fully convinced that robbing a man of anything could be considered a compliment. In fact, his words sounded downright sinful.
Regardless, she wanted Nathaniel White to kiss her again. This time on the lips.
Squeezing her sinful eyes shut, Charlotte puckered her lips and waited. And waited. Just when she was considering opening her eyes, she heard him take another step back, turn, and make his way down the still empty hall.
Before he was out of earshot, he softly murmured, “As I said, I don’t bite.”
A heartbeat later, she heard the noise from the crowded drawing room spill into the hallway as he opened the door. The sounds quickly receded when the oak barriers closed behind him, stealing away any chance of a second kiss.
Charlotte opened her eyes and stared out into the silent hallway. He was gone. And he hadn’t even bothered to ask her name.
Slowly, she sank to the floor at the base of the window. He’d stolen a kiss, that wasn’t truly a kiss, paid her a quick compliment, and then run away. The man was in truth a rake—a breathtakingly handsome rake—but a rake nonetheless. Just like her father.
And the one thing Charlotte refused to do was fall for a man like her father. She would not follow in her mother’s footsteps, no matter how enticing Nathaniel White was, or how her stomach fluttered when his lips touched her skin. She would not lose her good sense to man who would abandon his promises, and his vows, when he caught sight of a young actress.
Rising to her feet, Charlotte vowed—as she had countless times since her parents’ disastrous separation—that she would marry for love. And not just any love, but true, ever-lasting, never-going-to-leave-her-for-an-actress love, the type of bond where two people remained together forever.
“Of course, saying I will marry for love is one thing, following through is quite another,” Charlotte murmured to the empty hallway. “But I shall hold true to my word. If my father believes he can marry me off to the first man with a sizable fortune regardless of how the gentleman in question feels about me, he is sadly mistaken. I refuse to be sent away so that father can throw more money at his mistress. I will not marry a man who does not love me. And I most certainly will not marry a confirmed rake like Nathaniel White.”
With that, she made her way back to Lord Abingdon’s drawing room.
Despite her resolve, Charlotte found her thoughts—and her disobedient eyes—drifting to Nathaniel White throughout the Christmas Eve dinner. Thankfully, he was far too engrossed in the festivities to pay much attention to an innocent girl. By the end of the evening, she was fairly certain he would not recall the plain young lady sitting off to the side, which was for the best, of course. But over the years to come, the memory of her first kiss would stay with her like a curse.
For the next six years, she would not encounter another man she wished to undress the moment she laid eyes on him in any of London’s ballrooms. At first she felt relieved, but over the subsequent years she began to wonder—what if she never felt that interested in another man?
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