"Miss Wells, I have been waiting for a waltz so that I might ask you for the honor," announced a smiling Rodney Langford, stepping into her line of vision.
She turned on him a bright smile. "How delightful!" she lied. "It would be my pleasure, sir."
She watched with chagrin over her partner's shoulder as Devin waltzed by with Meg in his arms.
At least she was glad it was Meg, rather than some simpering miss who would be batting her eyelids at him. Charlotte could have screamed as she smiled affably and chatted gaily to the unsuspecting Rodney.
Brampton was also watching his wife and Devin circle the floor, his feelings very similar to those of Charlotte. He had given the instructions for mostly country dances, yet he had insisted on a few waltzes. And he had had his wife very much in mind when he had given those orders. He wanted to make this evening a very special one for him and her. Tonight, against this unusual and magical setting, he hoped to begin wooing her love. And he had very much wanted that first waltz. He let his eyes stray along the edge of the dancing floor until they lit on the plump and pasty daughter of Sir Leonard Petrie, a fairly distant neighbor. A few moments later he was bowing gracefully over her hand and leading her into the dance.
Devin succeeded in securing the next waltz with Charlotte by the simple expedient of reserving it with her ahead of time. He held her formally, almost at arm's length. She danced with eyes lowered, quite unlike the vivacious and friendly Charlotte he had known before Bram's infernal brother had returned from the wars. Was she embarrassed, or was she just uninterested, dreaming of the younger, dashing soldier?
He inclined his head in the direction of Bram, who danced by holding his wife rather indecently close. Neither of them appeared to notice either him or his partner. Were matters improving in that strange relationship? He hoped so. He liked the sweet little countess and he certainly did not like to think of her running around London in disguise, without proper escort. Nor did he like to think of her in his own bed with Bram, like a common lightskirt.
Devin had made several unsuccessful attempts to initiate a conversation with Charlotte. Desperate, and knowing that the dance would soon end, he suggested that they take a walk-"to get away from this dreadful squeeze for a little while." He was almost surprised when Charlotte agreed without argument.
Her heart, in fact, was thumping so painfully that she was having a hard time catching her breath. She had been so anxious to catch his attention tonight, yet she had found herself stupidly tongue-tied whenever he had tried to draw her into conversation. Perhaps she would find it easier if they strolled away from the crowds. She placed her hand through Devin's arm and felt safe and protected.
Devin had known Brampton Court since childhood, almost as well as he knew his father's estate. He knew where there was a path through those nearby trees leading to the lake half a mile distant. And he knew that a little way into the trees was a small lily pond, with a rustic bench close by. Given the picturesque setting and the moonlight and the glow from the lanterns, which would extend that far, he felt that he had a good chance to find out if Charlotte's affections could be reclaimed from Charles Adair.
Charlotte also knew about the lily pond and the bench; she had been at the court for a few weeks. She also knew that it was not proper to go walking with a man unchaperoned in such a place. But it was a night when many of the rules seemed to have been relaxed. She allowed herself to be led.
They walked among the trees and immediately entered a different world. Lantern light and starlight were filtered darkly through the high branches; the sounds of music, voices, and laughter, though not blocked out, were muted. Everywhere was the smell of wood and leaves.
Devin held his arm close to his side, Charlotte's trapped beneath it. They became more and more aware of each other, their soft footsteps and the faint rustle of her gown the only nearby sounds. By unspoken consent, neither of them said a word. The pond was not far into the trees. Devin would not have been so indiscreet as to lead her far from the company.
When they reached the small clearing, Charlotte detached her arm from Devin's and sat down on the bench. He seated himself beside her and took her hand in his. They sat so for a few minutes.
"Miss Wells-Charlotte, did I embarrass you this afternoon?" he asked finally, breaking the silence with an abrupt and nervous voice.
"In the race?" she asked, raising her eyes to him. "That was not your fault, sir. It was just Charles being mischievous."
"Would not for the world cause you pain," he said, and when she kept her eyes lowered to her lap, he raised her hand to his lips.
Charlotte looked up at him, her lips parting in unconscious invitation.
"I always knew that," she whispered, and waited in terror and excitement for the inevitable.
Devin kept hold of her hand as he lowered his head to hers and took her lips in a slow kiss. Charlotte became suddenly aware that she was gripping his hand very tightly. She released it and his lips with a little "Oh!" of surprise. They looked into each other's eyes for a few moments; then it was Charlotte who put her arms up around his neck and invited his second kiss, deeper and more fervent than the first. She pillowed her head contentedly on his shoulder when he lifted his head again, and waited expectantly for his declaration. He kissed her temple, her ear, her neck where it joined her shoulder, her throat.
"Tell me you have been only flirting with Charles Adair," he murmured finally, laying his cheek against the soft curls on top of her head.
"Flirting?" Charlotte's body stiffened slightly. Any man who had been more into the petticoat line than Devin Northcott would have immediately recognized the danger signs. Devin was in blissful ignorance.
"You are young and devilish pretty," he continued, running his free hand up and down the soft skin of her arm, "and this is your come-out Season. Ain't unnatural that you should try out your charms on several young men. I am not angry with you. Hope you can tell me, though, that your feelings for Adair are no deeper than simple flirtation."
"I am much obliged to you, sir," Charlotte cried, tearing herself out of his arms and rising from the bench in order to sink into a deep curtsy in front of him. "What charming compliments. I am young and pretty. I beg your pardon, "devilish' pretty, I believe you said. And I am a flirt? And you forgive me, sir? You are not even angry with me? I do wish you had chosen a less dusty spot for these charming declarations, Mr. Northcott, for I feel I should sink to my knees and kiss your feet in gratitude." Her voice was quite shrill by this time.
Devin was by now also on his feet. "Charlotte, my dear," he said aghast, reaching out a hand to her, "believe me, I did not mean-"
"That I am young and devilish pretty? Oh, make no apology, sir. I know it was the night and the moonlight that made you speak so foolishly."
"Charlotte, I-"
"Want a little more flirtation, sir? My apologies, but you have had your quota for tonight. I must rush back to the ball and find more young men to flirt with." She turned with a rustle of skirts and started toward the pathway.
Devin grasped her by the arm and jerked her around, none too gently, to face him. "Charlotte, will you stop behaving like a child and listen to me?" he began, not too wisely.
"Sir, do children flirt?" she asked icily, tossing her head.
"No, but they sometimes get a good thrashing," he parried, matching ice with ice.
"Threats, Mr. Northcott?" Charlotte asked disdainfully.