An English Lord's Love Affair

Chapter 1.3.3. Dangers To Avoid

"Why?" he whispered, holding her as if she were a lifeline, a link to sanity.

And Charlotte's own sanity was suddenly in question as his hands drifted down her back, caressing the arch of her spine through her cloak, the contours of her bottom. In her past flirtations she had always felt in control, mistress of her fate. Now her control went up in flames. The dangerous hardness of his body supported and weakened her at once.

She heard him groan into the hollow of her throat. She had not been kissed like this before. She had not been touched like this. Even through her clothing his hands knew where to linger, how to arouse. A raindrop fell on her cheek and slid down against her neck. He licked it, the curl of his tongue sending a deep shiver through her body.

"You shouldn't go out alone," he said, and kissed her again, his mouth wet, his big arms tightening around her.

The sensual rasp of his voice almost brought her to her knees. Her heart was pounding in her throat, her ears. "Why not?" she whispered, taunting him back, not wanting to show how she struggled with herself to stop this from going any further.

He threw away from her with a smile. "This is a small village." His voice was detached again. She might have imagined the heat between them. Before she could even move, he had remounted and wheeled his horse in the opposite direction. "Yet there are dangers to avoid even here for a pretty young woman with a nose for trouble. Stay off my property in future."

A nose for trouble? Dangers to avoid? Meaning what? she wondered. Charlotte, the daughter of a deceased marquess, the sister of the current marquess who wielded considerable influence, had been too flabbergasted by his blunt dismissal to ask. She had stood in the rain, drenched and offended, to watch him gallop off as if he were part of the angry storm. She stood in disbelief, still burning from that kiss, from his enigmatic advice.

How did he know about her? And what was she to make of his melodramatic warning? The only menace Charlotte had encountered in this dreary village until today until today was a person who loved to spread gossip and a worrisome aunt. Good heavens, was she made of glass?

   Without a doubt Benedic Farningham was the rudest and most attractive man she had ever met. Obviously he didn't give tuppence for what she thought. He did not seem to care that she might report his behavior to her brothers, who would probably only defend him anyway, assuming Charlotte had been at fault.

Charlotte lingered in the rain until he disappeared from sight, no longer feeling the chill. Feeling an extraordinary heat and annoyance, if anything. She had stayed there, and suddenly she realized that she had never dreamed a man like Lord Strathmere even existed, and wished she had never made the discovery.

In fact, she was so put out that she decided the only antidote was to completely forget her arrogant savior, which proved to be exactly the same advice her distraught aunt dispensed a few minutes later.

"I could not believe my eyes, Charlotte Brumidge! I could not believe I saw you on a horse with Lord Strathmere. Holding him around the middle!"

Charlotte darted to the window to peer outside. "I wondered onto his property by mistake. He brought me home."

"Well, that was a miracle in itself. The man is said to seduce every woman he meets."

"Did he ever seduce you, Aunt Penelope?"

"Do not be impertinent. Strathmere is a neighbor and a nobleman, and as such I respect him. But that doesn't mean I approve of his keeping a mistress on his estate."

"Have you met her?" Charlotte asked curiously, turning from the window in disappointment that he had not returned.

"Of course I haven't, Charlotte."

Aunt Penelope pulled the curtains back into place, looking indignant at the question. "Peter Plumley has seen her on several occasions. In the viscount's window, Charlotte."

Charlotte bit her lip in amusement. "Perhaps the viscount has a sister or an aunt staying with him."

Aunt Penelope's face had colored beneath her rice powder. "I hardly think he would have been behaving with a female relative in the manner the person described."

"Does he hold bacchanalian orgies in the middle of the night?" Charlotte could not resist asking, to tease her.

"I do not have any idea, " her aunt sputtered in indignation. "Nor do I wish to know," she added, "and neither should you. The fact that I sense something is amiss at Strathmere Hall should be warning enough, Charlotte. Matters are not right with that man. Mark my words."

And perhaps Charlotte should have listened instead of laughing. Three weeks later the viscount had been stabbed to death in his bed.

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