In The Devil's Stables (Spirited #1)

Chapter Three

It hadn't taken Charlie long to realize that her uncle had her exactly where he wanted her. She took in her dance partner's thin lipped smile, and wondered how she had gotten herself into this situation, with the cool spring air chilling her flesh, and  the sounds of the ton muffled by the thick drapery leading to the empty balcony.

Because of course the man would have an opportunity to get Charlie alone, unnoticed, surrounded by hundreds of society's creme de la creme.

Yet another instance where the whole of London and its strict expectations of its female counterparts had failed her.

It had all started innocently enough, she had thought.

"Ah, there you are, Lady Charlotte," a masculine voice had called behind her. "I have been looking for you."

Charlie had  turned about on her heel to come face to face with the man she had met only once in her life, Lord Simpton. Or, if her uncle got his wish, her betrothed.

It was nearly midnight, an hour after she and Sophie had rushed to the ladies retiring room to clean off strawberry juice from her fingers. They had meandered about the ballroom after - Charlie, acting as hostess to greet and mingle with guests all the while scanning the masses for another glimpse of the Earl of Claymore while Sophie had feigned interest in Charlie's guests, her face always sending fierce scowls at her childhood nemesis, the Duke of Burkeley. 

All of which the duke, being his usual offhandish self, studiously ignored. When word reached Sophie on some slight the Duke had cast about her person, all bets on subduing her friend were futile. 

Sophie smiled sweetly at Charlie, her gaze on the massive bulk that was the Duke of Burkeley's back. "If you'll excuse me, Charlotte, but it appears I have been remiss and have quite forgotten to say how-do-you-do with one of your most esteemed guests."

Charlie opened her mouth to object, but Sophie was already cutting across the ballroom. 

Keeping an eye on her friend, Charlie had finagled over to the dessert table - in case she need break up any altercations, Charlie had assured herself - when Lord Simpton had made his introduction. She had forgotten entirely all about him, but she wasn't surprised that he had attended. Her uncle had made his desires known and the pawns fell into place, exactly where he put them.

At first, Charlie had wondered if under different circumstances, they would have made a good match. He was handsome enough, Charlie supposed, if remarkably unremarkable in the ever churning sea that was the ton's eligible gentlemen. Lord Simpton was of average height, a mop of unruly ebony curls that made him appear almost boyish. 

Although on closer inspection, she thought his ears were slightly over large in proportion to his face.

He smiled at her, revealing one crooked incisor. "You look radiant this evening, if that isn't too bold of me."

"My lord," Charlie said, dipping into a curtsy. 

She glanced up to see a glimpse of calculation, perhaps, before his features cleared, and he offered a saccharine smile. Charlie would have chalked it up as her imagination, if at the moment when his blue eyes had met hers, Charlie's skin hadn't prickled as if an unknown danger lurked nearby.

"I have come to claim the next dance, my lady."

Not a question.

Charlie's temper flared. "I beg your pardon?"

Mayhap, she was mistaken.

Lord Simpton moved an infestimal inch closer, a slow grin crossing his face, as his eyes landed on her bosom. "Has your uncle not told you, my lady? You are to be mine."

The audacity of the man made Charlie's cheeks flame, her hands itching to strike him. "I believe you are mistaken, my lord," Charlie forced through her clenched teeth. "If you'll excuse me, sir, I have a pressing matter that requires my attention."

She made to walk past when he stopped her with a grip on her forearm. They were turned in such a way, Lord Simpton's body blocking Charlie's, that to a passerby it appeared they were merely engaged in a chat. Propriety observed to the uninterested masses.

Charlie, however, was gifted with the man's true character, the grip surprisingly strong for a man she had so easily cast as no threat to her.

She should have known better. Only weak willed men like this one, ones delighting in forcing their wills on those they viewed as lessers, associated with Henry.

"Release me." 

"It is within your best interest to take my offer of a dance, my lady. In case you haven't noticed, we are starting to draw quite the crowd."

Charlie looked about her, ladies shielding their whispers with their cupped hands, frowns marring the features of various gentleman. She had been alone in his company far too long. Charlie should have dismissed him. She should have not given a bloody damn if she gave Lord Simpton the cut direct. But Charlie couldn't seem to rid herself of the need to silence those whispers about her, the ton clamoring for any gossip they could find.

Distinctly boxed in, Charlie allowed Lord Simpton to lead her out with the other couples. The chords of a waltz sounded, and Charlie cursed. Of course it would be a waltz.

Lord Simpson tsked under his breath. "I must say your language is most unbecoming. Why, what would your uncle say?"

The inherent threat in his tone made Charlie stiffen. The insinuation that she was under her uncles command. That was the only excuse she had for jabbing back at the man. She was no man's whimsy to tinker with as he so chose. 

Be it her uncle or in his case, a would be suitor.

One who had not the slimmest chance of inheriting a single penny of her money. 

"As it so happens," Charlie said, breaking into the momentary silence, "I don't give a flying fig about what my uncle may or may not think of me. In fact," she said, her smile turning sickly sweet, "he can go to the very devil himself. Alongside you."

Charlie found immense satisfaction when he stared at her, mouth agape. She watched as surprise twisted to anger, reds and purples flushing along his neck to his cheekbones. His skin turned splotchy as his ire heightened, the bulging of his eyes making her wonder absently if they would fall from their sockets.

Her pleasure, however, was short lived.

"Enough of sidestepping the issue at hand," Lord Simpton said, his hand tighting until she felt her bones squeezing in the hand he held. She choked back a cry at the pressure, finding his eyes glinting with an emotion she recognized from her uncle. One of malice. "It is past time that you were saddled down with a husband, one that can cure that rebellious streak of yours your uncle is wearied of."

Charlie gasped at that, being likened to a parcel to be auctioned off, a wild creature. "You have no right-"

Lord Simpton swung her roughly about a turn, her feet stumbling. That was when Charlie's attention snapped to their surroundings. He was leading her straight towards the edge of the ballroom, the corner where a set of doors led to the balcony. It lurked on the periphery like a scepter, the deep red curtains drawn aside billowing slightly in the evening breeze.

"I can make a fortune and receive the partnership your uncle offers by taking you to wife. I intend to do it," he said. "In fact, your uncle informed me I can go about getting your acquiesance in any way I wish."

As Charlie thought back on her evening, her one regret was that she hadn't gotten to see her Earl again. She should have offered him a dance to make up for the tart, introductions and propriety be damned.

But she hadn't, and now, if her uncle and Lord Simpton got their way, Charlie never would. She wouldn't make any further choices at all. It was at this moment that she would have liked to thank her mysterious Lord Claymore because she was determined to fight for those future choices. 

But, as Charlie looked upon Lord Simpton's satisfied smile, the shadows looming ever closer, she would wait. Let the man believe she was easy pickings. 

Then she would make her move.

Charlie hid her smile as she allowed herself to be taken into the cloak of darkness.