“You remember what I was embroidering when we first met?” she asked, and it sounded almost like an accusation. Or like… hurt?
Lysander’s head swiveled between them, and he made no effort to hide his fascination.
Botheration. Wolfgang felt his face go dark.
“One hardly forgets dead frogs.” Wolfgang gripped the pole so tightly he thought it might crack. He closed his eyes to let the sounds of the river calm him but it didn’t help, no matter how merrily the water rushed or how sweetly the finches and bluethroats sang.
Damn it, why did he have tonoticeCharlotte so much? He was still tracking what she wore and had recently started naming each ensemble in his head. Last night she’d floated downstairs for dinner in a pure white dress with a long black-and-white ribbon threaded through her hair and both wrists whimpering under the weight of a pair of ruby-and-diamond bracelets, looking like a heroine about to die of consumption.
Gothic Charlotte.
“Borrowing Anna’s jewelry, are you, darling?” the dowager had asked, with a half smile. “Clever! She’s the last one who would mind.”
Charlotte had laughed and lifted up the bracelets for Darlington to inspect, and was it Wolfgang, or had the other man lingered a little too long over her hand? Now here she was today with a black ribbon around her throat and a black ribbon around her ridiculous hat, which was trimmed with some sort of wilting white flower. Her dress was white muslin and made of a frothy material, and she’d tied it with a black sash. All he could think wasOphelia Before the Drowning.
Warrick lifted the pole out of the river and splashed it carelessly in again, pleased when water sloshed on Charlotte’s slippers and she yipped. It didn’t escape his notice that her latest ensembles were sure to appeal to a certain pale, hollow-eyed viscount, who looked as if he slept cuddled up to a portrait of Byron each night.
“Careful with that pole, Wolfie,” said Lysander.
“You call him Wolfie, do you?” Charlotte asked Lysander. She peeped up at Wolfgang from beneath her ridiculous brim, back to her usual mischief.
“Yes. Why, do you have your own pet name for him?”
Her mouth curved. “Shall I call him my muse? Would that send him into an apoplexy, do you think?”
Wolfgang bared his teeth at Charlotte, which only made her laugh. Her head went back, revealing the slim column of her neck where he’d like to—
Nothing!
He didnotwant to lick her.
“Tell me,” Charlotte said to Lysander, “has His Grace always glowered so?”
Lysander’s grin faded. He crossed his legs and stretched back as far as the wooden seat would allow, tilting his face up to the sun. “No. Wolfie used to know how to laugh, before John died.”
“Oh. Of course.” Charlotte lifted her eyes to Wolfgang, but he turned away. The last thing he needed was her sympathy, or that noticing gaze of hers penetrating too deep. “I remember.”
“Wolfie’s glowering again,” said Lysander. “He does seem to save his fiercest looks foryou, Lady Charlotte. However did you harm him?”
“I, harm your brother? You have it all wrong.” She dropped her voice to a loud whisper. “I’m afraid he rather disapproves of me.”
“No!” Lysander clutched his chest. “How could that be?”
She shrugged, but her voice was curiously soft. “I’ve never understood.”
“Hmm. I have a theory.” Lysander gave a big yawn and stretched, which made Warrick instantly suspicious. The only thing more conspicuous than Charlotte dressing like a dying swan was Lysander acting innocent. “Would you care to hear it?”
But Charlotte had closed her eyes and dipped her hand into the river again, her interest in the subject ofhimclearly limited.
Warrick’s interest in the subject ofher, on the other hand, was growing like a rash.
“Wolfgang!” Lysander called out sharply. “Watch out for that willow branch!”
The warning came too late and the punt was going too fast. Wolfgang plunged into the river with a yelp and an enormous splash.
When he broke the surface, Charlotte’s laugh rang out over his head, beautiful and maddening as it echoed up into the clear blue sky.
CHAPTER 20
