Fifteen thousand pounds!
It was a sum to make even barons and viscounts go cross-eyed. Dash it, Charlotte couldbuya lesser baron for that amount and still have a fortune left over.
Charlotte was an heiress, but her allowance would make no dent in a problem so big. It was well beyond her means, beyond even what she’d generated with the horse-racing ring she’d run with her best friend, who’d married Charlotte’s brother. And, of course, now Anna and Julian were both off in North Africa where Charlotte couldn’t reach them for help.
There’s always the silk, Charlotte thought, rather desperately. She’d used her share of the gambling money on a long-held ambition to open a silk mill, but it was only just getting started. She couldn’t sell it, because that would be a complete betrayal of her partner and also, damn it, it wasn’t worth anything yet.
She had to get home and think.
But first she might vomit.
What thehellwas she going to—
The thought was interrupted by a stir from the nearest corner of the ballroom, conversations stuttering to a halt and guests scurrying out of the way. Charlotte looked over and gasped like a fish again.
Good God! Could the night possibly get any worse?
Because stalking toward her was the most infernal man in all of England.
Candlelight from a nearby torchère flickered across the planes of the Duke of Warrick’s face, leaving half his features dark and the other half molten. His hair looked bronzed, not quite brown, blond, or red, but some gleaming, burnished version of all three, as if it were living metal. Even with no costume at all and dressed in his customary badly cut dinner jacket, he commanded attention.
I doubt he’s looking for me?It was an optimistic thought, given that his eyes were locked on her and his expression thunder.
Charlotte tossed the duke her sunniest smile.You don’t scare me!she said, with the curve of her lips.
I damned well should, he replied with his scowl.
She spun away into the crush. Of all the people her brother could have selected to “keep an eye on her,” whatever that meant, did he have to choose such a mountain of a man? It was one thing to avoid someone like Marby—all she had to do was find a portly old alderman and duck down behind him. But there was no potted palm Warrick couldn’t see over, no chorus ofpardons andexcuse mes!andoh, dash it, was that your foot?to let her know when he drew near. Poor Marby had to fight for every inch of progress, but Warrick was a duke and a war hero. The crowd melted away at his smallest frown.
Charlotte eyed her options. She’d intended to leave the party, but Warrick was blocking the main exit. Should she sneak outthrough one of the other rooms, or blend in with the cluster of black dominos near the refreshment table, or—an idea sparkled at her, a little gem of mischief.
Should she turn around and confront him?
There had been so much drama that evening, and none of it the amusing kind. Perhaps what she needed was a good, rousing fight?
Charlotte stopped abruptly and leaned back against the nearest column, crossing her arms loosely over her chest in order to annoy Warrick with her perfect indifference.
Indifference. A voice inside snorted.Is that what you call it?
She frowned as Warrick stalked closer.
It was true she’d once had fonder feelings for the man, had even thought of him ashersfor the whole of one summer before he dropped her flat on her face. Even now, it bothered her that she noticed the wide set of his shoulders, and how his long sable eyelashes went red at the tips, as if they’d been kissed by a fox. Worse, she was still rather charmed by the fact that she knew he’d have peppermints hidden on him, wrapped up in little paper twists.
Perhaps you should pat him down and find them?offered the voice.You should pat all up and down his chest, with extra patting on those massive arms of his.
She frowned even harder as he drew alongside her.
“Good evening, Your Grace. Shall I guess your costume?” Charlotte cocked her head. “I know! You’re dressed as a man whose tailor doesn’t like him.”
His jaw ticked but he didn’t respond. Instead, he propped himself against the pillar next to her, so close that his flank pressed into her and she could feel his heat.
“Here’s what happens next,” Warrick growled softly. “You’ll turn to leave and I’ll follow close behind you.”
“Oh?” Charlotte arched an eyebrow at him. “Very close?”
Warrick’s jaw ticked again, the muscle at the corner flicking on and off like a little warning. “Do you take nothing seriously?”
Her mother’s debt flashed immediately to mind, but she smiled. “Do I take things seriously at a party? Not often. I leave the misery to you.”
