Rules of Surrender by Christina Dodd Page B

chambers hid behind closed doors. The walls of the long chamber rose out of sight in a gloom candles could not ease. On one side velvet curtains of a rich crimson covered the tall windows. On the other, pictures of men on horses, of ladies posed with their children, of landscapes foreign and familiar covered the wall from floor to ceiling. There was even a portrait of the youthful Wynter with his spaniel.
    If one were sensitive, one might grow uncomfortable under the scrutiny of so many watching eyes.
    Charlotte glided along unperturbed.
    Until Wynter got close. Then somehow she sensed his presence and whirled to face him, hands up in ready defense.
    He stopped at once, taking care not to approach too close too quickly. He didn’t want to alarm her—yet. “Lady Miss Charlotte.” He bowed. “I have sought after you.”
    She placed her palm to her chest as if to contain her heart. He liked to think because she thrilled to see him, but he considered it more likely he had frightened her.
    Sounding faintly breathless and looking annoyed, she asked, “My lord, what assistance can I render you?”
    If he told her the truth, she would chide him. “I thought it would be good if we discussed our plans without the restrictive presence of my mother.”
    “Our plans?” Charlotte sounded alarmed.
    “Where we should meet, how much we should do, how late we should remain together…” Faced with her wide-eyed horror, he had to relent. “For the lessons in English manners which you will give me.”
    “Oh!” She glanced around at the paintings that lined the walls as if they could speak and get her out of this predicament. “I knew what you meant.”
    Offering his arm, he said, “Shall we walk?”
    Obviously, she didn’t want to place her hand on his arm, but what could she do? Be rude and say no! He’d discovered just that afternoon that maneuvering Charlotte required only a subtle mind and the judicious application of courtesy.
    She stepped just close enough for her ungloved fingers to flit onto his sleeve.
    “Your hand settles as lightly as a butterfly.” He pressed his hand over hers. And like a Dutterny, you are shy and unaware of the jeweled beauty of your femininity.“ Before she even absorbed the compliment, he started pacing along the wall. ”I want to meet in the old nursery. Do you know where that is?“
    ”Um.“ She cleared her throat delicately, and again like a butterfly, her fingers fluttered beneath his. ”On the third floor?“
    ”The second. It was my nursery when I was a child. The furniture has been removed, which I find much more to my taste than the overrigged chambers of modern society. Chairs, sofas and tables enough so a man can’t move without banging his shins! Drapes and tassels in every conceivable color! And every surface covered with gewgaws.“ He slid a glance toward Charlotte.
    With her eyes downcast and her hair pinned up, she might have been the perfect lady. Except she was smiling.
    He pounced on that. ”Ah. You agree with me!“
    ”I myself prefer a plainer style than is currently fashionable.“ That she admitted anything about her preferences told him she was indeed under the influence of the brandy. ”But I don’t allow myself to be caught in a criticism of anyone’s taste.“
    It almost seemed a shame to take advantage of her intoxication. Almost. ”Nor do I. I would share my thoughts only with one such as you, whom I know to be compatible.“
    She stiffened again, overreacting to the mere suggestion of their affinity. Yes, good. She was far too aware of him and unable to hide her discomfort. Just as he was far too aware of her, and the sight and scent of her brought an ache to his groin. Because he had been too long without a woman, yes. But also because… she was Charlotte.
    ”Is that not the right word—‘compatible’?“ he asked in feigned misgiving. ”I meant only that you and I think in a like manner.“
    ”You most certainly used the word correctly.“ She