Page 18 of Any Rogue Will Do
The gathering wasn’t elaborate. A soprano of moderate talent finished warbling something in Italian, then curtsied to mild applause from the small audience. Their hostess rose, signaling an intermission.
Calvin had other plans this evening, so Ethan was on his own in this crowd. Whatever they were up to, Cal and Adam “the Puppy” Hardwick were probably having a grand time.
During moments such as this, standing a head above the others in the room, Ethan was aware of how alone he was in London. Sure, there were friendly nods with inquiring smiles, but no one stepped forward to converse beyond an offhand greeting.
After eight years in society, he had yet to figure out how to be one of them. The rougher crowd from his younger days would accept him into their fold again, without a doubt. One of them invited him out each time he stayed in London for more than a day or two. But the man they wanted to carouse with and the man he chose to be these days were not the same.
He rolled his shoulders and ignored the curious looks his presence drew. Evening coats never fit comfortably, even when made by a reputable tailor. They hugged him until he felt constricted instead of fashionable, and collar points were so high as to be ridiculous. Properly tied cravats were an exercise in slowly choking to death. He fought the urge to tug at the length of linen for the umpteenth time as he scanned the room for Lady Charlotte. She’d vanished. Taking a cup of no doubt watered-down punch from a nearby footman, Ethan sought out the closest source of fresh air.
Beyond the double doors at the far end of the great hall, he found a balcony, which was not empty as he’d hoped. It was hard to complain, though, because there she was—stunning in an emerald gown. The moonlight and lamps created patches on her dress, illuminating the skin above the deep neckline he’d noticed and kept noticing since the evening’s first aria. When she turned away from the house to lean on the balustrade, those lights cast her face in shadow.
Lady Charlotte hadn’t done anything but stand on a balcony, seemingly in want of the same fresh air he desired, but his skin prickled with awareness. The silky gown slithering over her body was temptation itself, akin to the foliage covering Eve in the Garden of Eden. He’d never related to a serpent so much in his life. Much like the snake and Eve, Ethan wasn’t worthy of her. But he couldn’t deny he craved her attention anyway.
The door closed behind him with a lowsnick. Lady Charlotte snapped from her relaxed pose against the stone railing and whirled to face him. When Ethan stepped farther onto the balcony, her posture relaxed infinitesimally and he nearly smiled. Perhaps his presence wouldn’t drive her away after all.
At a loss for words, he took a drink of the punch and nearly spit it out.
She settled against the balustrade, crossing her arms in front of her. “Not to your liking?”
Setting the glass aside on a windowsill, he wrinkled his nose. “’Tis three-quarters brandy, and the rest tastes like piss. Pardon my language, Lady Charlotte.” God, she’d think him a crass idiot. And she’d be correct. “I don’ drink strong spirits. Haven’ for years.” This bloody cravat grew tighter by the second. Running a finger between his throat and the linen, he pulled just enough to loosen the knot a tad.
Lady Charlotte shot him a glance but did not say anything for a long moment. “I suppose one of us should go in. There will be talk otherwise.”
“I assume you’ve seen the papers.” Ethan took a step closer until her citrus scent filled his head. “Thank you, by the way. For the way you handled things at the Bartlesbys’. They’re talking anyway, but we both know it could be worse.”
“Hmm. That we do.”
Reminding her of their history like that was a dunderheaded move. Leaning back against the balustrade, he took a deep breath and forged ahead. This was why he’d come, after all. To speak with her, not just enjoy looking at her. “Is that how you prefer tae go on? In public, at least, pretend you don’ hate me?” Her direct gaze led him to believe she was considering his words, but her expression wasn’t exactly friendly. “I apologized back at the inn, and I meant it, lass. I’d like tae make this right between us if I can. Business has me in London. If there’s anything I can do while I’m here, I’d like tae do it.”
She cocked her head. “What business?”
The question caught him off guard. “I’m building a brewery. Someday all the fine houses in Town will drink Woodrest’s ale, made from my estate’s hops.” Saying it out loud shot a burst of pride through him. “I accepted the Bartlesbys’ invitation hoping tae make connections with future customers, but we both know how quickly that evening veered from plan.”
She laughed softly, so he took that as encouragement to continue talking. “But before all that happens, I have tae find a decent brewmaster—which is proving tricky.”
Lady Charlotte worried at her bottom lip with her teeth, and Ethan forgot the thread of conversation entirely for a moment. “I might know someone. Our brewery was famous in Westmorland once upon a time. The brewmaster left when things…changed a few years ago.” A flutter in her voice implied that there was a story there. “Last I heard, he’d moved to London. I can see if he’s looking for a new position if you’d like.”
Ethan blinked. Could it really be that simple? “That’s incredibly generous of you, Lady Charlotte. If he’d be willing tae leave the city, it would certainly solve my problem.” An awkward chuckle rose unbidden, and he shifted on his feet. “Is that your plan? Make me indebted tae you tae make things right between us?” He winced. “That was supposed tae be a jest, but I sound like an arse, don’ I?”
She made alittle bitmotion with her thumb and finger. “A simple thank-you would have sufficed.”
“Apologies, lass.” He cut a small bow. “If you’d be so gracious as tae send along your former brewmaster’s direction when you discover it, I’d be very grateful.”
She rolled her eyes. “That’s your idea of a simple thank-you?”
The air shifted between them at her teasing. Tension in his shoulders eased, and he found himself grinning. “Is there anything I can do in return? Help with while you’re in Town? Speaking of, why are you in London, lass?”
“I suppose it will be public knowledge soon enough.” She stared down at her fingers, then knotted them in a fist at her waist. “I’m looking to marry. If all goes well, I’ll find someone suitable, set a wedding date for next year, and be home before the Season begins.”
Calmly stating a plan of that magnitude might as well be waving a red flag at fate. Ethan couldn’t stop a laugh. “Easy as that, aye? The romantic in you is showing.”
“Who said anything about romance?” It was her turn to laugh, but the sound held sharp edges hinting at things he didn’t understand. “Love does not last, Lord Amesbury. Even if an emotional attachment persists, life will find a way to interfere. My parents are proof of that.”
Ethan cocked his head. That was unexpected. “If not love, then what about other reasons tae marry? Affection, companionship…lust?”
Her dark eyes widened and her breath caught.
The last word became a tangible thing between them, coming to life at the mere mention of its name. Lust. Possibly the only thing stronger than the history they shared.
