His face gained a pained look. "Was that the first time you've ever been kissed?"
Lark couldn't reply. Heat crept into her cheeks.
"Holy shit," he exclaimed.
"Not all of us have dozens of hearts strewn at our feet every day."
"Lark—"
"You were never lacking in admirers," she pointed out. "I was the ugly duckling, but you've always been... you."
"And what precisely does that mean?"
He had to know what he looked like.
"You've always been handsome," she scoffed. "Girls sighed whenever you entered the room."
"One girl didn't."
"One girl knew there was no point even bothering."
"If you think there weren't boys looking at you when you were sixteen, then you're quite mistaken. If you hadn't so heartily terrified half of them when you were younger, some of them might have even approached you. There was also the gauntlet of Blade, Will, and Rip scowling over your shoulder. Kind of makes a young lad reconsider his choices." He stepped closer, a determined look crossing his face. "But just so you know, if you'd given me even a hint of encouragement, I would have kissed you years ago." His voice roughened. "I'm more than willing to make up for lost chances now."
Lark circled a chair, resting her hands on the back of it. "Don't you dare."
Charlie's smile held all manner of sin. "Isn't this what young ladies dream of? Ball gowns and stealing away to libraries in the dark with young men?"
"It's not what I dreamed of."
"What's wrong, Lark? Nervous?"
She glanced around, but there was no escape.
"I'm glad we've had the chance to have this little chat." He lashed out and trapped her wrist. "Because I don't want there to be any more mistakes in intention."
The door burst open, a trio of drunken lordlings stumbling inside, one of them slung between the other two. They seemed surprised not to have the room to themselves.
Lark stole the chance to escape, breathlessly putting three paces between her and Charlie.
"Désolé, nous ne savions pas qu'il y avait quelqu'un ici," one of them said with a laugh.
"It's quite all right," she replied in perfect French. "We were just leaving."
She had one hand on the door when Charlie caught her attention.
"Lark," he called from behind her. "Yes. The answer is yes."
What was he—?
Jealous.
Charlie tipped his head to her, and Lark's heart started racing as she escaped into the hallway and returned to the ballroom.
It was one thing to flirt, quite another to have him announce his intended pursuit.
After all, he wasn't the one who'd get his heart broken.
* * *