A Stranger's Promise (Lords of Chance Book 1) Read online

  “I fear your fair bird has flown,” Nicholas murmured at his elbow.

  Alistair caught sight of his stepmother entering the room, and snorted, “No doubt, she’s been chased off by the vulture.”

  Nicholas grinned.

  As if sensing herself the subject of their conversation, Lady Cassilis called across the room, “Come, Alistair. Let dinner begin.”

  Alistair paused. Sitting through course after course of casseroles, roasts, truffles, puddings, and Italian creams was bad enough. Add the ladies embellishing the same scandals over and over, and the thought of dinner was downright unbearable.

  He strode toward the door and caught sight of Captain Edwards standing in a corner with a flower in his button hole and a container of snuff on his palm. Alistair shook his head. He would have to have a talk with Nicholas about his taste in friends.

  Seeing the man only made Alistair hasten toward the exit.

  “Alistair!” Lady Cassilis called. “Pray tell, where are you going?”

  He paused and, unable to resist, answered, “I grow weary of hearing the same scandals, Lady Cassilis. I choose to create new ones.”

  Nicholas burst into hearty laughter amidst gasps of shock—and Alistair strode out the door, headed to the grand staircase.

  He took the steps two at a time. On the top floor, he found the object of his attention strolling the candle-lit corridor, her attention buried in the pages of a book while she balanced a tray on her hip.

  He had her now. Alistair crept up behind her. Once within reach, he plucked the tray from her grasp. She whirled as he set it on a nearby marble-topped table.

  Sir!” she cried.

  He caught her about the waist and whirled her around, then pushed her back against the wall.

  “My lord.” Her eyes widened with surprise as she hugged the book close to her breast.

  Alistair braced his hands against the wall on each side of her head and smiled down at her. “Alistair,” he corrected. “Were you not to join me for dinner?”

  Her lashes fluttered and she tilted her head toward the tray. “Oliver needed a milk posset—”

  “Excuses.” He inhaled deep of the heady perfume of her hair and leaned closer for a kiss.

  She ducked under his arm and retreated two paces.

  He pushed from the wall and arched a brow.

  She lifted her chin.

  He grinned. No matter. He had a few tricks of his own. He knew the value of patience.

  “Surely, you should attend your guests,” she said. The devilish gleam he had come to love returned to her lively hazel eyes. “You will disappoint the ladies. They will miss out on your carving of the beef, my lord.”

  “Alistair,” he corrected. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned a shoulder against the wall. He frowned. “The carving of the beef? Is the carving of meat a manly thing admired by women?”

  “To be sure.” She gave a solemn nod completely at odds with the teasing spark in her eyes. “Does it not prove you’ve been trained in good fashion? A graceful performance is presumed to mark a person—or so it says here in The Fine Art of Deportment which ensures it must be true.” She lifted the book she grasped.

  With a dry chuckle, Alistair plucked it from her hand. He glanced at the title, then tossed it on the table next to the tray. “I see, Miss Atchenson. You would rather read about such things than attend a dinner where I might impress you with a wondrous demonstration?”

  She laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “I fear I would not be properly impressed, my lord. At least, not until I have finished the book to learn just what exactly should impress me. I confess, until a moment ago, I never thought the carving of meat to be an art.”

  He studied her. “Tell me, what does impress you?”

  “I fear I am not a proper enough lady to know—”

  Quick as a flash, he yanked her into his arms. She squeaked. There was no book between them now. Her soft breasts pressed against his chest. Her eyes were large, wide, and soft.

  “You swear like a sailor,” he murmured. How long would he be able to resist her? His body needed her touch. “And you’re unimpressed with manly knife skills at the dinner table, yet…” He allowed his voice to trail away as the alluring depths of her hazel eyes drew him in. “If you keep looking at me like that, Charlotte, I will have to kiss you,” he warned in a hoarse whisper. “Propriety be damned.”

  This time, she didn’t slip away. He covered her mouth with his. She melted beneath him as his tongue demanded immediate entry. She opened at once. He delved inside her hot, sweet mouth and sparred with her tongue.

  He pressed her against the wall as their tongues danced, entwined, and tasted one another. She felt so delicate in his arms. She responded to his every touch, each nip of his teeth. Alistair twirled one of her errant curls around his finger, as he began to feather a slow line of kisses along her jaw and nibbled the sensitive skin beneath her earlobe. She shuddered.

  “There she is,” he breathed in her ear.

  “She?” Charlotte panted.

  He drew back enough to see her face “The minx I have glimpsed here and there.” He dropped another kiss on her mouth and grazed her bottom lip with his teeth. “Do let her out to play more often, sweetheart.”

  “Perhaps she should be tamed,” she suggested in velvet tones.

  He snorted and raked his gaze down her body. “Tamed? Never. Never with me. I say let her run loose and as free as the wind. She’s welcome to rap my knuckles with a spoon and drink the rose water each day of the week.”

  A glimmer of humor arced through her eyes and her long lashes fluttered.

  He growled. He needed more of her. Nothing else mattered. He drew two fingertips lightly over her lips. “You’re so bonny, lass,” he said before he reclaimed her mouth in a hot, urgent kiss. He threaded his fingers into her hair, and tugged out the pins to free the curly tresses. She leaned into him. He deepened the kiss. Hot need demanded he possess her. He slid his hands lower down her spine.

  Charlotte tore free. “Damnation.” She bit her bottom lip in a gesture that drove him mad. “I have no will when it comes to you.”

  “How can I object to that?” He caught her bottom lip between his teeth and nibbled. She stilled, but he glimpsed the rise and fall of her breasts. His blood heated. He forced himself to break away. “I am not a dishonorable man, though you tempt me to the very hair’s breadth of it, I must confess.” Her gaze locked with his. “I am not my brother, Charlotte. I will enjoy your lips, aye, but my intentions are honorable.”

  Her eyes widened in shock. “Impossible.”

  That made him chuckle. “Oh? You find it easier to accept me as your lover?”

  She blushed. “Heavens, but…no…I…it…” Taking a deep breath, she lifted her chin and went back to simply, “Impossible.”

  “Tell me, truthfully, Charlotte. Would you hesitate to accept me were I a stable hand, a sailor, or a cartwright?”

  “If only you were.” She sighed. “For then I could not refuse you.”

  Alistair threw back his head and laughed. She frowned and he couldn’t resist nuzzling her ear again. “Then it is done, lass. For I have been all three, a stable hand, a sailor, and a cartwright. You cannot refuse me now, aye?”

  She stared. Then she shook her head and laughed. Once again, he was lost. Alistair crushed her against him like a man possessed. He groaned against her mouth, and when she wrapped her arms around his neck and her tongue began an exploration of her own, he nearly came undone.

  He pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses to her collarbone, but it was a mistake, the passion it unleashed almost carried him too far. He tore himself from her and rested his forehead against hers.

  He drew a long, ragged breath. “You have an uncommon way of heating my blood, lass.”

  She looked up, her eyes glittering in the candlelight.

  “Go, Charlotte,” he warned. He was moments away from sweeping her into his arms and carrying her to his bed. “Or else I will make myself a liar.”

  She hesitated and hope surged that she might insist he take her to his bed. Then she slipped out of his arms. He watched her walk at a sedate pace until she rounded the corner up ahead.

  Chapter Twelve

  Charlotte neared the nursery. She covered her cheeks with her hands. How could she have acted with such abandon? Gooseflesh raced across her arms with the memory of his warm breath on her skin.

  Make himself a liar? If only he would.

  The hungry look in his green eyes had underscored the meaning of those words. She’d have let him take her to bed, right willingly. Charlotte paused before the nursery door and took a deep breath to compose herself. Whatever beast she’d unleashed within her heart certainly wasn’t going to allow itself to become caged again—for better or worse.

  When her breathing slowed, she opened the nursery door and entered.

  Meg sat in front of the fire mending Jane’s petticoat and looked up in alarm. “Losh, what happened?” she asked, but then relaxed and chuckled. “Ah, I see. You have been with his lordship, aye?”

  Charlotte blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “Your lips.” She chortled. “They call those kiss-swollen lips. Hie yourself to the mirror and have a wee look.

  She didn’t go to the mirror. She didn’t dare. Covering her cheeks with her palms, she moaned, “I do think I can do this, Meg.”

  “Think?” Meg rose and stretched. “It’s simple enough, lass. All you have to do is answer one wee question.”

  Charlotte drew a long breath. “What question is that?”

  With a twinkle in her eye, the redheaded maid said in a conspiratorial whisper, “It’s ‘do you want to’?”

  Did she want to? Damnation, that’s all she
wanted to do.

  Heat crept up her cheeks.

  Meg grinned, and Charlotte knew her cheeks were flaming.

  * * *

  Charlotte yawned and indulged in a long, luxurious stretch in the sun that streamed through the window. She hadn’t felt so relaxed in months. She sat up and glanced out the window, into a bright, sunny day. It took a moment to note the angle of the sun, far higher than usual. Sacre-bleu! It was midday. She bolted out of bed, threw on her dress, then fled into the nursery, still gathering her wayward curls into a knot.

  Meg and the children, seated at the table, glanced up at her in surprise.

  “I fear I have overslept,” she confessed.

  “Och, no worries, lass.” Meg’s freckled face melted into laughter as she waved the children back to their studies. “His lordship came earlier, but when I told him you still slept, he ordered you not be disturbed.” Meg drew herself up to her full height and planted her hands on her wide hips as she spoke in a low voice that imitated his lordship, “Let the lass sleep as long as she pleases, Meg. I shall come for her later.”

  Charlotte groaned.

  A sly look crossed Meg’s face. She stepped close and playfully dug her elbow into Charlotte’s ribs. “Methinks I should start calling you ‘her ladyship’, aye?”

  “Heavens, no,” she quickly shushed the jolly maid.

  Meg merely laughed and hurried to the hearth. She scooped up a letter from the mantle and came back to Charlotte. “Has his lordship’s seal.” She dropped it into Charlotte’s hand with a knowing wink, then returned to her chair.

  Charlotte stared at the letter. What could Alistair possibly have to say to her in a letter? She escaped to her room, broke the red wax seal, and read:

  Come to the stables. At once.

  Alistair

  The letter’s curt, cold words sounded unlike the man, but perhaps he’d been in a hurry…or worse, perhaps something was wrong. It didn’t matter. Her heart began to race at the thought of seeing him again. After she buttoned herself into a newly-made, light blue pelisse, she informed Meg and the children she would return as soon as she could and hurried from the nursery.

  Minutes later, Charlotte slipped from the castle. Wind whipped her skirts as she crossed the lawn, toward the clock tower and the stables beyond. He wanted to see her. Concern flooded her. Should she brace herself against disappointment? Perhaps, he had called her to the stables to apologize for the kiss?

  Her step faltered. “Really, Charlotte,” she admonished. “He is an earl. You are a governess. This cannot end well.”

  But the memory of his gentle lips on hers swept all thoughts away. What had she to fear? Never had she met so honorable a man. He’d shown nothing but honor from the start. How many men would accept social disgrace in order to spare their nephew pain? During those moments at the ice house, she’d never found a man more handsome in her entire life. She quickened her pace and arrived at the stables to find men pitching soiled hay into a cart.

  “Good day, Miss.” One raised his hand to his hat. “How can I help you?”

  Dipping her head in greeting, she smiled and replied, “His lordship bade me join him here, sir.”

  The man drew his brows together. “His lordship’s already done with his morning ride. He is back up to the castle.”

  Of course. She’d overslept. Charlotte thanked the man, then hurried back the way she’d come. Might she return to the nursery to find him there? She entered the castle, wondering what next to do, when she met Foster in the hallway and showed the old piper the letter.

  “His lordship is in his study,” he said. “Come with me, Miss.” He led her down the hallway.

  Alistair’s study came into view up ahead. The door stood open.

  “So, the owner of the hat is Thomas?” Nicholas’ voice drifted to them. “And the source of his newfound wealth is Lady Cassilis. Why would Lady Cassilis pay the town drunk?”

  “Something happened in that icehouse, yesterday.” Charlotte recognized Alistair’s deep tone. “We now know that Thomas was there, and Lady Cassilis could not hide her interest in the place when she spoke with me. She must have been there as well. Perhaps the lad stumbled across—”

  Charlotte and Foster reached the room and she looked through the open doorway. Alistair lounged in a brown, wingback chair with one booted foot propped on a small side table. He radiated such lazy grace and primal heat that butterflies danced in her stomach. He wore a white linen shirt, and the gray trousers hugging his long, muscular legs were outright indecent.

  As the piper motioned her forward, Charlotte entered. Alistair’s gaze met hers. He jumped to his feet and crossed the room in three long strides. Her fears faded at once.

  “Charlotte,” he murmured. “What a pleasure to see you. What brings you here? Surely, Oliver hasn’t gotten into mischief yet again?” He smiled.

  “Oliver is studying, my lord.” She smiled back and extended the letter toward him. “I…came because of this.”

  He took the note and threaded his warm fingers through hers. She allowed him to tug her to the chair he’d vacated by the fire, keenly aware of Nicholas’ curious gaze.

  “What letter is this?” Alistair turned the letter over as she sat down on the chair.

  That surprised her. “Meg said you left it for me.”

  Alistair frowned. Quickly, he flipped it open and scanned the contents. His brows inched up in surprise. “I did no’ write this.”

  Nicholas plucked the letter from his hand and read it. “The mysteries in this house multiply by the day.” He turned his ice-blue eyes on her. “When did Meg receive this?”

  “I assumed this morning, but I cannot be certain.”

  “Odd,” Alistair murmured.

  “Allow me to speak with Meg,” Nicholas offered. With a curt nod, he strode to the door and vanished into the corridor.

  Uneasy, Charlotte stood. “I shall not interrupt you, my—”

  “Alistair,” he interjected. “My Alistair. I like that.” His expression clouded as he reached down and absently twisted one of her wayward curls around his finger. “This letter alarms me.”

  “Who would write such a thing?” She frowned.

  He cupped her cheek with his palm. “We will find out.” He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Sit,” he gently ordered.

  She obeyed and he strode to the fireplace.

  Silence fell.

  Charlotte remained in the chair with folded hands as he added wood to the fire. The flames crackled in a mesmerizing dance of light, drawing Charlotte’s thoughts far away, until it seemed only a moment later before the baronet returned.

  Nicholas held the letter up between two fingers. “We have a mystery. Meg found this last night on the table in the nursery. She meant to give it to Miss Atchenson but, as Miss Atchenson returned late…” A small smile hovered over his lips.

  Concern flashed across Alistair’s face. “Who would draw Charlotte out to the stables at night, and for what purpose?”

  “Something smells foul,” Nicholas agreed.

  Alistair turned to Charlotte. “Have you an enemy here?”

  An enemy? She shook her head, even as her thoughts went to Lady Cassilis. The woman had been angry over the accidental meeting on the beach. She wondered if she should mention it.

  “I shall look into the matter.” Alistair took the letter from Nicholas. “Surely, someone must have seen who delivered this.”

  Charlotte rose. “Then I shall return to the children, my lord.”

  He caught her smoothly by the arm and pulled her close. She tensed when he planted a kiss on the top of her head, then melted when he said, “Stay close to the castle and do not walk alone until I get to the bottom of this.”

  “I will,” she promised. Keenly aware of Nicholas watching, she took her leave.

  Charlotte hurried down the corridor. She’d just placed her foot on the bottom stair of the servants’ stairs when a familiar, and unwelcome, voice spoke behind her.

  “Charlotte.”

  Captain Edwards stepped up beside her. Wearing a dark blue, squared-cut tailcoat, he held his hat in his hands as his fingers fiddled with the brim.

  “May I have a word with you, Charlotte?” he asked in a quiet voice.

  She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

  He hesitated, then drew a long breath through his nostrils. “I…owe you an apology.”