Potent Pleasures

  Still, like the rest of London, he knew that Alexander’s first wife had annulled their marriage on grounds of impotence. He had found it hard to believe, given acute memories of nights in the best London brothels, accompanied by Alexander and his brother, Patrick. Why, he distinctly remembered opening the wrong door, in a very select establishment maintained by a woman known as Serena—and Alex definitely hadn’t been impotent at that point.

  “Lady Charlotte,” he said easily, holding out his hand. “Are you prepared to join me for our picnic?”

  “Oh, dear,” said Alex with mock sadness. “Now, that is precisely the occasion for which I arrived here. And Lady Charlotte has been explaining to me that she has a miserable memory, and so she accidentally promised to accompany both of us.”

  Charlotte stifled a giggle. “I think,” she said with a reproving glance at Alex, “that I shall accept Lord Holland’s invitation, as it was the first extended.”

  “Oh, no,” Alex said. “Why, Will and I are old friends, aren’t we, Will?”

  Will nodded slowly.

  “So we will all go together,” said Alex. “I have two carriages outside with more than enough picnic food and a nanny. Why don’t we all meet at the east side of Hyde Park, next to the statue of Eve? Will, perhaps you would accompany Lady Charlotte?”

  Will nodded, his head spinning. Why on earth were they all going on a picnic together? And if Alex was competing for Charlotte’s hand, why did he so carelessly hand her over to him? He had to know that the carriage was a perfect tête-à-tête.

  For her part, Charlotte was furious. She wasn’t as naive as Will Holland. She knew that she was outmaneuvered. After being so thoroughly kissed, she was unlikely to enjoy Will’s company overmuch in the carriage. No doubt, that was what this Alexander—or Alex, as Will called him—had surmised.

  Ha! she thought vengefully.

  And so when they were in the carriage and Will put a gentle arm around her shoulder, she unresistingly moved closer and lifted her face for a kiss in an entirely natural gesture that made Will’s hopes skyrocket. He kissed her skillfully, his tongue racing over her lips, parting them delicately.

  Charlotte’s mind remained entirely clear. She did enjoy it, to a point. But there was nothing there to make her knees weak, or to make her feel instantly flushed. Even when a hand descended to her curls and pulled her closer, she didn’t feel a tingle in her stomach.

  Will wasn’t fooled either. Charlotte was not responding at all. He pulled back and smiled down at her.

  “I think,” he said, “that we should have a well-bred conversation, like the well-bred people that we are. Do you know, I think I saw your friend Cecilia Commonweal yesterday in Clark & Debenham? She appeared to be buying fourteen ostrich plumes, dyed a violent purple. Do you think that is possible?”

  Charlotte giggled and then caught herself. “Feathers are all the rage,” she observed, not sure how possible it was to defend Sissy’s fashion sense.

  “Oh, really?” Will said saucily. “And will London soon be seeing Lady Charlotte dressed up like one of the king’s best horses?”

  To Charlotte’s mind it was taking an awfully long time for their carriage to arrive at Hyde Park. In fact, Will had directed his coachman to drive around the park twice before stopping, since he had hoped to spend the time passionately kissing his future bride.

  But there was no talk of marriage in the Holland coach. Charlotte and Will wrangled amiably over fashion trends and the latest excesses of the Prince of Wales; the diamond ring that once belonged to his mother rested undisturbed in Will’s pocket.

  Chapter 6

  When the coach finally stopped, Charlotte swiftly glanced around before lowering her eyes and pretending a modest uninterest in the whereabouts of the Earl of Sheffield and Downes. Clearly his coach had not yet arrived. Will’s heart lifted. Perhaps Alex was giving him a chance, after all. He led Charlotte gently off toward the willow pond, leaving his man to prepare the picnic. For her part, Charlotte tried to keep her attention on what Will was saying, but her mind kept wandering. She desperately wanted Alex—the earl, she reminded herself—to appear, and yet she was furious with herself for the wish. Why should she look for him? He didn’t even remember her!

  “Charlotte,” said Will patiently, as he repeated himself yet again, “what do you think of the prince’s gold heels?”

  “Ah …” Charlotte looked up at him, hopelessly confused. “The prince’s gold heels?”

  “Yes,” Will said. He looked at her expectantly.

  “I’m sorry,” Charlotte said humbly. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you are talking about.”

  “I know,” said Will with a wry smile. “That’s because I’ve been making up nonsense, and you have been very charmingly nodding and agreeing with whatever I say.”

  “Oh,” Charlotte said with a little gasp.

  Will firmly drew her over to a nearby bench. They sat down for a moment and watched two sullen swans trolling for bread. Weeping willows hung down over the pond, their branches trailing into the water like strands of wet hair.

  Charlotte longed to be back in her calm studio, finishing her portrait of Sophie. She had posed Sophie—somewhat ridiculously, she would admit—in a bluebell wood, and it had turned into an endless task, painting bluebells stretching into the distance. Yet even if she was occasionally bored in the studio, at least there she was never buffeted by desire, or flushed with sudden humiliation.

  Now she was on a picnic without a chaperone, escorted by a handsome young man who seemed to be in love with her, and she could not keep her mind clear. Will’s tousled blond hair and blue eyes left her pulse unmoved. But all she had to do was remember that she would soon be seeing Alex and her body instantly responded, tingling from her toes to her fingers.

  “Charlotte,” said Will, putting his hands on her shoulders and turning her toward him. “I would like you to do me the honor of becoming my wife.”

  “Oh,” Charlotte gasped again. She had been refusing marriage proposals for weeks, and suddenly she had forgotten all her lines.

  Will didn’t wait for her to answer; he simply lowered his head and kissed her. Charlotte snapped out of her hazy state and began to feel distinctly annoyed. What was it about these men? They seemed to think they could plaster their lips to hers at any moment they wished! She drew back sharply, rising to her feet.

  “Lord Holland,” she said calmly. “You and I have already discussed the subject of marriage and I refused your hand.”

  For an instant Will just sat on the bench and looked up at her. That was before, he thought silently. Before you cut your hair, before you changed your dress, before you became so irresistible. But how can you tell a woman that this time you really mean it? How could you say such a thing without revealing that you had been hunting her fortune and not herself, even if you were no longer? He rose and took her hands in his. “Charlotte, I—” But whatever he meant to say was broken off.

  Charlotte’s eyes flew past his shoulders and a small but radiant smile broke over her face. Will stared down at her in stupefaction for a few seconds, then dropped her hands in resignation, turning around. Striding through the trees toward them was a chattering party of elegantly dressed people including Alexander Foakes, the Earl of Sheffield and Downes, who once again carried his small daughter perched on his shoulder.

  Will looked down at his companion. Her face grew faintly rosy as she watched the earl approach. She seemed entirely unaware of Will’s presence. The baron’s shoulders drooped slightly. He was no fool. Charlotte was lost to him … unless … could she be aware of Alex’s impotence? For a mad instant Will pictured himself telling her, comforting her as she threw her disconsolate self into his arms. Insanity. How on earth would you tell a gently bred young lady such a thing? Why, she probably didn’t even understand the mechanics involved!

  He glanced at Alex. It seemed so unlikely, anyway. Alex’s large, muscled body suited the current fashion for skintight pantaloons
perfectly. Even from here Will found it extremely unlikely that he was incapable.

  Damn it! Will felt a stab of pain in his chest. He had grown so used to the idea of hunting a young woman for her fortune that he had forgotten that real emotion could be involved. But … he glanced down again at Charlotte. Her lips were upturned in a welcoming smile; in her eyes was a look he had never seen before. Oh, the hell with it, Will thought. Even if her parents did send Alex packing (what parents would allow a girl to marry a man with an impairment like that?) she would never really be his.

  And at that point Will, unbeknown to himself, moved smoothly out of the category of fortune hunter. He turned a corner that disallowed marriages made solely on the basis of money.

  For his part, Alex instantly noticed Charlotte’s rumpled hair and pink face, and a swell of rage rose in his throat. How dare Will touch her, he thought furiously. How dare she kiss another man? Pippa, sensing the current of emotion pulsing through his body, clutched his hair and began to cry.

  “Hey,” Alex said softly, swinging his daughter down against his shoulder and smoothing her hair. “Shhhh, Pippa.”

  “Papa,” Pippa sobbed, “Papa.”

  “Lord.” Alex sighed, and waving his hand at the small band, said carelessly, “Will, do the pretty for me, please? I’m going to take this little fish bait for a walk.” He set off without a backward glance.

  Charlotte watched, nonplussed, as the earl rounded a bend in the path and disappeared. That was it? He shambled off, like someone’s groom? She felt a flush rise up her cheeks. By God, she wasn’t an easy wench, ready to fall into his hands the moment he raised his finger.

  “Well,” said Lord Holland, “I should certainly like to ‘do the pretty,’ as Alex has it, but I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure.” He looked appreciatively at the lovely young woman who had just arrived.

  The gentleman with her made a low and elegant bow. “I, sir, was the Marquis de Valconbrass but”—he shrugged in a very Gallic fashion—”now I am simply Lucien Boch. And this is my sister Daphne.”

  Daphne sank into an elegant curtsy. She was very young, probably only sixteen, but she already wore her hair up in a chignon, indicating that she had been presented at Court. She looked, to Charlotte’s mind, quintessentially French, with dainty features and a strong yet delicate chin. She seemed at once romantic and intensely practical. Her hair was so fair it looked like spun silver, and it shone in the sun. And her clothes were exquisite, from the tip of her parasol to the glimpse of rosy slippers peeking out from beneath her fashionable gown.

  Lord Holland bowed as gracefully as the marquis. “Lord Holland, at your service,” he said cheerfully, “and this is Lady Charlotte Daicheston, daughter of the Duke of Calverstill. It is a delight to meet you.” He raised Daphne’s hand to his lips.

  Lucien shrugged, looking off in the direction taken by Alex. “Shall we return to the carriages? I believe the picnic is being set up in that direction.”

  Charlotte felt a bubble of laughter rising inside her. This was too ridiculous! She was on a picnic with a rejected suitor, who rather than sulking seemed perfectly ready to turn his attentions to Daphne; another possible suitor, if she could even call Alex that, considering his inattentive behavior; and a third man whom she had never seen before in her life.

  “Sir,” she said to Lucien, “since our host is so whimsical, why should we not be equally wayward? I, for one, would much enjoy a small walk before eating.”

  Alex recognized immediately the work of a master opponent when a good while later a happy band rounded the corner, walking toward the picnic laid out in the sun. His footmen had set out linen tablecloths of the palest gold an hour ago; napkins embossed with his crest were stacked next to silver tableware; the champagne was slowly warming in pools of melting ice. He was stretched out on the grass, his mouth irresistibly quirking with amusement as he watched Charlotte stroll toward him, head turned appreciatively toward Lucien, her eyes shining with laughter at something he had said. Foiled, Alex thought. Hoist with my own petard! That will teach me to indulge in a fit of petulance.

  He rose easily to his feet. “You see,” he said with a welcoming smile, “our tempers are restored and we await you.” He gestured at Pippa, happily picking grass, but Charlotte had to compress her lips to avoid laughing. Surely he had emphasized our, ever so slightly? There was a moment of silence as everyone arranged themselves on the linen.

  “Aha!” Will said. “I see that my meager picnic has been supplemented by regal fare!”

  Charlotte was trying to figure out why she sank naturally into a place next to Alex. Remember, she told herself fiercely. Remember the way he treated you before. Do not make a booby of yourself again! Yet even the lightest touch of his hand on her arm made her shiver.

  “Sir,” she said, keeping her tone light and indifferent.

  “I merely wanted to offer you a strawberry,” said Alex with dulcet sweetness. He was stretched out on one side, propped up by an elbow. He leaned forward and handed her a strawberry.

  “Ah, where is your daughter, that is, Lady Pippa?” Charlotte asked weakly.

  The earl rolled back and Pippa came into view on his other side.

  “Should she be eating grass?” Charlotte asked.

  “Probably not,” Alex said in an unperturbed fashion. “Here, Pippa, you stop eating that grass. You’re not a horse.” He took the uneaten strawberry out of Charlotte’s hand. “Eat this instead,” he said, putting the strawberry into Pippa’s plump hand. She looked at it with interest and smashed it against her face.

  “My goodness,” Charlotte said. “She looks like a lot of work. Doesn’t she have a nanny?”

  “Oh, yes,” Alex replied. “The nanny’s over there.” He nodded toward a small grove of trees. His servants were decorously seated in a small group. Unlike their master, they were seated on benches, and rather than champagne, they seemed to be drinking ale. The one woman was unmistakably dressed in the uniform of a governess.

  “Why is she over there and not here with Pippa?” Charlotte persisted.

  “Pippa doesn’t like her very much,” Alex said. “I don’t seem to pick nannies terribly well. She’s had five of them in the last few weeks, but none of them seemed to take. Here, I’ll show you the problem.” He picked up Pippa and put her down between his body and Charlotte’s. Pippa took one look at the woman to her left and broke into hysterical sobs. Alex hauled her back over his body with a practiced grasp. As soon as she was removed from Charlotte’s vicinity, she gave one final sob and settled back down to picking grass. And eating it, Charlotte noticed.

  “Why?” she asked simply.

  “Her mother was gravely ill, for three or four weeks, I’m not sure how long. And Pippa was left with a succession of nannies—they kept leaving for fear of catching Maria’s scarlet fever.”

  “Oh, poor thing!” Charlotte said. “And now she is afraid of women?”

  “That’s it,” said Alex. “So you see,” he added lazily, “I’m afraid the only thing left for me to do is to get married. She doesn’t like nannies, or governesses. I think the only way she’ll ever get used to women is if I marry one.” He looked over at her, his black eyes dancing. “What do you think?”

  “Perhaps,” Charlotte replied. “Don’t you think it’s rather an extreme measure?”

  Alex shrugged slightly. “You know how it is; there comes a time in every man’s life when he feels the chill of old age … the breath of the grave … the—”

  “Oh, please!” Charlotte laughed. “You must be all of what? Thirty-five?”

  “Thirty-one actually, but I must marry,” Alex persisted. He had somehow drawn even closer. “Why, Aunt Henrietta has told me so many times. You see,” he said, tickling her nose with a piece of grass, “the future of the Earldom of Sheffield and Downes lies in my hands.”

  Charlotte was biting her lip, trying not to laugh. “What about your twin brother?” she whispered. They were so close together now that there was
hardly a need to speak out loud at all.

  “Alas,” said Alex. “Patrick is in India, and life is so uncertain. No, I must marry—for the good of the earldom, you understand.”

  “Hmmm,” said Charlotte. “Such a sacrifice. How lucky I am not to be a man! I could never bring myself to it.”

  “No?” Alex asked. “Even if it was truly necessary?”

  “Why ever would it be?” Charlotte said. “I have an independent income, and my brother, being a man, is all that is needed to carry on my father’s dukedom. No”—she shook her head, her eyes shining with mischief—”I foresee a future without a husband. But,” she said, patting the earl’s hand comfortingly, “I can recommend some very nice women for you. After all, your requirements aren’t very high—only that she be maternal—a widow with several children would be just the ticket. Let’s see, there’s Lady Doctorow. She’s not precisely beautiful, but only the strictest critic would say she was homely. More important, she is very motherly, and she has five children already, so she is sure to like Pippa!”

  “Oh, no,” said Alex. “My wife can’t have children already. No, Lady Doctorow is out.”

  “Well,” Charlotte began, but she was interrupted by Daphne Boch.

  “That child,” she said rather sharply, “has fallen asleep with her face on a plate.”

  The entire party swung about. Pippa had indeed fallen asleep, her face lovingly pressed into a plate that had once held ice cream. Moreover, she still had strands of grass sticking to her face, mixed with mashed strawberry. In all, she looked so thoroughly motherless that Charlotte’s heart turned over.

  Alexander merely picked her up and looked about for a suitable cloth to wash her face. When he didn’t see one, he turned and in one smooth gesture plumped Pippa straight into Charlotte’s lap.