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Lady Isabella was waiting when Charlotte emerged from the Marquess’ chambers. Charlotte’s heart didn’t do the little skip it usually did in the woman’s presence. She was too ashamed of herself for causing that look of concern on the Lady’s face. It was the same look the woman had been directing at her all day and was a constant vise around Charlotte’s heart.
She had broken a promise to Lady Isabella and still the woman forgave her. She flaunted her job right in the Lady’s face: charmed the Marquess, accepted his money, and went to his rooms. She noticed the anguish in Lady Isabella’s eyes, felt the stab of regret in her heart, and ignored both. Lady Isabella should have been insulted, outraged, disappointed, or unforgiving. Yet, here she was, concerned and begging Charlotte to talk to her. Clearly, the woman was uneducated about the art of grudge holding.
Charlotte walked quickly away from Lady Isabella; desperate to flee this house and drink the day from her memory. Refusing the woman’s request to stay, Charlotte’s stride never slowed as she snatched her arm away from the Lady’s brief touch. She couldn’t stomach sympathy or kindness from the Marquess’ sister. She wasn’t worthy of it.
“Please, just a moment.” Lady Isabella once again implored.
Charlotte sharply turned and stepped close to the pleading woman; their skirts brushing and their chests inches apart. She grabbed both of the Lady’s wrists and harshly pulled them between their bodies. She wanted anger. She wanted to replace the Lady’s concern with rage; to yell and be yelled at. She wanted Lady Isabella to tell her what a traitorous whore she was. She wanted the woman to hate her with the same ferocity that she hated herself. Maybe then Charlotte’s heart would stop aching every time she bedded the wrong Fitzwilliam.
“Why?” Charlotte snapped. Why couldn’t this woman find her repulsive?
Lady Isabella closed her eyes and turned her face away. Her body stiffened and her fists clenched. She took a deep breath before opening her eyes and turning back to Charlotte. The reaction only lasted a few seconds but Charlotte recognized the fear. As if burned, she dropped the Lady’s wrists.
“Someone hurt you.” She spoke quietly, no longer seeking to fight.
Lady Isabella blinked, “My concern is of your well-being, not mine.”
“Do you always wait outside of your brother’s rooms to check on his whores?” There wasn’t sarcasm or venom in Charlotte’s voice; just genuine curiosity.
“No.”
“How can you stand to look at me?” The question had been burning inside her mind all day.
“You matter to me.” Lady Isabella replied simply.
Charlotte was shocked into silence. At twelve years old she had learned to harden her heart. Even while plotting to leave England with the Irishman, Charlotte knew she didn’t love him. He was a means to a new life. Lady Isabella was different; a first. Somehow, this woman kept inching closer to her heart.
Slowly, Charlotte placed her hands on the taller woman’s shoulders; her palms resting against the collarbone. Lady Isabella flicked her eyes to the side but didn’t move. Charlotte stepped closer and pressed her forehead into the woman’s neck, just above the pearl necklace.
“Isabella.” She began but stopped when she felt her palms and forehead rise under the Lady’s sharp intake of breath. She corrected herself, “Lady Isabella.”
“No.” The Lady interrupted. She wrapped her arms around Charlotte; her hands resting against her back; her fingers gently pressing into the dress fabric. “I like being addressed without the title.”
Charlotte briefly smiled against the pearls but spoke remorsefully, “Isabella, I’m sorry for frightening you.”
The Lady’s hand shifted on Charlotte’s back, sending a shiver down the smaller woman’s spine. “I’m sorry for my brother.”
Charlotte was aware of the intimacy of their position. She considered pulling back to put respectable space between them but couldn’t bring herself to move. Being in Isabella’s arms made her feel as close to cherished as she ever felt. Besides, Isabella seemed content as they were.
Charlotte suspected she wasn’t the only one with unexpressed attraction. The day prior, Charlotte had teasingly offered herself to the Lady, sure the woman would rebuff her. Instead, her ladyship had lost her words and became fidgety. Charlotte found it endearing and kissed Isabella’s cheek to prolong the moment. The Lady’s lips had parted and she had exhaled a small puff of air that suggested she was nervous but not opposed to the possibility of kissing Charlotte.
Encouraged by yesterday’s lack of rejection, Charlotte kissed Isabella’s shoulder just under the necklace. She heard Isabella inhale in surprise. Lifting her head and clearing her throat, Charlotte quietly spoke, ”He isn’t the worst.”
Isabella harshly exhaled through her nose, displeased with the implication. Charlotte ignored the response, not wanting to delve further into her experiences. She had a sinking feeling that it was the Marquess who instilled fear into Lady Isabella, but she asked anyway, “What happened to you? Who hurt you?”
Isabella’s blue eyes became shiny with restrained tears. She moved her lips slightly before closing them without answering. Charlotte slid her hands along the Lady’s shoulders and cupped her neck. Leaning in, she placed a small kiss under the ear. Isabella’s breath hitched. Charlotte lingered for a moment, breathing in Isabella’s scent. When she pulled away their lips were inches apart.
Exhaling against Charlotte’s lips, Isabella spoke, “Charlotte, please. My brother is dangerous. You must stay away.” Her fingers pressed into Charlotte’s back as if she were afraid Charlotte would heed her warning and leave at that very moment.
“I can’t do that.”
“We will find another way to bring down Quigly.”
Charlotte sadly smiled and tapped her fingers against Isabella’s neck. “It’s too late.”
Isabella’s brow furrowed in disagreement so Charlotte continued before she could speak, “Will you be safe here?”
“As safe as I ever am.” She whispered with resignation.
Charlotte gently squeezed her neck. “I will free you.”
“I told you before: you promise the impossible.”
“Are you afraid of your brother?”
Isabella’s lips quivered and her hands moved against Charlotte’s back, inadvertently pulling their bodies closer. “Charlotte, please do not worry about me. It is I that worry about you.”
“Isabella,” Charlotte firmly asked, “Does he hurt you?”
“He controls me.”
The evasive answers convinced Charlotte that the Marquess harmed his sister. Charlotte vowed to ruin him. She lightly ran her fingers down Isabella’s neck and over her shoulders. Isabella trembled. Charlotte pressed a kiss against Isabella’s collarbone before resting her forehead against the spot. Isabella exhaled in her ear as her fingers involuntarily fisted Charlotte’s dress.
Lust exploded through Charlotte. She had experienced it with others but never with such force. Quivering, she moved her mouth to the middle of Isabella’s neck. Her hands moved; one behind Isabella’s neck and one on the bare skin of her chest. Pulling gently, she guided Isabella’s neck toward her mouth, sucking Isabella’s skin when it met her lips. Isabella gasped. Charlotte kissed up her neck to her ear. She could feel Isabella’s chest rapidly rising and falling under her hand. Her’s was doing the same.
Isabella made a sound in her throat and Charlotte nearly came undone. One of Isabella’s hands slid to Charlotte’s neck; her fingers pressing every time Charlotte’s lips touched her skin. Charlotte’s breathing became heavy; expelling bursts of air against Isabella’s ear. Her stomach was clenching and her heart pounding. Their slow pace was uncommon for Charlotte and her body was begging to go faster. She refused to comply. She wouldn’t rush Isabella, even if it meant she spent standing right here fully clothed.
“My brother enjoys insinuating that I seek company with women, but he’s wrong.” Isabella bashfully spoke as she moved her head back to look at Charlotte’s face. “I’m unfamiliar with this.”
“Fuck him.” Charlotte murmured. Isabella smiled for the first time all day.
“I’ve never felt like this.” Charlotte confessed. She grasped the Lady’s face in her hands and watched the way her lips parted and trembled. “You’re beautiful.”
Isabella nearly closed the distance between their mouths, hesitation stopping her before they touched. Charlotte slightly curled her fingers, pressing them against the Lady’s jaw. Then she pressed against Isabella’s lips. Isabella instantly responded, her lips eagerly moving against Charlotte’s. Isabella’s lips were soft and thick, unlike any Charlotte had ever felt. The sensation made Charlotte’s body tingle and her heart beat erratically. She would rather die from oxygen deprivation than stop.
“Isabella.” Charlotte moaned when the Lady pulled back slightly. Isabella’s hands tightened on her body.
“I can’t breathe.” Isabella whispered, her lips brushing Charlotte’s as she panted for air.
“Then don’t.” Charlotte met her lips again.
The urge to ask Isabella to lead them to her rooms was becoming harder to resist. Thinking of Isabella’s rooms reminded her why she was here; the other rooms she had just exited. Disgust washed over her. Lady Isabella deserved more than her brother’s second-hand whore. The self-hatred and shame from earlier returned.
Charlotte pulled away, eliciting a gasp from Isabella, and placed her forehead back on the woman’s shoulder. A deflated sigh released against the skin near her mouth. Her arms wrapped around Isabella’s shoulders to form a loose embrace. She waited for their breathing to slow while she silently scolded herself. She had lost control; something she never did, and dirtied Isabella with her despicableness.
Her index finger idly stroked the back of Isabella’s neck while she ruminated. Lady Isabella made a humming noise in her throat. She let go of Charlotte’s neck to grab her hand. She dropped it on her own shoulder and then rested her hand on Charlotte’s waist, mumbling, “That doesn’t help.” Despite her suddenly foul mood, Charlotte chuckled.
“I must go.” Charlotte’s voice was raspy. She took a step backward. Her hands fell to her sides and she let them dangle; suddenly unsure what to do with them. Lady Isabella’s hands slid away and Charlotte flinched at the loss.
Isabella’s eyes narrowed and her mouth turned down at the corners but she nodded. She tugged on the bottom of Charlotte’s stays to straighten them, smoothed her hand over the laces, and pulled Charlotte’s dress back to its proper fit. Finally, she grabbed Charlotte’s hand and squeezed her fingers before letting go and clasping her hands at her waist. Within seconds she was the poised Lady Fitzwilliam displayed at social events. It was her defense; her disguise. It stabbed Charlotte in the heart.
Charlotte stood for several moments willing herself to move. She had prevented Lady Isabella from sullying herself with a harlot. That had to be worth the crushing pain in her heart. Reminding herself that Lady Isabella was too good for her, she turned away. She’d go to her mother’s; plot the demise of Quigly and the Marquess; and drink until her heart was once again stone.