‘Lottie, you must be strong.’
‘I will try.’ She gave a slight sniff.
‘That’s my girl.’
She knew that propriety demanded that she move away. She was anything but his girl. She was nothing to him. She was about to be promised to Sir Geoffrey Lea. Sacrificed on her mother’s altar of social ambition. Ever since she had made her début, she had paid attention to the consequences. But for what? To be married to a fossil, a man older than her late father. To submit to his horny-handed embrace. Fate was cruel and she wanted to cheat it.
Her feet stayed still as he placed a strong hand on her shoulder, drawing her closer. She struggled to breathe, to remember her name, to remember anything beyond the shape of his lips. She raised a hand in mute appeal. Touched his shirt front.
He lowered his mouth, captured hers. A featherlight touch that rapidly became firmer, deeper, called to her. She felt her body arch towards his, wanted it to continue. But he lifted his mouth and regarded her.
His face was all shadows and angles. Moonlight shone down, giving it another glow. In the distance she could hear the faint strains of a polka, but much closer she heard the pounding of her heart. Her tongue explored her aching lips and a sigh escaped her throat.
His arms tightened about her again, held her there against the length of his body. A fiery glow built inside her. She was alive in a way she would never be again, if she were married to Sir Geoffrey Lea or whichever other titled fossil her mother might discover.
‘Kiss me again,’ she whispered, pulling his head down to hers. Whispered against his firm mouth, ‘One last time. No one is here. Tomorrow will be too late.’
Her hands came up and clung to his shirt front. He lowered his mouth again and pressed kisses along her neck and then returned to recapture her mouth. This time the kiss was harder, more insistent. Penetrating. Sensation coursed through her body in hot pulsating waves.
Her body collided with his as the meeting of lips stretched. His hand tangled in her hair, holding her face. A warmth grew deep inside Lottie, melting her limbs, forcing her to seek the support of his body. Her breasts strained against the confines of her corset. Ached. She felt the material give and his cool fingers slide against her fevered skin. Her entire world had come down to this one moment, this one point in time. She sighed and parted her lips, drank in the scent of him. His lips trailed down her neck, tasted her skin, and began to slowly travel lower.
‘Unhand that woman, you…you cad!’
The words pierced her inner core. Lottie froze, hoping they were directed at someone else. Tristan raised his head, looked over her shoulder towards where the voice resounded. He put her away from him. Lottie looked up at him, unable to turn around. His face changed, became hard, but his arm remained about her, holding her. She resisted the temptation to bury her face in his shoulder. Both enormity of what she had done, what she had been discovered doing, and the knowledge that if it had continued for much longer, she would have been powerless to stop it, weighed in on her.
‘Is there a problem, Sir Geoffrey?’ Tristan said, drawling the words.
Lottie flinched and moved out of the circle of his arms. He made no attempt to keep her in them. She turned and looked back towards the French doors. Sir Geoffrey stood there, leaning on his cane, surrounded by other figures. How long had they been standing there? How much had they seen? She glanced down to where her bodice gaped open, brought her hands up and tried to rearrange it. Her curls tumbled in disarray about her shoulders, the artful hairstyle her mother’s maid had arranged earlier this evening gone in a moment’s passion. She winced, knowing the wanton picture she must make.
‘What is going on here?’ Her brother’s voice floated over the rapidly increasing crowd. ‘Oh my God, Lottie, what have you done?’
‘He has seduced her.’ Sir Geoffrey’s voice boomed out over the rest. ‘He coldheartedly took her innocence and virtue. Look at her state of undress.’
‘It all depends on your definition of seduction.’ Tristan’s voice dripped with ice.
‘Mr Dyvelston was helping me because I felt faint.’ Lottie forced the words from her mouth. She looked up at Tristan for confirmation. His eyes blazed black. ‘I needed a breath of fresh air. Nothing happened.’
‘It looked rather different to me,’ Sir Geoffrey thundered.
‘I kissed her, yes. I overpowered her.’ The words exploded from Tristan Dyvelston.
‘Did you kiss this man, Carlotta?’ her brother asked. ‘Did you allow him to kiss you?’
Lottie’s tongue explored her lips—full, swollen and aching for the pressure of his mouth once again. She dreaded to think what the front of her gown looked like. They had been caught. Denial was impossible. Everything appeared to be happening from a long way away. She nodded as she crossed her hands over her chest. Waited.
‘Charlton, our bargain has ended.’ Sir Geoffrey’s voice resounded across the veranda. Strident. Furious. ‘She is damaged goods, sir. Given towards lewd and licentious behaviour. I wish you luck in finding a husband for that baggage. No gentleman will have her. Thank God I discovered what she was like before I married her. She’d have run away with her dancing master, soon as look at you.’
Lottie heard the swell of voices rise around her, echoing Sir Geoffrey’s harsh sentiments. Everyone speaking at once. Ruined. She was ruined. The dreaded consequences that Lucy had so confidently predicted for her all those months ago had happened. There would be no London Season. No triumphant return to Newcastle. Nothing, all because she had not been able resist the temptation of Tristan Dyvelston’s mouth.
‘I…I…’ Lottie put a hand to her head and groped for words, something that would explain it all and that would restore everything to its natural order. Her mother and Henry had to see that it was not the end of the world, that she was still an asset to the family. In time, she might once again have marriage prospects.
She scanned the rapidly expanding crowd for a friendly face and found none.
‘What do you intend to do about it, Dyvelston?’ Sir Geoffrey shook his stick at Tristan. ‘You have ruined this young person. Taken advantage of her youth. The tales they whispered about you were true, even though I have always vigorously denied them. No son of your father would behave in such a libertine manner.’
‘Do? Why should he do anything?’ Lord Thorngrafton came forward. ‘All he did was kiss the girl. She asked for it. There was that incident in Newcastle—’
‘Stay out of this, Peter!’ Tristan Dyvelston thundered. ‘You have done enough damage already.’
‘Lord Thorngrafton is right. He simply kissed me. Nothing more.’ Lottie hated the way her voice shook. She tried for a smile. She might be ruined, but Tristan should not be held entirely to blame. ‘Might this whole thing be…?’
The faces turned towards her were less than encouraging. Several of the old ladies lifted their fans to gossip behind. The tale was already being embroidered. By morning she’d be a harlot and there would be no hiding from the scandal.
Lottie took a step backwards, encountered the railing. The enormity of what she had done washed over her. She had kissed a man, passionately kissed him, without expectation or forethought. A huge gaping hole opened in her middle. She wished she could turn back the hands of time.
‘Oh dear, oh dear, whatever shall we do? All the love and attention I gave her and she repays me like this.’ Her mother stood next to Sir Geoffrey, white-faced and wringing her hands. Her ample bosom trembled as she raised an accusatory finger. ‘Carlotta, look what you have done to the family. To me. It is not just