Standing in his doorway, her lips pressed into a tight line and her face white except for two spots of high colour on her cheekbones, was the woman of his fondest dreams. And she didn’t look happy to be there.
A cold breeze down below warned him that his hastily-donned banyan had caught on the bed as he turned. He hurriedly wrapped it back around him, veiling that part of him that the lady could not have expected to see.
Behind him, Mrs Meecham whined, “She’s never here for a romp, Margaret. She’s one of the Winderfield twins.”
Aldridge sighed. He could not imagine what sort of a crisis had brought Saint Charlotte here, but clearly, he was going to have to deal with it. “My lady,” he said, “if you would be kind enough to wait in the next room, I’ll join you in a moment.”
She pulled her fascinated gaze from his lower torso, and glared at him. “You’ll need clothing. You have to come with me and we have no time to waste.”
“He can’t go out,” Mrs Meecham objected. “Aldridge, you can’t go. We came to play.”
Lady Charlotte said nothing; just retreated into the next room. Aldridge sighed. “Ladies, I have already explained that I am not available for such games. Not this evening. Not at all. And now, I must leave you. The messenger—who, by the way, neither of you saw,”—he gave them the ducal look learned from his father and honed over years of acting in his father’s place—”brings me word of an appointment I cannot miss. My heartiest regrets.”
He raised his voice. “Richards!” The butler must have been hovering at the door, for he was bowing to Aldridge before his name was out of Aldridge’s mouth. “Escort these two ladies to a room where they can dress, and arrange for a carriage to take them home. Oh, and Richards? Find out how they got in.”
He bowed to the two ladies, dashed back to his dressing room to grab the clothing already laid out for him, pulled on his pantaloons and shirt, and grabbed the rest. He could shrug into his waistcoat and coat and tug on his boots while she told him what the problem was. It was a little late to worry about appearing in front of her improperly dressed.
In his sitting room, Lady Charlotte was striding to and fro, turning at each end of her path in a swirl of skirts. Her brows were drawn together and she was biting her upper lip. She became aware of his entry and stopped to face him. “You said I was to ask you if I needed something.” The edge to her challenging tone hinted that she expected him to reject her. Never.
“I told you I was at your command,” he reminded her. “That hasn’t changed. Will you permit me to sit, my lady, to put my boots on?”
She gave a huff of displeasure. “We don’t have time for drawing room manners.”
