Charming Sir Charles (Dashing Widows 5)

The tilt of Sir Charles’s eyebrow hinted that he heard the off-kilter note in her answer, and his smile held an unfamiliar grimness. “You’re too old to blush, Lady Norwood, if I paid one ounce of credence to this drivel you’re spouting.”

“Well, really,” she began hotly, smarting at his sardonic tone, but stopped before she said something unforgiveable. To her relief, Meg was heading in their direction.

“Aunt Sally, Brandon wants to show off his new bays. Can I go driving with him this afternoon?”

To Sally’s surprise, Sir Charles didn’t seem altogether pleased that Meg interrupted their increasingly awkward discussion. Unless as was more likely, his pique had nothing to do with Sally, and everything to do with Meg seeking another man’s company.

Blast him. If Sir Charles wanted a say over where Meg spent her time, he could damn well propose. He’d been dangling after the girl since he’d come to Town. Perhaps a little competition might bring him up to scratch.

He took a step back, and Sally sucked in a relieved breath. The intensity between them threatened to spoil the pleasant companionship she had come to rely upon.

When Sally was too distracted to answer immediately, Meg sent her a pleading look. “Please, Aunt. He’s just bought them from Tattersalls, and he says they’re magnificent steppers.”

“Of course you may,” Sally said, struggling to shake off her reaction to Sir Charles’s manner. And her own odd reaction to him.

She passed her half-full glass to a footman. That bizarre conversation about marriage had quite spoiled her taste for champagne.

“Thank you, Aunt.” Meg curtsied to Sir Charles. “It was a lovely wedding, wasn’t it, Sir Charles?”

“Delightful.” As he bowed, his expression softened with the mixture of amusement and fondness that encouraged Sally to hope a wedding lay ahead. And reminded her that this prickle she felt in his presence meant nothing in the larger scheme.

What mattered was that he liked Meg and would make her a wonderful husband. Still, she had to struggle to shift her mind from their disconcerting exchange to the progress of his courtship.

Love was definitely in the air today. Even a complete novice to the emotion like her felt it. Would Amy and Pascal’s nuptials inspire him to propose to Meg?

Sally couldn’t believe he was toying with her niece. That would be both cruel and unprincipled, and she was convinced Sir Charles was neither.

Clearly eager to finalize arrangements for the outing, Meg returned to Brandon Deerham and his best friend and foster brother, Carey Townsend.

“They’re just friends. There’s nothing serious in it,” Sally found herself saying, despite her earlier impulse to let him stew, not to mention the opportunity Meg’s interruption offered to seek less demanding company.

“Of course there isn’t.” Sir Charles seemed surprised she’d felt the need to make the remark. “They’re both so young. Sir Brandon must only be twenty or so.”

Had Sally mistaken his resentment of Brand? Sir Charles mustn’t be the jealous type. Something else that forecast future happiness for his wife.

Her niece was bright and high-spirited, and a possessive husband might crush that vitality. Sally had bitter experience of a man who set out to turn a vivacious girl into a meek helpmeet.

“Too young for a gentleman to make a commitment, but not for a woman. I was married at seventeen.”

“It’s still too young.”

Was that why he delayed his proposal? If so, he was taking a risk. He wasn’t the only man in London to notice that her niece was pretty and good company. “Meg is eighteen, and much more levelheaded than I was at that age. I think an older man would steady her.”

An older man like you, she wanted to say.

Devil take him, it was time he stated his intentions. This was really too bad of him. If he wasn’t interested in marrying Meg this season, he should jolly well step aside and let some other eligible suitor step up.

“You’re looking very fierce,” he said, leaning closer with a welcome trace of his bantering manner. But she still couldn’t relax in his company.

They’d been talking alone too long for strict decorum, but at a gathering like this, nobody would mind. Still, Sally suddenly felt as if he cut her off from the crowd, the way a sheepdog edged out a particular ewe from the herd.

Before today, she hadn’t realized quite how tall he was. But right now, she felt like a mighty oak overshadowed her. She raised puzzled eyes to his face, taking in the chiseled features. The square-cut jaw and long, straight nose. The watchful eyes under thick dark brows.

Her heart took another unsteady dive. He looked like he was on the verge of saying something important.

What on earth was happening? Was he about to ask her permission to pay his addresses to Meg?

“Sally…”