Prejudice in Regency Society. Michelle Styles
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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 your reputation you have tarnished. You have shamed the family.’
‘I didn’t mean to.’ Lottie held out her hands and willed her mother to smile at her, to make some small sign that she would stand by her. Her mother buried her face in her hands and the sound of sobbing increased.
‘You only have yourself to blame, Mother.’ Henry put a hand on their mother’s shoulder and turned his furious gaze on Lottie. ‘You encouraged her far too much. I knew one day she would go too far and she has. You have disgraced us, Carlotta.’
Lottie kept her back straight. She had to get through this somehow, and then she’d decide what she could do. Perhaps there was a way to hush the whole thing up. If only everyone would stop yelling at once.
‘He has ruined her, I say. I demand to know what he intends to do about it!’ Sir Geoffrey drew himself up to his full height. ‘I may be old, sir, but I am not without influence. I will have it known that you are debaucher of virgins, a man not to be trusted. What are you going to do? Are you totally devoid of honour?’
Tristan stared at the elderly man as the diatribe washed over him. He knew Sir Geoffrey was correct. Doors would be closed to him. He’d spent ten years in the wilderness. He did not intend to go there again. He glanced at Lottie Charlton. At first she had winced every time someone said something, but now she stood, straight, not moving a muscle. It would not just be he who was ruined, but also this woman.
He gave an ironic smile. He should have remembered his own advice—virgins were complicated. He should never have tasted her lips. He wanted to taste her skin again. He wanted her lips to softly yield under his again.
‘Marry her. I will marry Miss Charlton.’
The veranda went silent.
‘You are going to do what?’ Mrs Charlton squeaked and began to furiously wave her fan.
‘As I have ruined her, there is only one course open to me, I will take the responsibility and marry her. My honour demands it.’
‘I knew you had it in you, Dyvelston,’ Lottie’s brother said, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘There, Mama, problem solved. Dyvelston will marry Lottie. We will have a quiet wedding and no one in the business community will turn their faces from us. While Dyvelston might not be what we would have wished, he will at least do the decent thing.’
‘I