Free What Not to Bare: A Loveswept Historical Romance by Megan Frampton Page B

you. But I don’t think the Abomination would make for a good topic. Not with me writing it, at least.”
    Lady Anne’s gentle expression turned fierce. “That is an abominable nickname.”
    “So to speak,” Charlotte said, grinning at her friend.
    The two ladies chuckled together as they watched more and more of Society’s finest members enter the room. A profusion of brightly colored gowns, studded with the gentlemen’s more sober garb.
    And then she saw him. And, as usual, he took her breath away. He wasn’t wearing anything different from what the other gentlemen wore—a black jacket, a grey waistcoat, dark trousers—but in every other aspect he was totally arresting.
    What would he look like if he wore something like what she liked to wear?
    “He does just seem to make you want to look at him, doesn’t he?” Lady Anne said, noting who Charlotte was gazing at. Charlotte felt herself blush.
    “Oh, it’s not—”
    Anne put her hand on Charlotte’s sleeve. “Please. You needn’t say anything. If we cannot look at beautiful things, then what is the point of having eyes?”
    “Not to fall down when we are walking?” Charlotte replied in a dry tone of voice. And then she sighed. “And he is also very nice. It’s not really fair that he should look like that and not be stupid, or have an annoying laugh, or a bad sense of humor.”
    Anne patted her arm. “Perhaps given time you will discover something unpleasant about him. Meanwhile, enjoy the discovery process. And speaking of discovering  …”
    He had spotted her—how could he not?—and was making his way over to her with that delicious lopsided smile on his lips.
    Anne squeezed her arm one last time and slipped away, leaving Charlotte alone in the crowd.
    “Good evening, Lady Charlotte.” His blue eyes twinkled as he took in her gown. She thought she saw him close his eyes, as if in pain, but he opened them to stare into her eyes. “It is lovely to see you.”
    Was “lovely” the word for the evening?
    “Lovely to see you as well, Lord David. How are you finding London Society after being in India for so long?”
    “It is—well, it’s complicated, and honestly”—his eyes raked down her figure again, and then returned to her face—“it is difficult to form a coherent thought at this moment. Would you like to step outside and onto the terrace where it’s cooler?”
    “And darker, of course,” Charlotte said, feeling a grin curl her mouth up. She liked that she could be so honest with him; not that she wasn’t honest with everyone, that was definitely her failing, but he didn’t seem to mind it. In fact, she might almost say he liked it, judging by his answering grin.
    He put his hand on her back and steered her through the crowd, past demure debutantes and gossiping ladies, past gentlemen who glared at him as if it was his fault he was so good-looking, past women who looked at him as if they’d never seen anything like him before.
    Likely they hadn’t.
    At last they stepped through the doors to the terrace. It was blessedly cool out there, and Charlotte gulped a few deep breaths.
    She turned to face him, making sure he was in the light cast by the candles in the ballroom so she could see him more clearly than he could see her. It was only as akindness, she reassured herself. Not because up close he was just so damned … 
lovely
.
    “What did you ask? Oh, how I found London Society after India.” He paused. “Well, I—I still can’t think. I would be happy to answer your questions, it’s just … I need to ask you something.”
    “Of course.” After asking her why she was wearing what she was wearing, then demanding to know what she was thinking when she got dressed, not to mention implying she had vision troubles, she doubted he could say anything that would surprise her.
    “Can you remove your clothing?”
    Except that.
    Charlotte’s mouth dropped open. “Pardon?”
    He ran a hand through his hair. Even rumpled,