She turned back to the mirror, glanced at Lourdes, who wasn’t paying her any attention, and pressed the neckline of her gown down to the swell of her breasts. Sure enough she had marks there as well. There was even the hint of teeth marks along with finger smudges and more strawberries. She covered her face, feeling color sweeping up her neck to infuse her face with pure embarrassment.

“I need help, Auntie.”

She took a deep breath and went over to her niece to help her. Lourdes chattered on the way back to her room and was happy when her clothes were all there, in the dresser as well as in the armoire. There were clothes for Charlotte in the armoire as well, and that wouldn’t make her happy unless Grace had packed some things for her, but the clothes didn’t look like anything she owned. Too expensive. Similar to her things, but not brands she’d ever worn before.

She pressed her hand to trembling lips. She was in way over her head. Men like Tariq Asenguard had women falling at their feet. He was handsome. Mysterious. Wealthy. Sophisticated. Men like him didn’t look at girls like her. She had nothing to offer him. She’d had wild sex with him. She remembered the way he made her feel. Just thinking about it sent a spasm through her very core. Thinking about him made her damp. Needy.

Charlotte took a deep breath. She couldn’t undo what had happened. It happened. Her hand went to the curve of her breast where she felt achy. Where his mark was. She had to get control and come up with a plan. At least they were all safe for the moment. She didn’t understand why her sense of smell was so acute, but she found herself purposefully trying to ferret out the scent of other women who might have come before her. She was certain she was just one of many and he probably wouldn’t even remember her name.

“Auntie, I’m hungry.” Lourdes tugged on the lacy nightgown.

“I’ll bet you are, sweetheart,” Charlotte said. “Let’s go find the kitchen and get you something to eat.” She wasn’t going to put on any of those clothes until she had a bath and eased the soreness between her legs.

Genevieve was already in the kitchen drinking a cup of coffee. She looked beautiful. Serene. So Genevieve. She looked up from the glossy magazine she was reading when Charlotte entered with Lourdes. Her smile froze when her gaze centered on Charlotte’s neck.

“Oh. My. God.” Jumping up, she rounded the table to sweep aside Charlotte’s hair. “You are such a slut. You have a collar around your neck. Girl, you did the dirty with Tariq Asenguard, didn’t you? The most sought-after bachelor in the city.”

“You have no idea,” Charlotte whispered, trying to motivate Genevieve to do the same. She rolled her eyes toward Lourdes and hissed her response in a very low tone. “I totally am a slut. I couldn’t help myself. He’s, like, off-the-charts good, and I’m not even exaggerating.” The aroma of coffee, usually something she loved, made her slightly nauseous. She pressed a hand to her stomach to quiet its churning.

“What’s a slut?” Lourdes asked, clearly paying close attention.

“Your auntie,” Genevieve answered. “Her picture is beside the word in the dictionary.”

“Vi! Stop. Lourdes, that isn’t a good word and we shouldn’t have been using it. We’re joking, but it isn’t appropriate.” Charlotte made a face at her best friend, widening her eyes to signal she needed to behave herself.

“Tell me everything, or this child is going to get an education,” Genevieve warned, pulling a pan down from where it was hanging over the center aisle. “Get the bacon and eggs out of the refrigerator.”

Charlotte did so, wrinkling her nose at the smell of the bacon. She’d never noticed that it was so strong even uncooked. “I don’t know how it happened, Vi. Seriously. One moment I walked through the door and the next I was kissing him.”

Genevieve mouthed the word slut. Charlotte nodded. “With him, totally. I can barely walk this morning and was hoping you’d watch Lourdes while I took a bath.” More than anything she needed to inspect the rest of her body for his marks.

“You can barely walk?” Genevieve echoed. “I’m so jealous.” She expertly broke the shells of the eggs and whipped the mixture as she talked. The smile faded from her face as she really looked at Charlotte. “All kidding aside, are you all right?”

Charlotte touched the tip of her tongue to her bottom lip. She could still feel him there. Taste him in her mouth. The bacon and coffee were seriously making her feel sick. If she didn’t escape soon, she might really throw up. Everything in her went still.

“Oh. My. God. Genevieve.” She slammed her palm over her mouth as if that could keep her thoughts at bay. Her eyes went wide with shock and she knew she looked stricken. She stepped closer to her friend and lowered her voice even more. “I had unprotected sex. What was wrong with me?”

“What was wrong with him?” Genevieve countered. “Girl, face it, you held out forever, too busy for men and dating, and the first time you decide to indulge had to be crazy wild. But he knows better.”

“I know better.” Charlotte refused to shift the responsibility. “I wasn’t thinking. And that bacon is going to make me throw up. I’m not kidding. Will you watch Lourdes just until I can pull myself together?”

“Of course. No problem. We’ll eat breakfast and then go exploring.”

“Keep her away from the lake.”

“Will do. And Charlie, no one gets pregnant their first time.”

Charlotte wished that were the truth. She pressed her hand to her heaving, protesting stomach again and began to back out of the room.

“Wait, hon, I made coffee and he has great coffee, a soft brew. The best. Let me get you a cup.”

Charlotte shook her head and turned and fled before she vomited all over the floor. What was wrong with her that she hadn’t shown one ounce of good sense or discipline? She’d practically thrown herself at the man from the first moment that he’d touched her. Granted, he knew what he was doing. No one got to that level of skill without a lot of experience, but still, she had her rules. She wasn’t a one-night stand kind of woman.

She locked the bathroom door and turned on the golden faucets. In the small, white, antique cupboard she found bath salts and dumped them liberally into the hot water. What kind of bachelor had scented bath salts in his guest bathroom? One who entertained all the time – that was for certain. She was grateful the fragrance didn’t worsen the churning in her stomach; in fact, it seemed to make it a little better.