“Fine,” she said coolly. “Let’s be off.”
He was motionless for a moment, staring at her. Then he turned back to the trunk and began throwing things into it left and right. “Give me twenty minutes.”
Charlotte hired a private carriage while Stuart stood chatting with the innkeeper as if he hadn’t a care in the world. She glared at him as she finished counting out the coins. The breeze ruffled his dark hair across his forehead, and a grin curved his sensual mouth; fine lines crinkled around his eyes when he smiled like that, taking the edge off an otherwise wolfish expression. A friendly wolf, she thought suddenly, that’s what he looks like, with his long thin nose and wide mouth. Except such a thing didn’t exist, and she would do well to remember it.
She watched as the luggage was loaded into the carriage: Stuart’s enormous trunk and her small valise. She had hired a boy to take a note to her house, and Lucia had sent three gowns, all her new lingerie, and a fortune in jewels. What Lucia thought she would do with evening gowns and diamonds, Charlotte couldn’t guess, but she couldn’t leave and go pack for herself. If she relaxed her guard for a moment, he would be able to send word ahead to Susan, and Charlotte wasn’t taking a chance of that. He made a show of offering to help her into the carriage, but she kept a firm grip on the pistol and waved him in ahead of her.
She sat across from Stuart, where she could keep her eyes on him, and he infuriated her by dropping his hat over his eyes and going to sleep. She almost fired the gun out the window, just to restore a little healthy respect to his demeanor, but since she didn’t have a second loaded pistol, she decided against disarming herself just for the satisfaction of scaring him.
They lurched and bumped toward London as the daylight waned. Charlotte allowed them to stop for only the quickest of meals, and Stuart woke up to accuse her of starving him. “This is a very poor kidnapping, if you ask me,” he said, contemplating the apple and hunk of bread she handed him. “You might have at least brought along a hamper.”
“This is not a picnic.” Charlotte ate her own apple with one hand. Her wrist ached, but she wouldn’t put down the pistol. For all his appearance of casual indolence, he might just be biding his time. And if he disarmed her, God only knew what he would do to retaliate.
Not that he seemed to care about it, one way or the other. He just lounged on his seat, watching her. As the light faded, the shadows slanted through the carriage and made him appear more feral and dangerous, with only his eyes, and occasionally his teeth, gleaming in the dark.
“Go back to sleep,” she snapped at last. He chuckled.
“You don’t like to be watched, do you?” She glared at him. He nodded thoughtfully. “I thought not. Odd, really, since you aren’t exactly the quiet, inconspicuous type. Not in that dress, at any rate.”
Charlotte clenched her fist to keep from twitching her cloak over her bronze gown. She would not let him rattle her that easily. “My attire is purely my own concern.”
He grinned. “Oh, I wasn’t complaining. I rather like it. Particularly the gown you wore to the Kildairs’ party. Lovely.”
Charlotte, who knew full well that dress displayed her figure to its best advantage, sniffed. “I thought you found it rather drab, if your sudden interest in removing it was any indication.”
“You don’t know much about men if you think I wasn’t interested,” countered Stuart with deliberate innuendo. “I’ve dreamed of seeing you in that dress again.”
“Every man may have his dreams, I suppose.”
“Oh, yes I do.” His teeth gleamed in his wicked smile. “Most of them don’t involve you in a dress, though. Shall I tell you about those?”
Charlotte laughed in disbelief. “You have no shame.”
He lifted one shoulder. “Not much, anyway. It gets in one’s way. I thought you would have figured that out by now. Besides, you were the one who decreed an end to the lies between us. I’m merely following your wishes.”
“My wishes?” she exclaimed. “I think it was your wishes—your wildly impossible wishes—you were discussing.”
“I find them highly possible, since when you lose our wager ...” His eyes drifted down, and Charlotte realized her body had responded again to his voice, soft and growling. A memory of all the things he said he’d like to do to her came vividly to mind, and gave her an inner tremor. She was suddenly acutely aware of the rocking of the carriage, and the way his body was sprawled across the opposite seat, one foot propped beside her. He reclined with his hands folded over his stomach, totally at his ease as he watched her watching him.
“It’s a long ride to London,” he said in that low, gravelly voice that acted on her like a physical caress. “Shall we surrender to the inevitable?”
“It’s not inevitable,” she retorted, disgusted to hear how husky her own voice had become. Why was she always attracted to the worst possible men?
One corner of his mouth quirked up. “You know it is. Have you ever made love in a carriage?”
Charlotte tried to quell the heat rising in her body. “Yes, I have,” she said as carelessly as possible. She was an experienced woman, after all, not some naïve girl who would fall for his seduction. “I didn’t much care for it.”
White-hot desire flared in his gaze. “Come here, then, and allow me to persuade you otherwise.” He extended one hand toward her. Charlotte turned away, refusing to look at him. “It’s a long ride,” he coaxed. Unfortunately her gaze landed on his lap, where his arousal was clear beneath his tailored trousers. Her mouth went dry and she squirmed a little in her seat, horrified that she was aroused, too. Was he saying it was a long trip to London to sit in discomfort, or offering her another sort of long ride?
“If you say another insulting word, I’ll shoot you after all.”
He laughed. “Admit it, Charlotte, you want me. You want me as much as I want you.”
“I most certainly do not,” she snapped. “You conceited, amoral, lying, thieving—”
“I didn’t say you wanted to want me, only that you do.” He sounded too damn amused.
“I want you to tell me where Susan is. After that, I shall be very happy never to set eyes on you again.”
“That’s not very good motivation for me to tell you, is it?”
Charlotte lifted the pistol, shaking with fury. “You bastard!”
“Hey!” Alarm suddenly colored his voice, and he ducked as she pointed the weapon directly between his eyes. “Be careful!”
“Where is she?” she shouted.
“Damned if I know!” he yelled back, arms still thrown up defensively around his head. “Put the pistol down!”
For a mad moment Charlotte held the gun in place. Then she realized what she was doing and lowered it abruptly, unable to believe she had fallen so far. It was one thing to wave the pistol around and threaten to shoot him, and another to put the barrel to his head. She huddled in her cloak, trying to hide her trembling. She had endangered someone’s life. She wanted to fling the pistol out the window, but then she would be left defenseless, and might never find Susan. That, above all, must guide her actions: finding Susan.
“I just want my niece back,” she said unevenly. “I don’t want to shoot you, but you have to tell me where she is. Once I have her back, I don’t care about anything else. Tell me now, I beg you.”
“I’ve told you I don’t know.” His voice rang with frustration.
Charlotte closed her eyes. “I don’t believe you.”
“Why do you dislike me so much?” he asked after a moment’s silence.
“You know why,” she said before he had even completed the question.
He snorted. “Yes, you hate any man who considers a woman’s prospects before offering her marriage. Because of course women never marry men for their money, or for their titles.”
“I cannot admire that, either,” she said softly.
“But I, for some reason, have been singled out in your dislike. You have publicly insulted me, gotten me ho
unded out of Kent—out of Kent, for God’s sake—broken into my lodgings, pulled a pistol on me, and now kidnapped me. What, may I ask, makes me so much worse than the typical man who needs money so badly he’ll marry it?”
Charlotte struggled with the question. What did make him different? “I suppose ... I suppose it’s because you made Susan fall in love with you.”
“How could I make a girl fall in love with me, if she didn’t want to?” There was a note of exasperation in his tone.
“You did,” Charlotte insisted. “You courted her and made her think you loved her in return.”
“I never said one word to her of love,” he said. “And of course I courted her. That’s what a man does before he makes an offer of marriage.”
“Yes. But women are courted all the time without thinking they’re in love.” Charlotte spoke quietly, almost to herself. “Susan’s too young to suspect it’s all lies, and too romantic to guard her heart. She’s innocent and naïve, and thus loves blindly and absolutely, overlooking not only small flaws that don’t signify but also large flaws, like the fact that her love was unreturned. Her affections have disarmed her, and she could be so easily destroyed by the discovery that she’s been a fool.”
For a moment the only sound was the rattle of harness and the creak of the carriage straps. “Who broke your heart, I wonder?” Stuart murmured speculatively.
Charlotte froze. “If you won’t tell me where she is, you may as well remain silent.” That seemed to quell his curiosity, and the carriage was quiet for the rest of the trip.
CHAPTER EIGHT
When the rumbling of the wheels changed to rattling over city streets, Stuart sat up. “We’ve arrived. Where now, captor mine?”
“Clapham Close, number ten.” Charlotte had recovered from her momentary madness by now. Everything would be fine; she had done the right thing. He hadn’t been out of her sight once, and she intended to keep him there until Susan appeared. Charlotte didn’t expect it would take long, but she had to find her niece first, before he had a chance to tell her more lies.
He went still. “Oh?”
She jerked the pistol. “Your valet sent your things there. You were going there. Therefore, that’s where we will go.”
He sat back and stared out the window the rest of the way.
A short while later, they came to a stop, and the driver opened the door. Stuart climbed out first, then turned to offer her his hand. Holding her skirts in one hand and her pistol in the other, Charlotte ignored it. With a shrug, Stuart started up the steps of the large townhouse. She tucked her weapon under her cloak as he rang the bell.
“I’ve still got my pistol. Don’t think you’re safe.”
The smirk he gave her was more strained than insolent. “I’ve never felt less safe in my life.”
The door opened to reveal a footman in starched livery. He blinked, then opened the door wider. “Good evening, sir.”
“Good evening, Frakes,” said Stuart, strolling through the door. Charlotte followed, her skin prickling with unease as she took in the state of the house: elegant, handsomely furnished, fully staffed by servants. Was this truly the home of a fortune hunter? It was possible, she tried to reassure herself. No doubt the whole house was mortgaged to the hilt and the servants paid on borrowed money. The butler appeared, looking rather flustered.
“Good evening, Mr. Drake. We did not expect you.”
“No, I’m sure you didn’t.” Stuart was shedding his coat, and he turned to Charlotte, raising one brow in question. She gripped the front edge of her cloak tighter and glared back. Stuart handed his coat to the footman, and turned back to the butler. “Is anyone at home tonight?”
“Ah, well, sir, I’m not sure,” said the butler almost apologetically. Charlotte sent another surreptitious glance around the hall. Something was wrong. This was not the right house. It couldn’t be.
“Ah well. Don’t let it worry you, Brumble,” said Stuart.
“Where is Susan?” hissed Charlotte, more and more ill at ease. Yes, it could be a façade, but she just wanted her niece.
Stuart turned. “I told you before, I’ve no idea. You wanted to come to my home, and here we are. I trust you are satisfied?”
“I shall be satisfied when I see my niece safely returned!”
He sighed. “God save me from unreasonable women ...”
Charlotte was infuriated, and worried, and prodded him with the pistol. “This cannot be your home.”
“I promise you, it’s the closest thing to it. I’ve nowhere else to go, and you know I sent all my baggage here.” He spread his hands wide. “This was my destination all along, sad to say.”
“Back again?” rumbled a cold voice. They turned in unison to see a tall, gray-haired man with a sour expression. His eyes were fixed on Stuart, who winced almost imperceptibly before assuming a cocky smile.
“Surely you didn’t think I would last the whole Season in Kent, Terrance. You know how dull those country assemblies are.”
The man limped forward, leaning on an ebony cane. He looked highly displeased to see Stuart. “You could use a little dulling.”
“Oh dear, I always thought a sharp wit my best asset.”
The man snorted. His eyes landed on Charlotte, and she was thrown even further off balance by the malice in his expression. “How dare you bring your bit of skirt into this house?”
Stuart shifted his weight toward her at the same moment Charlotte took an unconscious step in his direction. Their elbows bumped, and Stuart steadied her with one hand without looking at her. Charlotte didn’t pull back; her intuition was telling her she had just made a very serious mistake, and she had the terrible feeling that she would need more than forced cooperation from Stuart. “Not a bit of skirt at all,” Stuart replied, curling his fingers more securely around her arm.
“Stuart!” Another voice, female this time, echoed in the hall. A short, plump woman hurried forward, her arms outstretched in greeting. Stuart finally looked away from the gentleman. “Oh, how delightful,” cried the woman, embracing him. “I had no idea you were coming back to town. Why, if you’d sent word, I would have held dinner for you!”
He kissed her cheek. “Hello, Mother. I had other concerns and must confess complete disregard for dining.”
“Ah well, I shall always hope.” The woman’s smile dimmed just a bit. She glanced at Charlotte, who was feeling rather faint. Mother? Stuart’s mother? This was his parents’ home? “Who is your guest, darling?”
“Allow me to present a friend of mine, the Contessa Griffolino. Charlotte, my mother, Mrs. Drake.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Contessa,” said Stuart’s mother politely. Her expression had grown even more acutely intrigued at Stuart’s use of her Christian name, but Charlotte barely noticed.
“Mrs. Drake,” she said, faintly.
“And my father, Mr. Terrance Drake,” added Stuart, in the same half-mocking tone he had used when he spoke directly to his father. Mr. Drake glowered at them both, but his wife glanced at him, and he jerked his chin down in unwilling imitation of a bow. “We’ve come on urgent business,” Stuart went on. His grip was tight on her elbow. “Madame Griffolino’s niece has disappeared, and we fear she’s run off to London. I offered my assistance in tracking her, and we left Kent in a hurry hoping to overtake her.”
“How dreadful,” said Mrs. Drake at once. “You must be so worried.”
Charlotte barely nodded. She had made a terrible error—Susan wasn’t here, and might be halfway to Scotland by now, or France or anywhere, with some unknown person. She had let her prejudices against Stuart affect her judgment, and now she had lost Susan.
Stuart slipped one arm around her waist as he felt her sway. Her face was blank with shock, and he could only guess at what was in her mind. Whatever her failings, the woman cared for her niece, and Stuart suddenly felt a bit ashamed of himself for teasing her and trying to seduce her when she must have been worried out of her mind about the girl.
“We both are, Mother,” he said, to fill the silence. “Terribly. There aren’t many clues to her disappearance, and we left Tunbridge Wells in such a rush, we haven’t anywhere to stay.” He was supporting more and more of Charlotte’s weight. In a minute he would be the only thing holding her up. Discreetly, under cover of her cloak, Stuart extracted the pistol from her fingers. She didn’t make even a whimper of protest.
“Why, Stuart, if you think it would—” Stuart didn’t hear the rest of his mother’s words as Charlotte finally collapsed. With a quick motion, he caught her under the knees and lifted her. She hadn’t fainted, but was simply stunned, her eyes wide and unfocused, her body limp.
“She’s overcome,” he said quickly to his mother. “Might we have a moment alone?”
“See here,” began Terrance warningly, but his wife interrupted.
“Of course! The poor woman! Bring her into the library, Stuart.” Stuart followed his mother down the hall, ignoring his father’s glowering. In the library, he set Charlotte down on the chaise, and accepted the small glass of brandy his mother handed him. She hovered behind him until he sent her a speaking look. When she had closed the door, Stuart drew out the pistol he had hidden under Charlotte’s cloak and set it safely to one side.
“Charlotte.” He gripped her shoulders, but she looked right through him. “Are you going to be ill?”
“She’s gone.” Her lips barely moved. “But where? She said ... following her heart ... I was sure ...” She fumbled in the pocket of her cloak, and withdrew a crumpled note. Stuart smoothed it flat.
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