“I’m not,” he protested.
“You smell like a bottle of whiskey.”
“That’s just his normal smell, Miss Milne,” Edgeworth offered unhelpfully.
“My point exactly.” Char frowned at Drew. “I hardly need you to lecture me on who I can take up with.”
“Miss Milne!” a voice screeched from the darkness. “They’re holding the play for you!”
“Perfect,” Char mumbled. “Now you’ve made me late. If you’ll excuse me?”
Since the question was directed at Salisbury, the man nodded, but Drew sure as hell wouldn’t excuse Char. He needed to tell her he wanted to marry her. He needed to tell her what a bloody fool he’d been. The Marquess of Salisbury brushed a kiss on Char’s cheek, and Drew lunged forwards, grabbing the man’s arm. “Keep your lips off my woman.”
“Your woman?” came Char’s incredulous gasp. “I’m not your woman. I despise you. I rue the day I met you and how foolish and easy I was. I don’t know why you have finally sought me out—”
“Then let me explain.”
Char held up a hand, and Drew fell silent. “I don’t care. I don’t want your feeble explanations or apologies. Leave me alone.” She stepped around him, and he grabbed her arm.
“Char,” he pleaded, desperation beginning to take hold. Things were not going as he’d planned when he’d learned earlier tonight that she was an actress here in London, and he’d imagined their reunion. “I need to tell you—”
She shoved him hard in the chest. “Don’t you hear me?”
“I hear you,” Edgeworth supplied.
“Shut up,” Char and Drew said in unison.
Char turned to Drew, her lips trembling, her eyes two slits of bright green anger. “Has your conscience finally caught up with you?”
That was hardly the way he’d put it, but he doubted Char wanted to hear his exact version. Drew nodded reluctantly.
“Good.” A sad smile spread across her face. “I hope memories of what a miserable cad you were plague you until your dying day.”
He flinched. “I suppose I deserve that.”
“And more,” she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “But I’ve not the time or the inclination.”
“Aren’t you plagued?” he asked, not liking the finality in her voice and eyes.
“Not in the least.” Her gaze shifted to a fold of her costume, rendering it unreadable. She tugged on the material until it lay flat before raising her gaze back to him. “I put you out of my mind the day I met my future husband.”
Before Drew could react to her astonishing statement, she scurried into the darkness of the corridor, all traces of her gone except the lingering scent of freesia and the fading pat of her slippered feet as she raced to make the curtain call.
Drew ran a shaky hand through his hair and tried to sort out everything Char had just said. Her future husband? His blood boiled in his veins. “I’m going to find and kill the man who thinks he’s going to marry the woman I love.”
“You needn’t look far then,” the Marquess of Salisbury replied, his amused tone confusing Drew.
He turned to the man and glared. “I’d like to know what is so bloody funny about the woman I love being betrothed to some peacock who thinks he’s good enough to take my place.”
Salisbury’s eyes narrowed. “I’m the peacock who’s taking your place. And that, my friend, is bloody hilarious.”
~ 4 ~
After her abysmal performance in Lady Macbeth and the inability to locate Salisbury, Charlotte fled the theatre for the privacy of her home. She did not want to see any adoring fans, though she could hardly believe they would want to see her after her mussed lines and missed cues. Tonight, she’d been a mess, and it was all Drew’s fault.
How dare he show back up in her life the day before she was supposed to be married, and how humiliating for him to attempt to explain how hard it was for a rich man. She did not give a whit to know the minute details of why he held her beneath him. Why he though she would want to know baffled her.
How like Drew to be so self-centered, so inconsiderate, so very handsome still. She hated him, but more than that, she hated the queasy turning sensation in her stomach. Marrying Salisbury was out of the question. Seeing Drew again had confirmed what she had suspected but suppressed. Of course, she was a consummate actress, and her best performance yet had been her performance for herself. She’d fooled herself into believing revenge and security could take the place of the way Drew made her tremble from the inside out, or the way he stole her breath with just a look, or the way his smile and the warm timbre of laughter that filled his voice made the world seem perfectly right and their stations in life surmountable.
The flaxen-haired scoundrel! Charlotte alit from her carriage and took her footman’s hand of assistance. Once she was steady, she moved quickly up the stairs to her townhome, swept past her gaping butler, and went promptly to her library. Once there, she kicked off her shoes, poured herself a glass of Madeira, and then padded across the rug to recline on her settee with her feet propped. She took a fortifying drink and then set the crystal glass on the side table in exchange for a big, fluffy pillow, which she hugged to her chest.
Sniffing away threatening tears, she turned her thoughts to her father, a more pleasant memory by far. She missed him terribly. She wanted his comforting arms around her shoulders right now, but she could not go back to Danby. Facing that place and those people with their condescending attitudes was more than she was willing to bear.
Perhaps she could implore her father to visit with her here? Maybe a good long talk with him would help put things into perspective as it had always done when she was a child. Just thinking about ending her betrothal to Salisbury made her groan. Not because she thought Salisbury was truly in love with her, but because ending her betrothal to the marquess meant truly acknowledging that revenge would not, after all, help her forget Drew.
Perhaps she would never forget how he had made her feel? The thought was a daunting one that made her stomach ache. Surely time would fade her desire for Drew, and eventually she would be ready to meet a man who loved her for who she truly was and did not care what connections she did not possess. Salisbury was not that man. He was as bad as Drew, but she had been uncaring of his motives because of her own need for revenge. The marquess wanted her for the pedigree she lacked just to purposely anger his father, and Drew did not want her because she was only the butler’s daughter, and he—he was too weak to go against his father.
She rose slowly from the settee and went to her desk, determined to pen a note to her father right now. Instead of getting out her paper, she stared at the wooden desk while idly rolling her quill between her fingers. How could two men be so different yet so very much the same at the core? Of course, they were both wealthy men who cared only for themselves. She would never, absolutely never, entertain any sort of relationship with a man of the ton again. Maybe she would fall in love with a dashing actor? The mere idea of loving anyone again made her stomach clench tighter. Disgusted, she threw down her pen and rested her head in her hands.
A cream envelope lay on her desk. She picked up the thick paper and turned it over in her hands to study the crest, which had been embossed in wax to seal the envelope shut. She ran her hands over the rough edges of the wax, her nerves tingling to awareness and concern. Why would the Duke of Danby send her a note? Her heart tripped as she ripped open the paper. She cursed as the parchment cut into her skin and a drop of blood appeared on her finger. She scanned the spidery scrawl quickly, her heart beating heavily. The paper fluttered to her desk, and in her haste to stand, she knocked it to the floor but did not bend to retrieve it.
“Mrs. Felton,” she yelled, while ringing the bell for her servant.
Her housekeeper appeared in the study doorway in her robe and house slippers, which were on the wrong feet. Charlotte would smile if her face didn’t feel frozen. Mrs. Felton patted at the wild mass of grey disarray that was usu
ally coiled so tightly at her thick neck. “Is there something wrong, Miss Milne?”
Charlotte nodded. “Pack my bags at once. My father’s very ill. I must go to Danby in case—” Charlotte gulped back the threatening tears. “In case he fails to recover.”
~ * ~
Drew slammed the empty pint of ale on the bar and swiped a hand across his frothy lip. “Another,” he demanded and swiveled in his seat to study Salisbury. “Let me see if I have this straight. “You—” he pointed an accusatory finger at the marquess— “are going to marry the woman I love.”
Salisbury nodded.
“Yet you don’t love her.”
The marquess nodded again. “Your perception is amazing.”
“Apparently not,” Drew slurred and slipped off his stool, only to be caught under the arms by his cousin.
“Edgy,” Drew murmured, evoking the old nickname Nick had always hated. “When did you get here?”
“A moment ago.” Edgeworth glanced at the marquess then back at Drew. “No more ale,” Edgeworth said. His face was dark, his tone darker.
“The ale, my good man, was for my complete and utter astonishment in finding out that the woman I love, though I hurt, only dallied with me because she seems to have a liking for men of the ton who will better her.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Salisbury reached out and pushed Drew back as he started to lean forwards. “Did you not see her stricken face?”
Drew squinted and tried to recall her exact look. He’d seen something, but now it seemed more like guilt than the hurt he had earlier believed. “I’ve no idea what you mean.”
“Then let me explain it to you in terms that will soak into your soggy brain. She loves you. If you didn’t see the truth on her face or hear it in her voice, then you are blind and deaf.”
Drew stood up and dusted off his overcoat and trousers. He needed to finally put Char out of his mind, and talking about her with the man she intended to marry tomorrow was not the way to do it. He started to turn away but paused. Something did not make sense. “Why are you marrying Char, if you think she loves me?”
Salisbury held up three fingers. “Three reasons. The woman I really love won’t marry me because my father threatened to destroy her father if she did. Lottie is the perfect weapon to get revenge against the old bastard. She’ll marry me to get revenge against you, and she doesn’t have to worry that her father will be hurt. We both win.”
“Her name is Charlotte,” Drew said evenly, the soft haze of ale fading under the bright glare of awareness. “What’s your third reason?”
“Her reaction to you tonight confirmed what I had suspected.”
“Which is?”
“You hurt her so badly that I’ll never have to worry she’ll fall in love again. I don’t want a wife who loves me. I want a friend and someone to give me my heir. My love is reserved for Marianne, and I fully intend to somehow convince her to become my mistress since she refuses to be my wife.”
Drew’s mind turned with possibilities and tentative hope. “What if I can convince Marianne to marry you? Will you cry off with Char?”
“Impossible,” Salisbury said. “My father will dismiss Marianne’s father as his solicitor and make sure he’s never hired anywhere reputable that’s close to his family again.”
“I’ll hire her father,” Drew said, hoping if what he was planning worked, he’d still have the money to carry out his promise. If not, he’d get on his hands and knees and beg his grandfather to hire the man. Danby, the old goat, owed Drew at least that much for producing such a pompous, overbearing son as Drew’s father.
Salisbury shook his head. “I already offered to hire her father. He won’t take charity or help.”
“He’ll never suspect it’s either. Leave it to me.”
Salisbury slowly nodded. “I suppose there’s no harm in trying. The wedding is at ten in the morning at my townhome on Church Street. “You recall where I live?”
“I do. If I’m not there by ten—”
“The wedding will proceed as planned.” Salisbury stood and put on his overcoat. “Ten is plenty of time to see Marianne and her father. My father forces his whole staff up before the damn roosters are even awake, and Marianne is always at Madame Marmont’s dress shop by seven sharp. You should be at Thorton Estate by seven and ask to see Mr. Ferguson. If I know Marianne’s father, he’ll make quick work of speaking to you and send you fast on your way, either good or bad. I’ll not embarrass Lottie by holding up a wedding for a woman who, in all likelihood, will not be coming.”
Drew took the glass of water that was raised to Edgeworth’s lips out of his cousin’s hands. “Do you mind?” Edgeworth growled.
“Sorry, Edgy, but I need to get sober.” Drew quickly drank half the cool liquid.
“You need to do more than just get sober.” Edgeworth waved Drew’s offer of sharing the water away. “If you intend to win back Miss Milne, you need to damn well stay sober.”
“I completely agree.” Salisbury put on his hat and eyed Drew. “I sincerely hope I see you tomorrow.”
Drew watched the marquess depart. How would it be for Char, so warm and loving, to be married to such an indifferent man? The question left him cold, but he did not order the usual whiskey to ward off the chill of his past mistakes. It was time to face what he’d become and set his life, and Char’s, to rights. He hoped he could do it in the short time the marquess was giving him.
Of course, if it looked like Marianne and her father would not cooperate, Drew could abandon his plan and simply go to Salisbury’s house to make Char understand he loved her and wanted to be with her. The problem was, Drew had a terrible suspicion convincing Char he loved her was going to be as easy as convincing the Devil to give back a soul. Impossible, without first walking through hell. Char, no doubt, would be more than happy to light the fire under his arse and dance gleefully around the blaze as he burned.
~ 5 ~
The next morning Drew rose well before the sun had banished the darkness from the sky and dressed quickly. He went to wake Edgeworth, but the distinct sound of feminine laughter coming from his cousin’s rented room stopped Drew in his tracks. Good old Edgy had found a willing wench, as usual. A smile played at Drew’s lips as he imagined the sound of Char’s laughter, husky with desire for him. He prayed that would be a sound he would once again hear in reality and not just in his fantasies. Worry for the looming wedding plagued him, and he poked around the inn until a maid directed him to where his coachman was sleeping. Drew awoke the snoring man, who managed to hold his tongue but shot Drew disgruntled looks as he readied the horses amidst the impatient sound of foot tapping.
Drew didn’t blame Roberts for being annoyed at being awoken at such an ungodly hour. Only people tipped in the head got up this early, and Drew was tipped—dangerously so—by love. He loved Char, and he had failed her once, failed them both, but he was going to do his damndest to set things to rights. Once the carriage was on the way, Drew was certain he would relax a bit, but as the carriage rumbled down the silent streets of London, he found himself clenching his jaw in anticipation of trying to convince Marianne’s father to accept employment with him.
Two hours later, Drew whistled a merry tune as he left Salisbury’s father’s estate. He held a letter in hand from Marianne’s father to his daughter, encouraging her to accept the Marquess of Salisbury’s offer of marriage. Convincing Mr. Marchinson to come and work for him had been surprisingly easy. Of course, it had helped that the man had a fervent dislike for his current employer and had tried unsuccessfully, because of the Duke of Sandbridge’s meddling, to find new employment.
Drew grinned at his own genius in telling Mr. Marchinson that he had been suggested for the position of solicitor by his grandfather. It had been a gamble that Grandfather and Mr. Marchinson had business dealings, but the gamble had been correct and it paid off. As the carriage pulled up to the front of Madame Marmont’s dress shop, Drew hopped out into the sunshine before his
gaping coachman managed to get down from his perch in front of the horses.
“Be prepared to leave quickly,” Drew advised as he bounded up the five steps to the modiste and rapped on the door. Pulling out his fob watch, he checked the time. He had less than an hour before Char would belong to another man. Perspiration dampened the back of his shirt and trickled down his forehead. This was ridiculous. Salisbury’s townhome was only four streets away. He had plenty of time. Yet anxiety coiled through him, twisting his insides into knots. He probably wouldn’t relax again until the wedding had been stopped, and he was holding Char in his arms.
Impatience exploding, Drew rapped on the door again. When no one came, he reached for the handle to give it a try, but the door swung open as his fingers grazed the brass.
“My lord?” A slender, young girl with light blue eyes and a rather homely face bobbed a curtsy. “May I help you?”
“Are you Marianne?”
She nodded.
The chit certainly wasn’t the beauty he had been expecting to find, but who was he to judge what manner of woman stole Salisbury’s heart? Drew had learned many things the hard way in his life, and one of them had been that a beautiful face did not equate to beauty on the inside, though Char was certainly both. Impatient to leave, and sure Marianne’s protest would quickly die once she read the letter from her father, he reached for her with one hand and thrust the letter at her with the other. “I need you to come with me,” he said, pulling her down the stairs.
“What?” She reared back and jerked on her arm. “I’m not going anywhere.” He winced at her shrill tone. Salisbury was in for an earful if he ever displeased this woman.
Drew taped the paper in her hand. “If you’ll just read the letter from your father, you’ll understand everything.”
“Help!” she screamed, jerking free from him and darting back into the shop.
A Summons From Yorkshire (Regency Christmas Summons Collection 1) Page 12
