A Summons From Yorkshire (Regency Christmas Summons Collection 1)
Page 15
Decision made, she sighed, threw back the covers and rolled off the bed. After exchanging her robe for her travelling gown, she shoved her feet into her slippers, grabbed the extra pillow on her bed and pulled on the top coverlet until it released. She rolled the coverlet around her arm to make carrying it easier. But the softest blanket she would keep for herself.
Though she had tried to forget Drew’s claim that he was now more than willing to give up everything for her, it lingered in her head as she padded down the hall towards the stairs. She would probably find him downstairs, miserable and cold and bandying his title about in order to now attain a room. Perhaps she wouldn’t find him at all because he was already ensconced in the best room under the warmest blanket. That was the most likely scenario. She hoped she would find him thus. Then she would know for certain he was still exactly the same person he had been and not some new Drew, a reliable Drew, a Drew who would give up everything for her just as she would have given up everything for him.
“Silly fool!” she muttered as she entered the common room. Quickly scanning the faces, she spotted Lord Edgeworth at a table with a serving wench sitting on his lap and a mug of ale raised to his lips. The woman pressed her lips to Lord Edgeworth’s neck, and his hand slid discreetly underneath her apron. Charlotte’s breath caught in her throat as memories of Drew’s lips and hands on her flaming body flooded through her. Determined to quickly find Drew, give him the blanket and pillow and make haste back to the safety of her room, she weaved through two families sprawled near the fireplace and made her way around the outskirts of the tables where several people sat drinking and conversing, but she didn’t see Drew.
She turned to make her way back towards Lord Edgeworth, but Drew’s cousin appeared ready to quit the room, and it seemed he had found a morsel to take with him. He had the serving girl’s hand clasped in his. A heaviness settled in Charlotte’s chest. Had Drew also found a willing woman to welcome him into her bed? Propelled by dreadful curiosity, Charlotte flew across the room as Lord Edgeworth made his way towards the stairs. Huffing, she reached him just as he reached the stairs.
“Lord Edgeworth.”
He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Miss Milne, what are you doing down here? Is something wrong?”
“I—” She shifted from foot to foot, suddenly extremely embarrassed to ask where Drew was. She shouldn’t care. She shouldn’t want to know. Her fingers curled tight around the blanket and pillow in her arms. It hadn’t been two days since she’d encountered Drew, and already she felt like the foolish girl who had given her heart and innocence so willingly to him, only to have her heart crushed underneath his expensive boot. No doubt, Drew didn’t need or want her pitiful offering of a blanket and pillow.
She shook her head, her throat clogging with tears. “Nothing’s wrong. I—” She cleared the tremor out of her throat and shoved the blanket and pillow towards Lord Edgeworth. “I thought you might have need of these.”
Before he could respond, she released the blankets and pushed past him, determined to reach the privacy of her room before the tears came. She ascended three stairs before a hand gripped her arm. “Miss Milne?”
She swiped her hand across her moist eyes before facing Lord Edgeworth. “Yes?”
Lord Edgeworth extended the blanket and pillow towards her. “I’ve no need of this kindness.” Lord Edgeworth’s gaze went to the woman beside him but quickly came back to Charlotte’s face. “I’m sure Drew would appreciate it, though.”
Charlotte gulped as hope filled her. “Drew’s not—I meant to say he hasn’t—?” Heat flooded her face, and her gaze settled on Lord Edgeworth’s rather irritated looking companion before she quickly averted it back to Drew’s cousin.
A small smile lit his face, and he shook his head. “No, Drew’s alone in the taproom.”
“He is?” Charlotte couldn’t keep the burst of happiness out of her voice.
Lord Edgeworth nodded. “He said he wanted to be alone to think.”
“Thank you.” She moved past Drew’s cousin and his now glowering companion, and hurried down the stairs, through the common room, and down a short hall that led to the taproom.
True to Lord Edgeworth’s word, Drew sat at a table by himself, his only company the roaring fire, which crackled in the quiet room. His back was to her, but she immediately recognized him with his sinfully thick, black hair. Her fingers twitched in memory of just how silky those curls felt clasped in her grip. A fierce desire to brush the curls off his neck and kiss the sensitive spot near his ear soared through her. She tried to will her desire away, but as she studied him, her desire only grew stronger. His shoulders curled forwards, his neck lowered as he obviously studied something before him. Drew in deep concentration was a sight an artist would long to paint. HIs blue eyes would take on a dark, mysterious quality when his mind was occupied, and he had a tendency to prop one long, slender hand on his right cheekbone.
Besieged with curiosity, Charlotte tiptoed towards him, scarcely daring to breathe, lest he be alerted to her presence. She should alert him. That was the right and proper thing to do, but every instinct she possessed told her whatever he was concentrating on was important. For better or worse, she wanted to see what held him captivated. Before she’d allowed Drew to bed her, her instincts had never failed her, and since she had fled her home for London and joined the theatre, all her instincts had been correct. She embraced her intuition to keep her presence unknown and moved silently until she stood behind him.
Looking over his shoulder, she peered down at the scroll he was writing on, but she couldn’t see a thing. She squinted her eyes, trying to make out the words. Drew sat up abruptly and faced her.
Yelping, she jumped back. His blue eyes bored into her, a smirk pulling at his lips. “You’re very quiet, but your scent gave you away the minute you came close.”
Her heart fluttered being so near to him. His shirt collar hung open, allowing her to glimpse the top of his chest and the dusting of black hair that covered his skin. She knew, memory by singed memory, what lay lower. Corded muscle of steel. She swallowed against a wave of desire that left her dizzy.
Drew laughed knowingly. “Care to sit?”
She nodded. If she didn’t sit, she might swoon from the need pulsing from her belly all the way to her core. “What are you doing?” She took the seat opposite of him.
“Making a list.” His gaze held hers, unblinking and unrelenting.
“Of what?”
Drew slid the paper towards her.
She glanced down, her breath catching. Bringing a shaking hand to the paper, she picked it up and brought the scroll closer to make sure she had seen the words correctly. Her heart hammered in her chest, her ears, and her entire body. The pounding blocked all other sound but the noise of her emotions, releasing, welling and breaking through the careful barrier she had put them behind. Tears flowed freely down her face. She blinked them away, then looked at the man she loved, had never stopped loving. “You really meant what you said earlier tonight?”
Drew nodded, his gaze burning bright. He reached over and stopped just short of grabbing her hands. “I love you. I want to marry you. I’ll gladly give up everything down to my trousers to get you back.”
Charlotte sniffed. “Not your trousers, darling. People would be scandalized.”
“Who cares?” Drew stared at her intently.
The moment of decision was upon her. Risk it all once again for love, or risk nothing and attain nothing. She glanced at the paper and chose the first occupation Drew had listed. “Surely a solicitor can afford trousers?”
Drew smiled ruefully. “I might be aiming too high for a position as a solicitor. I’m not terribly good with following rules or getting others to follow them. I might end up a coachman.”
“That’s all right, darling.” Charlotte made a production of flinging her hair over her shoulder. “I’m a terribly famous actress, and I need a good coachman.”
Drew leaned towards he
r, his lips almost brushing hers. “What about a husband?” he whispered with an intensity that made her tingle.
“I suppose, though you’ll be poor, you’ll do.”
“Char?”
“Yes?”
“May I break my promise?”
She reached out and twined her hands into his hair, pulling his lips against hers. His warm mouth came reverently over her lips, exploring, licking, and nipping ever so gently. His tongue delved inside her mouth and incited her own need and hunger for him to a frenzied level. She wanted more of him. “Drew.” She pulled back. “I need you.”
“I need you too. So badly in fact, I’ll probably lie on this cold, hard floor all night with an enormous—”
Charlotte slapped a hand over his mouth and giggled at the picture of him lying on the floor, pining for her. Finally, her fondest wish had come true. “Come to my room with me?”
“God, no!” Drew pushed back in his chair. “If I so much as stepped foot in a room where we were alone with a bed, I’d ravish you. I’d rather die first than put my needs before you ever again.”
Charlotte flung herself in his arms and hugged him. “I love you, Drew!”
“I’m so glad to hear you say that, Char. I’d hate to think I’d wasted all night coming up with ways to earn a living for someone who detested me.”
She kissed him on the lips and stood. Finally remembering the pillow and blanket, she handed them to him. “These are for you. I’ll see you bright and early in the morning.”
He rose, took her hand and kissed it. “And every morning after for the rest of your life.”
Happiness suffused her, but as she walked back to her bedroom, a light chill settled over her. Her father’s illness weighed heavy on her mind, along with the knowledge that she and Drew would more than likely have to face his father tomorrow. A grey pall threatened to consume the happiness from moments ago.
Once she was inside her room and nestled under her blanket, more doubt crept over her. What if Drew crumbled when face-to-face with his father? What if the duke joined in the argument against Drew marrying her? She’d never known anyone to win a verbal match against the Duke of Danby. Charlotte broke out into a cold sweat and sleep evaded into the darkest hour of the night.
~ 9 ~
Drew peered into the dark night as the carriage turned onto the long drive of Danby Castle. The wheels rolled over the pea-gravel, making Charlotte stir in her sleep. He pulled her closer to his chest and pressed his lips to the top of her head.
Edgeworth snorted from the other side of the carriage. “I hope I never fall in love.”
Drew ran a hand over Charlotte’s silky locks, his heart clenching with a sweet ache. “Why?” he whispered, loath to wake her a second before he had to. Her fear for her father’s health had mounted all day on the trip, and in sleep, the small line of worry that had been present between her brows had finally disappeared.
“The look on your face,” Edgeworth said, sitting up and looking out the carriage window.
“My face?” Drew softly brushed his lips against Char’s. He couldn’t resist.
“Yes, your bloody face. You look so struck, so damn vulnerable. I never wish to be vulnerable.”
Drew forced his gaze away from Char to his cousin. “Something you care to talk about, Edgy?”
Edgeworth shook his head. “Not now. Maybe later when your logical mind returns.”
“I’m afraid you’ll be waiting a long time then. Logic has no part in love.”
“Exactly what I mean,” Edgeworth grumbled as the carriage jerked to a halt. His cousin frowned. “Roberts must be tired to be so clumsy.”
“Give the man a bit of leave. We drove him into the ground today, with the pace we demanded.”
The door swung open and a disheveled Roberts let down the stepladder. Reluctantly, Drew shook Char until her eyes fluttered open. “We’re here, sweetheart,” he whispered in her ear.
She sat up with a start, her eyes opening wide. “Will you come with me?”
“Of course,” Drew assured her and took her hand to help her descend the stepladder.
The grand front door to the castle opened before Drew and Charlotte had made it to the steps. Brightson, the footman, smiled at them. “Neither of you were expected until tomorrow. Welcome back, Miss Milne.” Brightson turned to Drew. “Welcome home, my lord. His Grace will be so pleased to see you. He’s still awake and in his study if you care to see him tonight, and I can check to see if Lord Norland might still be up if you wish a word.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Drew said, bringing Charlotte’s hand close to his chest. He could feel the urgency to see her father in the tremors of her body. “I’ll see Grandfather and my father tomorrow. I’m going to attend Miss Milne while she cares for her father.”
“Cares for her father?” The footman stared blankly at them both.
Charlotte turned white. “I’m not too late, am I?”
Brightson shook his head. “I should say not. Pardon me, Miss Milne, but if you remember, your father never goes to bed until he’s positive His Grace is asleep.”
Charlotte’s eyes became two slits of fiery green. “Then I should think the duke would be considerate enough to retire early, given my father’s condition and knowing how he will fail to succumb to sleep until His Grace’s head hits the pillow.”
Drew studied Brightson. The man looked positively confused. His brow was furrowed, his head titled in question. At the rate Charlotte’s temper was rising, she’d be screaming in a moment, and Drew had no desire to chance his father being woken. Tomorrow was soon enough to tell his sire to go to hell. “We’ll just show ourselves to Mr. Milne’s quarters.” Drew pressed his hand behind Charlotte’s back to guide her towards the servants’ stairs.
“Milne isn’t in his quarters, sir. He’s with the duke in the study.”
Charlotte whirled around to face Brightson. “Do you mean to tell me my father is up, out of bed, in his condition?”
The footman’s frown deepened until three crevices formed between his eyebrows. “The duke demanded his presence, so your father complied.”
Charlotte was halfway down the hall to the study before Drew caught up with her. She jumped when he touched her lightly on the back. Her gaze cut to him, but her step did not falter. The slapping of her slippers against the marble tile echoed in the long corridor. “I’m going to take my father away from this place and see he never has to work another day in his life. I won’t stay here a single minute under the same roof with your uncaring family.”
Drew pressed his lips together. He knew better than to argue the point with her when she was so hurt, so angry. Hell, he didn’t blame her. How could his grandfather be so selfish as to demand a man on death’s door drag himself out of bed to attend whatever need Grandfather thought could not wait? Drew frowned. It was unlike the old goat to be uncaring. Harsh, yes. Demanding, absolutely. Especially to his own blood, but Drew had witnessed firsthand how Grandfather had always treated his servants with respect, dignity, and a measure of caring, as if he were responsible for his staff members’ wellbeing. Why then did he not treat the one servant Drew was sure he respected the most with the same regard? Was it because he somehow blamed Milne for Drew’s disappearance for the last year? Drew would have to set his grandfather straight.
He raised his hand to knock, but Char had other ideas. She charged right through the door, and Drew was not about to stop the woman—whose trust he had just won back—from doing exactly as she pleased.
~ * ~
Charlotte was prepared for battle and to give the Duke of Danby a set-down the likes of which she doubted he had ever endured. She was not, however, prepared for the sight of her father lounged in a leather chair, cheeks rosy, eyes glowing, a glass of brandy clutched in his hand and the Duke of Danby sitting beside him doubled over in laughter. “Father!” Charlotte gasped, too shocked to form any other words.
“Grandfather,” Drew said sharply beside her.
Her father jumped out of his chair, set his own glass down, and whipped out a handkerchief, which he promptly used to clean off the duke’s shoes. “No harm, Your Grace,” her father assured the duke.
The duke waved a hand for her father to stand. “Milne, I’ve told you before, there is no need for such extreme mothering.”
The tips of her father’s ears reddened. “Charlotte.” He came towards her and embraced her in a hug. Her arms circled his waist, and she held on tight, afraid she was dreaming and her father was truly not the picture of perfect health that she was seeing. “Father,” she murmured against his chest. “I thought you were terribly ill.”
Her father gave her a reassuring hug then pulled back from her. “As you can see, I’m perfectly healthy.”
“Yes, I see,” Charlotte mumbled, turning to eye the duke. “Your Grace, your letter said—”
“That your father was ill,” the duke finished and rose from his chair. Charlotte had to look up to see his face. Even at his ripened age, the duke was still an imposing figure. “I do apologize for the worry my letter must have caused you, Miss Milne, but it was the only way your father and I could think to get you home.”
“What?” she and Drew spoke in unison.
The duke motioned to Drew. “Come here, Hardwick. I want to make sure you’ve truly changed as your cousin seems to think before I allow you to marry Miss Milne. Assuming you’ve already had the good sense to ask for her hand once again.”