The widening gap revealed Cuthbert. “Lord Edward is here to speak with you, missus.”
“By all means, send him in.”
“Not to the parlor?” Cuthbert asked, expressionless. “Shall I send for Missus Lamont?”
Charlotte raised her eyebrows. That was Cuthbert’s way of saying he felt she required a chaperone, but she couldn’t imagine what prompted the notion. “Vivian is in the garden recovering from her indulgences of yesterday evening. You know it’s not wise to disturb the process. I’ll be perfectly well with Lord Edward.”
“Yes, missus.” Cuthbert bowed and pulled the door closed.
Charlotte frowned, the expression aimed at a heavy, dark-green upholstered sofa. What could Lord Edward want of her, and why was Cuthbert, a fair judge of men if ever there was one, worried? Had the lord of the keep come to expel her for her wicked waltzing the evening before, even though he’d partnered her? That seemed the type of contradictory, highhanded idiocy in which he would engage.
Hard footfalls rang down the marbled corridor without. The thick double doors were thrown wide. Lord Edward, divested of overcoat, gloves and hat, strode into the library. Did he enter every room as if the space was his, she wondered, or only ones he truly owned?
His eyes found her at once. His stride didn’t slow as he crossed the room, though the inlaid wood floors and thick carpets muted his tread. Before she could issue a greeting, he stood before her.
Cuthbert’s concern was readily apparent. Lord Edward’s form seemed almost to vibrate with tension. In his gray eyes a tinge of madness lurked. His gray-touched auburn locks, normally precise, were in disarray. His whole mien was that of a man approaching some catastrophic event.
“Lord Edward, are you well?” Charlotte asked, concern for him edging out worry over why he’d come.
His lids lowered to hood his eyes, which dropped to her lips. He sucked in a deep breath, straining the exact tailoring of his jacket. “I must know the truth of something.”
Charlotte frowned, baffled. “The truth of what?”
“It’s indelicate,” he gritted out.
So was storming through her residence and up to her person, gloveless and without a greeting. “I shall endeavor not to become disconcerted.”
“Did you give yourself to Aribert MaClagan?”
Charlotte had no notion which facet of that question was the most shocking. “I beg your pardon?”
“I must know.” He ground the words out through clenched teeth.
“It’s none of your affair.” She meant to sound angry, to match his intensity. Instead, the words came out with a pleading note. Why could he not stop judging her and be at least a bit amiable?
“I damn well know that.”
Charlotte shook her head. Not even the Greeks would help her unravel the mystery of this man. “I… If you must know, no, I did not. Nor am I in any way inclined to.”
The breath he released could only point to relief. Much of the tension left his shoulders. He pushed a hand through his unruly locks.
“Now, do me the courtesy of explaining why that question drove you to storm into this library?” She searched his face as she asked, taking in the hard lines of his jaw, his broad forehead and once-more hooded eyes.
A strong hand came up to brace against the bookshelf behind her. He leaned near. From beneath his lids, he studied her face. “You aren’t even inclined to?”
She shook her head. An odd trembling took hold of her limbs. “I am not. I answered you honestly, my lord. It behooves you to return the favor. Why did you need to know?”
Silence seemed an almost living thing between them. One that, though she’d asked the question, she didn’t know if she wished to see end. She swallowed, waiting.
His gaze met hers. “Because I’ve longed to lay claim to you since the moment I saw you.”
Her lips parted in a silent gasp. Lay claim to her? This man?
A baffling excitement swirled inside her, the emotion unaccountable. Unnatural, even. She should want to run, to flee. Lord Edward was precisely the sort of gentleman she avoided. Nothing about the intensity in his eyes bespoke of a simple, carefree, easily ended affair. Words of refusal should leave her lips.
The words wouldn’t come. He lowered his head. His free hand came up to cup the back of her neck, angling her face to meet him. The lips he brought to hers were hard, insistent, seeking.
Here, Charlotte could match him. Worry left her as warmth swept outward from the point of his kiss. Twining her fingers in his lapel, she yanked him closer. A heat she’d never experienced shot through her frame, suffused her.
“Charlotte,” Vivian’s voice rang down the hall without. “Look who I found in the garden.”
Edward released her to whirl toward the library doors, which stood open. Deprived of his strong form, Charlotte sank back against the shelves. She raised shaky fingers to her lips.
“She says she’s here to ask you—” Vivian broke off as she appeared in the doorway, Hetty beside her.
Lord Edward stepped away, putting distance between them. Vivian scrutinized them with amused, knowing eyes. Hetty, thankfully, appeared merely surprised.
“Lord Edward.” Vivian’s tone was convivial. She resumed her steps, dragging Hetty with her into the library. “What a pleasant surprise.”
Lord Edward nodded to Vivian. “Here to ask Missus Fairhaven what?” he said to his daughter.
“Nothing that can’t wait.” Vivian added what could only be called a smirk to her words. “Nothing I can’t take on, while you two finish your business here.”
“Here to ask what?” Lord Edward repeated in a firmer tone.
Vivian looked to Hetty, eyebrow arched.
“To… To take me for a driving lesson tomorrow,” Hetty stammered. “Missus Fairhaven said she drives.”
Lord Edward turned to Charlotte. Belatedly, she realized she still pressed fingers to her lips. She dropped her hand and straightened free of the shelves’ support.
“I give you driving lessons,” Lord Edward said, looking back at his daughter.
“Yes, Papa, but you ride alongside me and you make me nervous.” Hetty smiled at Charlotte. “I enjoyed when Missus Fairhaven rode with me.”
The downturn of Lord Edward’s lips was mitigated by a shrug. “I suppose there is no harm, should Missus Fairhaven agree to your request.”
His eyes were on Charlotte again. Everyone’s were. She swallowed. Her legs still felt weak. “I’d be honored to instruct you, Hetty.”
Hetty’s smile grew. “Thank you, Missus Fairhaven. What about tomorrow afternoon?”
“Yes, certainly.” Charlotte tried to gather her scattered thoughts, but mind and body wouldn’t relinquish the memory of Edward’s lips.
Hetty bounced up on her toes. “Splendid. You will come by?”
Lord Edward shook his head. “We do not want to overly-employ Missus Fairhaven’s time. I shall conduct you here, Hetty, and endeavor not to be too intimidating as I ride over beside you.”
His tone was dry. Charlotte cast him a startled look. Was that… humor? Lord Edward knew of the existence of laughter?
He turned to her. “When Hetty’s lesson is over, accompany her home,” he said to Charlotte. “I will return you here.” An unmistakable gleam lit his eyes. “Unless you wish to make other arrangements?”
Mutely, Charlotte shook her head.
“We shall take up no more of your time today, then.” Lord Edward bowed.
He pivoted, then crossed the room to gather Hetty from Vivian. Charlotte watched his broad shoulders as he ushered his daughter out. He looked back, once, before disappearing down the hall.
“My, my, my.” Vivian sauntered across the intricate green-and-gold patterned carpet. She halted before Charlotte and peered into her eyes.
Relieved of Hetty’s presence, Charlotte slumped back against the bookshelves once more. Her body wouldn’t cease trembling. She touched her lips, which still burned with the heat of Edward’s
kiss.
Vivian shook her head. “You, my dear, are in considerable trouble.”
Charlotte groaned. Pushing off the bookshelf, she went around the sofa to throw herself onto the plush green brocade. She pressed her palms to her eyes. “I know.”
“He’s going to want to marry you,” Vivian said as she came around the couch. She settled into a wide armchair. “He’s the marrying sort.”
“I know,” Charlotte repeated. Somehow, Vivian’s words didn’t spark the dread they should.
Vivian gasped. “You want to marry him,” she accused.
Charlotte dropped her hands. “Do I?”
“Does the idea fill you with panic? Are you inclined to ride from Caithness this very moment and never return?”
Giddiness slid through Charlotte. Unbidden, her lips turned up in a smile. “No.”
Vivian sank back in her chair with a beleaguered sigh. “My best friend, lost to me.”
Charlotte sat up. “I am certainly not, and besides, this is speculation. He has made no suggestion of wedding me, and I have not made any promise to say yes.”
Vivian shook her head. “He will, and you will, and then it shall be all love, and homemaking, and quiet evenings by the fireside. You’ll have no time for me.”
“Vivian—”
“And you’ll live here,” Vivian exclaimed. “In this terrible backwater.”
“You can visit,” Charlotte said in a teasing voice.
“Ugh. Don’t threaten me with that.” Vivian shook her head. “You will visit me, of course, but he will not wish you to. He won’t want you to associate with me and my vile ways. To please him, you’ll come less and less often.”
Charlotte’s smile disappeared. “I have not said yes to anything, and I will never do so for a man who wouldn’t trust me and permit you as my friend.”
Vivian shrugged. She pushed free of the chair. “I’m returning to the garden. Send someone with scotch, will you, dear? My head is still pounding. I believe I shall begin mourning our friendship now.”
Charlotte settled back on the sofa as Vivian strode from the room. She tried to martial rational thought. She sought back through four years of Vivian’s advice about men, love and happiness. She even attempted to rouse ire for the idea of a man not letting her have Vivian in her life.
None of her attempts to evoke reason availed her. She hugged her arms tight about her. There had never before been anything like Lord Edward’s kiss.
Chapter Eight
Charlotte refused to await Lord Edward and Hetty in the front parlor. There, she’d be unable to keep from peering out the window. Even if she only opened the curtains a sliver, she felt he would see her. She would not be caught waiting for him like a lovestruck girl.
Which was exactly what she felt like as she made another circuit around the library, eyes blind to the books on the shelves. She hadn’t felt this way since she was a girl of fifteen, reading gothic novels and believing in the love they espoused. She felt light headed. Nervous with anticipation. Alive.
“Charlotte.” Vivian’s voice was accompanied by a light knock on the frame of the library door, which stood open.
Charlotte whirled to face her. “They’re here?”
Vivian’s eyes assessed. “That’s one thing I came to tell you, yes.”
Charlotte started toward the door, but stopped as the full import of Vivian’s words came to her. “One thing?”
“The other is that I shall make myself and the servants scarce this afternoon, when Lord Edward returns you here.”
Charlotte’s face went hot. “That’s very considerate of you.”
Framed in the doorway, Vivian let out a low chuckle. “I try my best.”
Charlotte resumed her hurried steps. Vivian shifted out of the way, but didn’t follow her down the hall. When she reached the foyer, Charlotte found Cuthbert waiting with a wrap, bonnet and gloves. She donned them with murmured thanks.
Cuthbert opened the door to reveal Lord Edward trotting up the steps. His smile on seeing Charlotte matched the one on her lips. Her heart took up an exuberant beat.
Reaching her, he proffered his arm. “Missus Fairhaven.”
She placed her gloved fingers on his dark gray sleeve. “Lord Edward.”
He escorted her down the steps. Hetty, seated in her phaeton, looked on with cheerful eyes, the afternoon sun rendering her curls a bright orange. Nearby, one of Charlotte’s groomsmen held Lord Edward’s horse. It pawed the earth with nervous energy, obviously not fatigued from the ride over.
The arm beneath Charlotte’s fingers was strong, as was Lord Edward’s hand when he helped her up to sit beside Hetty. Charlotte gauged his strength rather important because, her hand clasped in his, she’d never felt so near to fainting in her life.
“Missus Fairhaven, it’s so good of you to instruct me,” Hetty said. “Thank you.”
“It’s my pleasure, truly.” Charlotte tore her gaze from Lord Edward to smile at his daughter.
His daughter. If they wed, hers. Hetty was nearly grown, but her round, smiling face awoke an old ache in Charlotte, one she’d thought well and truly buried. To have a child, to share in even a bit of the magic of guiding someone into adulthood, would be a wonderful gift. And then there would be grandchildren. Bright-faced little babes.
“Are you well, Missus Fairhaven?” Hetty asked, frowning.
Charlotte cleared her throat. “Yes, fully well. How was your drive over?”
“Missus Fairhaven,” Lord Edward said before Hetty could reply.
Charlotte turned to find him frowning at them. His gaze went from her to Hetty and back again. She prayed he hadn’t recalled his fear of her poor influence. She would hate to become terribly vexed with him. “Yes, Lord Edward?”
“You do know how to handle a phaeton?” He had the manners to appear slightly abashed. “The tutelage of a novice won’t do Hetty any good.”
Charlotte affected a haughty air. “I am perfectly competent, my lord.”
The twitch of his lip revealed he recalled his words the evening they danced. “Yes, well, this is the countryside, and you, I believe, are town bred.”
“Missus Fairhaven told me she drives, Papa,” Hetty interjected.
“Did she?” Lord Edward asked.
“Yes, when we rode together, the day you spoke about her staff,” Hetty clarified.
Lord Edward frowned.
Was he recalling their argument, or that he’d found her in Mister MaClagan’s curricle? Charlotte would banish both memories from his mind. “I retire to the country every summer, my lord,” she elaborated. “While there, I assure you, I drive with regularity.”
Lord Edward nodded.
Beside her, Charlotte heard Hetty exhale the breath she’d obviously been holding.
Edward stepped back from the phaeton and bowed. “I have some business over at McAullum’s, but I won’t be long. I’ll expect you before tea.”
He began the sentence looking at his daughter, but ended with eyes focused on Charlotte. She tamped down a blush. Why did he affect her so? He hadn’t even reiterated his promise to return her to Talla Gaoithe after the drive. Not in words, at least. That promise definitely resided in the intensity of his gray eyes.
“We know the plan, Papa.” Hetty’s tone held mild exasperation. “Go speak with Tom. Missus Fairhaven and I will be perfectly well.”
“It’s Mister McAullum.” Lord Edward’s correction had the quickness and despairing undertone of an oft repeated reprimand. His focus remained on Charlotte.
Hetty muttered something Charlotte couldn’t make out and flicked the reins. The phaeton started forward. Pulling her gaze from Lord Edward, Charlotte focused on Hetty’s hands, scrutinizing her grip to keep from turning a longing look behind them.
“Truly, I drive perfectly well,” Hetty said, twisting the reins in her hands.
“I’m certain you do, Lady Hetty, but you are twisting the reins again.”
Hetty looked down at her gloved hand
s. She grimaced and began unwinding the reins from them. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Your father was making you nervous. It’s understandable.” Charlotte squelched the renewed urge to look back as they rolled down the drive.
“Oh, he’s not so bad today,” Hetty said. “It’s more Marian, in truth, who is agitating me.”
“Your sister?” The one who was supposed to teach her to drive. Instead, Hetty had to ask Charlotte, a near stranger, or bear the somewhat daunting tutelage of her father.
Hetty nodded. “She sent the oddest letter.” She slowed the team as they reached the end of the drive and made a careful turn onto the lane, her features folded into a look of concentration.
Throughout the turn, Charlotte made a few suggestions, as inoffensively as she could. Hetty’s main problem seemed to be her tentativeness. “Your team can feel your lack of certainty through the reins. It makes them nervous.”
“Well, they make me nervous,” Hetty muttered. The phaeton squared up with the lane, she set them moving at a better clip.
“Yes, but you can conquer your nerves and lend them calm,” Charlotte said. “They cannot do as much for you.”
They settled into a silence that didn’t feel calm. Charlotte could tell Hetty wished to speak on some topic. She assumed her sister’s letter but wouldn’t pry. For all her daydreams of Lord Edward, it was in no way Charlotte’s place to press his daughter.
Not yet, at least, her heart whispered.
“She said she’s not coming home,” Hetty blurted.
Charlotte lightly touched a hand to the girl’s when she started twisting the reins. “I thought she wasn’t happy in Wales?”
Hetty glanced down and eased her grip. “She isn’t.” She jerked at the reins, causing the team to slow. “Her letter was so confusing. She said she’s going to meet someone soon, and once she does, she’ll never want to leave that someone, but that Papa will never let her come back if they’re together.”
Charlotte agreed, that was confusing. “Who will she meet?”
“I don’t know. She didn’t seem to know. I wrote back this morning asking why she can’t wait until she returns to meet someone.” Hetty flicked the reins. The team picked up their pace.
Rake Ruiner: The Marriage Maker and the Widows Book One Page 7
