In Search of Scandal (London Explorers #1)

by Susanne Lord

  Will was right. She was a shameless wanton where it concerned him.

  “Lie down,” she coaxed.

  He blinked, tipping forward as if trying to focus on her face. “Did he hurt you?”

  “No. Now lie down.”

  He complied without a word and she wished the man were half as obliging when sober.

  She unbuttoned his trousers and, making fast work of it, pulled them off and covered his body quickly with the blanket. As tempted as she was to admire him naked, it would be unkind to ogle the man in his diminished state. “There,” she whispered. “Now you’re warm and cozy, you worrisome man.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I know. Go to sleep. If you are good tomorrow, I’ll endeavor to argue with you.” And you will tell me everything.

  He caught her wrist. “One more night, Charlotte.”

  One?

  Will pulled her closer. “I don’t like sleep.”

  Too slow to stop the fracturing of her heart, she cupped his rough cheek, trying and failing to conjure even an ounce of irritation. No wonder she was rubbish at arguing if she couldn’t sustain a most reasonable anger with the man. “Let go of my hand so I can get into bed.”

  But Will only transferred his hold from one hand to another, his eyelids sinking. Opening the blanket in a clumsy semblance of invitation, he pulled her until she was half lying, half falling beside him.

  The cloud of whiskey and warm male enveloped her as he hugged her tight against him. How did he expect her to sleep so? She wrinkled her nose at the bouquet of cheap liquor emanating from the man. The sheets would have to be stripped tomorrow.

  “Worrisome man…” she mumbled into his chest.

  “…worry…wife…”

  The sleepy words were breathed into her hair. She gave over to his crushing hold as he rolled onto his back, taking her with him, and proceeded to snore into her ear. This was not an aspect of marriage she had ever imagined.

  Well. No man was perfect. Not even one assembled from her daydreams.

  She strained to look at him, his face relaxing but not relaxed.

  What had he been trying to forget?

  And how was she going to help him?

  Twenty-two

  Nature never intended a man to wake like this. He cracked an eyelid and swiftly sealed it. Too bright. God, it was all so bright.

  Why did he drink so much? His skull was pounding and his stomach churned in his throat. But damn him, he deserved all of it.

  He stretched his arms left and right on the cool sheets, relieved not to feel Charlotte’s there. “Good,” he garbled. He didn’t want anyone to see him in this state, let alone—

  “You are awake,” Charlotte answered from above him. And far too brightly.

  Disoriented by the placement of her voice, he cracked open one eye. The pillow he believed his head rested on was her lap. Too fast, her china face dipped, her lips a blur of pink, her eyes bright blue orbs, and dizziness spun him.

  Why are you here? was what he intended, but all he could manage to croak was, “Why?”

  Her fingers stroked his head gently. “I knew you would not remember yesterday.”

  Yesterday. If only he could forget.

  He squinted against the light to see her cheek. Worse today. Fighting nausea, he pushed himself to sitting and clutched his head in his hands. Ah, hell. He was naked. And stinking. And still a little drunk.

  Will Repton. Famed explorer, celebrated plant collector, rancid bucket of sludge, and abuser of women.

  “How are you feeling?” his angel wife asked.

  “Like death.”

  Charlotte moved off the bed, the fabric of her nightrail rustling loud as thunder. “Take a little breakfast and you will be feeling yourself again.”

  Why wasn’t she angry? Why didn’t she hate him? Why didn’t she ever behave the way she should?

  Christ, all of this was wrong, all wrong. He didn’t lose control. He didn’t drink to oblivion. He’d never hurt a woman in his life.

  Charlotte tilted her head, trying to see into his undoubtedly pasty, swollen face. Blessedly, her voice was low. “I shall call Michael to help you.”

  “No.”

  She pouted, looking from his dressing chamber to his polluted carcass on her pristine sheets. “I suppose I can assist you. I will have the bath made ready, in any case.”

  It was better she hate him. Better she be relieved to see the back of him. “Leave me alone.”

  “You are being very disagreeable this morning, Will, so I’ll remind you it was not your wife pouring drink down your throat till you couldn’t see a hole in a ladder.”

  “What wife?” he muttered.

  She watched him a quiet moment. Had he managed to anger her at last?

  Dropping his eyes, he swung his legs to the floor and dragged the sheet over his nakedness. Charlotte’s stare weighed on his head like a mounting block, so he watched her toes curl into the rug. Even her feet were pretty. His were marred with scars, white and ragged like lightning. The memory of that piercing pain as vivid now as then. What perversion of fate had brought the two of them together?

  “Will you drink a little water?”

  “Don’t nurse me.”

  “You should—”

  “Go away, Charlotte.” Forgive me. “I don’t need you.”

  He didn’t look, but the swish of fabric and the hurried padding of her feet told him she’d left.

  He was glad of the nausea, the aches, the stabbing in his head, or he might have stood and caught her. He might have lifted his bleary eyes and seen the hurt in her sweet face and groveled in apology at her feet.

  And she needed to hate him for what he planned next.

  * * *

  Charlotte successfully avoided her husband all day. Several times she had been tempted to corner the man and demand answers. What had happened in China? What did he dream of? Had Hugh spoken the truth? Was he the only survivor of his expedition? Is that why Will drank himself to obliteration last night?

  But Will might not answer. Unlike most men of her acquaintance, he was immune to her usual tactics of persuasion. And she was not so patient to couch her words to best effect.

  For now, she opted for solitude in her parlor to think. And in truth, to be soothed. He had been positively hateful this morning and her feelings were still tender. Or incensed, rather.

  How remarkable. She had taken offense.

  Yes. She was offended.

  Thankfully, she would not have to see him until she was ready. Will never entered the ladies’ parlor. Odd that, for it was the most wonderful room in the house, filled with her favorite things.

  The most wonderful room…

  The room where they first met.

  Charlotte pushed to her feet and began to pace. She ought to write Lucy for her guidance. She could tell her if husbands often left without reporting where they were going, as Will had done. None of the servants had been apprised, either. The lack of consideration was not as troubling as his drinking, but she could not help but feel hurt.

  But then, men were quite different from women in their freedoms. She could not simply sail out the door as he had done.

  Yes, she would write to Lucy first—but carefully, so as not to alarm her sister. For if Lucy were alarmed, she would tell Ben, who would tell Wally, who would travel, purple-faced, all the way from Derbyshire to scold Will.

  An hour later, engrossed in her writing, she was unaware Will had returned until he cleared his throat.

  Slowly, she set down her pen. This did not bode well—he had entered her parlor of his own accord. His face was ashen and his hair tousled, as if he’d not bothered to comb it after his bath and let the wind send it topsy-turvy.

  His eyes settled on her letters. “May I speak with you?”

  No. The thought rose immediately, instinctively. No, not now. “Did you have errands to run? I stayed in to complete my correspondence. I am shamefully overdue. Are you hungry? Shall I ring for so
mething?” It was a ploy to delay with little hope of success. Will was efficient above all things.

  “I had the annulment papers prepared.” He rushed on as though she might speak. As if she could.

  “There is no reason to prolong the marriage, Charlotte. It follows we’d know we didn’t suit in three weeks rather than ten; incompatibility would be evident in as little as one.”

  …no reason…

  She launched to her feet and made for the door.

  “Where—Charlotte? Where are you going?”

  “I…I have to tend to something upstairs. Shall we speak later?” She was nearly running for the stairs, all too aware Will followed.

  “We should speak now.”

  Her heart constricted, a lightning bolt of pain that left her gasping. “Yes, you had the papers drawn.”

  “We can end this today—wait.”

  She flew to their bedroom. He wanted to leave her. But he promised…he promised August…

  He entered behind her. “Charlotte, please listen.”

  Terrified her face would betray her, she gazed out the window. Lucy’s orchid house shone in the corner of the lawn, the glass reflecting a coral sky from the setting sun. Ben had built the hothouse for her before they were married and it was the most beautiful of all his creations.

  Beautiful because he had built it for Lucy when he had no hope of her, when he thought she had tossed him aside. And still Ben built it because he did everything in his power to make Lucy happy.

  Because he loved her.

  The simple truth staggered her and she steadied herself with a hand on the wall. Will did not love her.

  She knew that, she had always known that.

  She turned and he flinched as if struck. “Christ,” he stammered, turning his back on her bruised face.

  “Will?”

  He didn’t say anything, didn’t look at her, and all at once she realized he might be leaving for another reason entirely. “It was an accident.”

  “The papers are downstairs.”

  “It was an accident.”

  He started for the door. “I won’t hurt you again.”

  “But you are hurting me now,” she cried. “You will hurt me far worse if take yourself away, before you even must. Why would you—?”

  “Because I have to.”

  He sounded so anguished that she started toward him, but he flung himself back, a staying hand raised against her approach. “Don’t.” A stubborn look hardened his face. “You’ll be happy when I’m gone.”

  “That is not true! And you are being deliberately cruel to say so.”

  “You shouldn’t be with me. I’m nothing like—”

  “I know! I prefer you far more.”

  “You need a man suited to you, a man who’ll stay and protect you, give you a family, provide for you. Marry one of—”

  “No!” The word erupted, louder and angrier than she ever allowed herself to be.

  She could argue. She could argue this.

  The outburst stunned him to silence and she could have wept at the confusion in his face. After all this time, why did he not know?

  “I will never marry again, Will.”

  She willed him to understand, to finally understand, but when his lips parted, no words came.

  “Do I need to bloom some sort of flower from my ears?” She smiled sadly. “An explorer is meant to be observant, Will Repton. Can you not see when a woman is in love with you?”

  He took her words like an arrow to the chest, piercing and inconceivable all at once.

  Heat flooded her face, but she forced her smile to brighten. Briskly, she stepped back. “Honestly. I expected you to discern my feelings long ago. From the moment we met, but men can be frightfully thick about such matters.”

  His face was so stricken, she laughed weakly. “Yours is not the reaction a woman hopes for in revealing her love.”

  “Don’t cry,” he rasped.

  Confused, she blinked. Only then did she feel the warm trail of a tear on her cheek. She never cried. She was happy, she was—

  Will tugged her into his arms, rubbing her back in hard, almost desperate strokes to soothe her. “Christ, Charlotte, don’t.”

  His hands trembled. Sensitive Will. Of course they must separate. His nerves would never survive a lifetime of her. But while he was here, she burrowed close, reminded again how the man felt as if he’d been made to hold her. She touched the thick clips of his hair and inhaled the spicy heat of the oil of clove on his neck, wanting to draw the memory of his body deep, to never forget.

  “No.” He set her back and wiped a hand across his throat as if to erase her lips. “This is why this has to end. Right now.”

  If she were a foot taller, he would be forced to meet her eye. The man only needed to level his chin to stare over her head—a stance he affected all too often.

  How hopeless this was. Still, how many times did she beg him to see her? To talk to her? And against every grim look and stubborn silence and harbored secret, all she could do was flitter and flutter and smile because she knew, she knew, she was a fool to love an explorer.

  But her love was real. Even if it was a horrible idea.

  She smiled a little at the absurdity. Really, what was the point of tears and drama? Her love was no surprise. At least not to her.

  Will, however, looked as if he might collapse any moment under the weight of the revelation.

  “I have no expectations. Just because I love you—”

  “No.” His stare faltered. “We’re friends. We…we dine together, we kiss, we sleep side by side and”—he clenched his eyes—“I touch you in ways I shouldn’t.”

  “You mustn’t blame yourself—”

  “You’re doing that thing again—fanciful notions,” he said roughly. “You can’t possibly love a man who told you, from the first, from the very beginning, he was leaving.” He landed on a new thought and his eyes cleared with something like relief. “My leaving is what’s attracting you.”

  Out of respect, she considered this fresh bit of nonsense for four full seconds. “No.”

  He slumped against the wall, both hands clutching his head.

  Poor Will. She had diverted him well and good from his plans and there was nothing he disliked more. But then, his plan was to annul their marriage today.

  Her heart thumped painfully. And if he truly didn’t wish to hurt her, could she hope? Please…just till August.

  As if he could hear her prayer, his knees buckled and he swayed, catching himself on the wall to stay upright.

  She braced his shoulder to better gauge whether he planned to keel over. “You are still unwell. Wouldn’t you like Cook to make you a bowl of rice potage? Or a little clear pheasant soup?”

  “I don’t want this, I don’t.”

  “A bit of broth, then?”

  He huffed a strange, soundless laugh and hugged her tight. “God, Charlotte, what are you thinking? It’s not as if you can wait for me.”

  She ought to make some noncommittal reply. Agree with him to ease his mind. But she was so tired of hiding her heart. Besides, a lie would change nothing. And neither would the truth.

  “But I was always going to wait,” she said quietly. “Wait for the mornings when the newspapers printed their stories of Chinese Will. And for your reports to be logged at the Geographical Society and your triumphant return to England. And then wait in some endless queue to see you lecture in some dreary room of the Linnean Society.

  “And later, I will wait for Ben to invite you to dinner where you will nod politely at me.” She closed her eyes and refused to be sad. “And then wait a little longer for the day you marry a new bride.”

  He was so still and she was glad not to see his eyes. She couldn’t bear to see the responsibility there, the dismay.

  “You see?” she whispered. “I was always going to wait, Will. You are not the only one with a plan.”

  His arms tightened, and if he hadn’t been holding her so close,
she wouldn’t have heard his next words. “I’m leaving you.”

  The words sounded like a question. “I’m leaving you,” he said again louder, but his voice was wretched.

  “I know,” she said gently, wanting only to comfort him now. “I know.” She positioned her lips at his ear so there was no misunderstanding. “But I was never leaving you.”

  Something seemed to break in him. His shoulders sagged and his head dropped onto her shoulder. “Charlotte…”

  The whisper was full of regret, and of all the emotions she might have felt, relief washed over her. It was pointless but she was glad. He would miss her. Not with her depths, but a little.

  After a while, he straightened to his full height, his lips at her temple. “You really love me, then?”

  In answer, she hugged him tight. More words would only upset him and he seemed to be coming to terms with the fact that the woman he married was inconveniently in love with him.

  It was selfish, but she had to try. Could she persuade him to postpone the annulment a little longer? “Please. Not today.”

  He released a breath slowly. “All right, Charlotte.”

  Her breath caught with hope. “Truly?”

  He set her back and took off his coat.

  Excited, speechless, she bounced on her toes. But just once. Perhaps twice. She was a lady, after all, and a lady would keep her bounces to a minimum. “Thank you, Will! And you are not so unhappy here, are you? It is only a few weeks more and we will rub along and—”

  She broke off when Will shrugged out of his waistcoat. She hadn’t noticed him unbuttoning it. She glanced at the open door with the possessive thought a maid might see him in undress. It was a mere dart of her eyes, but Will’s head swiveled to follow.

  Strange how his senses were honed to the slightest movements and sounds. Yet he was astonished a woman who panted after him like a puppy was in love with him.

  He strode to the door and shut it, turning the key in the lock. And then did the same to the door to his rooms—all the while tugging his shirt free of his trousers.

  What was he doing? “Are you warm?”

  “No.” He flicked open the button at his neck.

  “No?” she echoed softly, curious as to what he would do next. Strangely, she didn’t know. Normally, she could puzzle him out—though she had no real objection to anything that involved Will removing his clothes.