by Jane Charles
An odd discomfort settled over Charlotte and she tried to pull her hand from the crook of Wynn's arm.
Wynn's large hand covered Charlotte's and he gave her a slight squeeze. “Lady Heloise,” he said stiffly. “May I present to you my countess?”
Something was different about his tone, but Charlotte couldn't place it before Lady Heloise pursed her lips and cut her eyes at Charlotte. “I must be going,” she said with a sniff. “Oh, Lord Crestwood, it's so nice to see you here…”
“I think it's time for us to go,” she whispered.
Wynn sighed and obliged her.
Neither said a word to the other as they bade Charlotte's family goodbye.
“Lady Heloise wants me to marry her daughter,” Wynn said without preamble as soon as the carriage lurched forward.
“Her daughter?” That was the last thing Charlotte expected him to say. “Isn't she still in leading strings?”
“I don't know.” Wynn shrugged. “I never bothered to ask. I already have a wife.”
“But what of a lover?” Immediately she wished she hadn't asked that. Not only was it a question wives never asked their husbands, she truly didn't want to know.
Wynn's large hand found hers, his fingers intertwining with hers. “No,” he said quietly. “Only a wife.”
Chapter 10
Charlotte was a bundle of excitement by the time she reached the door to her bedchamber. Would he join her? Did she want him to? Tingles scampered down her spine. A matter of days ago she'd have allowed him entry, but wouldn't have invited it for any other reason than to get it over with. Now? She bit her lip. His earlier words, as good as a declaration of his faithfulness, echoed in her mind. Though it was common that most gentlemen kept mistresses and she assumed the same for Wynn, knowing that he hadn't had meant more to her than anything else he'd said the last few days.
But did that mean she was ready to share intimacies with him?
Wynn's soft chuckle brought her to the present. “Have no fear, this is where I bid you goodnight.” He lifted her hand and brushed a gentle kiss across her knuckles. “Goodnight, my lady.”
Charlotte could no more pull her hand from his than she could recite the alphabet backward at that very moment.
Wynn's arm reached behind her and opened the door for her, then he released her hand.
Heart slamming in her chest, Charlotte padded into her dimly lit bedchamber.
“My lady,” Mazie whispered from where she was fidgeting in the chair positioned near the fire. “He sent you a letter.”
“Wynn?” Charlotte said without thinking, another thrill of excitement running through her.
“No,” her maid said with a slight giggle. “Your beaux.”
“Oh.” She forced a smile. “Where is it?”
“Over there.” Her lady's maid said, anxiously pointing toward the bed.
“Why is it on my bed?”
“Because that's where Dulcey instructed me to put it.”
“Why would he do that, I wonder.”
“Because that's where the messenger instructed him to put it,” Mazie explained. “It arrived only ten minutes ago.”
Charlotte was not as amused by the whole thing as Mazie was. She picked up the letter and mindlessly fingered the edge. “I wonder if Wynn is in his room.”
“Why, so you can show it to him and give him nightmares about his wife presenting him with a bas—” Mazie broke off, her face flaming as red as her hair. “Just open it.”
Charlotte flipped the letter over and broke the seal.
My Dear Lady,
How splendid you looked this evening, adorned like a queen—my queen. I could gaze upon you all day and night and never grow weary.
Charlotte frowned. Again, all he was doing was complimenting her appearance. Did he have no substance? Or worse, assume she didn't?
She set the letter down on her nightstand. There wasn't any reason to read anymore of that claptrap.
“Mazie, help me get ready for bed.”
When her maid had helped her out of her dress and into her nightrail, Charlotte climbed into bed, her eyes falling on the open letter. With a sigh, she plucked up the vellum and tried to focus her tired eyes on the words. But alas, she was too exhausted from her evening and his compliments too tedious…
James' anticipation at her reaction to his second letter threatened to overtake him. Finally, unable to bear it another second, he eased the adjoining door open just enough to peek inside. Instantly, his eyes found Charlotte. She wore only a crimson silk nightrail, reclining back against her pillow—her eyes were closed and his letter rested on her chest.
He didn't know how to respond to that. Should his heart clench with excitement that she'd taken his letter to her bed or should he be insanely jealous of himself? Probably the latter. For truly, what man would want to lose his wife to a figment of her imagination fueled by himself?
With a sigh, he closed the door and made his way to his own bed—not that he'd be able to sleep.
The first words out of his wife's mouth the following morning only added to his agony…
“Wynn, I need to speak to you.”
“Yes, my lady,” he said with a low, sweeping bow.
“I think you need to respond to him.” Charlotte plunked down the missive he'd had Dulcey deliver to her while they were at the musicale.
Feigning confusion, James slowly lifted the paper. “Why?”
“Because I don't know what to say to that…that…” she placed her hands on her hips and pursed her lips. “I don't even know what to refer to him as.”
James slowly read the letter he'd sent her.
My Dear Lady,
How splendid you looked this evening, adorned like a queen—my queen. I could gaze upon you all day and night and never grow weary.
Perhaps you could find it in your heart to grant me such a pleasure.
“Apparently he doesn't know what to refer to himself as, either,” he suggested, handing her back the unsigned letter.
Charlotte frowned. “That's not helpful, Wynn.”
“James,” he corrected. “I hate it when you call me Wynn.”
Charlotte blinked. “You do?”
“Yes. It makes me want to look over my shoulder to see if my father is lurking there.”
“But everyone calls you Wynn.”
He wanted to laugh at her innocence. “Yes, most do. But my wife shouldn't.”
Slowly, Charlotte nodded. “A—all right, James. What should I do about his indecent request?”
“I'd tell him to bugger off,” he grumbled. She clearly wasn't as impressed with his attempt to woo her as he'd hoped she'd be.
“I'm afraid that would ruin his untarnished image of me,” she said with a sniff. “Then again, he might expect as much from me after being married to you for so long.”
James couldn't tell if she was teasing or if she was angry at him. Forcing a shrug, he picked up his fork. “Perhaps you should tell him how awful I am and that you pray he will come rescue you then.”
How could he be so cold and unconcerned?
Charlotte tamped down that niggling thought right along with any warm feelings she'd begun to sprout for him. “Thank you for the suggestion; that is precisely what I'll do.”
Twenty minutes later, she marched all the way from her room to Dulcey. “See that Lord Wonderful's messenger gets this when he delivers my next letter of love and admiration?” Lord Smitten might be how James referred to the man, but if he agreed to rescue Charlotte, he'd be wonderful, indeed.
Dulcey kept an expressionless face, but she knew his eyes well enough to glimpse the laughter alighting them.
She winked at him then took her leave.
Walking back to her room, she passed James, ignoring him and his arrogantly arched brow.
It took every ounce of self-control James possessed not to immediately go to Dulcey and demand Charlotte's letter.
Instead he waited…fifteen minutes.
S
ending the door to his study slamming shut with his foot, James hastily tore open her letter to Lord Wonderful as he'd overheard Charlotte refer to him.
To My Dearest Admirer,
Your words are like a balm to my wounded soul. I dreamt all night of what it would be like to grant your request.
Your Lady Fair
James wanted to scowl and would have had he not been so amused. Flopping down at his desk, he reached for his quill.
My Dear Lady Fair,
Dare I pray your details were as delicious as mine? For I could hardly sleep for the thoughts of you and what I long to do with you were we granted but an hour alone.
Your ever-faithful servant
Though still a virgin at four-and-twenty, Charlotte blushed fiercely at his scandalous insinuation.
“Has he just pledged his undying love to you?” James wondered aloud from where he stood in the open door of the drawing room, leaning against the doorjamb with his left shoulder.
“Not at all.” She smiled at him and fanned herself with the missive. “Though, I do believe it might involve love—” she turned her head to the side “—or at least lust.”
“And that makes you giddier than a simpleton, I see.”
She shrugged. “At least he's not simpleton enough to wait more than three years to make such an advance.”
“And that's why he's Lord Smitten,” James admitted with a self-deprecating grin.
“Indeed. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to…er…”
“Go arrange for your loss of virtue?”
If his words affected her at all, she hid it well. “Just don't forget you're the one who suggested it.”
Two hours later James was staring down at another missive from his wife.
My Dear Besotted,
Only an hour? Would you then grow tired of me just as my husband has?
Your Lady Skeptical
Tired of her? Is that what she thought he was? He leaned his chin against his steepled fingers and sighed. Of course she did. He hadn't done anything to make her think otherwise and now wouldn't be the time or she'd know he was the one behind the letters. Tomorrow, he thought. They'd been invited to Gareth and Jane's house for a dinner in honor of Charlotte's sister Daphne and her husband Aaron visiting from Yorkshire. He'd show her then just how attracted to her he was.
But for now…
My Dearest Lady, the Claimant of my heart,
Your husband is an unworthy fool.
For I could never grow weary of your company a moment short of sixty years. Alas, all I could ever request is an hour. (Your husband may be an unworthy fool, but he knows how to swing a rapier…or so I've been told.)
Your humble servant
Charlotte swallowed convulsively. Was he genuinely requesting an assignation? Passion and morals warred within her. She'd never admit it to anyone, but she'd always struggled with being envious of Jane, Jemma, and now Daphne who had husbands who loved them and enjoyed bedding them. What would it be like to be held and kissed and touched by a man who could think of nothing else than taking her to his bed? Oh, but for one night to know the secrets of passion and be tangled in its sheets.
But what about James? Her throat tightened. He might not be fond of her or even attracted to her, but that didn't mean he deserved to be cuckolded, did it? He is making an effort with me, she reminded herself, then frowned. Every time he'd opened his mouth since this morning he'd said something off-handed, almost encouraging her to pursue a relationship with this man!
My Dear Sir,
You must know my husband well—better than even I do, I am afraid.
I fear that an hour wouldn't be possible—
Charlotte abruptly stood and walked to the window. The sun was sinking in the sky; soon it would be time for dinner with James. Good. She needed time to think before she responded to this last letter.
“Is something troubling you?” James asked from across the dinner table.
“Only you,” she retorted with a smile.
James flicked his wrist. “Well, if that's all it is, I suppose everything is as usual.”
“Indeed.”
The footman set down their plates in front of them.
“Have you heard anymore from Lord Smitten?”
Was that sarcasm she detected? Ignoring the way her heart skipped a beat at his jealousy, she said, “Of course. He is quite smitten.”
“Is that so?” he drawled.
“I know that's hard for you to imagine, but there seems to be at least one man in London who'd enjoy me warming his bed.”
James froze, his fork halfway to his mouth. Slowly, he lowered his fork back to his plate with a soft clink. “I didn't think ladies were supposed to desire their husband's attention in such a manner.”
“Is that the only reason you haven't expressed any?”
Something in the far back corner of James' mind told him that any potential happiness he and Charlotte could have together hung on his answer.
Unfortunately, there wasn't an answer he could give her that wouldn't potentially dash it all. The plan. Yes, that was the answer, he should stick to his earlier plan to woo her at her brother-in-law's house like they'd had at the musicale before Lady Heloise ruined it, then when they got home instead of ending things at the door to her bedchamber, show her just how much he did desire her. That's what would be for the best, not saying the wrong thing now.
“Would you like for me to have such an interest?” he asked, praying his voice didn't give him away.
“Of course not!”
James scoffed, then quickly coughed to cover it up. Deny it all she wanted, she was attracted to him. He bit back a smile. Yes, his plan tomorrow just might work.
Chapter 11
Charlotte frowned down at the half-written missive she'd begun last night before dinner, still no closer to knowing what to say to Lord Smitten now than when she'd started. The fact was, if James truly wanted to push her to give him an heir, he could do it and she had no option but to agree. He didn't have to try to create any sort of connection to her but he had.
Even if he had been beastly the day before. Nonetheless, she owed her loyalty to her husband—even if it meant living her life with a chronic heartache.
“Are you feeling well?” Mazie asked between brush strokes.
“Of course,” Charlotte lied. She allowed her maid to help her dress, and then went to Jane's house to help her get ready for Daphne's arrival in the afternoon.
Truly, there was nothing for Jane or Charlotte to get ready nor did they particularly need to oversee the servants as they made the preparations Jane had ordered, but if Charlotte didn't leave her house, she just might do something she'd regret: brain her husband or give into her temptation and respond to Lord Smitten's scandalous offer.
No. She wouldn't even think of it.
“Would you like to go lie down?” Jane offered, her brow puckering.
“I'll be all right,” Charlotte assured her, praying it was true.
Jane gripped the wooden handrails on the sides of her invalid's chair and positioned herself closer to Charlotte. “What's troubling you?”
Charlotte hesitated only a split-second then everything, absolutely everything about the events of the past two weeks tumbled from Charlotte's mouth.
“Well,” Jane said, her smile growing. “It sounds to me as if Lord Wynn has become besotted.”
Charlotte frowned a little. “I don't.” She stood and took a few steps, then turned back to her sister. “I thought so, too—” she shrugged and started pacing again “—but yesterday…”
“He's jealous,” Jane said simply.
“I thought so, too,” Charlotte agreed again, turning back toward the window. She took four steps. “But then why would he encourage that I start an affair?”
“Because he's a man.” Jane's simple answer made Charlotte burst into laughter.
“Indeed.” Feeling much better about the whole thing, she resumed her seat beside Jane. “What should
I do?”
“Seduce him.”
Again, Jane's simple answer made Charlotte erupt in laughter. Or at least she would have, if she wasn't overcome with nervous-excitement. “How do I—” she lowered her voice, lest the walls grow ears and mouths “—seduce him?”
“Well, considering what you've told me about him not having had intimacies in the past three years, it shouldn't be too hard,” Jane said dryly. “You could wear any number of those nightrails I had the modiste make for you and invite him into your room.” She wagged her eyebrows. “Or you could just let yourself into his.”
Charlotte's cheeks warmed. “What if he doesn't like that?”
Jane stared at her as if she'd lost her mind. “Then you'll know he must enjoy being a eunuch and you should consider responding to your admirer.”
Jane was right and Charlotte knew it. “Thank you for the advice. I shall try it tonight.”
“Good,” Jane said, patting Charlotte's knee. “Now, go home and select your finest gown for this evening and your sheerest nightrail for tonight.”
Always an obedient younger sister, Charlotte did as she was bade.
“You look stunning,” James said when Charlotte entered the drawing room dressed to go to Jane's for dinner.
“Thank you. You look rather dapper yourself.” It was true. Clad in a royal blue coat, overlaying a red waistcoat, white shirt crowned with an immaculately tied cravat boasting an emerald stickpin in the middle, James was to the height of fashion and she couldn't even bring herself to more than glance at his dove breeches!
“I do hope dapper doesn't mean you think I'm becoming a dandy,” James said, taking determined steps in her direction. “Because, I am not.”
“No,” she breathed in agreement. “Nobody would ever accuse you of such.” Not that it was a bad thing, mind you, but for a man such as James who had lived his entire majority concerned about his image and reputation, she understood his concern: he wanted everyone to know he took his title more seriously than vice and fashion.
