Charming Sir Charles (Dashing Widows Book 5)

by Anna Campbell

  This visit, she’d avoided those cozy chats. She didn’t want to face questions about this restless mood she was in—and she knew both Helena and Caro had noticed that she wasn’t her cheerful, chatty self.

  When he smiled, the kindness in his eyes made her think yet again what a nice man he was. “As long as you aren’t gossiping about horses, I have no criticism.”

  It was her turn to laugh, surprised that it came out quite easily. “Meg and the boys have added a different flavor to the visit.”

  “A whiff of hay and harnesses?”

  “Exactly.”

  He stood and presented his arm. “Would you like to go inside and wander through the West collection with me? We have the manor to ourselves—no children playing blind man’s buff in the gallery, no horse-mad youth, desperate to discuss fetlocks and snaffle bits.”

  Over the weeks she’d known Sir Charles, they’d spent many enjoyable hours touring London’s galleries, public and private. Meg had accompanied them good naturedly, but without showing much interest in the art.

  Lord Norwood had been a sporting gentleman who scorned his wife’s cultivated tastes. Sally had loved talking to someone intelligent and well informed, who shared her love of beautiful things. In truth, he was much more well informed than she was. And unlike many of the ton’s connoisseurs, he didn’t speak down to her as a mere woman. Her confidence had blossomed when he seemed genuinely interested in her opinions.

  “I rather think I would.” She smiled up at him and rose to accept his arm. That odd little shiver rippled through her again, but this time she ignored it. The reaction must just be one more symptom of her recent distraction.

  * * *

  The next day, the weather changed for the worse, and everyone was confined inside, much to the chagrin of the horsier members of the party. In the afternoon, most of the guests played cards, or wrote letters, or joined in a riotous game of skittles with the children in the long gallery.

  Charles had sought refuge in West’s library—as he’d predicted, well-stocked with books about horses. Now he stood at the window, watching the pouring rain and wondering where Sally was. Since their tour of the long gallery, she’d proven elusive. She wasn’t with the others. He’d hoped he might find her in here, but the room was empty.

  These last days, she wasn’t acting like herself, and he was worried that it boded ill for his courtship. When he’d discovered her in the rose garden, she’d seemed unusually self-conscious and ill at ease.

  For once, they’d been gloriously alone. Ah, if only she’d accept his advances, the setting had been perfect for romance. But some instinct had stopped him from kissing her. With every day, it became more difficult to hide his hunger, but he’d managed to resist temptation. Barely.

  Sally moved through the world sheltered behind an oddly unbreakable shell of isolation. One might almost imagine she was a beautiful painting herself, and not warm, human flesh, ripe for a man’s touch.

  If she hadn’t been married nearly ten years, Charles would almost call her lack of awareness innocence.

  “Is this where you’re hiding, old man?” Silas Nash, Lord Stone, strode through the door with his usual energy, leaving it ajar behind him. Beneath the thatch of light brown hair, his features were alight with humor and intelligence.

  Charles turned, grateful that someone interrupted his brooding. He liked Stone. He liked all the Nashes and their connections. And he positively envied Stone’s marriage to vivid, lovely Caroline. Eight years and four children had done nothing to cool the heat between them.

  The nurseries upstairs were packed with the next generation of Nashes and Granges. Stone and Caro had brought their children, as well as Morwenna’s four-year-old daughter Kerenza, to Shelton Abbey to play with their three cousins.

  “I came for a book to while away the afternoon.” And to track down one lovely Dashing Widow.

  Stone joined him at the window and stared out at the gray landscape. “And to escape the horsey set, I’ll wager.”

  Charles’s smile was wry. “That, too.”

  “Nash offspring are flung onto their first pony before they can walk. But I must say even I have reached the limit of my interest in thoroughbred antecedents. Meg and West and the boys had gone back as far as the Byerley Turk, when I left the morning room in search of more sensible conversation.”

  “I hope you’ve found it,” Charles said with a smile. “What are you working on at the moment?”

  “A dwarf version of Caro’s tree for people who don’t have room for a bloody great orchard.” The “Caroline Nash” cherry tree he released a few years after his marriage had caused a sensation in horticultural circles.

  “How is it going?”

  Stone’s lips twitched. “Will it sound like a bad joke if I say I’m making small progress?”

  “Yes.”

  “Excellent.” His tone turned serious. “We’re actually at a critical point in the grafting. I hope in the master’s absence, my army of assistants back at Woodley Park are watching the shoots and not breaking into the wine cellars.”

  “So why did you come to Shelton Abbey?”

  Stone shrugged without resentment. “Caro and Helena haven’t had much time together over the last months, at least time away from the social world. And the children were clamoring to see their cousins. Family is more important than a cherry tree, however fine, even if I do say so myself.”

  Charles’s envy of this man’s domestic contentment sharpened until it tasted like rust on his tongue. This, this was what Charles wanted. With Sally Cowan. Love. A passionate connection with a lovely woman. Children. A home where he found purpose and joy.

  Yet Sally persisted in treating him like an acquaintance. It was enough to make a man want to join Stone’s unsupervised assistants and raid the claret cellar.

  “I’m sure. Even horse-mad sisters.”

  Stone nodded. “Even horse-mad sisters. Hel’s always been avid for the nags. It was something she and West had in common when they were young. I’m devilish glad they found their way back to one another.”

  Charles eyed Stone in the flat gray light. “By God, you’re a romantic.”

  Stone gave another shrug. “Life’s made me one.”

  “You’re lucky.”

  “I am indeed.” Stone’s smile expressed what he didn’t say. But Charles had witnessed the soul-deep happiness in his family and didn’t need any explanation.

  Stone surveyed Charles from under his brows, as if unsure whether he should continue. “You know, you could be lucky, too.”

  Charles frowned, although he wasn’t surprised Stone had noticed his interest in Sally. The Nashes were a notoriously clever family, and not just with horses and horticulture. “You’ve guessed that I’m contemplating matrimony?”

  “It’s reasonably obvious, at least to a fellow who’s languished in just your situation.”

  “I’m not sure the lady returns my interest.”

  “Poor devil, I remember that feeling. It was damned wretched.” Stone sent him a straight look. “Of course, there’s only one way to find out whether you’re wasting your time. You need to declare yourself. Unless you mean to yearn after her until you’re both old and gray.”

  Charles gave a twisted smile. “I never knew the meaning of terror until I set out to win a bride.”

  Stone clapped him on the back. “Worse than facing a loaded pistol at twenty paces. But worth it in the long run.”

  “Only if she says yes.”

  “You’re a persuasive fellow. You’ll get your way in the end—and my advice is make your move while you’re down here. Fewer distractions.”

  Charles had to laugh. “Are you saying my proposal isn’t interesting enough to capture the lady’s attention?”

  “Heaven forbid, old chum. No, I’m saying that Shelton Abbey is full of isolated corners inside and out that a man can use to…make his point with a lady he fancies. And if you haven’t worked that out already, I’m a Dutchman.” />
  Charles had worked it out. Yesterday alone in the rose garden with Sally—and again in the deserted long gallery—she’d only just escaped a thorough kissing. But that damned air of fragility had stopped him.

  “You know,” he said slowly, “I’m going about this all wrong. The subtle approach isn’t getting me anywhere. A siege might be called for, after all.”

  Stone’s smile reeked delight. “That’s the spirit. I tried something similar to your slow burn pursuit with Caro, and nearly lost her to bloody West as a result. I remember how putting myself on the line scared me silly—but it won me my bride, so it was worth every collywobble.”

  Charles frowned thoughtfully out into the rain. Was Stone right? Excitement bubbled in his veins as he imagined finally having Sally in his arms.

  Perhaps it was time to shock her into seeing him as a husband.

  He turned back to Stone who watched him with an unwavering gaze. “So Caro said yes when you declared yourself, and you lived happily ever after?”

  Stone snorted with derision. “Not a bit of it, old man. She sent me away with a flea in my ear and told me she never wanted to see me again. I was convinced all was lost.”

  “Hell’s bells,” Charles muttered.

  “Worst day of my life. But I persevered and eventually she relented. Even then, it took months to persuade her to marry me. With a widow, there’s sometimes the problem of once bitten, twice shy.”

  Charles had long ago guessed that Sally’s silence about her marriage hinted at unhealed wounds. But Norwood had died four years ago. It was time for her to find new happiness.

  With a surge of determination, he straightened and met Stone’s bright hazel eyes. “I’m going to propose to the girl and shame the devil. Then let the dice fall where they may.”

  “Good show.” Stone’s smile radiated approval. “And I wish you the devil’s own luck, my friend.”

  * * *

  Chapter Five

  * * *

  Sally reeled back from the library door, open a crack so she’d clearly heard the conversation inside. Her heart was racing, and a jagged boulder blocked her throat. Hot tears stung her eyes, so she saw the elegant corridor with its graceful side tables and Chinese pottery through a misty haze.

  She’d wanted a book, but paused before entering the library when she realized Silas and Sir Charles were in the midst of a discussion. Before she’d decided whether to interrupt or not, what she heard made her curious.

  Eavesdropping was beyond the pale. And she suffered the fabled fate of eavesdroppers—she didn’t like what she heard.

  She stumbled toward the drawing room. With shaking hands, she pushed open the door and said a fervent prayer of thanks to find it unoccupied. Biting her lip to stifle a sob, she shut the door behind her and rested back on it, trembling.

  At last, Sir Charles had stated his intention to propose to Meg. It shouldn’t come as a surprise—it didn’t. Although his diffidence about his reception was unexpected. Sally had feared she’d been too obvious in her matchmaking, and if perhaps that had contributed to his tardiness in coming up to scratch.

  Yet today, when she heard him say he’d set his sights on Meg, she wanted to die.

  Because now when there was no longer any doubt that he hoped to marry her niece, Sally discovered that she wanted Sir Charles Kinglake for herself.

  What a mess.

  What a disaster.

  And what a blind fool she’d been.

  She’d survived her cold marriage by locking away her longing heart. She’d done this so successfully that she’d assumed all deeper emotion was forever banished from her life.

  Whereas it turned out she was wrong, and her heart had only been sleeping. Now that understanding descended like a thunderclap, she realized her heart had clamored for her attention for weeks. But she’d been deaf to its frantic messages.

  Obstinately deaf.

  Any woman of sense would know that female interest sparked her pleasure in Sir Charles’s company. And see the stirrings of desire in her erratic pulse in his presence. And know that she was constantly unhappy and restless because she wanted him.

  Anyone but silly Sally Cowan, that is.

  Anyone but a woman who had never known desire.

  No wonder she didn’t recognize desire when it came to life.

  Desire. And…love.

  Because the devastating truth was that she wasn’t too old to fall in love. She loved Sir Charles more with every breath she took. He was everything she’d ever wanted in a man.

  And he was completely out of reach.

  She gulped in a huge breath of air and placed a shaking hand over her heaving stomach. She could cry now in private. But she must put on a brave face when the engagement was announced.

  She should be used to maintaining a show, after her years with Norwood, acting as if everything was fine.

  But somehow this was different. Worse. Far more painful, however miserable her marriage had been. This unwelcome, overwhelming love for a man she could never have must remain her secret.

  She’d always valued the easy honesty of her dealings with Sir Charles. In the eight weeks since he’d been in London, they’d become friends. Now as a mere friend, she’d assume a cheerful air when he wed Meg. Who was a lovely girl and who deserved this paragon of a man.

  No doubt they’d be terrifically happy.

  The idea of that terrific happiness made her want to scream.

  With a choked sob, she fumbled to lock the door. Her hands were all thumbs, but she managed it at last, thank heaven. Then she staggered across the carpet and collapsed into an armchair. Useless tears burned her eyes like acid, but right now, when she needn’t pretend to be anything but bitterly unhappy, she gave way to the luxury of a good cry.

  Because she was doubly shut out of paradise. Even if Sir Charles didn’t want to marry Meg, he’d never court a barren widow several years his senior. He’d want someone young and sweet—and damn it, fertile. Any man would.

  She could cry now, but once she left this room, she must gather herself up. She must act as if nothing was the matter, and she was delighted the man she loved was marrying her niece. After all, she’d promoted the match from the start. Pride, duty, and affection for Meg all mandated that she held her head high and smiled and smiled and smiled.

  She clenched her fists against the chair’s arms. How in the name of all that was holy could she endure it?

  * * *

  Charles approached dinner, determined to stake his claim with Sally. Once formalities were done, he intended to take his beloved on a candlelit tour of the long gallery. A tour that he planned to end with kisses and joy and her promise to become his wife.

  But from the moment everyone gathered in the drawing room, he noticed that Sally was different. Hard and glittering—and arch in a way he’d never seen her before.

  He usually despised archness, but in Sally, the flirtatious gaiety just made him want her more than ever. He itched to give her a good shake and kiss her, until that coquettish expression melted into desire. And rip that spectacular silvery dress from her long slender body and plunge deep inside her until at last she saw him and nobody else.

  Because however her behavior vexed him, he couldn’t deny she looked magnificent, with a hard sparkle that made him think of diamonds. While the gray dress inevitably reminded him of armor.

  Just what did she need armor against? An unwelcome suitor called Charles Kinglake?

  He couldn’t help thinking that was the answer. And that made him itch to smash something. Never once did she look in his direction. Even when he wished her good evening, she responded to a spot over his right shoulder.

  He wasn’t alone in noticing something amiss.

  “Sally, that’s a gorgeous dress, but it’s making the rest of us feel distinctly underdone,” Helena said from near the unlit fire, where she stood with her brother Stone. It was warm for May, and the French doors stood open to the fragrant evening. “Are we expecting a r
oyal visit I don’t know about?”

  Sally laughed. Was Charles the only one to hear the edge of hysteria in the sound? “My modiste finished it last week, and I decided I couldn’t wait to wear it.”

  Helena’s lips adopted a wry twist. “If I’d known we were going formal, I’d have worn my diamonds.”

  “You don’t need diamonds to shine, my love,” West said. He and Caroline were chatting on a chaise longue against the wall.

  “Oh, you should never say that to a lady,” Sally said with a flirtatious glance at her host. Meg, who as usual was talking about horses with Brandon and Carey, cast her aunt a glance weighted with concern.

  Charles frowned. Something was horribly wrong, but he had no idea what the devil it could be. Sally was trying too hard to shine. Her natural vivacity turned to brittleness. She was noticeably a different creature from the woman he knew.

  He wished everyone else in the room to Hades. Damn manners and propriety. He wanted to confront her and find out what had changed. But social rules made that impossible.

  Yet again, his lack of status in Sally’s life stung. The unwelcome truth was that she could walk away from him tomorrow, and he’d have no right to call her back.

  In the world’s eyes, they were mere acquaintances. Whereas in his eyes, she was the center of his world.

  “None of you gorgeous creatures needs diamonds to shine.” West, who had had a career in diplomatic circles before he married his childhood sweetheart, sent his wife a fond smile. “You all sparkle like the stars anyway.”

  Helena’s expression turned sardonic. “Nicely saved, my dear. But don’t imagine that means you’re getting back the necklace you gave me for Christmas.”

  Caroline smiled. “And while we mightn’t need diamonds, never imagine we don’t want them.”

  Stone groaned theatrically. “See what you’ve done, Sally? Now I’m stuck with another trip to Rundell and Bridge. After the last one, I had to mortgage the estate.”