To save them all being squashed onto one seat in the open carriage, Sir Charles rode his gray horse beside them, while Meg took the reins. Heavens, he must be in love with the girl, to trust her with his high-strung horses. Sally almost wished he’d hurry up and propose to her niece. This was like waiting for the ax to fall.
Meg was so busy driving that she didn’t try to engage Sally in conversation. Which was a huge relief. Even if her silence left Sally’s mind too free to gnaw over the insuperable problem of falling in love with the wrong man.
Over the last days, she’d tried telling herself that she suffered from a passing madness. But so far, while it was definitely a madness, it showed no signs of passing. Since that agonizing moment when she’d heard Sir Charles declare his intentions to marry another woman, she’d done her best to belittle her feelings, to crush them to nothing.
To no avail.
Nor had she been prepared for her physical reaction to his presence, now she’d acknowledged her feelings. The merest sight of him, even in the distance, set her heart racing like one of West’s champion thoroughbreds. She felt hot and cold, and tingly and lightheaded. This wicked, rapacious desire was a fever eating her up from inside.
No woman of her mature years should be struck dumb at the sight of a handsome man. But when Sir Charles was near, her hands itched to explore that tall, powerful body. She trembled with forbidden excitement, and her stomach churned with unacceptable impulses. The sound of his deep voice made every nerve tighten with longing.
She’d become so terrified of someone noticing her turmoil that she’d done her best to avoid Sir Charles’s company. But being away from him didn’t calm the raging storm of need inside her.
She bit back a groan, fortunately muffled by the rattle of the wheels and the creak of the harness. When he married Meg, Sally would have to present a joyful face to the world. She owed it to her niece. Heavens, she owed it to herself. She had some pride.
Now she faced the awful prospect of a future where Meg and Sir Charles joined in family events. And all the time, Sally would have to pretend that he meant nothing more to her than her niece’s husband.
Most of Sir Charles’s lands were in the west, in Shropshire. There was some small consolation in that. Sally lived on the estate outside Portsmouth that had been set aside as her widow’s portion. With Meg blissfully ensconced on the Welsh borders and Sally licking her wounds in the south, at least she wouldn’t often see the couple.
That should make her feel better. But her traitorous heart ached at the idea of him so far away, even if he was married to another woman.
Curse this love. There was no logic to it. Just pointless suffering.
Perhaps she should consider retiring to a convent. Or emigrating.
No, she wasn’t going to run away. Her yen for Charles Kinglake would not conquer her. She would master this weakness.
But not today…
Her gaze strayed to where he rode ahead. With no risk of him seeing her yearning and with Meg concentrating on the road, she yielded to the dangerous temptation to stare her fill. Even as she knew it was fatal to feed her appetite, she couldn’t help thrilling to what a magnificent sight he presented.
He rode as if born to the saddle, with the easy, unflashy competence he devoted to everything in his life. His hat perched at a jaunty angle on his thick coffee-brown hair. The shoulders in the exquisitely cut blue coat were straight and strong.
Her hand clenched on the side of the carriage, and she blinked back tears, despite this morning’s strictures to herself to waste no more time crying over this mess.
* * *
After several hours, Sir Charles drew back to ride beside the carriage. “I’ve arranged to change the team at the next inn. We can stop for a meal, too.”
Sally bent her head, hoping her bonnet hid her strained expression. “Excellent.”
“I’ll also send a boy ahead to engage some rooms for you tonight at the Angel in Woburn. It’s a fine hostelry, and I’ve already reserved a bed for myself.”
“You’re very kind,” Sally said after a pause, wondering what the devil was wrong with Meg. The privilege of handling these superb horses seemed to have left her speechless.
“Not at all,” he said, and urged his horse to a fast canter that took him ahead once more.
At the coaching inn, Sir Charles arranged for a cold collation to be served in a private parlor. Sally picked at her meal, while he and Meg discussed the finer points of driving his pair.
He’d stabled a change of horses here for the return journey, and Meg was voluble in her excitement about trying them, too. Whatever had kept her silent must no longer matter. Sally hardly paid attention, until she heard Sir Charles mention her name.
“I think Lady Norwood wants to return to London as soon as possible.”
“It wouldn’t be much of a detour,” Meg said, in the voice she used when she intended to coax someone into giving her her way. It was a tone Sally had become familiar with in the last few months. Meg was generally a good girl, but by heaven, she knew what she wanted.
“What wouldn’t?” Sally raised her head and wondered what she’d missed.
“My friend Perdita Gailes lives near here. When I wrote to tell her about Lord West’s house party and who was invited, she said Sir Charles has a hunting box just off the main road. I’d love to see it.”
Sally frowned. “I thought you wanted to get back for the Sedgemoor ball.”
“I do. But we made excellent time this morning, and the hunting box is only a few miles out of our way. Isn’t that right, Sir Charles?”
“Down some very winding lanes. And it’s all shut up. I haven’t even got any staff in the place, apart from the gamekeeper and his wife. I only use it for the autumn hunting.”
With his attention on Meg, Sally stole a chance to admire his fine profile and the set of his shoulders. Honestly she was her own worst enemy. Under the table, her hands curled against her skirts as she fought the forbidden urge to touch him.
“I hear the countryside is beautiful.” Meg sent him a meaningful look that Sally couldn’t interpret. “Please, Sir Charles.”
Sir Charles arched his eyebrows as if questioning Meg’s silent demand. Even through her preoccupation, Sally’s curiosity stirred. Her companions seemed to be conducting another conversation, separate from the spoken one.
Had they reached an understanding before they left Shelton Abbey? Despite wanting this horrible suspense to end, the thought twisted her stomach into an agonizing knot.
“As long as your aunt doesn’t mind.” He glanced at Sally and caught her gaze before she hurriedly looked away. Her hunger was so powerful and new, she feared he’d see it burning like fire in her eyes.
She dredged up a smile for Meg. “As you’re so agog to see the property, of course we’ll go, mousekin. But if it means we’re late into London and you miss the ball, I don’t want to hear a word about it.”
Meg leaped up to hug Sally. “Thank you, Aunt. You’re such a good sport.”
Meg’s open affection threatened to shatter her barely maintained control. Briefly she returned the girl’s embrace, then disentangled herself.
She felt so guilty about the jealousy eating at her. It wasn’t Meg’s fault that she was Sir Charles’s choice.
He watched them both with a speculative expression, then he stood with sudden purpose. “If we’re going, there’s no time to be lost.”
* * *
Charles dismounted outside his gamekeeper’s cottage at the gates of the isolated estate. Meg pulled the new team to a stop on the drive a few feet away.
Miss Meg proved to be a fine whip. And a skilled schemer.
Charles had no doubt she was responsible for today’s circumstances. That wheel of Sally’s carriage had been broken a little too conveniently. And he was sure she had plans in place for this visit to his obscure and rather neglected hunting box.
Did she intend to make herself scarce so he could initiate th
e pounce strategy?
He buzzed with excitement at the thought. Sally hadn’t warmed up over the miles since they’d left Shelton Abbey, he regretted to say. So right now, he was inclined to play along with Meg.
He knocked on the door, surprised when the noise didn’t set the dogs barking. The door opened to Mrs. Brown, his gamekeeper’s wife, dressed in a bonnet and gloves, and obviously on her way out.
“Sir Charles,” she said in a flutter. She glanced at Meg and Sally and managed a hurried curtsy. “Your ladyships.”
“Mrs. Brown, I apologize for not letting you know I was coming.”
“Do you need the house opened up?”
“No, it’s only a brief call. If Brown could unlock the door, we’ll do our tour, then be on our way.”
“Brown’s not here, sir. He’s gone over to Squire Harlow to get some pheasant chicks. He won’t be back until tomorrow.”
“I’ll just take the key, then. No need to worry yourself. I can see you’re on an errand.”
Nervously she touched her straw bonnet. Behind her, he saw two laden baskets and a small trunk. “My sister in Harborough isn’t well. She had a bairn last week, and she’s poorly after it. I’m off to run the house for her while she gets back on her feet.”
Harborough was a good thirty miles away. Mrs. Brown would be lucky to get there by nightfall, even if she left this minute. “Then you must go to her.”
“Oh, you are kind, Sir Charles. I can wait a few minutes and put a luncheon together for you, although I fear it will be plain fare.”
He shook his head. “We’ve eaten, thank you. You go ahead and never mind us. I’ll be back for the hunting in August.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said with another curtsy.
“The key?”
“Oh, dear, my head is all over the place today.” She disappeared into a room off the hallway and reappeared with a heavy iron key. “All should be in order. I went through and did a good clean at the start of the week.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Brown.” He accepted the key. “Let me know how your sister fares.”
He remounted and turned his horse down the long, winding drive to the house. Behind him, Meg clicked her tongue to the horses to get them moving. Sally remained silent. She’d been quiet for the whole trip. So much for his hopes that his company on the road might melt the ice between them.
They traveled through thick woods and emerged onto a graveled forecourt. Before them stood a delightful doll’s house of a building, red brick, three stories high, with tall windows and a steeply raked, tiled roof. Although he rarely visited, Charles had always been fond of this lovely little house, lost dreaming in its deep woods.
“This is lovely,” Sally said, taking in the charming view.
For once she spoke without prompting, even if she still didn’t look at him. He stopped his horse beside the carriage and smiled. “My father built it for my mother. I call it a hunting box, and that’s what I mostly use it for. But I have a feeling Papa intended it as a place to escape the children.”
“How romantic.” Sally’s voice was warmer than it had been in days. Whatever Meg was plotting, so far it seemed to be working. “I had a feeling you came from a happy family.”
What a turn up. Sally showed some interest in him. His hopes ratcheted up another notch. “Yes, I was lucky. Parents who doted on each other and on their five children. Four older sisters who adored their little brother. You’re lucky I’m not completely insufferable.”
To his delight, Sally laughed. It sounded rusty, but he wasn’t fussy. This was the closest they’d come in days to their old amity. “But of course modesty is one of your many perfections.”
He made an ironic bow in her direction. “Indeed it is.”
“Will you please show us through the house, Sir Charles?” Meg set the brake as he dismounted and tied his horse to the back of the carriage.
“It would be my pleasure.” He stepped over to help Sally alight.
By now he should be accustomed to the zap of response when he touched her, even through the decorous layers of their gloves. Her fingers trembled, and for a fleeting moment when her green eyes met his, he wondered if his case mightn’t be lost after all. His fingers tightened, and it took an effort to release her and help Meg down.
“My friend was right about the fine countryside, and this is such a pretty house.” Meg’s hand didn’t linger in his, and she ascended the flight of shallow steps toward the tall front door.
Sally lingered behind, looking around at the woods that encircled the clearing. There were no formal gardens around the house. Up to where the trees began, lawn scattered with wildflowers surrounded the building.
“It’s like something out of a fairytale. The Beast’s estate or Sleeping Beauty’s castle. I’m so glad you brought us here.”
A dreamy smile curved her lips. Damn it, he’d give up his hope of heaven if she looked at him like that.
“So am I,” Charles said fervently.
Her expression closed, and she cast him a wary glance. Blast. Sally might have gone back to speaking to him, but he needed to step carefully.
When he strode up to the door, the key turned with ease. The Browns were scrupulous caretakers. There were no creaky doors on this estate. The minute he stepped into the hall, behind the ladies, he smelled beeswax and lavender.
In the dimness, Sally and Meg were mere shadows, until he flung open the shutters to reveal a graceful hall with paneled walls and black and white floor tiles. Light flooded in to illuminate Sally in her dark green traveling dress. His heart turned a somersault and his breath caught. She was such a lovely woman. Surely fate couldn’t be so cruel as to bring this glorious creature into his orbit, then keep him from possessing her.
He sucked in his first full breath in what felt like days. Things headed in the direction he wanted. Right now, she looked much more like the vivacious lady he remembered from London. Her vivid face was alight with interest and pleasure as she looked around her.
“Does the house have a name?” Sally stood next to him and looked through the window at the pretty view.
Would wonders never cease? The last few days, she’d run a mile every time he’d ventured near her.
When Charles caught the drift of her evocative scent, desire stirred hard and urgent. But it was too soon to make his move. And he needed to get rid of Meg.
He shifted back to take off his hat and set it on a chair. “My father called it Sans Souci.”
“‘Without care?’ How apt. It’s as if the world and its troubles are a thousand miles away.”
He felt like cheering. The distance she’d established between them narrowed by the minute. The instant he’d met her, he’d felt an immediate affinity, as though he could tell her anything and she’d understand. He wanted her as a man wanted a woman he desired. But he also valued their friendship. The recent chill between them had oppressed his soul.
“I’m so glad you like it,” he said, smiling and wishing he could kiss her this very moment. As she straightened and surveyed the room with wide green eyes, she looked like she needed kissing. “Meg, I’m grateful you suggested this detour.”
No answer.
He turned. When he and Sally had entered the house, Meg had lingered beside the door. There was no sign of her now.
“Where is Meg?” Sally asked.
“She’s probably checking the horses.” Charles barely avoided rubbing his hands together in satisfaction. “You know she can’t stay away from them.”
Sally frowned, and he had a second to regret that everyday matters pierced her sweet wonder. “I’ll just make sure.”
“She won’t go far. She said she wanted to see something of the estate.” As far as he was concerned, the girl could walk the entire boundary, as long as she left him alone with Sally.
“Let me check.”
After she went outside, he heard a sharp exclamation of displeasure. “What on earth are you doing?”
The outrage in Sall
y’s voice had Charles rushing outside. The chit was perched in his carriage’s driving seat with a daredevil expression on her face.
“I can’t come so close to Perdita without going to see her,” she called, setting the carriage in motion. “I’ll only be a couple of hours.”
“Wait,” Sally cried, running down the steps after her, but Meg had already urged the horses to a canter. “Meg, stop!”
Despite his self-interest, Sally’s frantic tone spurred him into pursuit. He sprinted across the gravel to catch the girl, but she had too much of a start on him.
“Meg, damn well come back here,” Charles shouted. By the time he stopped, gasping, well down the drive, she was out of sight.
“Damned brat,” he muttered, even though nobody was there to hear him.
He and Sally were marooned. The chit had been deuced clever, and circumstances had favored her plans. The Browns were the only people who lived within easy reach, and they were both absent from home. Brown wouldn’t be back until late tomorrow, and Mrs. Brown would be away until her sister was well again. Charles had even tied his horse to the back of the carriage to make it easy for Meg to leave her aunt stranded with him.
He’d wanted to be alone with Sally, but this smacked too much of a conspiracy. God knows what Sally thought was going on.
Damn it, if she suspected he was a party to the scheme, the small steps he’d made back into her favor today would mean nothing.
He sucked in a breath and jogged back toward the house. He hoped to hell Meg did mean to return some time this afternoon. Much as he longed to make Sally his wife, he wanted her to choose him freely. He didn’t want her niece’s recklessness to spark a scandal that forced her into an uncongenial marriage.
Another uncongenial marriage.
Still, all wasn’t lost. He and Sally were alone at last. For a couple of hours. If he read her right, she was in a more receptive frame of mind than recently. And he had half a dozen bedrooms at his disposal.
Charming Sir Charles (Dashing Widows Book 5) Page 7
