by Gayle Callen
Taking pity on her, he softened his voice. “I didn’t think you did. I assumed it was my natural charm that simply made you lose your head.”
“It wasn’t your natural charm,” she said dryly, glancing at him over her shoulder. “It was—” Then she stopped, frowning.
“My handsome looks?”
“Appearance is not everything.”
“Then it was my sparkling conversation.”
He could see her fighting a smile.
“Since you try not to tell me anything substantial,” she said, “it was hardly that.”
“Then why did you kiss me?”
“Because I wanted to,” she breathed. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m doing all sorts of things—stupid things, like following you from a ballroom. I’ve never been like this—reckless, unthinking.”
“You’ve never been a widow before.”
“And you know so much about it?” she asked sharply. “Are you trying to tell me that you understand my motivations better than I do?”
“I wouldn’t presume such a thing. But I know what it feels like to be uncertain of one’s place in life, to wonder what decisions one should make.”
Her lips thinned. “So while other widows attend society functions for camaraderie and the chance to marry again, I foolishly choose to kiss a stranger?”
“I’m not exactly a stranger.”
“Oh, my mistake. You’re my kidnapper. You’ve worked for my father—in a dangerous, unstable profession, I might add.”
“But you trust me,” he said simply.
“I believe your story,” she countered. “There’s a difference.”
“So can I hope that you’ll kiss me again?”
“No.”
He gave a dramatic sigh. “Then if we cannot kiss, here is a book and newspaper. Which do you want?”
When the day’s shadows lengthened, and the last of the sun hid behind low clouds, Nick looked up as Charlotte set the book down with a thump.
“Nick, can we go down to supper this evening? Surely I’ve proven myself. I could have tried to escape, but I believe you now. And I’m feeling rather…trapped.”
He stood up. “Let’s go.”
When she would have hurried past him in her eagerness, he took her upper arm to stop her. The spark between them caught fire again, and he was suddenly breathless.
“Just remember who I am,” he said, fighting the effect of her nearness. “I’m Mr. Black, a London clerk in the employ of a duke. You’re my wife. We’re going north to visit relatives. We haven’t been away from London in many years, so you can be excited.”
She smiled. “I’ll remember.”
He pulled her closer. “Be careful, Charlotte. This isn’t a game. Over a year’s worth of work has gone into these final days.”
Her expression grew serious. “I understand.”
The public dining room of the inn was faded and drab, with only hints of the former glory it had enjoyed before the railroads had taken customers away. But the dozen or so locals and travelers made the most of the hot food and good company. As Nick guided Charlotte to a table, he was reluctantly impressed by the change in her manner, the sedate, pleasant expression on her face, the unhurried way she moved. She did not look like a woman imprisoned for the last several days.
A serving maid took their order, and there was something so subtly different about Charlotte that it took him a moment to place it.
And then he realized she’d changed her accent, coarsening it just enough for the middle class.
He stared at her. When she took notice, she lowered her head modestly, and while spreading a napkin across her lap, murmured, “My maid speaks just like this. How did it sound?”
“Excellent. Your father would be impressed.”
She blushed with pleasure.
During the meal he allowed his gaze to linger with heartfelt earnestness upon her, as he would a wife. It wasn’t difficult to do, for she was so easy to watch. She had a timeless, classical beauty that made him ache to possess her. She was curved in all the right places, so delicate and feminine. Yet she had a spine of steel, going toe-to-toe with him when not many men would.
When she was finished with dinner, she looked at him hopefully and asked, “From our window I glimpsed a walled garden. Might we go walking?”
How could he deny her? Soon they were strolling down gravel pathways as dusk became full dark, listening to the quiet voices of the servants as they lit torches to illuminate the garden. The rich scent of roses wafted through the air, and Nick, with Charlotte on his arm, glimpsed a contentment he’d never felt before. What would it be like to really be Mr. Black, with a wife like her waiting at home for him?
But he was Nick Wright, with a duty to his government that had kept him out of his home country for many years. He loved his exciting life. How could he ever think a quiet home with one woman would be enough?
Wasn’t it his weakness for women he’d been trying so hard to get rid of?
And his family would make sure he never had a quiet, simple life.
Charlotte felt the warmth of Nick’s body as she slid her hand deeper into the crook of his arm. She let her mind float with the contentment of a good meal, with freedom, with fresh air—and Nick.
She tried not to think about him, to just enjoy the beauty of the well-tended garden and the night air. But he was there at her side, and hard to keep from her thoughts—especially when she still felt tender between her thighs, still tingled with a frustrated need she’d never felt before.
She wanted him.
It was as if, now that she knew he was an honorable man, she’d given herself permission to think about being with him.
She shivered at the thought, and when Nick said, “Cold?” she shook her head and leaned closer against his arm.
He could be a considerate man.
She withheld a giggle at the thought that a man who’d kidnapped her could ever be called considerate.
But he was. He saw to her bath, he cleansed her wounds, he thought of her pleasure as well as his.
Oh, he was a rough sort of man, too, but there was a line of chivalry that he didn’t cross. He could easily have tried to seduce her with their first kiss, but he hadn’t.
And today it had been such fun to tease him, to taunt him—and to know she was safe. She could explore the feelings that burned hot between them.
But would she dare? Could she live with herself after a night of passion, only to be left alone when he went on with his life?
Yet her time with him might be the only tender moments she ever shared with a man.
He looked around the garden constantly, his gaze sweeping from side to side. He was always alert, always ready for danger. She should be flattered that he protected her.
But she was uneasy, wondering if he ever really left a mission behind.
“So,” he said quietly. “This morning when we were talking about Jane and Will, you said couples should get to know one another before they get married.”
She groaned. “We both know you don’t subscribe to the institution, so why are you mentioning it?”
“We’re portraying it as we speak, so I feel I should know how my character would think.”
She only rolled her eyes.
“Since I don’t have much experience, how am I supposed to act as a husband?”
“You’ve done just fine tonight,” she said grudgingly.
“But not this afternoon?”
In her memory flashed the image of herself writhing on top of him. She couldn’t control a blush. “I wouldn’t know.”
“But you’ve been married.”
“There are private things between a husband and wife that should never be discussed with another.”
“But a husband can be playful,” he continued, tugging a little on her arm.
“I would imagine.” But she didn’t know.
“I tried to look into your eyes with adoration during dinner. Did I do it correctly?”
She waited for him to ask why she never felt special before, but he didn’t. He only studied her face, making her feel foolish as much as grateful.
She took a deep breath and tried to hurry the conversation on. “Did I look suitably besotted when I stared into your eyes?”
“Besotted?” he echoed, frowning thoughtfully. “Come to think of it, you did. I must admit, I don’t often remember seeing open affection with many married couples.”
“And it’s sad.” Her whisper sounded so forlorn that she forced herself to smile brightly up at him. “So if we seem too happy together, will we look like lovers instead of a married couple?”
“I don’t know.”
“We’ll just have to take that risk, because I like seeing you suffer.”
“I’m not suffering. And a husband wouldn’t suffer either, because I imagine he and his wife don’t spend much time together. She would live mostly in the country, wouldn’t she, while he does business in town?”
“But what if she loves London society?” she countered. “Would you force her to stay in the country?”
“I’m supposed to say…of course not!”
She smiled and tried to read his face through the flickering shadows. “Which means you really think it’s a husband’s decision.”
“No, I do not. What kind of adoring husband would I be if I did not involve my wife in every marital decision?”
“Now I know you’ve never been married.”
“Surely a compromise is in order—time in the country, time in town.”
“The diplomat’s solution. If only it were that easy.”
They finally went upstairs to their shadowy, overheated room. Nick threw open the window, then lit a lamp. Together they stared at the bed. She looked away and realized that the only chairs were straight-backed wooden ones. Hardly comfortable for a sleeping man.
She cleared her throat and didn’t look at Nick as she said, “You know I won’t try to escape. Perhaps we should get a second room…”
He shook his head. “We’re married, remember? This husband and wife don’t spend their nights apart.”
“Oh.” She straightened her spine and forced herself to meet his gaze. “Well you can’t sleep in one of those chairs.”
His eyes began to smolder in that way that made her want to swoon. In a deep, soft voice, he said, “You could invite me to sleep with you.”
She knew what he meant. And suddenly her thoughts of an affair seemed wild and too daring, full of hazards she had not yet foreseen. She couldn’t make such a decision. She shook her head, not trusting her voice.
He nodded with resignation. “I’ve slept on far rockier surfaces than this floor. Just give me a blanket for bedding.”
“Take them both, please. It’s far too warm.”
“But promise me you’ll cover yourself with something,” he said, in a voice gone hoarse.
She nodded swiftly. “The sheet.” Then she ducked behind the screen before her scarlet face could further embarrass her. She disrobed to her chemise and let her hair down, only to tie it in a simple braid, hardly an alluring coiffure.
When she hesitantly emerged, Nick had already made a pallet for himself between the bed and the wall. There was hardly enough room for the width of his shoulders, but she said nothing.
He glanced at her, then looked away with a curse. “I’m going to go talk to Sam and Cox. I won’t be gone long.”
She bit her lip, uncertain if she should apologize, or wear all her clothes to bed. How could either of them forget what had happened between them?
“You’ll be all right?” he asked, striding to the door.
“As in, will I escape?”
“I know you won’t. But this is a dangerous situation. Do you mind being alone? It might start happening frequently.”
“I’ll be fine.”
He nodded, and his gaze openly slid down her one last time before he left. She crawled into the bed and pulled the sheet up to her chin. She really was alone for the first time in days. She should feel relieved.
But as the minutes sped by, she grew more and more worried by her mental state. She missed Nick. What kind of foolishness was she allowing herself to feel?
Knowing she couldn’t sleep, she got out of bed and dug the book out of his portmanteau. She sat down before the cold hearth grate and tried to read.
She wasn’t sure how much time passed before she heard the creak of footsteps in the hall. The flood of warm relief she felt should have worried her, but she couldn’t help it. The doorknob rattled, but didn’t open. Had Nick forgotten his key?
Setting her book aside, she went to the door and almost opened it, then stopped. He hadn’t called her name. Was it even Nick?
She leaned near the door and spoke in a raised voice. “My dear Mr. Black, have you forgotten your key again?”
The door suddenly burst open, slamming into the side of her face and flinging her back onto the bed. As her head pounded, her vision went out of focus. She heard the sound of the door shutting. When she could see again, a strange man dressed in black stood over her, grinning.
She came up on her elbows and tried to keep her voice from quivering. “You must have the wrong room, sir. Me husband and I—”
He clapped a hand over her mouth, and leaned hard against her chest. She tasted horse mixed with tobacco. The intruder wore a tattered hat pulled low over his dark eyes, and a couple of days’ growth of black and gray whiskers.
“I’ve got the right room,” he said, grinning. “Campbell tol’ me what the bloke looked like, just in case, and sure enough, ’twas him havin’ dinner without a care in the world. But who could you be? Perhaps a bed toy instead of the corpse ye’re supposed to be?”
Oh God, he knew. Campbell thought her dead. If this man were permitted to tell Campbell the truth—
She shook her head and tried to push his hand away, but he leaned on her harder and she couldn’t breathe. Tears of terror stung her eyes as she gasped and frantically flailed her legs. Her knee connected with something solid, and a giant whoosh escaped the intruder’s mouth as he fell beside her on the bed.
Air rushed back into her lungs as Charlotte surged to her feet. She felt a catch at her chemise, and she sobbed as her hand fumbled for the door. She was dragged backward.
But the door suddenly opened and there was Nick. “I thought I heard—”
She cried out, and his face went deadly with comprehension. Instinctively she dropped to her knees, and he vaulted over her, slamming into the intruder. She looked over her shoulder as they both tumbled off the far side of the bed. She staggered out into the hallway for help, angry that she’d never asked which room Sam and Mr. Cox were in.
But the door across the hall opened and the two men emerged. She pointed into her room, and all three of them pushed inside.
Nick was on his knees, gasping, with the intruder standing behind tightening a garrote about his neck. Nick had one hand inside the wire. The intruder looked up at the commotion, and Nick dropped forward, flipping the man over his shoulders onto the floor. Mr. Cox and Sam turned him onto his stomach and began to tie his hands with his own belt.
Praying that no one in the inn thought much of the commotion, Charlotte quietly shut the door and went to Nick. When she touched him, he put up a hand, and she let him stand by his own effort. There was a nasty red line marring much of his throat, and she imagined the same across his hand.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
He cleared his throat, and his voice came out husky. “I should never have left you alone.”
She tried to smile. “I knew you’d never trust me.”
He chuckled and wiped the back of his forearm across his perspiring brow. “So what did he say to you?”
She sobered and looked toward the intruder, who was being
forced into a chair. Blushing, she tried to forget what had happened on that chair earlier. “He said he recognized you from the description Campbell had given him. He wondered if I was supposed to be a corpse.”
Nick swore and turned to look at the man, who glared back at them, his shoulders held by Sam and Mr. Cox.
“Where’s Campbell now?” Nick demanded.
The intruder tongued a cut at the corner of his mouth and said nothing.
Sam yanked hard on the man’s hair, pulling his head back, and spoke in a deadly voice Charlotte could never have imagined him using. “Speak when you’re spoken to.”
“I don’t know where he is,” the intruder finally said with desperation. “He was supposed to find me.”
There was a sudden knock at the door, and as everyone turned to look, the intruder broke free, took two running steps, and dove out the open window.
At Nick’s side, Charlotte leaned out the window and saw the intruder’s body lying in an unnatural heap only one story below. Bile rose in her throat as she thought of the lengths he’d gone to to protect his secrets.
“It’s a good thing I never tried to escape that way,” she whispered.
Nick said nothing, only waited for Sam and Mr. Cox to seat themselves at the table as the knocking continued. She gaped as they brought out cards and started to play. Nick motioned her toward the screen and she hid herself, sliding down to sit against the wall.
She heard the conversation at the door rather distantly, as she fought to keep from trembling, relief and fright still coursing through her.
“Can I help you?” Nick asked, in that polite, deferential voice he used for the clerk disguise.
“Good evenin’ sir. Me wife was cleanin’ tankards below and thought she heard a noise.”
“She has good ears, then sir. Yes, my companions and I were playing cards, and Mr. Sherman here doesn’t take losing well. He kicked over a chair in his anger. Do forgive us for bothering you at this time of night.”
The man was soon appeased, and when the door shut, she knew she could stop hiding. But she hugged herself and couldn’t seem to stand.
“Charlotte?”
Nick folded the screen back and stood above her. The concern in his voice was her undoing, and she angrily wiped away her tears.
