Bloody hell, he should be able to breathe in his own home. Was she determined to deny him that too?
“It is difficult to believe that you’ve altered this much. You never used to be cruel.” She addressed his back with no malice undertones, just a bone-deep sadness in her voice.
Alex turned to face her. She halted abruptly. They stood as if the line between them wasn’t made by the high-glossed wood planks of the floor but a line separating enemies during war. They watched each other; her warily, he, as if she’d just taken down his comrade in arms. At least that’s how he felt.
“Cruel, eh? Well if I’m cruel then it is you who has made me so.” Losing her had forever changed his life, he’d not deny that. He would not even say he’d become a better man for it—he had been told the contrary too often to delude himself into believing that. It had, however, been how he had managed to put her behind him; how he had survived.
“If you would just let me—”
“Simmons, will show you out.” His frozen gaze met and held hers for a breathless moment before he gestured with his chin toward the footman in the hall.
Charlotte’s throat closed up, making it impossible for her to swallow. Never had a dismissal stung so.
Carefully, as to maintain a modicum of dignity, she walked to the door as if she were traversing a field riddled with mines unseen by the eyes, but felt in the very depths of her heart.
“And in the future, do not come to my residence without an express invitation.” This he said in a coolly detached voice as she passed him.
She paused long enough to decide whether to respond. This was the man who’d, only minutes before, threatened to take her son from her. And she had no doubt he meant what he’d said. He’d already proven he’d listen to naught she had to say.
What good would it do to respond to each and every one of his barbs? If he took pleasure in hurting her, punishing her, so be it. She’d survived his absence these last five years and she’d lost his love. She could surely survive this too.
With eyes trained forward, Charlotte lifted her chin, exited the study and permitted the footman to see her out.
Chapter Six
“How did things go with Alex? Does he intend to acknowledge Nicholas?” Katie’s bombardment came the moment Charlotte entered the morning room. Her sister, regarding her expectantly, held a vase of large red roses in her hands.
Charlotte had given herself a full half hour—the time it had taken her to return home and freshen up in her bedchamber—to allow anxiety to have its way with her before forcibly reining it in. Nothing had happened yet, she’d had to keep reminding herself. All she could do at this point was pray Alex would come to see the folly of what he’d threatened to do.
“Yes he does,” she replied shortly.
Katie placed the vase on a small round table near the window. “I imagined he would.”
Not in the mood to discuss the particulars of their conversation, Charlotte gestured to the flowers and asked, “Did those come for you?”
“Pray, do not sound so hopeful. These are from yet another suitor who has lost interest. The flowers are merely an apology from Sir Camden that he will no longer be dancing attendance on me. I can now scratch him from the list of potential husbands,” Katie explained with a light laugh as she arranged the roses to be displayed to their best advantage.
Either her sister was an actress par above the rest or the rejection didn’t bother her in the least.
Charlotte quickly crossed the room to her. “Katie, I’m so sorry.”
Flashing her an easy smile, Katie replied, “You needn’t be. I’m convinced I would have perished of boredom.”
But Charlotte wasn’t fooled. Of course this had to sting. Katie herself had told her how if not for the dowager’s maliciousness, she would have married years ago. The truth of it was no matter how beautiful or how large her dowry, every year that passed without a proposal and a marriage, the greater the likelihood her sister would not wed at all. And the inevitable scandal Nicholas’s parentage would cause would help her naught. The sheer magnitude of that felt like a thirty-stone weight on her chest.
“Nonetheless, he should not—”
Suddenly, her sister pointed out the window and cried, “Lottie, they’re here. They’re here.” The pitch of her voice rose at the repetition of her words.
Charlotte barely had time to register the landau in the drive before Katie practically dashed from the room.
A moment later, she heard a great deal of noise coming from the entrance hall—childish shrieks as well as one long, drawn-out wail. Then Charlotte heard the low pitch of a masculine voice. Anticipation was like a tight band in the pit of her belly.
James.
Trailing Katie out into the hall, Charlotte was met with such a sight it caused the cessation of breath to her lungs. For a moment everyone stood frozen, even the children—three in all—had ceased their crying and their incessant babble to stare at her.
Charlotte’s focus began and ended at her brother’s tall, leanly muscled form. When she’d been introduced to him at the age of fifteen, she’d thought him absurdly handsome, especially for a man of his rank and fortune—most weren’t expected to be in possession of both. He’d been too young to be an earl at the age of twenty-eight and too much a bachelor to take on the care of his two half sisters. Or so one would have thought. However, one would have been mistaken.
But here he stood, if possible, looking more handsome than she remembered. He wore his maturity well, his dark hair showing no hint of gray, his eyes such a pale blue they sometimes appeared opaque. He smiled that wonderful smile of his—loving, tender, welcoming—and it was as if the place, once dark, was now bathed in sunlight.
That was all it took for Charlotte to rush to him. Moments later she was crushed in his hard embrace, inhaling his musky cologne and the scent of warm, masculine flesh.
“It’s about damn time you came home,” he muttered gruffly into her hair.
Hugging James was like embracing a rock, his chest solid and broad, and his arms like bands about her waist. “James. James,” was all she was able to say so overcome with emotion.
When he finally released her, she resisted the urge to hang on to him in the same manner his twins used to. Like it was in his arms they felt truly protected.
“You will never do that to us again, do you understand?”
A hiccupping laugh escaped her lips as tears stung her eyes. “James, you look wonderful. How I’ve missed you.” And she hadn’t known exactly how much until that precise moment.
Pulling her close again, James affectionately rested his chin atop her head. Many of her hairpins surrendered under the pressure and Charlotte soon felt the heavy weight of her hair at her nape. Although it had taken Jillian over a half hour to style it that morning, Charlotte didn’t care.
“Mama?” Her son called to her in a plaintive voice she was long familiar with. With that one sound it asked, Mama, who are these people? Mama, who is that man hugging you? Next, Charlotte felt the tug of his hands on her skirts. She quickly turned to him and spied Jillian lingering at the bottom of the stairs. The commotion must have brought them down from the playroom where Nicholas had been since her return.
“Come, darling, I want you to meet your Uncle James.” She placed him in front of her.
Her brother wore a ready smile as if he’d been forewarned of her little surprise. But his smile was transformed in a flash when his gaze settled fully on his nephew. It required all of approximately two seconds for his brain to make the connection, this Charlotte easily ascertained by the shocked expression on this face. His regard swiveled back to her, questioning, disbelieving.
“Alex,” he said sharply on an inhaled breath. Apparently, that was the one thing Katie hadn’t conveyed in her message to him.
It wasn’t a question and Charlotte need not respond. James had known Charles and apparently Nicholas’s resemblance to his uncle was such that one didn’t have to ask.
Before her brother could utter another word, her sister-in-law, Missy joined them. “I’ve given you quite enough time to greet your sister, now it’s my turn,” she teased her husband lightly, her slender hand rubbing with warm familiarity on his upper back.
James quickly made room for her in their circle.
Missy was beautiful—tall, slim with wavy, chestnut hair streaked in russets and mahogany, which she wore up in loose bun today. Charlotte had instantly taken to the new Countess of Windmere when she and James had wed nine years ago.
Missy stared at her for a heartbeat before whispering, “Oh Charlotte—” Her slate blue eyes flooding with tears. They moved in accord to reach for each other, arms wide in greeting.
Silk tulle and Indian muslin crushed as they joyously embraced. And once again, for the last two days running, Charlotte shed another gallon of tears, although Missy may well have shed more.
Her nieces and nephew came next. The twins, Jessica and Jason, now eight years, had changed much since she’d seen them last. Gone were the round cheeks and sturdy bodies. Both had grown tall and slim, Jessica a lovely combination of her mother and father but Jason was all James with his light-blue eyes, dimples and dark hair.
Their youngest, three-year-old Lily, trailed closely behind her older sister, and when Charlotte bent to kiss and embrace her, managed a smile around the thumb still tucked firmly in her mouth.
By the completion of the introductions, Nicholas lost all trace of his usual shyness and was soon giggling with his three cousins.
Along with the children’s nanny, Mrs. Eldridge, a plump, middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a ready smile, Jillian ushered the children upstairs to the nursery. Never once did her son look back at her.
“Why don’t we adjourn to the drawing room where we can speak in comfort?” James suggested mildly but his eyes were troubled. No doubt his thoughts were on Nicholas and Alex, and all that entailed.
Katie sent her a knowing glance. Missy clutched her husband’s forearm, rose on her tiptoes and whispered something in his ear. The only part of her sister-in-law’s statement Charlotte could make out was, “…wait until the morrow.”
James responded by patting her hand solicitously. “Don’t fret, love.”
In the drawing room, her brother motioned for her to take a seat. It was clear it was going to be one of those conversations.
James waited until she and Katie had availed themselves of the sofa and he and Missy of the one opposite before he began. “Nicholas—”
“Is Alex’s son,” Charlotte concluded. “Of that I’m certain you’re aware.”
James exchanged a brief look with his wife. “When do you intend to tell him?”
“Alex already knows.”
Her brother’s brow rose. She’d managed to shock him again.
“Alex met Nicholas yesterday when he came by to pick up some papers,” Catherine explained.
Missy’s mouth formed a silent “o”. James’s gaze snapped to Katie and then back to Charlotte.
“And?” he prompted.
All eyes were on her now.
“He wants him. He says he intends to take him from me.” And that is when Charlotte’s composure crumbled and a sob shook her. Broke her.
Alex was sitting at his desk in the study when the explosion came, disrupting the calm of the morning. Rutherford’s pounding on the front door reverberated throughout the house. It was loud enough to send the servants scampering from their posts to discover the source of the commotion. Disturbances like these made excellent grist for the gossip mill.
A glance at the long case clock revealed it was almost half past ten. Yes, at least two hours earlier than Alex had expected. His friend’s arrival had been a foregone conclusion.
A minute later, Rutherford swept into his study like a whirlwind or perhaps more like a volcano on the verge of eruption. Alfred trailed in his wake, an eddying mass of gesticulations, his hands moving about as if trying to rein in a fractious stallion with a feather.
“My lord, Lord Windmere to see you,” Alfred finally announced when it became obvious Rutherford would not be restrained or controlled.
“So I see,” Alex replied, his voice heavy with derision. “Thank you, Alfred.”
His butler wasted no time in taking his leave. It was the fastest Alex had ever seen him move. Poor man probably didn’t want to be witness to the bloodletting he thought sure to come.
Alex shifted his gaze back to Rutherford, noting the red slash of anger along his cheekbones. If his arrival at the front door hadn’t all but advertised it, his expression surely said this was not to be a social visit. He’d come armed to do battle.
“Back from London so soon?” Alex asked, lifting a brow.
“What the hell are you doing? Have you deliberately set out to kill every ounce of affection I have for you?” Rutherford looked as if he wanted to hit him, the skin of his face tight, his pale eyes spitting fury.
The corners of Alex’s mouth lifted ever so slightly. Glibness would not be appropriate at this time but his tongue appeared to have a mind of its own. “Yes, everything I do is for the want of your affection. I fear if I ever lost it, I should perish and die of longing.”
Once upon a time—and under vastly different circumstances—such a response would have elicited a round of hearty laughter.
Today, Rutherford emitted something resembling a snarl and then lunged at him. But Alex knew him well enough to anticipate his reaction. He was out of his chair in a second flat while the earl caught himself in time to stop his forward momentum from sending him hurtling over the desk and into the now empty chair. Rutherford’s solid weight against the desk sent papers sliding across the mahogany surface and onto the floor. The inkwell tipped precariously before landing upright with a distinct plop, thankfully not spilling its contents all over three shipping contracts Alex had been working on the week past.
Cautiously, Alex retreated, not stupid enough to turn his back to him and not stopping until he’d put half the distance of the room between them and several chairs and a side table.
“I see you’ve spoken with your sister.” Alex didn’t want to have to fight him but he would if Rutherford gave him no choice.
“If you believe I shall just sit idly by and do nothing while you attempt to destroy her, you don’t know me at all.” His friend issued the warning in the kind of threatening tone that buckled soldiers’ knees and caused beads of sweat to spring up like geysers along their hairlines. He advanced toward him.
Alex gave a resigned sigh and met his friend’s frozen stare, his hands also mirroring Rutherford’s, curled as they were into tight fighting fists. Despite Alex’s aversion to violence, there may well be bloodletting after all.
“You cannot take her son from her.”
“You mean my son. The son of whose existence I knew nothing of until yesterday. Is that the son you’re speaking of?”
“She’s—”
“She denied me my son!”
And it was as if the full import of what she had done crashed into him just then. He heard the pain splinter his voice, peaking above the rage like the last note in a crescendo. The true enormity of what he had lost, all that he had missed and could never ever get back made his sight blur and caused his legs to wobble dangerously.
“She kept the existence of my child from me and yet she’s the one you fight to shield from pain?” His question was low and gruff but yet not a question at all. It was an accusation meant to wound.
Silence blanketed the room as he and Rutherford continued to stare hard at one another. This was new, a novelty of the worst sort. Never had anything this contentious, this volatile and corrosive existed between them in the thirty-one years of their acquaintance. Betrayal could no longer be delegated to Charlotte and her alone, for it appeared her brother had picked up her baton.
His friend’s betrayal stung, embedding itself deep under the surface of Alex’s skin until it pierced his very soul. In many ways
and for many years, Rutherford had been more a brother to him than Charles.
Rutherford halted just as suddenly as he’d burst into the room. He stood perfectly still for long seconds, then his chest seemed to deflate as he exhaled a long breath. It was as if the anger had drained from him. A sort of helplessness settled across his features and he appeared torn.
“While I understand your anger, this is not—”
“You cannot ever know how I feel,” Alex replied, quick to disabuse him of the notion they would ever share any solidarity in this.
“I didn’t say I know how you feel, I said I understand your anger. I did not meet my sisters—my flesh and blood—until they were fifteen years. To discover that my father had just left them in that school, knowing they had no mother, no adult who loved and cared for them, cut me to the core.”
How like his friend to try to disarm him with sentiment by drawing parallels of their lives. Still it wasn’t the same. “This was—is my son. A son who should be my heir. She didn’t only deny me, she denied him.”
“And for this, you intend to punish them both?” Rutherford asked, in a too reasoning tone. “You must see that you’ll only be hurting Nicholas if you hurt his mother.”
“I am not doing this to hurt her,” Alex replied, knowing what he said was a lie. He wanted to wreak the same hell she had and still visited upon him.
Rutherford’s face lost its hard edge. He slowly approached him, his hands up to indicate he had no intention of trying to beat him to a pulp. “I do not mean to excuse what Charlotte did. Believe me I do not. I don’t know why she left you. I don’t know why she stayed gone so long. But I’m glad she’s back. And what I do know is that my sister does not have a malicious heart. For God’s sake, she hasn’t seen her own twin in five years.”
Eyes softened and voice gentled, Rutherford continued to speak. “And given the circumstances of her own birth, do you really believe she would callously subject her child to the same? She must have had a powerful reason to do what she did, and I for one intend to find out what it was. Charlotte would never intentionally set out to hurt you or her family. That I would stake my life on. She has a generous soul and an even bigger heart. And if you weren’t so filled with bitterness and this need to punish her, you’d see that.”
An Heir of Deception (The Elusive Lords) Page 8
