An Improper Situation (Sanborn-Malloy Historical Romance Series, Book One)

by Baily, Sydney Jane

  So much for no regret, she thought. And then there was the nagging fear that what they’d done would have long-reaching effects; she hadn’t even considered contraception, but then, it seemed, neither had he.

  And thus she waited, stirring her now cold tea, unable to think about working, unable to stop thinking about their night together. Her ears strained at every noise, waiting to hear the sound of his horse’s hooves. And finally, it came.

  She heard Reed greet the children and she got to her feet. She heard him on the back steps and then coming along the passageway, and she sat down again. Then he halted at her study, obviously looking for her, and, finally, he appeared at the dining room doorway.

  “Hello,” he said, sounding normal, yet he stood there hesitantly and said nothing else. For her part, Charlotte found she’d lost her voice at the sight of him.

  “May I come in?”

  She must have nodded for he came in the room slowly and sat across from her.

  “Reed.”

  “Charlotte.”

  They both spoke at once. He smiled at her. She blushed at their first prolonged eye contact, and her skin seemed to prickle in every spot that he’d touched or kissed. She set down her spoon.

  “I know that you have a life far from my homestead,” she began slowly, “a life to which you must return. I knew you would, sooner or later. Return to your life, that is.” She knew she was beginning to babble and stopped herself, trying hard to focus on the important issue at hand.

  She’d reached a decision. She’d had all morning to consider and to reconsider as she’d sat waiting for Reed. Perhaps her choice had been determined by the fear she’d felt at the dance when she thought someone had come by train to take Thomas and Lily away.

  Perhaps she’d made her choice even sooner but had been too scared to admit it. In any case, Charlotte knew that, with some alteration to her life, she could become an adequate mother figure.

  “I’ve decided to go whole hog and keep the children. Thomas and Lily may stay with me. Your duty is done as executor of my cousin’s will. You can go.” It came out all in a rush and sounded imperious even to her own ears, but once said, she took a steadying sip of lukewarm tea.

  Reed stared at her. “Do you honestly want the children or are you just saying that to get rid of me?”

  What an odd question, she thought. Why would she want to get rid of him? Then she realized he was smiling. She took a deep breath and relaxed.

  “I have come to love my cousin’s children and I will give them a good home.” As it turned out, her love had come as easily as breathing—both for Thomas and Lily . . . and for Reed.

  “I’m glad you feel that way, Charlotte.” However, he didn’t sound as she’d thought he would. This meant the end of his business here. He could return to Boston, knowing he’d fulfilled his commitment to Ann Connors. “I believe you and the children are good for each other. If you raise them to be anything like yourself, then you’ll be doing just fine.”

  She nodded, accepting the compliment and acknowledging that she would enjoy having a purpose to living, other than her writing. But inside, her heart ached a little, knowing nothing would be the same when it was just the three of them. She could live without Reed Malloy—clearly, she would have to. And the sooner she started, the better.

  “I went to town this morning. I didn’t want to wake you,” Reed continued, his voice lowering.

  Even so, she looked nervously over her shoulder, fearing that Lily or Thomas might hear him.

  “I went to see John . . . and Helen.”

  Charlotte abruptly pushed her chair away from the table, knocking over what was left of her tea as she did. It was all too civilized. First, discussing the children as if they were livestock instead of people. And now, chatting about his fiancée when he had just deflowered Charlotte and given her the most incredible night of her life. She wasn’t worldly by half to handle this.

  “I’ll get a towel,” she pronounced over her shoulder as she dashed out of the room.

  “Charlotte,” he called out after her, but she was practically running. The tea stain be damned, she thought, and kept on going, down the hall and out the back door. She didn’t slow her pace until she was out of the yard and heading across the adjoining field of wildflowers.

  It struck her that she’d done exactly what Reed had told her to do—shed her wallflower façade and experience a little more out of life. But at what cost?

  She heard him call her name again and knew he was coming after her. She also knew it was useless. She didn’t want to face what she had done last night . . . willingly . . . more than once. And she didn’t want Reed to tell her whatever he’d discussed with his fiancée that morning.

  He was close behind her now, and with the sun on her face and her lungs gasping, she simply stopped and stood completely still except for the rising and falling of her chest.

  “Charlotte,” he said. She didn’t turn completely, but she could tell he was out of breath, too, by the way he was bent over with his hands on his knees. She wanted to touch him and say, “You’re it, Mr. Malloy.” But this was no game.

  When he reached out to touch her, she let him. But as soon as Reed’s fingers closed on her arm, she felt her body react. A simple touch and she wanted to kiss him. She jerked her arm free.

  “What? Do I have to hear about your morning trot into town to be with Helen Belgrave? I hope you took your fiancée to Mrs. Cassidy’s. It’s the best breakfast in town. And I hope she choked on her eggs.”

  “She’s gone.”

  “I thought I could handle one night with you and the good Lord knows what you think of me now! What kind of woman does what I did, knowing there is no future for us? Or maybe that’s normal for some women of your acquaintance and you expected it. But it’s not normal for me, and it’s certainly not customary for me to meet a man’s fiancée and then let him in my bed, but I—”

  “I said she’s gone.” His voice was quiet, but this time she heard him. She stopped mid-sentence with her mouth open. His words made no sense.

  “What do you mean ‘gone’? Mrs. Belgrave has gone? Your fiancée comes all the way across the country, filled with worry for you—”

  “I thought you wanted her to choke on her eggs.”

  Was he finding amusement in all this?

  “You sent her away after one night! And you didn’t even spend the night with her. If you were my fiancé, I would not put up with it. Not with your flirting with idiot girls in the country, nor dancing with them, not to mention kissing and bedding them. And as for your going off for weeks and then sending me packing, why if I was your fiancée—”

  “If you were my fiancée, you would not have to worry about my going off for weeks or dallying with other women. Because I would be right beside you, like this.” He took her in his arms and pulled her close.

  “And I would not be kissing anyone but you, like this.” With his hand on her chin, he tilted her head slightly, taking her mouth under his with a firm pressure, before tugging on her lower lip with his teeth.

  Unable to stop the moan that escaped her, Charlotte responded without even considering the matter. She had no conscience, no morals, no shame, she thought. Then Reed’s gentle laugh invaded her senses, and she pushed him away, wearing an indignant expression on her face and gasping for the air that her lungs needed.

  “Oh, beautiful Charlotte, I’m not laughing at you,” he promised. “I’m simply delighted . . . and deeply honored that I was the one to discover what’s underneath the aloofness you project to the world.” He reached for her again.

  “You are such a warm, vivacious woman who flares up at my touch and inflames my own passions. All I want to do now is lay you down on the grass, pull your dress up around your waist, spread your silken thighs and—”

  “Stop, Reed, please.” She was beet red from her toes to the roots of her hair. “What about Mrs. Belgrave?” Charlotte hated to bring her up again, especially since the woman’s name
was as ice water on a blazing fire. Reed shrugged and dropped his from her arm.

  “Helen and I will talk more later. And besides, she’s not my fiancée.”

  Charlotte’s mouth was open again. The infernal man had her head spinning.

  “Not your fiancée?”

  “Not really.”

  “How is someone not really your fiancée?”

  “No formal engagement was ever made,” he admitted. “I’ve never asked for her hand. I tried to explain to you last night, first at the dance and then on your porch. She and I had an understanding.” He ran his hand through his hair.

  “At least, I thought we did, though it is becoming increasingly less understandable by the moment. I told her last night at the hotel that she shouldn’t have come and that our arrangement was over.”

  She blinked up at him. Last night. Charlotte made a mental note that she had not gone to bed with a betrothed man, even though she hadn’t known that at the time.

  “This morning, we talked,” he said hesitantly and Charlotte couldn’t believe that conversation transpired without heartbreak and hullabaloo. “In the end, I put her on the train to St. Louis; Helen has a sister there whom she intends to visit on the way home.”

  Home, Boston, close to Reed. Charlotte doubted that Mrs. Belgrave would simply bow quietly out of his life; she could probably be quite convincing when she put her mind to it, especially if her reputation were at stake.

  “She is known as your fiancée? I mean, in Boston? She introduced herself as such, and John confirmed it.”

  “Yes, we’re acknowledged as a couple,” he admitted. “I suppose it’s assumed we will marry eventually. She favors the lifestyle that I keep, the society that I move in. Though, in truth, over the past year or so, I believe she preferred it far more than I did. But Helen knew that we were a pragmatic couple at best, useful to each other.”

  “Useful?” Charlotte repeated, thinking of many uses Reed could have for a woman such as Helen.

  “No, you goose,” he said, plainly reading her thoughts. “Having Helen on my arm kept every mother with a girl of marriageable age from calling at my door, leaving cards, sending invitations, and assaulting me at functions. She has played her part perfectly and warned off any number of women—”

  “You have been much burdened by pursuit,” Charlotte said, her voice dripping with the sarcasm she felt.

  Reed’s sigh was audible. “For many men, it wouldn’t be the worst encumbrance, I know, but for a previously confirmed bachelor.” He shrugged.

  “Why a bachelor, Reed?”

  Her quick blunt question caught him off guard. She could see it in the vulnerable expression that overtook his features. Then he visibly relaxed. “Why? Because no woman ever measured up to my first love.”

  Charlotte’s eyes opened wide. She had not expected that. “Was it very painful? When you broke up, I mean?”

  He looked grave. “It was always painful. She used to pummel me mercilessly, lecture me, demonstrate my lesser intelligence by constantly showing me up in front of my father. But we have never broken up.”

  Charlotte gasped just before she realized that he was jesting. He laughed. “My first love was my oldest sister, Elise, now married and with two babes of her own.”

  She did not miss for an instant the fact that he had quickly sidestepped the issue of why he preferred bachelorhood.

  “So this . . . relationship with Mrs. Belgrave is a platonic one?” Charlotte asked, willing now to know the whole truth. She’d come this far and all his answers had been less painful than she’d anticipated.

  He looked directly at her without guilt, but had the grace to flush slightly with embarrassment. “I am a grown man, Charlotte, and Helen is not without her charms.”

  Charlotte cringed at that, having seen just how physically charming Helen was, and not wanting to think of Reed doing with her what they had done.

  “The answer to your rather indelicate question,” he continued, “is that I have not been a monk, and Helen Belgrave has not minded . . . an occasional tryst, not that she seems to gain the same pleasure from my touch as you do.”

  Oh, God, he was comparing them! She covered her ears with her hands. “How can you say such things aloud?”

  “Well, how can you ask such things?” he sounded angry now. “I am not a young boy; I am a man with desires and urges like every man. I am not in love with Helen Belgrave, nor have I ever been; and though I have taken her to my bed,” he added, “I did not take her innocence.”

  “Obviously not,” Charlotte snapped. “She was a widow.” He raised his eyebrow and she remembered what John Trelaine had said about the aged Mr. Belgrave. It was possible that Helen Belgrave had come out of her marriage as pure as she’d gone into it—however pure that was.

  Charlotte shook her head; it made no difference to her if Mrs. Belgrave had gone to her marriage bed already deflowered or if Reed had made her a merry widow. Indeed, if Charlotte were to marry tomorrow, she would no longer be the exemplification of innocence either.

  “I should not be discussing the lady in question,” Reed said, “and I wouldn’t with anyone but you. She has been a good diversion at times, even a companion, but despite our supposed engagement, when it comes down to it, she is not the kind of woman with whom I want to spend my life.”

  Reed frowned. “Not her or any of her kind. However, I am sure there are many men who would be happy to have her. And now,” he said pointedly, “I don’t wish to discuss her further.” He crossed his arms.

  Charlotte looked up at him. Suddenly, she wanted to be alone in her quiet study to consider his words, improper though they’d been for him to utter. The idea that he would ever discuss her virginity with anyone was beyond bearing.

  As for the rest of it, she had known he was an intelligent man from the first few moments they met. She’d even sensed he could be persuasive, if not downright manipulative, and that he used those powers in his profession. However, she had not before thought of him as coldly calculating, though surely he would have to be in order to maintain a relationship with a woman for three years just to keep others away. And then to dismiss her so quickly and so callously.

  He had a hard look about him now, staring at her with those sapphire blue eyes and considering. Then he stepped closer again.

  “The children,” she said lamely, retreating a step and then turning toward the house. Good Lord, she’d almost forgotten about them, playing so close by in the front yard. So far, she did not rate her mothering skills very highly for the day. Her brain felt as if it was made of oatmeal.

  “Yes, the children.” His tone turned serious, as he fell into step beside her. “Charlotte, as I said, I’m relieved that you’ll be raising them. I know, after seeing you with them, that it’s for the best. However, John and I had a talk this morning over breakfast. He confirmed that their grandmother has threatened to contest the will.”

  Charlotte started to protest, but he interrupted. “For now, they are yours as specified by their mother, and you should act accordingly. I don’t believe that a judge will override Ann’s wishes in any case, given Alicia’s age. However,” he paused, and made her stop beside him.

  “What?” she queried, not liking the seriousness of his expression.

  “It would be best if it did not become known that a single man was staying with you. Morally, you must be above question.”

  She should have been angry. She should have told him that it seemed a bit late for his consideration along those lines, and it would be no thanks to him if anyone did question her morals.

  Instead, she asked the question that was uppermost in her mind, “You’ll be leaving soon, then?”

  He nodded. “On the morning train with John. I’ll stay at the hotel tonight,” he added, glancing away from her. But then he faced her. “I have to return to my law practice before clients begin to wonder whether I still represent them or not. As John reminded me this morning, I’ve got responsibilities elsewhere.”
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  Breathe normally, keep calm, she told herself, fighting to quell the desperate sadness that seized hold of her heart. Not even one more night with him. She put her hand up in pretense of shielding her eyes from the sun, but, in reality, she could not meet his gaze for fear that he would see the emotions there.

  What if he pitied her? Soon, it would be just as before—no man’s razor on the sink, no male laughter, no one to lean on when she felt the need, no warm touch.

  “We’d better return or Lily and Thomas will wonder where we’ve gone.” She started to walk again.

  “Charlotte,” he grabbed her hand and held on. “I don’t know when we’ll have a private moment again, and I want to address what you said earlier about what I think of you.”

  She lowered her gaze to the ground, feeling the heat creep up her neck again. He raised her chin with his other hand and looked into her verdant eyes.

  “What happened between us was unusual, but not just for you, for me, too. In fact, it was extraordinary.”

  When he had brought a timid smile to her face, he continued, “I have never for a moment thought of you as anything less than the most intelligent, most upstanding lady I have ever met. Yet, I also know that you are keeping a passionate spirit held tightly in check, and I wish I could stay to coax her out again.”

  “As do I,” she said, with complete honesty. “But you have a life in Boston, and I knew that from the beginning.”

  “And I asked you to consider coming there,” he reminded her.

  She could not lie at this moment. “This is all I have ever known, Reed. I would be lost. Nothing much scares me these days,” except being haunted by the thought of your touch for the rest of my life, “but starting over in the city seems overwhelmingly frightening. I have never used my sex as an excuse, but I am sure it would not be easy for a woman alone to start over again.”

  “You are all of twenty-four, let me remind you, Charlotte Sanborn, not seventy-four. But I understand your desire to stay where your family raised you. You must have close ties to this land. I would feel the same about being asked to leave New England. But if you ever change your mind, I would be more than happy to . . .,” he trailed off.