He lifted his head and looked down at her. To her astonishment, his handsome face split open in a broad smile.
“You look like Thomas when he has his eyes on the sweet shop.”
Oh, yes, dear Reed, my eyes are on the sweets. She pulled his head down and kissed him.
*****
Reed stood by the picture window in his parlor and looked out to sea. It was nearly the end of summer, the end of another difficult trial, the end of a long day, and very nearly the end of his patience. What was wrong with the woman, anyway? It had been so much simpler when he’d been with Helen. And so much lonelier.
He shuddered to think of their years of endless social gatherings, polished smiles, and loveless sexual encounters. Yes, it was sometimes extremely difficult with Charlotte, but he wouldn’t trade what they had, tenuous as it seemed at the moment, for anything or anyone.
He ran his hand through his hair, feeling as if it was all he could do not to pull it out.
True to his word, despite what he’d said to her the day before, he was determined not to bed Charlotte again until she was his fiancée, until he could rightfully make her his own. Yet he was beginning to despair of ever figuring out what she was waiting for. And waiting was definitely what she was doing, looking at him with longing in those emerald eyes each time they were together.
It was all he could do not to haul her down the aisle of the church for her own good.
Rain was falling like sharp needles. With a heavy wind blowing, the sea was pounding relentlessly at the shore, making the pilings underneath India Wharf groan with the strain.
It didn’t worry him, these pilings had stood for a century and would continue to do so for many years to come—seemingly invincible and as unchangeable as he had felt himself to be for so long. Until Charlotte.
He couldn’t put his finger on just what had changed, but something seemed to have opened in him, a weight had been lifted, and he felt eager to start a new life with her, if only she’d give in and let him.
“Monsieur Malloy.” Reed jumped at the sound of Pierre’s voice. His cook had managed to enter the room without him hearing.
“My apology,” Pierre said, holding out his employer’s warmed brandy glass. “You were drifting, as you have been doing much lately.”
Reed smiled crookedly. “I have, haven’t I?” He walked forward and took the drink from Pierre and sat down on the sofa.
He was looking forward to a good chat with the witty Frenchman, who often bested him in a game of chess or surprised him with his insights into the American political scene. But his hopes for some stimulating conversation were dashed when he noticed that Pierre didn’t hold a snifter of his own.
“I hope you don’t mind if I retire early tonight, Monsieur Malloy.”
“Not at all,” Reed lied, hating to spend another evening with only his own brooding thoughts for company. “Is something wrong?”
“It is Jeanine. These storms frighten her so much. And though I tell her we are safe . . .,” he paused and rolled his eyes. “Women, eh? But love makes a man a slave, and luckily, it makes women overlook our faults. Mademoiselle Sanborn has made a slave of you, yes?” He laughed good-naturedly. “Goodnight, Monsieur.”
“Goodnight, Pierre,” Reed responded, but he didn’t notice the man leave. He was thinking of Charlotte, of being a slave to her. A memory of Celia returned unbidden, from the last time he’d seen her, the day before she had sailed away.
“I nearly made you my slave, Reed,” she’d said, unbowed by her humiliation, unashamed of her own duplicity.
“You nearly did,” he had agreed bitterly and with a silent vow that it would never happen again. No, never again, he’d sworn to himself, would he let his heart be a slave to a woman.
Could the answer be as simple as that? It was long ago, but for a moment, it seemed as if it was yesterday—and the feelings were nearly as raw. He had told Charlotte that Celia had nothing to do with them, but perhaps he was wrong.
Had he been holding Charlotte accountable for another woman’s sins? Impossible! He loved Charlotte! Loved her with all his heart. He jumped off the sofa. Good Lord, he’d been a fool, then and now. An absolute dunce! And he couldn’t wait another moment to tell her.
*****
Charlotte heard the door knocker and Gerald’s footsteps in the hall, and she put down her book on the parlor table. However, preparing herself for an unexpected late-night visitor and suddenly seeing Reed, without a coat, his hair soaking wet, standing in the doorway was another matter.
There was no preparation for the feeling that started deep inside her, for the quickening pace of her heartbeat.
What on earth was she waiting for? This man wanted to marry her! She stood up and nearly leaped into his arms.
Gerald discreetly bowed out, closing the door behind him.
“Reed, what is it? You look as if . . .,” she trailed off, unable to say what his expression meant, for she’d never seen it before, not on Reed’s face, nor on any man’s. “Has something happened?”
“Charlotte,” he cut in, closing the space between them and taking her in his arms, mindless of the damp state of his clothes. He dropped a kiss on her parted lips, “Won’t you marry the man who loves you most in this world?”
She was thunderstruck. “You love me?” Her voice was little more than a whisper.
He looked equally shocked at her words. He’d finally guessed at the problem but couldn’t believe that was all there was to it. Still, here was his proof that she hadn’t known how he felt. “Of course I love you.”
“You never said it,” she told him, sagging with relief and feeling she would disgrace herself any minute by outright weeping. He loved her. She could marry him. She sniffed loudly.
He pressed her close against him, understanding finally that the only obstruction had been his inability to recognize and speak the love he felt. Charlotte had let him into her heart and then waited bravely, even refusing his proposal. And he’d nearly let a shadowy memory stand like a giant in his path.
“I didn’t think I needed to say it,” he murmured, taking her face in his hands. “In truth, I resisted saying it, thinking I could save a small part of myself from being completely in your power. It hasn’t worked. But I honestly didn’t realize that was why you were refusing my proposal. I thought I stated my case from all angles.”
“Like a lawyer!” she exclaimed, pushing away from his chest and searching for a handkerchief in her sleeve.
“But I am a lawyer,” he said exasperatedly, handing her a linen square from his own soggy pocket. She took it, dabbing at her eyes before scrunching it tightly under white knuckles.
“But I am a writer, and I deal in words, and I need to have them spelled out for me—precisely,” she added, sniffing again. “I was beginning to think you could never love me because of Celia.”
Reed looked surprised. “You’re a smarter woman than I deserve.” Then he lifted her chin, looking directly at her, his cobalt eyes ablaze with dark emotions. “Let me be precise. Charlotte Sanborn, I love you with all my heart.”
She felt a tear slip down her cheek. “And I’ll need to hear those words a lot, not just once,” she told him feeling a lump in her throat.
He smiled at her tears and her sniffles, and he pulled her to him again. “Is this my independent lady writer, brought to crying by a few words?”
“Not just any words, Reed, the words I’ve waited all my life to hear.”
He sobered, gazing down into her glittering green eyes. “The words I’ve waited all my life to say,” he assured her. “And I’ll tell you often, I love you.”
She reached up and kissed him. It was a long moment later when he lifted his head. “Not that I wouldn’t mind hearing them myself,” he added, the hint of a smile on his lips.
She beamed at him, feeling the bliss of being encircled in his arms and for the first time knowing she was also surrounded by his love. “I love you Reed Malloy, and yes, I will marry you
.”
*****
Charlotte stepped out of the carriage and walked along the front path of Reed’s mother’s house. At the top of the steps, on the large open porch, stood Reed, taking her breath away and making her heart skip a beat at the sight of him, as he talked to someone just out of view.
Her brother and aunt were already inside, honored guests of Reed’s mother, Evelyn. Charlotte had stayed a few minutes behind with Bridget to get the children to bed. She loved their bedtime—the stories, warm kisses, and extra big hugs—and almost never missed it.
A pretty woman, a few years younger than Charlotte, rushed out of the open front door and into Reed’s arms. He caught her in a warm embrace, laughing as he did.
Charlotte didn’t even hesitate, keeping her smile in place and heading up the front steps to her engagement party. Reed caught sight of her and grinned broadly, opening one arm to welcome her while keeping the other firmly around the waist of the other woman.
“This can only be your youngest sister,” Charlotte said, having soundly been taught her lesson the first two times she’d rushed to judgment. He nodded, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips.
“I hate gloves,” the young woman announced. “Who wants to be kissed on the glove?”
Charlotte laughed. Reed rolled his eyes.
“Charlotte, this is Rose.”
“I’m glad to meet you,” Charlotte said.
“Not as much as I,” Rose said, having just returned home from a trip to London with her mother. Hands on hips, she appraised Charlotte from head to toe. “So, you are the woman who has finally tamed my brother.”
Charlotte blushed, glancing at Reed whose face had momentarily lost all expression, refusing to give his little sister any satisfaction.
“Rose, quick, come see this stereoscope thingamajig.”
Charlotte recognized Sophie’s voice, having had tea with her just the day before.
“See you later, Charlotte.” And Rose pushed against her brother’s side and was gone.
“We don’t normally let her out in polite society,” Reed said, giving Charlotte a wry smile before taking her hand again. “But frankly, I hate gloves, too.”
He took her by the wrist and proceeded to peel off her lilac glove, one finger at a time. Charlotte stared at his movements, feeling her mouth grow dry. As he took her other hand and did the same, it felt as if he were undressing her in public. And it made a shiver run down her spine.
When he was finished, he kissed her hand again, then entwined her fingers with his.
“Much better,” he said, as they walked into the soiree in their honor.
He signaled a passing waiter and handed Charlotte a glass of champagne.
“I can’t wait to strip the rest of you later tonight,” he murmured so only she could hear.
She choked on the chilled, bubbling liquid that she’d just sipped. When she could breathe again, she looked up at him. “I’m delighted to know that I haven’t tamed you at all, Mr. Malloy.”
He put his head back and laughed.
Epilogue
Though the air was frosty with the winter chill of November, it was a perfect day as far as Charlotte was concerned, when she walked down the aisle of the King’s Chapel, in the heart of the city she had grown to love.
Lily walked ahead of her with a basket of white and pink roses, clad in a white dress that mimicked Charlotte’s own gown. Thomas had declared her a “princess” in her ivory gown with its trim waist, mother-of-pearl buttons, and leg o’ mutton sleeves that tapered to stylishly simple points on the back of her hands.
The bustle was crowned by a large silk bow over a draped, folded train embedded with smaller bows and trailing out behind her for a carriage-length. Her chestnut hair, swept up in a loose chignon, was decorated with white and purple sweet William, and over this was a gossamer veil.
The dress was entirely Alicia’s doing. For her own part, Charlotte didn’t care if she wore a sack, or nothing at all, as she made her way between the crowded pews to join Reed at the altar.
Her brother walked beside her, happy to stand in for their father, though he professed himself unhappy at giving her away to any man. Even to Reed Malloy, who was dressed in slate gray tails, trimmed with black piping, and waiting at the front of the church with John Trelaine and little Thomas, who held a white pillow with her wedding ring.
Charlotte was blissful, seeing Reed’s warm eyes upon her. There was that look—that worshipful look—and she had all her clothes on! She scolded herself for improper thoughts in the church, but it seemed only minutes later that Charlotte and Reed were pronounced man and wife, with Aunt Alicia beaming at them from her honored place in the front row.
Her thoughts couldn’t be considered improper anymore, Charlotte told herself, her heart filled with happiness, as Reed lifted her veil, bent his head, and kissed her. She opened her eyes to see that familiar lock of hair falling over his forehead, and she reached up as any wife would and brushed it aside for him.
They turned together to face the myriad guests who had filled King’s Chapel to see one of Boston’s favorite sons marry the lauded writer from out west.
Reed’s own family—including his older sister, Elise, her husband, and her children—gave a loud cheer, unmistakably pleased that Reed had finally taken a wife, one they’d come to love over the past few months.
Middle sister, Sophie, who played Mendelssohn’s wedding march as Charlotte entered, now began a joyful tune to accompany their first moments as a married couple. Youngest sister, Rose, jumped up to adjust Charlotte’s train as she started the walk down the aisle as a married woman. And Evelyn Malloy winked at Charlotte as she welcomed a new daughter to the family.
*****
Charlotte sighed deeply when they finally got to bed that night, after hours of celebration with family and friends at the Tremont. There had been music and dancing, and a wedding feast that would have suited heads of state. And most of all, there were lots of well-wishes.
She had never felt so blessed in all her life. It was like coming out from under a dark cloud that for years had blocked any but the dimmest rays of light, and all at once stepping into the brilliant sunshine. Here were people who cared about each other and about her.
“Now you’ve had a tour of my whole house,” he told her, tracing his finger down the length of her arm, causing goose bumps to raise there. She laughed. She had seen his bedroom before, having to pretend she hadn’t when his mother accompanied her to advise on changing the décor.
Charlotte had kept silent, then, not intending to change a thing in Reed’s home—except to find places for all her books, her desk, and a few other items she had had shipped east, with Sarah Cuthins’ help. The spare rooms would belong to Lily and Thomas, who could not believe their luck in getting Reed for a father. But tonight, they were staying with their grandmother.
“I do enjoy this room most,” Charlotte fairly purred, turning over onto her stomach and pushing aside the thick draperies so she could see out the window beside their bed.
From this vantage point, she could look at the dark sea, spread out to the far off horizon. To her left, in the distance was the Boston lighthouse, shining every seven seconds with comforting regularity.
But Reed wasn’t looking at the view outside. He was eyeing his wife’s enchanting backside. In a moment, he kissed it, causing Charlotte to dissolve in giggles.
She released the curtain and turned over to be enveloped by his strong arms. He stopped her giggling with a tender kiss on her lips, then trailed soft caresses over her breasts and down her slender stomach. Instantly, she was molten at her core.
“Please,” she said as she released her breath.
“Please what?” he asked, his voice a whisper as he blew on the curls at her cleft.
“Reed,” she insisted.
His tongue touched her and she bucked, hearing his husky male laugh a moment later. “Shall I get protection?” he asked.
She just
shook her head, not bothering to tell him it was too late for that. Grabbing his shoulders she urged him upward, wanting to feel the tantalizing weight of him on her body.
“Now, Reed,” she demanded in no uncertain terms, clenching her slender fingers around his stiff shaft and squeezing. He sucked in his breath, his whole lean body tensing. Then he settled between her soft thighs.
“Yes, Mrs. Malloy. I am yours to command.” And he surged into her.
They didn’t speak again for many minutes. When he finally rested his head on the pillow and she lay her head on his shoulder, he asked, “So, my lady writer wife, will you be happy here?”
“How could I not be? I have an intelligent, handsome, humorous husband,” she punctuated each word with a kiss on his bare chest, “who loves me most in all this world, and I have two bright, beautiful children who are so happy with their new home, and I have been published steadily since I came here,” she paused, making sure she had all his attention by kissing him on the mouth before whispering against his lips, “and I’m carrying your baby.”
She was glad to share the joy of her recently discovered secret. Just six months earlier, she would have been petrified at the thought. Now, she relished the idea of being a mother to Reed’s baby. Children were just as perplexing and distracting as she’d believed, but they were also the best challenge she’d ever faced.
For his part, Reed was torn between surprise and happiness. “You’re—then I’m to be a—but how can this—well of course I know how, but—”
“Shh,” she silenced her new husband with another kiss. “You talk too much, Mr. Malloy.”
He agreed and proceeded to show his exquisite new wife how very much he loved her, in a manner as timeless as the sea that crashed on the rocks below.
An Improper Situation (Sanborn-Malloy Historical Romance Series, Book One) Page 33
