by Candace Camp
“Lord Dure knows I do not overset easily.” Charity lifted her chin in a challenging way, her eyes fixed on Simon’s face. “He also knows that I see through this subterfuge. He has tired of me, and has seized the chance to be rid of me.”
“Damn it, Charity, stop talking such drivel! You know that isn’t true.”
“How am I supposed to know that? I see only that you wish to be rid of me. That you are not man enough to marry me in the very teeth of scandal. I have more courage than you.”
Dure’s face was livid. Charity thought for a moment that he would explode into anger, and her heart lifted in anticipation. She had seen Simon’s anger, and it did not frighten her. She hoped that if his fury came flooding out, his feelings and desire for her would come with it, overcoming his reasonable arguments.
But Dure clamped his jaw tight and took a step backward, looking away from her. “Emerson,” he said tightly to her father, “pray leave us alone for a moment. I would like to speak to Charity in private.”
Lytton cast an uncertain glance at the earl, then at Charity. Charity nodded at him reassuringly. “Go ahead, Papa. It’s all right.”
“I promise that I shall not harm her,” Dure said wryly. “Much as I would like to wring her lovely neck.”
“I don’t know what Caroline would say….”
“Don’t worry, Papa. After all, Lord Dure and I are engaged—at least for a few more moments, anyway. I don’t think Mother would object.”
Her father looked from one to the other of them once more, seeing similar expressions of stubbornness on both faces, and sighed. “Very well. I will be outside in the hall if you need me.”
They watched as he left the room. As soon as the door closed behind him, Charity swung around to face Simon pugnaciously, hands on hips.
For a long moment Simon looked at her. Finally he said in a low voice, “Don’t fight me on this, Charity. This is how it must be.”
“Why?” Charity went swiftly to him, her hands reaching out for his. “It doesn’t have to be.”
“I will not have you dragged through the mud with me,” he replied gruffly, clasping his hands behind his back as if to keep himself from reaching out for her. “I will not have you become the wife of an accused murderer.”
“You will not have. You will not allow. What about me, and what I want?”
“I am thinking of you. Do you think this is what I want? If I thought only of myself, I would marry you, and damn all the rumors to hell.”
“And that is what I would do. I fail to see the problem.”
“Because you are so blindly willful! You do not realize what this would mean, what it would do to you. To our children. I cannot ask it of you.”
“You are not asking. I am demanding,” Charity pointed out.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about. You have no idea of the consequences. You’re still a child, and your father and I must consider what is best for you.”
“You did not seem to think me so much a child a few weeks ago in the garden! When you kissed me and caressed me, you seemed willing enough to think of me as a woman.”
“God,” Simon groaned, running a hand back through his hair. “Must you remind of me every wrong I do? I should not have been so free with you.”
“Yes, but you were, weren’t you?” Charity saw a new opening, and was quick to take it. “You touched me in ways no gentleman would.”
She moved around so that she was facing him, and looked him straight in the eye, compelling him to gaze back at her. “You kissed me.”
His eyes dropped involuntarily to her mouth.
“You loosened my dress and slipped your hand inside.”
Simon’s eyes dropped lower, to her breasts, fire smoldering in their dark depths.
“You caressed me.”
“Stop,” Simon said roughly, and moved away. “I should not have acted as I did. I—You know that is why I went to the country.”
“It was all right, I thought, because we were to be wed.” She heaved a sigh. “But now…how can I ever marry, when another man has had such knowledge of me?”
Simon’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Stop the playacting, Charity. I know that you are trying to wind me around your finger. God knows, you are usually able enough to do that. But not this time. The matter is too important. You will marry another man. It won’t matter that I kissed you or touched you. It isn’t as if it were something he will know. I did not bed you. Your chastity is intact.”
There was a long moment of silence. Charity could think of no other argument to make, no way to twist or turn it so that Simon would change his mind. She felt suddenly hopeless, helpless, and her heart began to ache inside her chest.
“Then you are determined. You will not marry me.”
“I cannot. Damn it, Charity, don’t look at me like that! It is for your own good.”
“That is always what people say when they do something to hurt you.” Charity could feel the tears pressing, threatening to flood her eyes. She blinked them away. She would not let Simon see her cry. She raised her head, facing him with a fierce, unblinking gaze.
“I do not want to hurt you,” Simon told her, his voice low and hoarse with emotion. “I am the one who will live in hell the rest of his life.”
He turned on his heel and started away, but stopped halfway to the door. Swinging around abruptly, he strode back to her. He took her by the arms and pulled her to him, and his mouth came down to cover hers in a hard, hungry kiss.
Charity went up on tiptoe, kissing him back fiercely, holding on to him as if she could keep him that way. But, all too soon, he stepped back. When she started to move toward him, he gripped her arms and held her away from him.
“No. Goodbye, Charity.”
“Please, Simon…”
“I have to. ’Tis the only way.”
He swung away and walked out the door. Charity stood staring after him, scarcely able to believe what had just happened. She turned and dropped into the nearest chair, where, curling her knees up and wrapping her arms tightly around them, she bent her head and gave way to sobs.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
LYTTON EMERSON sidled into the room a few minutes later. Charity’s sobs had subsided, and she looked up at her father, wiping her tears away. “How could you let him do that?” she asked accusingly.
Her father looked abashed as he came across the floor to her and patted her shoulder awkwardly. “There, there, Charity. It was the only way. You will realize that later.”
“No, I won’t,” Charity cried out. “I love him!”
She and her father stared at each other; she was almost as startled as he. But as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized how true they were. She did love Simon. She had not set out to, had intended to have the kind of marriage he proposed—without love, both going their own ways. But somehow it had turned into something entirely different. In the past few weeks, she had fallen desperately, completely, in love with Simon. And now he had called off their wedding!
Charity stood up, determination flooding her soul. She loved Simon, and she was not going to let him push her away! He might not love her as she did him, but she knew that he wanted her, that only a few days ago he had been trying to convince her mother to move up the wedding date. She was certain that he had not decided to put her aside because he no longer wished to marry her. He was doing it out of a sense of honor; just as he had said, he was only trying to spare her humiliation and pain. But Charity was not about to let him do that.
The things she had tried this afternoon—reason, guilt, questioning his courage—had failed. She would simply have to find some other method that would work. She had schemed and fought for Serena’s happiness; she wasn’t about to do any less for her own.
Charity cast a glance at her father, who was still standing with his mouth agape, staring at her in dismay. She knew that Lytton would be no help. He agreed with Simon, and even though he would not want her to be unhappy, he
would go along with what had been decided. Though her mother had not been included, Charity felt sure that she would agree with the decision, also. Otherwise, Lytton would never have made it all by himself. There was no one to whom she could turn for advice. Serena would be sympathetic, but she was never any good at schemes; she was too proper. No, Charity knew that it was up to her alone to change the situation.
“Charity,” her father began, a trifle cautiously, “what are you thinking about?”
“Nothing,” she replied distractedly. “I—I believe I shall go to my room now, if you will excuse me.”
“Of course.” She swept past him, already deep in thought. Lytton put out a hand, as if to stop her. “Charity…”
“Yes?” She stopped and looked at him.
His hand dropped, and he sighed. “Nothing. I’m sorry. I just want you to remember that I was thinking of you.”
“I know, Papa. But I have to think of myself, too.”
Charity hurried up the stairs to the room she shared with Serena and threw herself onto her bed to think. Her brain whirred uselessly, trying to come up with some way to win Simon over to her point of view. Reasoned argument would not work; he had made up his mind, and he was too stubborn to change it. Besides, she had learned that once a person was bent on doing “what was right” for someone else, there was no talking him out of it. Nor could she think of any way to trick him into it, although she did toy with one or two schemes that were far too complicated and fantastical ever to work. She didn’t know what else she could try, besides trickery and reason; she couldn’t very well force him to do it.
Charity sat bolt upright, her eyes widening, as the perfect plan popped into her head. She got up and began to pace the room, her mind furiously figuring out the scheme. Hope swelled in her breast. It just might work!
Others would say it was an insane plan. It made her earlier indiscretion in sneaking over to Dure’s house and offering herself as a substitute for her sister seem almost normal and proper. Everyone in her family would be shocked to the core if she did it—and she could not imagine them not finding out. She would be risking everything on this one plan; if it did not work, she might well be ruined forever. But Charity had to do it; any risk was worth it, if it meant she might be able to marry Simon.
Determinedly she set about preparing herself for the evening. She rang for a bath and searched through her wardrobe for the perfect gown to wear tonight. Finally she decided on a rich pearly-white satin ballgown. The short puffed sleeves and low scooped neckline showed off her smooth, snowy white chest and shoulders to perfection, and the corset beneath it would ensure that her breasts were pushed up to swell alluringly above the neckline. The wide skirt, pulled back a little in front and draped in back, would reduce her waist to nothingness. She smiled as she thought of the expression in Simon’s eyes when he saw her in it.
She bathed and washed her hair with delicately perfumed soap, then spent a long time before the fire, brushing it dry and curling it around her hand. Afterward, Serena came in, her blue eyes full of sympathy, and helped Charity put her hair up so that it fell in thick, long curls over one shoulder, as bright as burnished gold. She pinned a small clump of tiny white flowers behind her ear, right above the cluster of curls. Then Charity pulled on her prettiest undergarments and was helped into her dress by Serena, who helped Charity do up the myriad of small pearl buttons up the front.
Charity pinched her cheeks and pressed her lips together to put color back into her face, then twisted this way and that in front of the mirror, looking at herself from every possible angle.
“You look beautiful,” Serena assured her. She leaned forward to hug her, careful not to muss Charity’s hair or dress. “You are so brave to go to the ball tonight. I don’t think I could do it.”
“I have to,” Charity replied, feeling guilty for deceiving her sister. She cast her eyes down and went on softly, “But I’m not sure that I can do it.”
“I’m sorry.” Serena stepped back and took Charity’s hands comfortingly in hers. “I’ll stay with you the whole time. I won’t even dance.”
Tears gathered in Charity’s eyes, though more from guilt at her sister’s kindness, in contrast to her own lies, than from any sadness. She was too keyed up over what lay ahead to feel sorrow right now. “You are too good to me,” she told Serena sincerely.
After that, time crept by. With each passing moment she grew more and more tense, so that by the time she and Serena went downstairs to join her mother and father, it was little more than the truth for her to claim that she had become too sick to go with them. Her family looked at her pale, taut face and believed her.
Caroline sighed and said, “Perhaps it would be better if you stayed here. Although you look so lovely in that gown, it seems a shame for no one to see you. You know, we have to start thinking of your future again.”
“You’re not—you’re not going to tell anyone tonight, are you?” Charity asked in a suffocated voice.
“Of course not. There will be an announcement in a few days, of course, but we certainly don’t plan to talk about it. I have had more than my share of vulgar questions about your life the last few days. Sometimes I cannot fathom what has happened to good breeding these days. One would think that it was all right to interrogate someone on the most personal details.” She heaved a sigh, then said, “Well, run along upstairs, Charity, and lie down. I am sure you will feel better.”
“Thank you, Mother.”
“I shall stay with you,” Serena offered impulsively. “Would you like company? We can have a nice cup of cocoa and talk.”
Alarm flared in Charity, and she stammered out, “No! I mean…really, Serena, that’s very kind of you. But I just want to go to bed and sleep. And I wouldn’t want you to miss the ball. I’ve heard that the Countess of Ackland always puts on a splendid ball.”
“Yes, she does. It’s nonsensical for you to stay home, too, Serena,” Caroline decreed. “Elspeth is already ensconced amid her remedies upstairs, and now Charity will not be going. You have to go. Besides, things are changed now that Charity is no longer engaged. You may not be able to throw your life away on a poverty-stricken cleric.”
Serena paled at her mother’s words. “Oh.”
“Come along, Serena.”
“Yes, Mama.”
Serena cast a concerned glance back at Charity, then followed her parents out the door. Charity turned and went upstairs to her bedroom, where she hastily scribbled a note at the small secretary. Folding the note, she wrote Serena’s name on the front and left it on the bed. Then she crept softly back down the stairs.
There was no sign of anyone about. The servants were no doubt in the housekeeper’s parlor or the kitchen, since they assumed the whole family was out.
Charity threw on her evening cloak, pulling the hood forward to hide her face, and quietly walked out the front door. She started down the street, and in less than a block she spotted a hack and waved it down. The driver looked at her suspiciously, but Charity ignored his expression and climbed in, saying in a firm voice, “Dure House, please.”
Simon poured another generous amount of brandy into the wide glass snifter. He raised it to his lips, breathing in its heady fumes. He hoped that this glass would do something to ease the empty ache inside him; the first one hadn’t even touched it. It would be nice, he thought, to get so drunk that he could not remember anything about this day.
He took a gulp, letting the brandy roll like fire through his mouth and down his throat, thinking as he did so that it was a waste of good brandy. The cheapest gin would have done as well tonight. He slumped down in the seat behind his desk and raised the glass again.
There was the sound of sharp voices in the hall. Simon frowned and thought about going out to see what was going on, but apathy overwhelmed him. Let Chaney deal with it.
The door to his study swung open, and Simon looked up, scowling, ready to let loose some of his ill feeling on whatever hapless servant had disobeyed
his orders not to be disturbed. The words froze on his lips.
Charity stood in the doorway. She wore a cloak over her dress, and its hood was up over her head, casting her face into shadows and giving it a haunting, mysterious look. Simon gaped, unable to believe his eyes.
“I’m sorry, my lord.” Chaney appeared in the doorway behind her, wringing his hands in distress. “I told Miss Emerson that you were not to be disturbed….”
“He did,” Charity agreed, stepping farther into the room and shoving back the concealing hood. “I take full responsibility.”
She was so beautiful that it made Simon’s heart squeeze in his chest. Her blue eyes were huge, and her skin glowed in the soft evening light. Her golden hair fell in a cluster of long, soft curls over one shoulder, adorned only by a small spray of flowers.
Simon rose to his feet, feeling strangely shaky. “It’s all right, Chaney. I shall take care of the matter.”
“Very well, my lord.” Chaney bowed out of the room, closing the door after him.
For a long moment, Charity and Simon stood facing each other. Charity, whose anger and determination had propelled her through the afternoon and over to Simon’s, now was suddenly awkward. Simon had removed his jacket and cravat, and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing his golden-brown skin and a patch of black, curling hair. She had never seen him so casually dressed; there was an intimacy to the scene, lit by only a single lamp, that made the breath catch in her throat.
“What are you doing here?” Simon asked curtly, bracing his fingers on the desktop. “You should not be here.”
Charity raised her chin in a pugnacious gesture so familiar now to Simon that it made him tremble to reach out and take her in his arms.
“I will be where I choose,” Charity told him haughtily. “You and my father seem to think that you have my life mapped out, but I have a surprise for you. I am the one who will decide what I do.”
She began to pull off her supple kid gloves, and Simon said, his voice a mere rasp, “Don’t. You aren’t staying long enough. I am sending you back to your house immediately.” He started around the desk toward her.
