The table was set for an intimate lunch, with both place settings at one end of an enormous maple table. Pierre brought out the first course—the enticing aroma of baked cheese and pungent spices drifting out of the kitchen behind him.
"Where is Jeanine?" Reed asked as he sat down, and Pierre clucked affectionately.
"She went on errands, just at the wrong time once again." Pierre left them with two small quiches and salad.
"Jeanine is Pierre's wife, my only other domestic. They came as a pair," he added. "She's a mystery of female competence and makes my life easy so I ask no questions."
Charlotte didn't know whether to be envious of this seemingly phenomenal woman or enlist her services for private tutoring, but she longed to hear Reed speak in the same admiring tones over something that she did.
As if on cue, he said, "Since you haven't yet volunteered the information, I'll be bold and ask what it is you're working on for the Post."
"I wasn't going to bring it up since you made it plain last night that you only think I received the assignment because of my feminine wiles." His intimation had stung and she wasn't going to let him forget it.
"I was churlish," he said, "and I'm sorry." He smiled ruefully, and she forgave him instantly. After all, they were both feeling rather heated the evening before.
"As you've asked, my article is on criminal reform. Mr. Greene decided to try me at a little investigative reporting."
Reed's smile died. "Is it dangerous?"
She studied his concerned face. "No more than my being here alone with you."
"But you're not alone," he pointed out. "There is Pierre, and Jeanine is somewhere close by."
"And will they come if I call?" she asked, teasing him.
"Not if they know what's good for them," he said with a wolfish grin. "They are to remain out of sight and out of hearing distance, except while bringing food."
"Do you do this often?" She tried to keep her tone light as she thought of him having tête-à-têtes with Helen in the afternoons.
"You mean eat lunch?" he asked innocently.
She made to smack him with her free hand, and he seized it, bringing it to his lips for a gentle kiss.
"You are a special case, and I told them so this morning."
"This morning?"
"Yes. I told Pierre and Jeanine 'Charlotte Sanborn is extremely special to me.'"
"Oh, Reed, you didn't say anything that would...," she trailed off and was blushing furiously, trying to hide it by taking another bite of the creamy quiche.
"Of course not." Another rueful smile. "I am honestly trying not to compromise your reputation, at least not for the remainder of the day."
It seemed to her as if he had been the sole source of attempts to compromise her since she'd met him—and she had gone along willingly. The previous night, though, in the emptiness after he left, Charlotte had had the lingering doubt that perhaps he hadn't used contraception on purpose, knowing that she was too intoxicated by the headiness of their lovemaking to consider it. The perplexing question was, why would he take such a risk?
She wasn't sure how to bring it up, or what motive she could attach to such actions. Before she could broach the subject, Pierre reappeared with roasted pheasant and red potatoes, which he followed with a chocolate soufflé.
"Pierre," she said, catching Reed's cook before he returned to the kitchen, "you are a huckleberry above most people's persimmons."
The Frenchman frowned and looked to Reed. "I am a berry?"
Reed couldn't help the smile. "Just take it as a compliment, Pierre."
"But it is," Charlotte assured the man as he smiled at her uncertainly and left the room. "Oh, dear," she continued. "I hope he wasn't offended."
"He wasn't. But I'm sure it isn't every day he's called a fruit."
"You'll explain it to him, won't you?" she asked.
"I'll try. Now, my lady writer, are you full?"
She groaned in mock pain as they walked to the parlor. "If this is what you eat for lunch, I can only imagine the extravagance of your dinner."
"Five courses," Reed admitted. "That's why I keep busy from morning until night to work off all the food."
She laughed. Their conversation was back to being easy as it had always been, as if their night of lovemaking had broken down the wall between them.
Charlotte again felt the unusual paradox of being utterly relaxed with this man and on edge at the same time—anticipating his hand touching her skin while enjoying the play of ideas that flowed between them.
During the meal, she hadn't wanted to disturb the agreeable atmosphere, but now, she thought, it was as good a time as any to broach the subject of Celia, whomever she may be.
As far as she could tell, John had given her some kind of key, and it was time to see what it would unlock. She opened her mouth, the question ready, but before she could ask it, Reed took her hand.
"Charlotte Sanborn, I would like to marry you."
Chapter 22
The look of stunned surprise on her face must have been absolute, for Reed laughed and took her other hand, keeping them both captured between his own.
"I'm sorry; that was stupidly clumsy of me. Not at all how I meant it to come out. But it's out. I suppose, seeing as Alicia Randall is your oldest living relative," he added, "I should have asked her permission first, but you've been independent so long, perhaps we could overlook that formality."
"Consider it overlooked," Charlotte muttered, not caring at this point if Reed was handling the situation somewhat unconventionally, or that he seemed to have picked up her habit of nervous babbling. Her mind felt almost frozen by his words: I would like to marry you.
His blue eyes turned dark as a Colorado winter sky capturing her own in the intensity of his gaze.
"It seems that I had no choice from the moment I met you; from the moment you offered me your delicate hand to shake, our union was inevitable. However, it was after I made the mistake of leaving you behind that I discovered the absolute necessity of our being together."
"May I assume this is why you were on a train to Spring City when I arrived in Boston?" She was amazed that a whole sensible sentence came out of her mouth.
His face shadowed over and those familiar eyebrows assumed their straight line. "I thought you told me John had said nothing."
"He did say that you'd gone back there," she admitted.
Reed's eyes narrowed. "He shouldn't have told you anything at all. Isn't it a man's right to surprise a woman when he asks for her hand in marriage?" he grumbled.
"I don't know, Reed. I've never had a man actually ask me," she told him pointedly.
He flashed her the smile that always melted her stormy thoughts like butter near a hot stove.
"The weeks we were apart dragged with all the ease of Sisyphus pushing that damnable rock. I was unable to concentrate to any degree that was useful to my clients. I tried throwing myself into the social rounds, but believe it or not, they seemed tame compared to Spring City and the evenings spent with you."
He brought her hands up to his lips, first one then the other, kissing each before he continued.
"I could think of nothing and no one except the beautiful lady writer I'd left behind. And when I could stand it no longer, when I knew I had to have you here in my life, filling it with your honesty and your intelligent conversation, not to mention your sweetness and," he paused, giving her a wicked smile, "your curvaceous body—"
"My what? Reed, really!" But she wasn't the least bit upset with his words so far, except for a lingering sense of disappointment. She could not get around the fact that he had not mentioned love, the love that had taken up residence in her heart since their first days together.
Still, he had gone all that way to get her and that could not have been only for her mind and body, could it? He must want her heart, too. His wanting to marry her surely explained why he hadn't bothered with contraception.
His expression turned serious as he pull
ed her toward the sofa, pressing her to sit and then, astounding her further, by going down on one knee beside her.
"Reed, honestly, you don't—"
"Ssh," he told her, placing a finger across her lips, "I can see by your expression that I've gone about this all wrong, but then I've had no experience." His eyes glimmered. "Now be silent, woman, and let me do this right. You deserve that."
She let him take her hand and waited, trembling slightly, as his playful demeanor gave way once more to a serious expression. Now, she was sure he would say the words.
"Charlotte Sanborn, you are an extraordinary woman. I took the children out west myself, for the express purpose of meeting you."
She started to tell him that she already knew that, but he hushed her with one shake of his dark head, causing a lock of hair to fall over his forehead in the way that she loved.
"When I met you, you turned out to be nothing that I expected, except for your being smart, of course. You resembled a little girl lost in that house of yours. Yet you had such a no-nonsense demeanor as if you'd never been a child. You are charming and frustrating and refreshing and infuriating—all at once."
He bent his head, weighing his next words, then continued, "Charlotte, I have known many women." She frowned at this; it sounded similar to what he'd said in her bedroom last night.
"I mean, I have been in the company of many women," he corrected, "in every parlor and ballroom in this city from the time I was a young man. And they all bored me or lied to me or were just plain silly. I had it set in my head that all women were ever thus and was determined never to tie myself to one."
He squeezed her hands. "It just took a little while for it to sink in that I could, indeed, change my mind once I found a woman who would never bore me or lie to me, a woman who would only be silly when I coaxed it out of her, when she was naked and in my bed," he finished, ruining the romantic speech with his excursion into the erotic.
She didn't mind but was unable to stop the heated flush that quickly colored her cheeks.
"I must add that to my credit, I am from a fine family. I make a good living and my house, though in an unfashionable part of town, is comfortable." He paused, looking as if he wanted to add one last thing to his weighty list of reasons why she should marry him.
Then he smiled sheepishly and added, "And I am able to cook, as you already know. So, Miss Sanborn, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife and letting me assist you in raising Lily and Thomas and any other children that we are blessed to have together?"
He certainly stated his case with all the ability she would expect from a lawyer. She possessed all the qualities he desired, and he was a suitable mate with many desirable traits. And now he waited for the answer he was already certain she'd give.
Yet what was lacking in Reed's speech was so apparent that she couldn't help but focus on the single, terrible oversight. He had made no mention of love. Charlotte had waited this long in her life—had been already called a spinster by at least three people she could recall—and she could wait a little longer for his love. And if it never came, she knew she could manage quite adequately without a husband.
After all, she was a woman of the world now, a cross-continental traveler, a writer exploring a stimulating city. And for the first time, she'd found out that she could love freely and wholly and even need someone without fear. Reed and the children had taught her that in such a short time.
When she looked at Reed's handsome face and into his deep blue eyes, however, her stomach clenched. What was it about this man that was holding him back from love? She loved him completely, and most definitely did not want to be without him. Wasn't that enough to make their marriage a happy one? Even if he wasn't head over heels in love with her?
Reed was obviously impatient with her silence. "If you are waiting for my permission to speak, you have it now," he urged.
"Thank you, Mr. Malloy, for your permission and for your kind offer." She felt him caressing her hand with his thumb. Most likely, he was certain of her answer, and this irked her.
Was she supposed to be so grateful to have finally been plucked from the tree of single womanhood, as he'd once described it, that she should settle for a loveless union? Wouldn't he grow tired of her, as he'd done with Helen, within a couple years if there was no love to hold them together? She swallowed and removed her hand from his.
"I'm afraid, as things stand now, I shall have to turn you down."
Reed looked thunderstruck, rising immediately to his feet.
"Charlotte," he started quietly, "you're not the type of woman to play games. Tell me what's wrong, and I'll fix it."
She smiled softly at that, and rising to her feet, she touched his cheek in a gentle caress. It was a dear thing for him to say though it ran against her nature to rely on someone else to fix anything.
Previously, his statement would even have made her angry, but at that moment, she was too embarrassed to tell him what was wrong or to ask him outright: By the way, do you think you will come to love me for I need to hear those words once before I die? It would be more than a little humiliating to remind the man who wanted to marry her that he was supposed to declare his love first.
Deep in her heart, Charlotte believed that love followed attraction and passion, as inevitably as day followed night—but she did not want to make the mistake of marrying first and then waiting for love to occur, just in case it never happened.
With a newfound confidence, she believed instinctively that he would come to love her, for she would make herself eminently lovable and he would succumb. All they needed was a little time, and the match would be as ideal as he'd described it. Meanwhile, she had to give him a reason.
"I have only just arrived in Boston, Reed. As far as society is concerned, it would look highly suspicious, extremely improper, for us to be engaged so quickly."
"Damn society—" he began, but she shook her head at his violent oath.
"It's not just for appearance. With Lily and Thomas at stake, I cannot do otherwise. It is just as you said it would be. I do feel liberated here. I want to experience my new life and make sure I like it enough to stay. Everything is happening a little too quickly," she finished, turning away slightly, feeling she was coming uncomfortably close to telling him a lie.
He took her chin in his hand and made her look directly at him. "I am a reasonable man, Charlotte. I understand your hesitations and respect them, but I would prefer you experienced the city under the aegis of being my fiancée than as an unchaperoned single woman."
"Then you shall chaperone me whenever you wish." She smiled tremulously. By spending more time with her, either Reed would fall in love with her or he would withdraw his proposition.
He tried one more time to understand her hesitation, "Does your refusal have anything to do with my past association with Helen, or anything she may have said?"
Charlotte considered her answer. She ventured to ask him the question that had bothered her for days. "Are you sure that all your associations with Helen are in the past? I saw you leave the ball with her."
"And I know you left the ball with Jason. Should I be worried?"
"That's not the same thing. I am trying to protect myself from any hint of scandal where you're concerned—no thanks to Mrs. Belgrave. Have you forgotten that she has threatened me? She would just love for Aunt Alicia to send me packing with or without the children."
"I think Helen is bluffing," he said. "She has nothing to gain by making you lose the children or by making you leave."
Charlotte raised her eyebrow. "Does she know that? Are you positive she understands that you don't want what she offers anymore? Because I believe she thinks she has a lot to gain from riding me out of town on a rail."
"I have told her, in no uncertain terms, that she has no future with me."
"When you joined her in St. Louis?"
He expelled his breath in a loud puff. "We've been over this. I stopped there to speak with her so that she complet
ely understood the situation before either one of us returned to Boston."
He looked directly into her eyes. "If you're still wondering in that overly busy brain of yours, no, Charlotte, I didn't go to bed with Helen in St. Louis. I have not touched her since I met you."
She looked at her feet. "That is nice to hear."
"And Farnsworth?" Reed continued. "Is he just for appearances' sake?"
"Not exactly," Charlotte admitted, truthfully. "He has been gracious about showing me around and making sure I don't feel as though I'm an outsider. But mostly, yes, I'll admit that my keeping company with Jason is helping to convince my aunt that I am not a moral pariah."
Reed remained quiet, and Charlotte rushed in to fill the silence. "Just by association with him, Alicia sees me as a respectable young woman with one of Boston's finest courting me, and he doesn't even know how useful he is."
Reed looked grim. "You are learning how to survive here very quickly, Charlotte. Using people for your own ends is undeniably the first lesson."
She felt as if she'd been slapped. Was that truly how he saw it?
"I set much store by your opinion, Reed. If your treatment of Mrs. Belgrave is any indication, you are certainly the master where manipulation is concerned. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must—"
Charlotte was interrupted by the entrance of a lady, petite and brown-haired, bearing a tray with a silver coffee urn and two china cups sitting on matching blue and gold saucers. The aroma of rich coffee blended with the subtle flowery fragrance of the woman herself.
"Good afternoon, Jeanine. This is Miss Sanborn," Reed introduced, his voice having lost the lighthearted tone he'd used in introducing her to Pierre.
The lady only smiled at her and nodded, setting down the tray. She didn't say a word before she left the room.
Reed shrugged. "Her English is not as fluent as her husband's, which makes her a bit shy around strangers."
Charlotte was thankful for the interruption; it forced her to calm down and remember that their unpleasant exchange had arisen from the fact that Reed had asked for her hand.
The Defiant Hearts Series Box Set Page 32
