by Rebecca King
“Just what are you up to?” Charity knew now that she had to find out.
It didn’t occur to her that she was emboldened by Angus’s presence in the house. Charity never stopped to contemplate if she would be so wayward if she had been all alone. Instead, Charity was focused solely on the man across the road, and how she went about proving his guilt. Mostly because it kept her mind off the distracting presence of the man in her kitchen.
“I could take you some cake,” she mused in a breath that was barely above a whisper.
Immediately, her gaze flickered to Mr Lawrence’s house. Charity contemplated the last time she had attempted to take him a neighbourly offering. He had quite rudely declared that he hated cake and rebuffed her so briskly she had been offended for days, to the point that she had barely been able to bring herself to even nod to him when they had crossed paths in the village a few days later.
Charity had no idea what she would do if Mr Horvat was equally as rude. She didn’t feel comfortable around him now anyway, not after last night, and this morning. Was she confident enough to go across the road and venture anywhere near him, even armed with a friendly cake? She didn’t think so and doubted she would even with any of her friends in attendance.
“Damn, I need to make the cake today,” she whispered in disgust when she remembered the evening’s meeting of the tapestry circle.
Charity sighed deeply. She had completely forgotten about the pantry she still needed to restock and cast a worried glance at the clock on the mantle. If she got a move on she would be able to get to the store before the ladies arrived, although wouldn’t have the time to bake anything if she was hindered in any way. Rather than hurry out of the house, though, she remained rooted to the spot, and continued to contemplate the house opposite. She was lost on the quandary of how she was going to find out what she needed to know without alerting either Mr Horvat, or the very watchful gaze of the men from the War Office.
“I have to go and see him somehow,” she whispered, but for the life of her couldn’t work out how she was going to get into the house, or even knock on the door without appearing suspicious. “I can’t do that. If I behave oddly he will know immediately that something is wrong.”
“Who will know immediately that something is wrong?” Angus asked as he stepped into the room.
He looked at the house across the road that Charity was openly studying. It seemed to fill the main sitting room window. His gaze flew to hers. Her face was far too blank to be believed. He knew immediately that she was up to something and didn’t like it one bit.
“Just stay away from there,” he ordered in a voice full of arrogant command.
“You have no right to tell me what to do,” she protested. “How dare you come in here and even try?”
“I dare because this is an official investigation,” Angus snapped. “He is dangerous. Don’t you understand?”
“Mr Lawrence is no more dangerous to me than my tapestry needle,” Charity retorted flatly. “I know you don’t believe me but just wait and see. He is unsteady at best, and certainly struggles to get about.”
“You have to stay away from Mr Lawrence and the man next door, whatever the Hell he is called,” Angus grunted.
He didn’t ask, his pride refused to allow him to. He allowed the silence to fall and hoped Charity would tell him. To his disgust, she didn’t.
“Charity, you have to understand, several young women just like yourself have been snatched off the streets of their villages in broad daylight. Their kidnappings have happened so swiftly, and with such little fanfare, that nobody has seen or heard anything untoward. No screams, no shouts for help, nobody has seen anybody in a struggle, nobody has witnessed any violent altercations. These women have simply vanished. Disappeared without a trace. We have been on this investigation for months now and have apprehended somebody only to find out that they have only been responsible for some of the disappearances related to their village. The kidnappings we are investigating have happened randomly, and on a far wider scale than most people realise. We have reason – strong suspicions – to believe that the man – Mr Lawrence – is the kidnapper. I cannot tell you how but the contact we used would never give us false information. It is therefore vital that you do not get involved in this in any way. Do you understand?”
“I know this village,” Charity replied obstinately. “While I acknowledge that the kidnapper is out and about and poses a very real danger to every woman out on the street, I have no reason to believe I am in any more danger today as I was yesterday when I walked home alone. I wasn’t accosted then, and Mr Lawrence lives just across the street. Nor have I ever been touched or interrupted going on any journey around here on any of the other occasions I have been out of this house after dark, or even in broad daylight for that matter.”
Frustrated, angry and more than a little perturbed at his lack of ability to get through to her, Angus stepped forward. Grabbing her shoulders, he bent down to look her straight in the eye. They were almost nose-to-nose when he began to speak in a voice made husky by the force of his emotion.
“I want you to stay safe,” he ground out.
“I will,” Charity assured him. “Last night taught me what a foolhardy rush into the quest for facts can do.”
She hesitated to tell him about what had happened outside for fear of proving him right. She suspected, however, he already knew. Tipping her head to one side, she carefully studied him.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” she whispered in a voice that was confident. “You chased me through those woods.”
Angus neither confessed nor denied it.
He was so close that Charity could feel the delicate flicker of his breath slide across her cheeks as he spoke. She wanted to push, and demand he be honest with her but the answer was written in his silence. He was furious, of that she had little doubt, but she had no intention of sitting idly by while her home was occupied by men like him for a reason she knew was completely wrong.
“Mr Lawrence could not be responsible for those women being snatched,” she ground out through clenched teeth.
“What are you going to do if you are wrong?” Angus demanded. “You cannot come back to tell us how right we were once you have been snatched.”
“What happens to these women when they have been taken? Do you know where they go? Are they murdered? Or are they still alive?” It was even more preposterous to contemplate that Mr Lawrence was a cold bloodied murderer. “If you don’t know what their fate is how can you accuse someone like Mr Lawrence? He is frail. Do you not see that?”
“I know how it can look,” Angus argued. He sighed heavily when he saw the derision in her eye and knew they would forever remain at loggerheads over this. “Believe me, I do my job well enough to know a bit more than you.”
“What happens to them then? The women, I mean?” Charity persisted.
“We don’t know,” Angus hissed, his voice barely audible. “I just have no intention of allowing you to become one of them.”
“Not least because you are using my house to spy on people,” she snorted disparagingly. “It would make you look complete fools if I am taken, wouldn’t it?”
She could do little about the hurt that flooded her, along with the memories of what they had shared last night, and his parting words. They all came rushing forth and brought with them a strength of emotion that she struggled to contain. Her chin wobbled. Tears gathered on her lashes.
Angus’s hold immediately gentled.
“Charity,” Angus murmured. He scolded himself for being so stupid as to touch her again, and wanted to step away, preferably before he did something rash like kiss her once more, but he couldn’t move.
He wished he could warn her off the emotions coursing through him but was already lost to the temptation of her lips.
“Do you realise how much danger you are in?” he murmured, unsure if he meant from himself or the kidnapper.
“Angus.” Her poor attempt at mimicry fell
short given her voice trembled with the raw desire that pummelled her.
It was impossible to resist him when his head lowered toward hers. Everything within her screamed at her to step away, to preserve her already bruised heart, and not allow herself to give in to the rampant desire to touch him again, but it was already too late.
For a few brief seconds, their lips touched. Her breath hitched, but Angus was there to reassure her she was safe. His hands gentled as they kept her steady while his lips swept against hers again and again. Once, twice, the gentle caress swept backward and forward softly teasing temptation out to play. He felt her swift intake of breath and waited but she was pliant in his arms. When she didn’t pull away, he swept his lips across hers but rather than wait again, or lean back to put some distance between them, he lingered and savoured the silken glide of her warm flesh beneath his lips.
How many moments passed he couldn’t be sure but eventually the need to increase the pressure drove him to distraction, especially when she inched closer and leaned toward him. Angus groaned when he realised whatever hold she had on him was impossible to fight. Everything within him screamed at him to stay away; for both of their sakes he had to remain professional, but he swiftly shoved his doubts aside and caved in to the need to experience what they had shared last night, if only so he could satisfy himself that it hadn’t been a figment of his imagination.
Damn, it isn’t something I imagined. This is real. Very real, he groaned mentally as he slid a hand into her hair to guide her gently into allowing him to deepen the kiss the way he genuinely had wanted to do since the first moment he had set eyes on her only a couple of days ago now.
It felt as though a lifetime had passed since he had first crossed the threshold into her house. So much had happened that he was a little shocked by it. Such a large part of himself had changed his view on her, what he wanted from life, his attraction toward her, that he was struggling to keep pace with the speed in which everything was changing. Still, there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it, especially when her fingers clenched the soft folds of his shirt tightly and tugged him infinitesimally closer.
Bit by bit, Angus gave in to her insistent demands. He ignored the clamouring need to edge her backward until she fell onto the chaise behind her, so he could follow her down and give in to temptation. Instead, he drew her as close to his solid length as it was possible to get and allowed her to feel every inch of his raw, masculine need for her.
While what they were sharing was wonderful, Angus knew that indulging in this way was probably the most foolish thing he had ever done. In that moment, he didn’t care if she was frightened. He wanted her to be wary of him. If it helped to put a little distance between them so he wasn’t so plagued with frustration, then so be it. But, while he had that thought it was accompanied by a bitter regret that slammed into him and made him realise that he truly was fighting a losing battle.
What he was supposed to do now, though, was far, far beyond him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Cooeee!”
Angus groaned. He couldn’t find the strength to do anything more than rest his forehead against Charity’s while he willed his shattered senses to cool.
“God in Heaven, what have we done?” he whispered.
“I have no idea,” Charity cried.
She wasn’t at all sure what she could say. She had never been more shaken, or more certain that she wanted to be with a man before. Nobody had ever made her feel this, well, desired. No man had ever been this compelling to her, so much so she forgot about everything, including that they were standing in the middle of her sitting room, on plain view to anybody who happened past – or was inclined to stare through the window at them like most of the ladies of the tapestry circle was doing right now. Being in Angus’s arms made her forget everything but the way he made her feel.
“Oh. My. God,” Charity whispered when a persistent rapping on the glass shattered the silence.
Her gaze locked with Angus’s. Charity’s eyes were wide with fear, but she knew they were already doomed.
“Charity,” he whispered, his voice tinged with a plea that was heartfelt.
“I won’t put myself at risk,” she promised.
“Let me deal with the ladies,” Angus offered.
Charity shook her head. She struggled to focus on anything other than she truly wished they hadn’t been interrupted. She wanted nothing more than for them to be alone, so she could savour the delicious sensations Angus made her feel. They were intriguing. She wanted to experience them again, they were so addictive.
“I think I have to, don’t you?” she whispered. “They are my friends after all.”
Charity studied him. In truth, she was unable to comprehend the horror of being found in such a shockingly intimate embrace. She had absolutely no idea what she could say to the ladies, her friends, to excuse her rash behaviour. What could she say? Words failed her. It was impossible to focus on anything other than finding out just how badly her reputation lay in tatters. If only one of the ladies had seen them then Charity knew she might have been able to persuade the witness to keep it a secret. That was impossible now that all her friends had witnessed her shocking fall from grace.
“Oh Lordy, it is all of them,” Charity moaned when they both turned their heads and saw several familiar faces pressed against the glass with an array of surprised, shocked and intrigued expressions on their bemused faces.
“Jesus,” Angus hissed. “Now they are either really dedicated to their tapestry or they suspect you have lied and have come to find out what is really going on.”
“I dread to think what impression we have just given them,” she muttered.
Angus shook his head. He didn’t know what to say. The thought of having to offer for Charity filled him with quiet horror. It was the last thing he wanted, for himself or her. It wasn’t that he was averse to the idea of offering for Charity. He just didn’t want either of them to be forced into having to marry.
Charity sighed. “They are going to be even more curious now. What do we tell them?”
Angus cursed and snatched his hands off her small shoulders. He had forgotten he was still holding her.
“Good God.” Angus ran a frustrated hand through his hair and forced himself to put some distance between them. “Do you know something? I have absolutely no idea.”
When Charity didn’t immediately rush off to answer the door, Monika tapped heavily on the glass.
“Are you going to let us in or what?” she demanded rudely in a voice loud enough to be heard through the glass.
“Coming,” Charity called.
“Damn it, Charity,” Angus growled, but it was to an empty room.
While he listened to the sounds of Charity allowing her friends into the house, he stood motionless in front of the fireplace and waited for the invasion and inevitable plague of questions.
It didn’t take long before all six of the women had converged before him like angry hens protecting their chick, and Angus found himself squaring his shoulders as though preparing to do battle.
“Ladies,” he murmured with a gentlemanly bow. What he really wanted to do was demand they mind their own business, not discuss what they saw, and leave both him and Charity alone.
“My, you are here early,” Monika murmured silkily as she sauntered casually into the room and slouched negligently on the chaise without being invited to take a seat.
There was a knowing glint in her eye Angus was really starting to dislike, but he forced himself to remain polite. He nodded at her before pointedly turning his attention to the rest of the women who all seemed to converge upon the room at once.
A deathly silence ensued.
“Did you have something in your eye, dear?” Agatha asked obliquely when Charity had sidled into the room.
“My eyes are fine, thank you,” Charity replied carefully, her cheeks flushed with colour.
“Well?” Alice demanded. She looked enquiringly from
Angus to Charity and then back to Angus, clearly demanding an explanation for what they had all just witnessed.
Charity struggled to meet any of her friend’s gazes such was her acute embarrassment.
“Well, what?” she asked when she couldn’t stand the silence a moment longer.
“Now either he has been here all night or is a very early riser, and you don’t care about what time you receive guests,” Gertrude huffed. “Or what they see when they get here.”
Gertrude plonked her ample frame into a seat beside the fireplace and placed her heavy reticule primly on her lap. She then winced, readjusted it and turned her attention to the group.
“I say, are you guarding the family jewels?” Agatha demanded as she eyed Gertrude’s tight grip on the seemingly innocuous purse.
“No, it has a brick in it,” Gertrude announced primly. She eyed Angus with an evil intent that made him lift his brows. “It doesn’t hurt to be prepared you know.”
“Good God,” Angus whispered beneath his breath.
He didn’t realise anybody had heard him because they were all looking at Charity, until he was suddenly the sole focus of everyone’s attention.
“You may as well give in and tell us who you really are. I don’t accept for a moment that you are her cousin. Not given the predatory way you look at her,” Monika declared smoothly. “Nor are you just from the War Office as you claim.”
“I am from the War Office,” Angus argued.
“Really?” Monika countered flatly.
There was a plea in Charity’s eyes that made Angus damned uncomfortable, but he had no intention of telling the ladies about the Star Elite. However, he did promise himself that he would tell Charity, upon her swearing on the bible she would tell nobody else who the Star Elite were, and what they really did. For now, he retreated behind a professional persona that was unbreakable, and lifted a querulous brow at Monika.
