The hull of the boat scraped along the gravel riverbed and gently bumped the grassy bank. It was an isolated location beneath a giant weeping willow that gracefully dipped its branches into the water. Charlotte knew exactly what he had in mind as soon as he lifted the oars into the boat and leaped onto the bank. He held out his hand.
“Care to take a walk through the woods with me?”
She made her way to the bow and, with his help, climbed out. “How deep do you intend to take me?”
“Deep enough to continue this conversation in private.”
“As if the river were not private enough?” she replied with a playful note of sarcasm as she followed him into the greenery.
They made love slowly and tenderly that morning, hidden away beneath the shelter of another large willow tree not far from where they had left the boat. For Charlotte, it felt less like a sexual fantasy for the purpose of physical gratification, and more like an act of love, though she did not allow herself to believe that too wholeheartedly. Just because something was tender and romantic did not mean it was more than what it was—a temporary summer romance that would end before the autumn breezes began to blow.
In the coach, during the brief journey back to Pembroke House, she sat with her head on Drake’s shoulder while he held her in his arms. They traveled in a companionable silence that filled her with a sense of well-being and contentment.
“I understand,” she said, “why you do not wish to join Society here in London, and I would not dream of pushing you into it. But would you consider coming to Pembroke Palace for a few days to enjoy the solitude there? I must warn you, of course, that it will not be completely quiet. I have a large family and there are many children about. There is a great deal of lively conversation at dinner, but we are an intimate group and very tightly knit. You might enjoy yourself. Do you like to fish?”
“I do,” he replied, stroking a finger across her shoulder.
She lifted her face to look up at him. “Then why not come? You might enjoy it. There is laughter and entertainment, yet no gossip ever leaves the palace. The Sinclairs are a loyal bunch, and if I bring you as my guest, you will find yourself most welcome.”
“I don’t know,” he said with a frown. “I didn’t come home to become involved with people.”
Pleased that he had used the word home, she sat back and laid a hand on his cheek. “Whether you will admit it or not, you have already become involved, Drake, so unless you want to change your mind and quit this affair, why not simply make the most of it? Come to Pembroke and fish and row on our lake. Come riding with me in the afternoons, and then you can have me to your heart’s content at night.”
“Have you?” He laughed. “That sounds rather wicked, Lady Charlotte. Won’t your brother, the duke, have something to say about that?”
“He won’t know, for I will introduce you to one of the great secrets of Pembroke Palace, and I am not referring to the scandals, past or present. I am referring to secret passageways. A number of rooms are connected with false walls and hidden doorways. If you are very good, I will show you the subterranean passages beneath the chapel as well, which are said to be haunted. Then I will tell you about the Pembroke Palace curse, which forced all four of my brothers to marry hastily over a decade ago, in order to save their inheritances.”
“That sounds intriguing.”
“It is. Will you come? I promise it will be very different from London.”
He considered it. “What will your brothers think of me?”
“Do you play billiards?” she asked.
“It has been a while, but yes.”
“Then you will fit right in. Please come.”
It was at that moment they drove into Mayfair and pulled to a stop in front of Pembroke House. Mr. Torrington appeared reluctant to let her go.
“All right,” he said. “I will.”
Feeling blissfully happy, Charlotte kissed him on the cheek and quickly slipped out of the coach before he had a chance to change his mind.
Chapter 13
An unexpected sense of inevitability washed over Adelaide as she rose from her bed and took a seat at her desk. She had been tossing and turning for the past hour but knew that she must do something to ease her mind. She picked up her pen and dipped it into the ink...
Dear William,
It has been nearly a week since we last spoke at the Halloway Ball. I want to thank you again for the delightful dance, and for the generous loan of your coat on the balcony.
I am writing, however, to tell you something wonderful about Charlotte. It seems at last that a gentleman has won her affections. As you well know, it has been many years since she has opened her heart to love, so I am hopeful this may be a turning point.
She is, as always, mindful of gossip and has asked me to refrain from speaking of their acquaintance to anyone outside of the family. But I consider you to be family, so I do not believe I am betraying any confidences by writing to you now. I will, however, at Charlotte’s request, keep the gentleman’s identity a secret, for reasons I cannot go into here. I am just so very pleased that she has finally taken an interest in someone.
In that regard, I will be leaving London and returning to the country tomorrow, as we have invited the young man to join us for a few days at Pembroke Palace. No doubt Devon and the boys will be keen to ‘evaluate’ him.
I speak in jest, of course. If Charlotte adores him, so shall the rest of us, for her happiness is what matters most, and she has certainly earned it. In the meantime, I will do my best to play matchmaker. Wish me luck.
Now I must bid you farewell, for I am not sure when I will return to London. Perhaps not for a while.
Take care of yourself,
—Adelaide
Dear Duchess,
Thank you for keeping me abreast of Charlotte’s news. I will be thinking of you all and hoping for a happy outcome. And there is no need to thank me for our dance at the Halloway Ball. It is I who must thank you for the pleasure of your company. Sometimes it feels as if not a single day has passed since our friendship in Yorkshire. It is hard to believe we are easing into our autumn years, when at times I feel like a much younger man with my whole life yet ahead of me. There is still so much I wish to see and do. So many answers I still seek in the field of science and medicine, and I have not yet been to America. I would like to see the Grand Canyon. Do you know of it? Now, with railroads and steamships, it is not an impossible dream.
Your letter today was a balm to my soul. How wonderful to be a witness to your devotion as a mother. Your children are truly blessed, as are all the people of Pembroke, to have had you as their duchess.
Please forgive me if I cannot write more than this tonight. I lost a patient today at the hospital, and I am feeling low.
Please write to me from Pembroke and keep me informed about Charlotte and her young man. It cheers my heart.
—W
Dear William,
We arrived at Pembroke last night. I am so sorry to hear about the patient you lost. I often think about the challenges of your profession and I am always moved by your strength and heroism. I saw it for myself when Theodore was ill. You were an invaluable source of support and comfort to all of us, and there are no words to convey the depth of our appreciation. I don’t know much about the patient you lost, but if he or she had a family, I am sure they were grateful for your kind care.
And now permit me to cheer your heart and write about Charlotte. I am beside myself with joy, for I have not seen such passion in her since all those years ago, when she first met and fell in love with Graham.
To be honest, I believed a part of her had died with Graham and their unborn child, but now everything seems new to her again. She was positively radiant on the train when she told me about her new gentleman. They seem like kindred spirits, and I feel that fate has played a hand in bringin
g them together.
Perhaps I sound like a romantic fool, but I cannot help myself. My heart is bursting with hope. I have always longed for Charlotte to be happy, as I am sure you understand, for I know how you have wanted the same.
Cross your fingers, William, that a broken heart can one day be mended.
—Adelaide
Back in London, William read Adelaide’s last letter three times before he placed it carefully in the drawer with all the others…and locked everything away.
Chapter 14
Mr. Torrington was due to arrive on the five o’clock train from London. A coach had already been sent to fetch him, and Charlotte could not seem to relax. It had been five days since she went rowing with him on the Thames. She had not seen or spoken to him since, but he had been in her thoughts to an alarming degree. At times she was completely swept away by a flood of happiness and anticipation, for she could not wait to be alone with him again—to touch him and be touched by him. She wanted to show him the estate and introduce him to all the members of her family—her brothers and sisters-in-law, all her nieces and nephews. She wanted to enjoy the country setting with him, and most importantly, she looked forward to pleasurable and discreet lovemaking at night.
Other times, however, she was concerned by the intensity of her emotions, for this wicked affair had obviously gone beyond the physical. All the evidence was there. She longed for him constantly and dreamed that he would change his mind about returning to America. Last night she even imagined what she would say if he told her he could not live without her, begged her to become his bride and cross the Atlantic with him. Would she accept? Would she become a married woman, leave her home for a new life in a world she knew nothing about?
Clearly her heart—in all its jagged, broken places—had become deeply involved, for she was dreaming of her own happily ever after and feared everyone knew it.
Charlotte jumped when her sister-in-law entered the drawing room and said, “He should be here at any moment. Are you ready?”
Charlotte turned from the window and laid a hand over her heart. “Oh, Anne. You frightened me.”
“I do apologize,” Anne replied. “It was not my intention.” She moved a little closer. “We are all very much looking forward to meeting Mr. Torrington.”
“I know, and I appreciate your support.”
Anne watched her for a moment. “Something is wrong,” Anne said. “I can see it in your eyes. You seemed so happy yesterday, but now it’s as if the sun has moved behind a cloud. Have you changed your mind about him?”
Everyone knew how Charlotte had met Mr. Torrington—how he had rescued her from peril at the hands of a purse thief. Anne also knew that Charlotte had gone rowing with her rescuer twice at dawn, but no one knew the true nature of their affair, that it had already gone well beyond the limits of what could be considered proper. It was unequivocally scandalous.
Charlotte remained at the window. “No, I have not changed my mind, and that is the problem. He is only here for the summer, and I have known that all along. I was determined to guard my heart and maintain an emotional distance, but it seems I have fallen headfirst into an ocean of romantic dreams. I cannot stop thinking about him, and I am afraid that…”
Of what am I afraid, exactly? Charlotte asked herself that question over and over. Had she, despite all her best intentions, fallen in love?
“He is not my type at all,” she argued. “Wait until you see him. He is rough and reticent. Never cheerful. When he speaks, his voice is very gruff.” Yet to her it was like soft black velvet across her skin. “Perhaps you and the rest of the family won’t like him at all. I don’t know why I do. I really shouldn’t.”
Anne smiled sympathetically. “We will like him perfectly well, for he came to your rescue when you were in danger, and for that we are grateful. As for the rest of it, the only thing that matters is that you are happy. If he makes you happy then enjoy yourself over the next few days. The rest will sort itself out.”
“Will it? Because I fear I may become very unhappy indeed when September rolls around and I am forced to give him up. Oh, Anne. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so cavalier about all this. I truly believed I could manage it, but clearly I have a very sensitive heart.”
Anne’s gaze was drawn to the window. “Well, you are going to have to batten down the hatches, my dear, for the coach is on its way up the drive.”
Charlotte, too, looked out, and all her senses bloomed with excitement. He was here. At last. Heaven help her, he was like some sort of sizzling-hot addiction she could not resist.
Drake leaned forward in the seat to look out the coach window. There it was. Pembroke Palace.
God above. What the blazes had he been thinking when he accepted Lady Charlotte’s invitation to come and enjoy a few days of solitude in the country? She had mentioned fishing and lovemaking, but this was no cozy retreat. The palace was a monstrous bastion, the home of an exalted duke and his entire family. Never mind that it was situated at the top of a steep hill, lording over the entire county like a powerful monarch, surrounded by ancient oak trees and stringently manicured gardens.
Drake grew tense at the mere sight of the place and was half tempted to tell the coachman to turn around, for Drake had made a mistake. He didn’t belong here. He wanted to leave. The only thing that kept him from doing so was the agony of a relentless desire that grew more intense with every revolution of the coach wheels. Over the past few days, without Charlotte, he had slipped into a pathetic state of sexual obsession.
The coach passed under a giant triumphal arch and rumbled across a cobbled courtyard toward a wide set of steps at the front entrance. There was a flurry of activity as groomsmen came running. A number of servants spilled out of the palace and quickly lined up under the portico and clock tower.
Then he spotted Charlotte, like a beacon in the night. She was dressed in a formfitting blue and white striped afternoon dress, and she practically floated down the steps like an angel with wings. Behind her, members of her family followed, and Drake wondered which man was her brother, the duke.
Heaven help him. What was he doing here? This was not for him. Yet desire had prodded, and he had not possessed the will to stay away.
Eventually the coach pulled to a halt and a footman opened the door. Charlotte was the first to greet him.
“Mr. Torrington, welcome to Pembroke.”
Drake fought not to let his gaze linger too long on her full pink lips or her luscious bosom, for there were others approaching.
Charlotte made all the introductions—first to her eldest brother Devon and his wife, Rebecca, the duke and duchess. Devon was a tall man with dark features, while the duchess was an attractive woman with flame-red hair.
Next, he met Lord and Lady Vincent. These were the two who had chosen to leave England after a desperately scandalous situation. Cassandra had been Vincent’s secret mistress while he was engaged to another, but he had jilted the fiancée in order to marry Cassandra after she had borne him an illegitimate child. According to Charlotte, their daughter June was so charming and beautiful at twelve years of age, that everyone who came in contact with her was so bedazzled, they were blind to the fact that she had been born out of wedlock.
Lastly, Drake met Lord Blake and his wife Chelsea, a handsome, amiable couple, and Anne, who was married to Charlotte’s twin brother, Lord Garrett. Garrett, a surgeon in London, was unable to join them that particular week.
Everyone was pleasant and welcoming, but Drake was pleased to begin the march up the steps with Lady Charlotte on his arm, for all he wanted to do was determine the place and the exact moment he could make love to her again.
Not ten minutes after he was shown to his room to settle in and change for dinner, Drake heard a creaking sound, like weak floorboards in an old, broken down country house.
He recalled the stories Charlotte had told him a
bout the palace—that it had been built on the ruins of an ancient monastery destroyed during the reign of King Henry VIII. According to legend, the subterranean passages beneath the foundations were haunted by the souls of the dead monks.
Charlotte told him she had lived there all of her life, and her only terrors had come at the hands of her brothers, who, as children, enjoyed frightening their younger sister. She also mentioned a few unfortunate incidents with her father, the duke, in his final years when he suffered from delusions and carried on conversations with one ghost in particular.
None of it was real, of course, yet for some reason, all the little hairs on Drake’s arms stood on end when the ominous sound of the creaking floorboards grew nearer, like footsteps approaching, yet he knew he was alone in the room.
His gaze shot to the drapes as they wafted suddenly on a draft, as if someone had opened the window, but he could see it remained shut tight. Drake moved to the desk, picked up a heavy brass candlestick holder, backed up against the wall, and wielded it over his head. “Who’s there?”
The tapestry beside the bed fluttered. Drake strode toward it and wrenched it back. He nearly lost his head when Charlotte appeared, as if she had passed like mist through the wall.
“You can put the candlestick holder down now,” she said with a laugh as she pulled a secret door shut behind her and let the tapestry fall back into place. “You looked as if you were about to brain me with it.”
With a sigh of relief, he set it down. “I thought you were a dead monk,” he said.
Charlotte smiled at him, and her warmth was more radiant than the sun. He wanted her instantly, ravenously.
“Do you not remember what I told you about the secret passages?” she asked. “Not all the rooms have them, but I made sure you were put in one of the good ones.”
Seduced at Sunset (Love at Pembroke Palace Book 6) Page 11