Rules of Surrender

by Christina Dodd

He wrapped her fingers around the last kiss, forcing her to hold it close as if it weren't some ethereal possession. "Save my kiss for that moment in the night when I am alone in my bedchamber and you are alone in your virgin bed. Then take it and place it where you will, and imagine how my mouth will feel when at last I hold you in my arms, and love you beyond pleasure."

  Graceful and passionate, he stood, still holding her hand. As if he could not resist, he bestowed one last kiss upon her fingers before letting them go. He backed away, then bowed to the ladies. At the door, he bowed to Charlotte, and somehow he imbued that simple obeisance with devotion, passion and stark hunger. As he left, the last thing he saw, Charlotte knew, was the blush that rose in her cheeks.

  Crack! A dozen fans snapped open and flapped back and forth before their owners' flushed faces.

  "Gracious." Adorna dabbed at her forehead with a lacy handkerchief. "Isn't it warm in here?"

  Charlotte settled into bed, plumping the pillow beneath her head, wishing she could purge her mind of the memory of Wynter so she could just sleep without dreaming of him, his sudden appearances and unexpected tortures. Tortures that wrung unrestrained cries from her. From her, who had for so long taken pride in never speaking rashly or without forethought. Of course, he would laugh if he knew of the pride she'd taken in her own caution, and tell her that the noises she made during lovemaking were not words, only sounds that expressed her inner feelings.

  Well, that was the problem, wasn't it? She didn't want him to know her inner feelings. Wasn't a woman allowed sanctuary even in her own mind?

  Apparently not, for tonight she couldn't drive the thought of him out of her consciousness.

  A sound on her balcony brought her up in the bed. The thunk of metal against wood. Straining, she could see, on the floor of the balcony, a four-sided hook attached to a rope draped over the railing.

  Wynter. Wynter planned to climb the rope and invade her bedchamber.

  Her heart jolted into the frenetic beat his closeness always caused. Dear God, did he plan to take her here, now? Or was this another of his long teases? She pressed her limbs together, trying to halt the dampness the thought caused. Just as he vowed, he was addicting her to his touch, and by the time the wedding occurred, she would be begging him to take her.

  Just as now, she wanted to beg him to leave her alone.

  The hook moved along the floor in little jerks, pulled by the rope from below, until it rose and caught on the balustrade. Wynter jerked again, hard, to set the hooks—and with a creak and a groaning tear of wood, the railing toppled over the side.

  For one second of horrified amazement, she stared at the empty place where the railing had been—then she heard a satisfying thunk, followed by a shower of splinters and one very succinct curse word.

  Lying down again, she hoped Wynter hadn't been badly hurt.

  Charlotte slept as she had not slept in a fortnight.

  CHAPTER 24

  "I tell you, my lady, I thought it a young girl's hysteria, too, until I heard the sounds and saw that ghostly white form gliding down the corridor toward me." Miss Symes's fingers fretted the fringe of her knit wool shawl.

  Adorna took that as an ominous sign, for Miss Symes was usually the most pragmatic of women. Clearly the ghost had her worried. "Dear Symes, I am not doubting you, I am simply saying a specter haunting the house while we prepare for the wedding is most inconvenient. The seamstress almost quit for fright, and dear Charlotte's dress only half done! She's not eating well, you know, so the seamstress had to take in the waist." Adorna couldn't keep the aggravation from her voice. She sat at her desk in her apartments, listing the tasks that needed to be completed and checking off those that were finished. In the rush to get Wynter and Charlotte married before the preparations for the Sereminian reception began, this haunting situation seemed almost farcical. "We've never had a ghost before. Can't you just make it go away?"

  "I'm doing what I can, my lady. I set up watches, but the men fall asleep or are so frightened they can't be trusted. And the maids are quitting so quickly the work is piling up, and with the wedding less than a week away…"

  "I know, dear Symes, and you've been working like a zealot." Adorna took Miss Symes's thick hand and patted it. "Let me put my mind to the problem. I'm sure if I try, I could find someone who specializes in exorcism."

  "Oh, dear, my lady!"

  "What?"

  "That seems a bit…extreme."

  "I don't know why. How else does one rid one's home of a ghost? If we don't exterminate it, we shall have to train it." A thought occurred to Adorna. "Perhaps the ghost is just rude, like Wynter. Perhaps it needs a governess."

  "A ghost governess?" Miss Symes repeated weakly.

  "Or a good talking to." Adorna nodded, satisfied with her solution. "That's it! Leave the ghost to me. I'll have a stern word with it. But not now, dear Symes. I'm busy."

  The housekeeper curtsied, leaving Adorna to her work again. The work she adored. Two grand parties in a row! A wedding and a royal reception. What could be more fun?

  "Mother!" Wynter spoke from the doorway. "I have something I need to tell you."

  "Dear, you're just the man I wanted to talk to. The invitations are sent—we're inviting everyone, darling, so promise me you'll remember your company manners. You're good with them when you choose. Uncle Ransom and Aunt Jane have returned from Italy—so fortuitous!—and will be here for the ceremony. Cook has the menu planned. The children are quite excited about the parties…" Adorna stopped checking off items on her list and stared at her son as he limped across to the fireplace. For a moment she wondered if Charlotte had caused his male organs to seize in the upright position. Then she realized one of his bare feet was wrapped in a white cloth. "Why are you walking like that?"

  "It's nothing, Mother." Wynter frowned as if that would intimidate her. "It will be healed by the wedding day."

  Adorna relaxed back in her delicate desk chair. "Did Charlotte finally put a dent in your…ah…infallibility?"

  "Charlotte had nothing to do with it."

  "What a lie, dear. With you, these days, Charlotte has everything to do with everything." Prudently, Adorna placed her pen on the blotter. "Doesn't she?"

  "If she would just admit she loved me," he burst out. In a more temperate tone, he repeated, "If she would just admit she loves me, she would be happy."

  How Adorna relished this! She hadn't planned that Charlotte should marry her son, yet now that the marriage had become inevitable she saw the lightness of it. They were good together!

  Or rather, they would be once they'd smoothed out a few minor wrinkles. Wynter was so frustrated he was confiding in his mother, something he hadn't done since his eleventh birthday party when that dreadful, overgrown girl Prunella had punched him in the nose and made it bleed.

  And Charlotte. The firm set of her chin could not fool Adorna; beneath her resigned exterior lurked rebellion and determination. Well, of course. Only look how she had thwarted her uncle's plans for her. Wynter was a stronger character than that weasel Porterbridge, but Adorna enjoyed watching such titans clash. "Charlotte is a sensible girl. If loving you would make her happy, I'm sure she'd admit it. Even if it weren't true."

  "But it is true." He stood before the fireplace in Adorna's sitting room, legs apart like a sailor on the bridge, and arms crossed. "How could she not love a man of my stature and honorable nature?"

  Adorna gave in to her mirth. She laughed a feminine version of Wynter's bellow, and when she stopped, one look at Wynter, glaring at her in disgust, sent her off again. "Wynter, dear, think! If that were true, every woman in England would be in love with you." She held up her hand before he could speak. "And they aren't. I assure you. I know quite a lot about romance."

  She shouldn't have expected to laugh at him without retribution. "I do not understand, my mother, why you consider yourself an expert on this thing you call love. You do not seem to be overwhelmed with joy now that Lord Bucknell has ceased to visit." />
  She felt the pain of that thrust immediately. She hadn't really allowed herself to believe that he had stopped calling. She had hoped he was temporarily otherwise engaged. But she had to face the facts; he wouldn't take her on her terms, and she wouldn't take him on his. It was over. Even Wynter, self-absorbed as he was, knew it.

  "Nonsense," she said stoutly. "I'm ecstatic that he has found something more satisfying to occupy his time." But she blinked rapidly to keep the tears off her cheeks.

  Wynter was not fooled. "Has Bucknell been invited to the wedding?"

  "Of course, dear." She attempted to smile with her usual ebullience. "We're friends."

  "You were more than friends."

  When had she lost control of the conversation? In fact, when had Wynter become perceptive about anything but horses and business? "Lord Bucknell has not the joie de vivre of your father."

  "That, my mother, is a slight to one or the other."

  "No, it's not. Each man has—or in your father's case, had—his appeal. Bucknell is rather sober." Before Wynter could taunt her again, she added, "And incredibly staid. But he couldn't stay away from me and I…well, for the first time since Papa's death, I found myself attracted." She saw a way to divert his attention from her and back to him, where it belonged. "One would wish one could be drawn to a mate with a little more dash, but it never seems to work that way, does it? Me and Lord Bucknell, you and Charlotte. Totally different people."

  "My desert father told me that men and women are wholly diverse."

  Some of the beliefs he'd come home with! She didn't envy Charlotte teaching him differently. "No, they aren't, dear. We all feel the same pain, enjoy the same pleasures, want with all our hearts. We just want different things, like you want Charlotte and Charlotte wants love." Let him ponder about that for a while. Turning back to the work spread out on her desk, she said, "I've been thinking."

  He recognized her ploy. She'd used it often enough in his youth. She was going to change the subject, and right now he thought it a good idea. "Always a dangerous activity, Mother. What have you been thinking?"

  "That embezzling in the business. It wasn't much, really."

  Her comment, and especially with her warm, persuasive tone, surprised him. "It wasn't much?"

  "Much money gone, silly. Whoever took the money didn't take much." Picking up her pen, she dipped it in the ink. "Did he?"

  What was she getting at? "How can I tell? Every time I check the accounts the amount changes. The embezzler is worried and paying the money back."

  "Yes, of course he is." She made a mark on the page before her. "There isn't one person in our organization who isn't a good soul, and if he took the money I'm sure he had a worthy reason. He was just borrowing it, really, and now he's just returning it."

  Wynter stared at the back of Adorna's blond head. "And if he wishes to borrow it again, we should just let him? Mother, what are you saying?"

  "That whoever did it is really, truly sorry."

  Wynter adored his mother, but her mind had always been a mystery to everyone except his father, and even he had occasionally shaken his head and smiled. But this! "Mother, this is not some child with no sense of right or wrong who takes another's toy. This is a man who stole money—your money—and he must be punished."

  "That seems so harsh." She sighed.

  "There is no excuse for that kind of behavior."

  "Oh, Wynter, you are such a man." Her laughter flowed like a babbling brook. "There is always an excuse. Do you have any suspects?"

  "At one time, I had too many."

  "Oh." She bent her head to her work again, and her pen whipped back and forth as she wrote. "Who's left?"

  "Hodges, for one. He claims to adore you, and it's obvious he resents my return and the fact I will take over the reins. Shilbottle proclaims his worship of Papa, and that could be viewed as suspect considering the embezzlement. The others either lack the chances or the intelligence to pull off such a clever scheme."

  The busy pen paused. "Then you've given up Stewart as your suspect."

  Wynter hated to tell her, but there was no keeping this secret from Adorna. "Stewart is my main suspect. I have set traps for him, and by the dunes, I will catch him."

  Adorna swung back to face him, her hands clutching the back of her chair so tightly her knuckles turned white. "Stewart? Dear Stewart? How can you think that? He has always been my main support."

  "Exactly." Wynter nodded. "He's had unlimited access to our funds."

  "He's your cousin."

  "He's a thief."

  "Thief." She made a moue. "That is such a cold word, Wynter."

  "Stealing is a cold art."

  "Well." Adorna huffed strands of hair off her forehead. "You must keep me informed of everything you do."

  He knew better than that. "So you can warn him, Mother? No, that seems unwise."

  "But Wynter…" she wailed.

  "But nothing." He had made it his mission to catch the swindler, and he would. As he limped toward the door, he grimaced at the pain in his foot.

  "Wait! Wynter, what did you come by to tell me?" she asked.

  He should have known she would drive all good sense from his mind. "Before the wedding we need to check the railings on all the balconies. The wood is rotted."

  * * *

  The morning of the wedding dawned clear and bright, thus proving to Charlotte that a man owned even the weather. In the last three weeks, she had been constantly buffeted by old and new emotions, and now she sat in a tub of warm, scented water and watched the sunshine creep down the wall to the floor. She was numb, resigned to her fate. She would marry Wynter. She would be properly grateful for his charity. And she would allow him to inflict himself on her…

  Briskly, she picked up her washcloth and the milled soap Adorna had given her.

  In theory, the wise thing to do was allow him the use of her indifferent flesh. In reality, she had little control over her body or its reactions. She might want to remain quiescent under his caresses. Doing so proved quite another thing.

  "Charlotte, dear, don't tarry," Adorna called from the other side of the screen. "We have your dress laid out, but it will take time to do your hair. Of course, Wynter wants you to leave it down, but I told him he could have the pleasure of unpinning it tonight. Or at least, I think he'll have the pleasure, unless you decide to lock yourself in here and—" Charlotte heard Adorna's mouth snap shut.

  Swiftly, Wynter's aunt Jane picked up the conversation. "The seamstress finished the last seams on the gown last night. Each stitch is in place, and the unornamented white satin is perfect with Charlotte's vibrant coloring. However did you realize that, dear Adorna?"

  Charlotte grinned. Aunt Jane had arrived only yesterday, but already she had impressed Charlotte with her good sense and tart wit. Both women had impressed Charlotte with their kindness; in the absence of her own female relatives, they acted as her support on this important morning.

  Adorna said loftily, "You give me too little credit, Jane."

  Charlotte grinned more. The gown had been plainly constructed because Charlotte had insisted on it. A gown of furbelows such as Adorna had wanted would have overshadowed a woman of Charlotte's stature.

  "The row of tiny buttons down the back is exquisite," Jane said, "but they'll be fiercely uncomfortable to sit on."

  "Oh, I doubt if Wynter remains much past the luncheon," Adorna burbled. "You know how impatient he is."

  Charlotte dropped the bar of soap with a splash.

  Silence followed from beyond the screen.

  Then Jane said, "What beautiful long sleeves. They give the gown a medieval flavor, and I recognize the veil."

  "From two weddings," Adorna said.

  They had both worn it, and Charlotte had been touched and honored when they'd offered it to her.

  "Don't you love the jewelry? You should have been here when Wynter presented it to her!" Adorna giggled, then squawked as if she'd been elbowed.

  Jan
e said, "The color of the amber reminds me of…" Her voice trailed off.

  Charlotte stopped fishing for the soap and strained to hear. What did the color remind Jane of? Had Jane seen some mark on the gown? Had the moths eaten a previously unseen—

  Wynter stepped around the screen.

  Charlotte froze.

  He was dressed as formally as any Englishman in his black, well-cut suit that hugged his shoulders and nipped at his waist. Yet his feet were bare—and he was in her bedchamber. As she bathed. And he watched her through eyes that glowed with ardor.

  Adorna recovered her voice first. "Wynter, you come away from there immediately. It's bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony!"

  "Adorna, dear." Jane sounded choked. "You're missing the larger repercussions of his actions."

  Charlotte slapped the washcloth over her chest and sank down into the water. "Go away!" she whispered at her looming, impudent betrothed.

  Strolling forward, he stood over her with a regal aura of privilege, looking right down into the water.

  She tried to stretch the washcloth to cover all her vital parts, and discovered how truly futile that exercise was. "Go away," she repeated, and submerged far enough that the water lapped at her lips.

  He knelt beside the tub and stirred the bath with his finger.

  Charlotte saw an indignant Jane appear at the edge of the screen and start toward them. Adorna's arm snaked out, caught her, and pulled her back. She heard the flurry of whispers. But she couldn't truly comprehend anything but Wynter, large and wicked.

  "What do you want?" she finally managed.

  "Oh, Charlotte." His finger rose, dripping with water, and smoothed over her cheek. "You. I only want you. And today, I will have you." Leaning over the tub, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I didn't want you to forget."

  CHAPTER 25

  Charlotte stood in the antechamber of the church, holding a bouquet of white roses and listening impatiently as Lord Howard stammered, "Y-you don't have to marry him. I would give you anything you want if you would just come with me."