He’d never considered himself a man beset with daydreams, but since yesterday his lustful imaginings had crowded out everything else. He’d wrestled with his desire since he’d first looked into her wondrous eyes and realized her boldness hid determined bravado, and yesterday evening that desire metamorphosed into a craving impossible to ignore. Listening to her coo to the dog wasn’t helping.
Damnation! Scott closed his eyes and leaned back against his chair. Exactly how did one conduct an affair when unable to walk? Thank God for his one intact femur. At least he was capable of getting into bed and undressing himself. The problem was putting a woman in the bed. There was no such thing as discretion when his arrival and departure required orchestration by attendants. So he couldn’t go to her.
And she couldn’t come to his residence. Such a thing would be considered brazen, and society would never turn a blind eye to that. He could rent a small cottage for liaisons, but how exactly did he invite her there? It sounded presumptuous and awkward beyond belief.
He rubbed his hands up and down his legs. His right thigh was strongly muscled, but below that and his whole left leg were anything but attractive. Although they had a small amount of movement and had retained much of their feeling, his appendages appeared as weak and useless as doll’s.
Well, he’d simply not remove his trousers. If he had the opportunity, that was.
Even keeping his legs hidden, she might still find him repugnant. His arms, chest and shoulders were heavily muscled now—far more so than was fashionable. Rather than portraying the refined look of the gentleman he was, his torso had the bulk of a man accustomed to heavy labor. Still, after last night he was willing to risk her rejection, even her revulsion at his condition. She might feel differently when faced with intimacy, but right now…well, he knew desire when he saw it. And his family did too. Last night every person at the dinner table had seen the connection between Charlotte and himself.
Would she find the offer of a liaison insulting? Maybe with another man, but he wasn’t fit to offer marriage and she should know as much. As hard as he strove to be independent, he wasn’t and never would be. Any woman he wed would find herself shackled by his limitations. Even Lydia, whom he knew had loved him, couldn’t face life as the wife of a cripple. He’d just arrived home from the front, in the grip of despair and pain, when she broke their engagement. He didn’t blame her.
In the outer office someone was speaking to Chetney, and David began rolling his chair toward the door. Who could be making an appearance at this late time of day? Whoever it was, the voice was deep and unfamiliar.
By the time he reached the door, Charlotte had joined Chetney and the visitor. The tall, well-dressed gentleman turned, allowing David a view of intense dark blue eyes under a broad forehead and a proud beak of a nose in a chiseled face.
“Mister Scott, may I present my father, Matthew Shelby? Father, this is Mister David Scott. And this,” the viscountess continued, extending her hand, “is Mister Chetney.”
Shelby gave the secretary a nod then stepped forward to shake David’s hand. “I’m delighted to meet you, Scott. Congratulations. I was at yesterday’s ceremony.”
Of course he would have been. The man was a prominent member of Parliament.
“A pleasure to meet you,” David said. “I’m fortunate to have Lady Haliday working with me. She’s a great help.”
Instead of the pleased look David expected, Shelby’s expression shifted to distinct annoyance.
“I can’t say I’m happy with the situation,” the man said. “I’m sure you’re doing wonderful things here, Scott, but my daughter shouldn’t be part of them. Since she hasn’t yet come to her senses, I came to get a look at the place.”
David stifled the urge to make a biting retort. Shelby had been sharp as fresh rhubarb, but that didn’t mean Charlotte would approve of a challenge. Her face, which had turned pink with David’s compliment, now flushed red. She stiffened like a wary pupil before a stern headmaster.
David turned back to her father. Although Lady Haliday wasn’t doing the typical aristocrat’s charitable work, he doubted anyone in society knew exactly what she did here. So, why did her father object? The work pleased her. She came early and stayed late. Despite her title, she had a way of putting women at ease and comforting them. Perhaps David’s biggest surprise had been the way their faces calmed after talking with her.
With a bark, their disheveled canine guest scampered into the room. Everyone watched as it plopped down beside Charlotte.
Shelby frowned. “What the devil is that mongrel doing here?”
“She’s my dog.” Charlotte’s expression didn’t reveal a thing, but the defensive edge to her voice conveyed much.
“Charlotte, are you addle-pated? The beast looks infested with creepers.”
The viscountess crouched down, gathered the dog into her arms, and stood. “I only just found her today. She needs to be bathed and brushed.”
David got Chetney’s attention and jerked his head toward the door. The secretary looked fascinated, but as far as David was concerned the man needn’t be privy to an argument between Charlotte and her father.
Chetney looked down, muttered, “Excuse me,” and left.
Shelby stepped forward, towering head and shoulders above his daughter, and gazed down his nose at her. Charlotte stood her ground but was forced to tilt her head back to meet her father’s eyes. David itched to give the man a healthy shove.
“Are you doing this to taunt me?” Shelby asked.
Charlotte pulled the dog closer to her chest. “My dog has you that upset?”
Shelby snorted. “Don’t pretend to misunderstand. I don’t appreciate it. You know very well it’s this ridiculous position you’ve put yourself in. Coming here each day and acting the part of…just who are you pretending to be, Charlotte? A woman like the ones you help, who’ve lost their loving husbands defending the Crown? Or a woman consigned to working in order to provide food and shelter for herself? Perhaps you’re joining the sisterhood next? You’re purposely turning your back on the life I dedicated myself to giving you.”
David gripped the wheel rims of his chair. Shelby was known as a ruthless businessman whose methods had reaped a fortune. Obviously, he was just as hard-hearted with his daughter. Bad enough that Shelby would say such things to Charlotte, but to do it while being watched! If Shelby’s words weren’t proof enough of his selfish disregard for her feelings, his conduct was.
Charlotte’s gaze darted to David, settled on him, and the wealth of feeling he glimpsed there left him in no doubt of her pain. She held his eyes, seemed to muster herself with a deep breath that lifted her shoulders, and then looked back to her father. “I’ve lived my entire life as you liked. Now I intend to just live.”
With great gentleness, she bent and set the dog back on its feet.
Shelby frowned. “You have survived till now with what your husband’s will provided and what his heir settled on you, but don’t fool yourself into thinking you don’t need my support. And don’t forget you’re still my heir. That makes you a very desirable unmarried woman!”
David was trapped. He considered wheeling back into his office, but he didn’t want to leave Charlotte alone. What was the bastard doing, talking to her this way in front of him? She’d be mortified.
Charlotte pulled back as if catching scent of something foul. “I have no desire to acquire another husband. One libertine was enough.” Then she rasped, “I’ve never wanted to be at odds with you. Why can’t you stand behind me this one time?”
“You must live as you were meant to,” Shelby replied. “Thanks to me you’re a viscountess. I didn’t give you schooling equal to that of any titled lady—hell, any titled man—to have you associate with downtrodden women and meddle in their affairs.”
“I’m not meddling. I’m helping good, deserving women.”
David ached for Charlotte. She stood stiff as a trooper undergoing a general’s dressing-down. There we
ren’t too many women who’d be able to stand up to such a strong-willed man as Shelby, either. She must have a backbone of iron.
Shelby made a disgusted, dismissive noise and turned away, shaking his head. “Well. I can only hope you’ll come to your senses.”
He’d addressed himself to his daughter but looked at David, too. David looked back, and whatever Shelby saw in his eyes seemed to enrage the man. He turned and stormed out the door.
Charlotte stood immobile, staring straight ahead.
David checked the regulator clock on the wall behind Chetney’s desk. “Boone and Simpson should be out front. Get your dog and I’ll take you home.”
His quiet words seemed to rouse her. She spun and hurried into her office to collect her things.
#
After getting her dog, reticule and shawl, Charlotte avoided Scott’s gaze and preceded him out the door. She passed Chetney, returning from wherever he’d disappeared to lock up the office.
Somehow, she and the dog managed to gain the interior of Scott’s carriage. She settled the dog beside her and sank against the padded seatback, thinking. How could she continue to work with Scott after such a scene? She’d had enough criticism and humiliation from Haliday to last a lifetime, and now her father was heaping another measure on her. What must Scott think? Her father had as much as admitted to a life-long scheme to obtain a title and social standing for her.
What would she do if Scott dismissed her? In just a few weeks this work had become her bedrock. Ironically in tune with her father’s complaint, the eyes of her widows reflected an unfamiliar image of herself. They valued her, and it filled her with satisfaction. She had meaningful work and felt proud of what she was accomplishing. She liked that feeling. Why shouldn’t she have the opportunity to grow accustomed to it?
Evidently Scott was ready to hoist himself into the coach. Boone hopped in, threaded a rope through the pulley attached to the ceiling, and stepped down.
She’d never watched from inside the coach while Scott pulled himself in. She’d always observed from outside and entered after he was settled. Now, from his chair positioned in front of the door, he pulled himself in while Boone supported his lower legs. Scott maneuvered onto the rear-facing seat, grasped his legs and arranged them with knees bent and feet on the floor. Then he pulled the rope from the pulley, causing the sling under him to flatten. He gave his coat a tug and nodded to Boone, who shut the door. The coach rocked as Boone climbed aboard and settled beside the coachman, and a moment later they began to move.
Charlotte looked at the dog, which lay beside her, head resting on its paws. She removed one glove and sank her fingers into the soft fur of the beast’s neck and ears. Rubbing brought an unexpected comfort.
“Are you all right?”
Charlotte had focused on the dog to avoid looking at Scott. She didn’t think she could bear to see the disgust and pity he surely must feel, but oh, no. He wasn’t going to ignore what had happened. Why couldn’t he just pretend he hadn’t witnessed that abysmal exchange between her father and herself?
She kept her gaze on the dog. “Yes, of course. I’m accustomed to such discussions with my father.”
“I’m sorry for that. It must be incredibly difficult to stand up to him. He wouldn’t have achieved all he has if he weren’t ruthless. I suspect it’s the only way he knows.”
Scott’s insight surprised Charlotte, and he surprised her more by continuing.
“The things he said were hurtful. I hope you intend to disregard him and stay at the Patriotic Fund.”
It looked like he meant it, too. His mouth was compressed, and he looked furious for her. Charlotte’s heart expanded and filled her chest. She struggled not to reveal how deeply these words and this support affected her, but the relief of having Scott champion her was nearly overwhelming. Only Jane had ever understood and been on her side before.
“He wants me to marry another peer. He won’t rest until he has a titled grandson.”
As soon as the words were out, Charlotte wanted to snatch them back. How could she have revealed that? To make it worse, her last few words had wobbled.
Scott stretched out his arm, slid his hand behind her neck, and drew her to him. Charlotte didn’t think, didn’t resist, just leaned forward and met his mouth with her own.
She’d feigned not wanting him, but now all pretense fell away. It was as if they were merely continuing from where things had ended all those weeks ago at Lady Elliott’s ball. Scott’s lips pressed firmly against hers, and his tongue slid along the crease of her lips. Charlotte opened eagerly. He held her face, offering up deep, drugging kisses that drew her ever closer to him until she was perched on the very edge of her seat.
Drunk on the subtle scents of clove and citrus and starch that clung to him, she gave herself up to the heat and passion of his mouth. Heart racing, she slid her ungloved fingers through the cool silk of his hair until they met the heat of his scalp. He grabbed the ceiling pulley and leaned into her. His other hand stroked down her back, tightened at her waist, and almost before she realized his intent had swept her across to his seat.
He gathered her close and pressed against her, chest to hip. She hugged up to him, running her hands over the hardness of his shoulders and back. She felt the breadth and strength of him, his arms as rock-steady as she knew his heart to be. So she tightened her embrace until she was flush against him, tingling breasts compressed by his chest.
Desire swamped her. Every stroke of his tongue sent a burst of heat shivering through her veins. It settled low in her pelvis, an emptiness so acute she ached with it.
His mouth moved along her jaw and settled into the depression below her ear atop her hammering pulse. Against her skin, his mouth curved into a smile.
“Ah, Charlotte,” he murmured, “you are the softest, most divine-smelling woman.”
She leaned back and searched his eyes. They looked as bright as when he was full of laughter, as intense as when he considered a weighty problem. His color was high, his breathing quick. Charlotte drank him in. She’d put that look on his face.
He drew her back into his embrace, held her hard against him. She met his seeking mouth with her own, let his arms support her and wished she could lie beneath him, feel all his weight pressing against her. Wished her decorous dress and corset were gone. She longed for his hands, wanted them on her breasts, her belly, all her secret places.
Her hands slipped under his coat, explored the ridges of his back, skated down to his narrow waist. As impossible as it seemed, he drew her even tighter against him. When he released her mouth and his lips nudged aside her collar, she couldn’t hold back a moan. His teeth captured a bit of flesh at her neck and his tongue laved it, making her want to commandeer a part of him in return.
They were tilted a bit, Scott canted on one hip. Charlotte smoothed her hand over him, boldly curling her fingers along the curve of his buttock. He pressed against her, angling her farther backward, and her hand slid away from his hip and grasped his left thigh. The bone suddenly rocked in a seesaw motion.
Charlotte gasped, jerked, and suddenly Scott no longer held her.
She straightened. For a moment, before his head turned away, she saw stark pain and anger.
Oh, God, what had she done? Had she hurt him?
“David, I’m sorry,” she said, contrite. Helplessness assailed her. He seemed much farther away than the small space that separated them. He sat stiffly, looking at his legs. His hands, fingers spread, gripped his thighs.
Though he appeared deeply disturbed, he didn’t seem to be in physical pain.
“David…” She touched his arm then jerked back when he turned toward her, face fierce, eyes glittering.
“Leave off, Charlotte!”
Oh, why had she reacted that way? She knew his legs had been crushed, knew his bones were in pieces, but the unexpected shifting of his thigh had startled her.
He tunneled his fingers through his hair, and she realized at some point
he’d shed his gloves. She found them on the floor, retrieved them, and smoothed the soft deerskin on her knee. He sighed gustily and looked at her. His cool, distant expression was startling. Where had all the fire gone? How could he extinguish all that intense emotion?
“My lady, I apologize. I’ll understand if you no longer want to work with me.”
Fury overrode all else. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare act stiff and formal with me, David. I have no intention of pretending this didn’t happen.”
Thank God, that’s all it took for her to fan the embers in his eyes into fire. But his words were bitter and made her heart twist. “I’m certain you’ve noticed. I’m not able to offer either marriage or an affaire de coeur.”
His blunt words snuffed out her anger. Was he afraid his manhood had been affected by his injuries? She didn’t think so. His body had been hard and impassioned. He’d wanted her. She dared a quick look at his trousers. No, there was nothing wrong with David Scott’s manhood.
“If you think your being lame makes you unattractive or undesirable, you’re wrong,” she pointed out.
He gave her a long look.
The coach rocked, and Boone suddenly appeared at the door. With surprise Charlotte found they’d arrived at her townhouse. And she wasn’t done with this conversation, but Boone was opening the door.
“Oh, blast.”
Deliberately, she laid Scott’s gloves on his thigh and gave his leg a little squeeze. Then she scooped up the raggedy dog and, ignoring Boone, hustled out of the coach.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“I can’t believe it’s the same dog,” Eleanor Butler said.
Charlotte’s amazement echoed the girl’s. Eleanor had bathed the dog and then at Charlotte’s insistence dried her in front of the sitting room fire. Charlotte’s housekeeper, Mrs. Jones, donated a brush that was missing more bristles than remained, and Eleanor was doing her best to work through the dog’s tangles, but the canine had begun to dodge her ministrations.
Charlotte knelt beside them with her needlework scissors. Round-eyed, Eleanor straightened.
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