Such a liaison between Scott and herself would hurt no one.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Monday, Scott had a meeting with the Fund commissioners and wasn’t expected at the office until early afternoon. Charlotte returned from walking Persa with her energy somewhat renewed. She’d spent much of the past two days with Jane, and it had been draining.
She entered the administration offices door and found Scott, a long roll of papers across his lap, talking with Mr. Chetney. When she crouched to remove the leash from Persa, Scott grinned down at her. For a moment everything but him faded away.
The grin deepened the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and made his clear blue irises shimmer. Smile lines appeared in those lean cheeks and emphasized the masculine dimple that marked Scott’s chin. She didn’t know if his red-gold hair had been tossed by hand or wind, but it looked exceedingly attractive.
Dragging her gaze away, she released Persa and stood.
“We’re moving forward with the girls orphanage-school project,” Scott said. “Since it will in effect be a shelter, it’s to be called the Royal Victoria Patriotic Asylum. Mr. Hawkins has completed the architectural plans, and the Queen will lay the foundation stone in Wandsworth Common on July eleventh. There’s to be a ceremony of sorts. Tomorrow I’ll travel to Essex to show the plans to our master builder, Mr. George Myers, and give him the updated timetable. He’ll need to get back to London to go over the diagrams with Hawkins.”
“You’re going to Essex tomorrow? By train?”
How exciting to think their orphanage and school would soon be taking shape. She’d ask Scott to show her the diagrams.
“No, I’m taking my coach. It will be a long day, but I’ll leave very early to ensure I arrive home before dark.”
She’d never before considered it, but obviously traveling by train would present a number of difficulties for Scott. And he’d not only have trouble getting aboard a train but any hired conveyance.
After the past two days, leaving the city sounded wonderful to Charlotte. “Oh, I wish I could go with you. I’d love to get some fresh country air.”
Scott took no more than a moment considering. She hadn’t intended to sound so wistful, but her regret disappeared with his reply. “Come along then, if you don’t have appointments tomorrow. There may be times you’ll need to visit the building site to see Myers. It won’t hurt for you to meet him.”
One corner of Scott’s mouth quirked up, and a little quiver passed through Charlotte. She’d be in the coach with him for several hours. She’d never had the man to herself for such a length of time, and it was even more appealing than the anticipated sojourn through the countryside.
“Thank you,” she said.
Some of her delight must have communicated itself to Persa. The little dog barked, and her tail began wagging madly.
“Where are we going in Essex?” Charlotte asked.
“Audley End House in Saffron Walden. Baron Baybrooke is considering some renovation and wanted Myers to take a look.”
“I’ve been to Audley End House. It’s a beautiful estate.” Charlotte’s gaze dropped to the papers balanced on Scott’s lap. “Would you mind showing me the plans? I confess I’m curious what architectural diagrams look like.”
A flicker of surprise passed over Scott’s face. “Not at all, my lady. Shall we open them up on my desk?”
She followed him into his office, where he rolled the papers flat and weighted down the corners with an inkwell, a small statue of Wellington, and his hand.
“Get that corner,” he said, indicating the remaining curling section with a nod.
Charlotte complied and discovered her hip in close proximity to Scott’s shoulder. This close, she could smell the clean, masculine scent she now associated with him. She did her best to ignore it and stared determinedly at Mr. Hawkins’s diagrams.
The school, built in the gothic style, would be huge. The building stretched away from a large central tower, with each end capped by a shorter tower. Scott pointed out dining hall, cloister, infirmary and chapel.
“There’ll be a statue of Saint George and the Dragon at the entry,” he added.
“It’s huge. And so modern.”
“Amazing what can happen with the backing of the Queen and Prince Albert, isn’t it?”
Charlotte couldn’t seem to keep her gaze off Scott’s face for any length of time. “It’s exciting. I hope the commissioners allow us some influence when the asylum staff is chosen. Our Fund orphans need skilled teachers and compassionate caregivers.”
Scott blinked, and a subtle change in his expression warmed her like an unexpected gift. She’d seen him regard her with caution. At different times he’d looked at her with dislike, confusion, desire or challenge, but right now she saw true liking and approval. She was seeing a friend.
“They do. Perhaps I can convince you to give the students lessons in deportment. They’d learn from the best and you’d show society what a paragon of correctness you are.”
#
At his words, Charlotte’s huge and unaffected smile caught David and held him suspended. For a moment he felt the same exhilaration he’d known during a full gallop on the back of Alynore. Then Charlotte giggled, sending surprise and delight flaring through him. A moment later they were both laughing.
Charlotte held her hand over her mouth as if she wanted to suppress her merriment, but that didn’t diminish David’s pleasure. Her flushed skin, breathy mirth and quivering bosom were affecting his body to the point of pain.
He looked away and began rolling up the plans. What had he been thinking, inviting her to accompany him tomorrow? He hadn’t thought beyond the sudden impulse to please her with a country journey. The day would likely be torture.
He extended the rolled plans toward her. “Would you mind giving them to Mr. Chetney?”
She grasped the opposite end of the plans but didn’t pull them away. Her laughter died. Her eyelids fell and hid her gaze.
“Thank you,” she said, “for giving me a chance, back when I started. And for believing in me now.”
“You’re welcome.” David caught a flash of her violet eyes as she tugged the plans from his hand and turned away. Then she left his office, her little dog trotting behind.
David recalled that first day, when he’d been forced to accept her as part of his staff. He hadn’t expected to ever value her assistance, but he did. He valued it now greatly. Each day brought examples of Charlotte Haliday’s kindness and compassion. She had a knack for knowing just how to approach the Fund’s children and widows, and for working out what kind of assistance would help most. The emotion she’d just revealed made it clear how much all of this meant to her, too.
Strange, he’d never before wondered if ladies found their lives satisfying. He’d never thought them concerned with much beyond social connections and the trappings of society. He feared he’d done many a disservice.
Charlotte certainly hadn’t been satisfied with her life. She’d sought something more. She’d overcome notoriety to do so, too. This work made her happy, and David wanted to keep her working here, wanted her happiness to continue. So, if he could help her stand up to her father or anyone else who stood in the way, he’d do that.
Somehow he’d ignore his lust—he had to admit that’s what it was—and relish her joy.
#
The next day’s plan was to stay at Audley End House only as long as necessary. Mr. Myers met them quickly, reviewed and approved the plans. Luckily Baybrooke wasn’t at home, so David and Lady Haliday were saved the necessity of doing the polite thing. They consumed a light repast while Myers asked questions, and then they headed back to London. David considered resting the horses a bit longer, but unless he missed his guess the countryside was in for a nasty storm. The day had started overcast and windy.
He had never considered his coach as more than a way to achieve mobility, but now, here, seated beside Charlotte, David found himself in a cozy cocoon. This
morning she’d entered it rosy-cheeked and smiling, and she’d settled beside him with a contented sigh, her brown and black striped skirt against his leg. There had been an ease between them, and David relaxed, contributing inconsequential remarks to match Charlotte’s comments about the scenery and weather.
Since leaving Audley End House they’d spoken very little, but the long stretches of quiet were comfortable. Outside the window, dark clouds rolled toward the coach, blotting out the sun and turning the afternoon dusk-dark. The wind started to buffet the vehicle a bit, but David had instructed Simpson not to stop unless it became dangerous.
Lydia, who’d once been his fiancée, had not been so restful as Charlotte. Of course, he’d been a different man then, athletic and active. A good portion of his time with Lydia had been spent with the two of them on horseback. When he’d returned from the Crimea and she broke their engagement, bitterness briefly consumed him. Now he knew he’d loved the horses more than he had loved her. He thought of Lydia rarely now and without regret. Not so the sights, smells and sounds of horses. Those made him ache. In his dreams he was still a horseman.
“You seem pensive today,” Charlotte said.
David turned and found her watching him. What expression had he worn, to earn him such a personal comment?
“Just thinking of horses.” That was the truth in some measure, but still a safe topic.
“You were a cavalry officer.”
It was a statement of fact rather than a question, and it was followed by silence. Charlotte waited, hands folded together and resting on her lap.
David looked out the window. Hell.
“For me, freedom is being on a horse. I miss having my own mount—one I can communicate with, that can read my body and hands. I always swore Alynore, my last horse, could sense my thoughts. Whatever I asked—he’d give his heart, he’d give everything. There’ll never be another like him.”
“Where is he now?”
Oh, God. Why had he mentioned Alynore?
“He died at Balaclava.”
Thankfully, Charlotte remained silent.
Would the memories ever stop? Alynore, shot at a full gallop, falling as if the hand of God had picked him up and thrown him down, pinning David beneath. He’d never forget the screams as the stallion died. Finally, quiet and the long night had come, him lying crushed beneath Alynore’s body. The images had come without warning, and David was again lying on the battlefield, wondering which would come first: death, daylight and rescue, or madness.
The coach jolted, and Charlotte gripped his arm.
“Don’t be alarmed,” David said to comfort her. “Simpson knows what he’s about.”
The rain started then, and in a few minutes it had reached torrential proportions. The carriage slowed and then stopped. Boone appeared and opened the door. Cold wind and rain gusted into the coach.
The man was drenched. He swiped his hand down his dripping face and leaned his head into the coach. The smell of wet earth swept inside.
“Can we make it to shelter?” David asked, raising his voice to be heard above the drumming rain. They might be forced to stop under a tree and bring Simpson and Boone into the coach until the storm passed. He’d prefer to get them somewhere the men could dry out and the horses could receive shelter, too.
“Hockerill crossroads is just ahead. I think we can make that, but it’s bad out here, sir. The low-lying places are already beginning to flood.”
“We can pull off the road and you can wait in here with us, or we can push on and get a roof over our heads.”
“If it’s all the same to you, sir, I think Simpson and I would just as soon have us a fire and a hot toddy.” Boone shuddered and then adjusted his tricorn, pushing it firmly onto his head. “We can’t get any wetter or colder than what we are.”
David knew the man was miserable but didn’t question his choice. “Very well. Let’s try to make the Crown.”
Boone shut the door, and as soon as he’d gained his seat they again got underway.
“At least it’s not hailing,” Charlotte said.
“I’m sure Simpson and Boone are glad of that, but it’s unsafe to travel. We may be forced to spend the night at the Crown’s Inn. The roads sound nearly impassable now. If it lets up soon, we may be all right. But if it continues, I think we’ll have no choice but to lay over.”
In David’s experience most women would be hysterical by now, but Charlotte maintained her composure. She reminded him of some of the military wives he’d known, who followed the camps and matched their husbands’ courage with their own brand of inner strength.
“I’m sorry, Charlotte,” he said. She had no lady’s maid and no nightclothes. “I know this will be a hardship. Hopefully the inn will have a servant who can act as lady’s maid for such a predicament as this.”
Her lips twitched. “It can’t be helped. You don’t need to worry. I’ll manage.”
Her words conjured up an image of her disrobing, garment by garment. With supreme effort David managed to pull his gaze from her lips, but it only fell to her bosom. He willed himself to stop, but her rose and jasmine scent wrapped around him and held him suspended. Since their kiss, he’d been influenced by even her subtlest aspects.
He had the devil’s own luck. He’d been doing his best to ignore the attraction he felt for Charlotte, and now they most probably would be stranded out of town. It offered the perfect occasion for a liaison. They would have both opportunity and privacy.
Only, he couldn’t face Charlotte with his broken body. She’d recovered quickly from feeling his fragmented bone move during their kiss, but she’d been horrified also. He certainly didn’t expect her to regard his form as desirable, and he couldn’t ask her to make accommodations for his inadequacies. As much as he wanted her, and as much as she would deny it, he knew she could never be happy with a man such as he.
Oh, she was attracted to him, David allowed. She’d been greatly affected by that kiss. But he’d given her respect and friendship at a vulnerable time. He also feared his damnable hero label might have influenced her. During that kiss he’d lost all restraint, but he would never let it happen again. Any kind of relationship with him would only complicate Charlotte’s life.
Neither could he consider an attachment for himself. It was a man’s duty to protect the woman he cared for, and he could no longer claim that privilege. Once he’d been able to put fear in a man’s eyes, but who would stand in awe of him now? Who would—?
The coach slowed and stopped. A servant from the inn ran forward with an umbrella and opened the coach door.
“Go in and get warm. I’ll join you in a bit,” David said to Charlotte.
By the time he gained his chair, he would be soaked. At least he could remove his coat before leaving the coach and keep that item dry. And, he couldn’t help but see a certain humor in the situation.
He needed a cold drenching, and nature was ready to oblige.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Charlotte sat still, listening to the muffled sound of Scott and Boone conversing in the next room. She’d never felt less like sleeping.
They’d eaten in a private dining room, sitting close to the fire where the heat could warm Scott and dry his wet clothing. He’d discarded coat and waistcoat, leaving him in only a limp white shirt and leaving her distinctly nervous. Unfortunately, Charlotte’s tension hadn’t abated after she returned to her room. A bold idea had captured her and wouldn’t turn loose. Here, away from the routine of their lives, they had privacy. They might engage in intimacy without anyone knowing. Not even servants.
Could she really do such a bold thing? She stood and began pulling pins from her hair and tossing them onto the chest. What would Scott think? She couldn’t bear it if he thought less of her. She admired him more than any man of her acquaintance, and with good reason. If he turned her away… Oh, God, what would she do if he turned her away? She was mad to even consider approaching him. She sank onto the bed and raked her fingers through
her hair. What if such an action jeopardized her ability to work with him?
She stood, stalked to the fireplace and extended her chilled hands. They shook. She pulled them back and pressed them to her hot cheeks, but she couldn’t dispel the thoughts and excitement gripped her when she dared imagine them together. She yearned for David Scott, and one selfish, wicked notion refused to leave her mind.
Hadn’t she earned the right to receive pleasure from a man’s body? The very thought of engaging in intimacy with Scott made her weak. How many times had she lain beneath Haliday and submitted to his rutting? She’d done her duty because he promised to leave her alone until the end of her days if she’d give him a son. Now all the places that waited for David Scott’s caress ached, as if to draw the touch of his hand and his manhood. Somehow she knew his loving would be nothing like her dead husband’s.
She heard Scott’s door close and footsteps retreat before all was quiet. Boone was gone.
Charlotte began disrobing, both cursing and glad of her lack of a lady’s maid as she struggled with the buttons of her bodice, ties of her petticoats and hooks of her corset. She removed her garters and stockings and drawers. Finally, she stood in only her wrinkled chemise, her arms prickled with gooseflesh. She wrapped her shawl about her and curled her toes into the rug. Her heart thumped so hard it pulsed in her temple. Did she dare…?
She went to the basin, set aside her shawl and washed her face, then pulled off her chemise and washed the rest of herself. Clean and dry, she slipped the chemise back on. She had no perfume, no brush to smooth her hair. Studying her pale, bare legs and feet, she decided the bed cover would do better than her shawl. She gathered up the colorful quilt and wrapped it around her.
For long minutes she stood at the door, listening, searching herself and gathering her courage. She took the key, let herself into the hall and locked the door.
Please, God, let Scott’s be unlocked.
The knob turned under her hand, and the door swung open. For a moment she couldn’t move; then she stepped into the room, shut and locked the door before even taking her measure of the bedchamber. She stood with her back to it. A knot obstructed her throat. She couldn’t swallow and didn’t think she could speak, so she tightened her hold on the quilt and turned.
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