by Anne Stuart
"'That look comes from being tired. I just want to go to bed."
"As long as you promise you haven't already been to bed," Meggie said smartly.
"Or what? You'll refuse to serve me?"
"Don't be daft. Miss Charlotte," Meggie said, her voice softening. "You need a nice cup of tea, don't you? I can have Cook—"
The knock on the door stopped her in the midsentence, and Charlotte's heart flew into her throat. It was Rohan, come back for her. It didn't matter why or how, she'd do anything he wanted. No one would make a social call at this hour—there was no one else it could possibly be.
She jumped to her feet, moving toward the door, when Meggie moved in front of her, a troubled expression on her face. "Mr. Jenkins will answer the door, Miss Charlotte," she said. She felt herself flush. At this rate she'd never be able to fool anyone. She sat back down, determined to be calm. Why had he come back? He must have been feeling as bereft as she was. Was there any way she could throw herself into his arms and beg him to carry her off and finish ravishing her?
Of course there was. All she had to do was ask. Tell him. Proving to everyone she'd finally lost her mind.
Jenkins appeared at the salon door, his long face showing no reaction to the unexpected visitor. "The Reverend Simon Pagett to see Lady Whitmore. I explained she wasn't at home, but he's asked to wait, and I wondered if you might be willing to receive him in her place. Miss Spenser."
Not by a blink of an eye did she show her reaction. And yet Meggie moved close enough to put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Sorry, love," she whispered.
Meggie had always known more than she should, and been far too quick to guess the rest. Charlotte straightened her back, cursing herself for a fool. "Of course we'll receive him, Jenkins. Lady Whitmore should return at any time now."
A moment later the vicar was ushered in, and Charlotte had her first chance to get a good look at him. She'd seen him at a distance when she'd arrived back at Hensley Court, bruised and battered and badly shaken from her fall, but she hadn't been able to form an opinion. Now she needed a distraction quite badly, so as she rose and curtsied she took covert stock of him.
Interesting. Lina had told her he was old, and sour, and mean-spirited and quite the most miserable human being she had ever met, and if she never saw him again she would be very glad.
She'd lied. Simon Pagett was probably somewhere short of forty, with a lean, wiry body and the kind of face that had seen too much. It was a serious face, but he had really fine eyes, and some women might find his mouth to be sensual. Which of course was wrong in a cleric, but the vicar didn't appear to be someone who'd lived a sheltered life of abstinence.
"I'm sorry to disturb you, ma'am, but I'm looking for Lady Whitmore."
"Do sit down, Mr. Pagett. Is Lord Montague.. .has he worsened?"
He didn't sit. "I'm afraid so. He's asked for Lady Whitmore, and I'm hoping she'll return to Sussex with me. If she can tear herself away from her pressing social obligations."
There was a note of censure in his voice. "You disapprove of social obligations, Mr. Pagett?" Charlotte asked, wondering if this was how Lina had formed her negative opinion.
He smiled then, ruefully, and Charlotte was momentarily charmed. He must not have smiled at Lina, or her opinion would have risen considerably. "Of course not, Miss Spenser. I must confess it's been a long ride from the country and I'm worried about Montague. It's made me a bit short-tempered." He glanced around him. 'If I might ask, where is Lady Whitmore?"
"At Ranelagh with Sir Percy Wainbridge," she said.
"Do you expect her to return tonight?"
"Yes, she expects me to return tonight," Lina's sharp voice came from the doorway. "I'm not in the habit of traipsing off to spend the night with my lovers."
Mr. Pagett turned abruptly, and there was an immediate tension in the air. “I have no idea what you're in the habit of doing. Lady Whitmore. I was given to understand that you do exactly what you want to."
But Lina had already moved past the insult. "Is Monty dead?" she asked in an anxious voice, tension vibrating through her body.
"Not yet," he said, and Lina's shoulders relaxed slightly. "But I'm afraid it won't be long. Thomas has asked if you would like to come say goodbye."
"No, I would not," Lina said flatly, shocking Charlotte as well as Pagett.
Pagett nodded grimly. "In that case I'll take my leave..."
"I won't say goodbye to him," Lina said. "I refuse to let him die, and that's exactly what I shall tell him. Do we leave tonight or is the morning soon enough?"
Was there a look of approval in Pagett's eyes? If so, Lina didn't notice it. "Traveling at night is more difficult."
"So it is. I gather by your answer that tonight would be belter. Meggie, go upstairs and pack for me. Charlotte, I presume you want to stay here?"
Alone, in London, with Adrian Rohan a few streets down? "I want to come with you," she said, rising. 'I’ll go help."
"Is there anything you need to do before we leave, Mr. Pagett? I keep a coach in London—there's room for you if you'd like to leave your horse here.” Lina's voice was cool again. Odd, when she was usually so warm and flirtatious, even with those who disapproved of her.
"I prefer to ride," he said.
"Then I'll simply have to send Sir Percy on his way, change my clothes and we'll be ready." She disappeared out the door, and they could hear her voice just beyond the door. "Percy, my love, I'm afraid I've been called out of town, but Jenkins will see that you're properly looked after."
"I wouldn't think of interrupting your lovers’ tryst," Pagett said.
Sir Percy hobbled in, aided by one of the sturdy footmen. "Demme, afraid I twisted me ankle," he wheezed. "Just call me a carriage, love, and I'll be fine.”
"Percy, your house is more than an hour out of town. You'll stay here. It's horribly rude like this, but I know my servants will take most excellent care of you."
Amid much protestation and fuss Sir Percy was aided up to one of the second-floor bedrooms by three footmen and the austere Jenkins, and then Lina turned to the vicar, who was watching her out of half-closed eyes. "I'll be ready in less than an hour."
"Isn't he a little old for you?" Pagett drawled, deliberately provocative.
Lina turned to Charlotte. "You see why I told you he's an odious human being?" she said brightly. She looked back over her shoulder. "Indeed, you need to ride your horse, Mr. Pagett. There's only room for three in the carriage and we'll need to take Meggie. I can only hope the weather will change and there'll be a nice, icy rainstorm to accompany our journey."
"We're not likely to have ice in April, and I doubt you'd enjoy traveling by coach in that kind of weather anyway. I have one more call to make, and then I'll be ready to accompany you."
"Another social call? At this time of night?" Lina said archly. "There are other people you treat as rudely as you do me?"
"Would you have preferred I wait until morning. Lady Whitmore?" he asked in his steady voice.
She glared at him. "Point taken. We'll be ready within the hour. If you're not here we'll go ahead without you." She swept from the room without another word, not even looking at Charlotte.
Simon Pagett met her curious gaze with a wry smile. "She doesn't like me, I'm afraid."
"Perhaps you might get along better if you didn't criticize her."
"I'm not sure if that's a good idea," he said, half to himself. "By your leave, Miss Spenser."
After he left, Charlotte found Lina rushing around her rooms, flinging clothes around as Meggie and one of the upstairs maids tried to keep up with her. "Do you need help, dearest?" she called out to Charlotte as she paused in the doorway.
"It won't take me that long," she said. "You didn't tell me that Mr. Pagett was so young."
"Didn't I? Well, I suppose he is. Younger than he looks, apparently. But he's got the soul of a crabby,
Charlotte remembered his wry, charming smile and the odd expression in his
eyes when they rested on Lina. "If you say so," she said doubtfully.
Lina already had a trunk mostly filled, with enough on her bed to fill another.
"How long are we planning to stay?" Charlotte asked. "You're packing enough for the entire season.”
"Well, one never knows what might come up. I need to bring my new dresses, but I wouldn't want to be without some of my other clothes. I wouldn't want Mr. Pagett to think my new colors and necklines have anything to do with him."
"Why should they?" Charlotte asked, momentarily mystified.
Lina's laugh was brittle. "Indeed, why should they? Are you packed, dearest?"
"It won't take but a moment. No, Meggie, you stay and help Lina. You know it won’t take me more than a minute or two to get what we'll need, and Sussex is not at the end of the world. We can always send back to London if we've left too much behind."
"Of course we can," Lina declared feverishly. She came over and gave Charlotte an exuberant hug. "I'm glad we're leaving, aren't you? You don't want to risk running into Adrian again, and I'm dreadfully, dreadfully tired of town right now. The countryside will be perfect."
Charlotte looked at her askance. "But Lord Montague..." she said doubtfully.
"He's not going to die, Charlotte. I refuse to let such a dreadful thing happen. He's got years left, I've been assured of that."
"Who assured you?" she asked, remembering Lord Montague's pale, frail appearance. "A doctor?"
"Well, in fact I believe it was Adrian Rohan," Lina admitted. "But his cousin, thai awful Frenchman, used to be a doctor, so I imagine that's the next best thing. Adrian says that in another month or so Monty will be out doing something absurd like rowing on the Thames or dancing half clad and well to the boughs in Hyde Park after midnight."
Charlotte said nothing. Clearly Lina had no desire to believe anything else. If Lord Montague lasted another month Charlotte would be much surprised. There would be no reason for Pagett to summon them if the end wasn't near. But they would take things as they came. At least she was getting far enough away that she wouldn't be tempted by Adrian Rohan ever again.
Adrian was in a thoroughly foul mood. His insouciance had only carried him so far. Once Charlotte Spenser walked into the house, his lazy smile vanished. He dismissed his carriage—the walk back to Curzon Street was short and he needed to work off his bad temper.
He'd certainly handled that well, he thought savagely. He'd thought to make her so mad at him that she wouldn't ever countenance touching him again. Then, when he'd decided to have her after all, he'd worked her into such a state of excitement that his own arousal had been painful. And then she hadn't given in.
He cursed at the thought. What kind of games was he playing? He wasn't sure if he wanted to win or to lose. And what the hell was wrong with him? Charlotte Spenser? She was older than he was, for God's sake. She was an antidote—no one wanted her. She'd had at least one season, he supposed, since he remembered dancing with her, but clearly no one had offered for her, and by now she was a complete spinster, thirty if she was a day, with no possibilities, no future except as a companion to Evangelina Whitmore. Why in God's name had she rejected him? Shouldn't she take her pleasure where it was offered? It wasn't as if she could lose her virginity twice.
Her lie about turning into a whore like Lina was totally unbelievable. But that didn't mean it wouldn't always be the case. He'd shown her, quite effectively, the kind of pleasure that could be had between a man and a woman. With Lina's habits there'd be scores of randy men, and Charlotte would be there. With her glower, to scare them away. With her deliciously long legs and copper-colored hair and luminous eyes, with her creamy skin and delectable mouth. Once someone got her in bed they wouldn't let her go, and the thought infuriated him.
If she was going to have an illicit affair it was going to be with him. The little idiot didn't realize that partners weren't interchangeable. That what went on between them had been, for want of a better word, special. There'd been something rare and dangerous between them during those two dark days, some kind of connection that he'd never felt before. And the damned feeling had lasted, disturbing with his sleep, leaving him bored with the beautiful, experienced women he could easily have.
In truth, he wanted Charlotte and no one but Charlotte, and his efforts to get over her were only making things worse. He could have had her in the carriage. His release might have been enough to finally let go. There was no way that the sex had been as good as he remembered. Impossible. All he had to do was tup her again and he'd know that for a fact.
He was almost home. The full moon had set, and the night was dark. Perhaps that was his problem— folklore had it that everyone got a little crazy during a full moon. Certainly the watchmen were busier with miscreants and Mohocks. By tomorrow he might feel entirely differently.
But tomorrow was too far away. He could see his cozy little house up ahead, but he stopped, looking back the way he'd come. Not quite ready to admit defeat.
But what could he say? If he had any idea which was Charlotte's bedroom he'd damn well scale the walls of Evangelina's house to get to her. Perhaps he could just charge in like some bloody pirate and demand her, throw her over his shoulder and carry her off. Who could stop him?
He laughed at the thought. Charlotte would probably break his head for trying it. And he suspected Evangelina wouldn't be any help—she was damnably protective of the woman. Girl. Woman.
If he had any sense he would spend the night blessedly alone with a bottle or two or three.
He had no sense. He turned, moving back the way he'd come, when something rushed out of the darkness, straight at him. More than something— three men, brandishing clubs, and the first blow took him off guard, hitting him in the head, momentarily stunning him.
The next caught his knees, and he fell to the ground, reaching for the pistol he carried beneath his coat.
"Watch out, 'e's got a popper," one of them called, and his arm went numb from another blow.
"Finish 'im off, Jem," one man said. "We wants to get paid before the cove takes off. Besides, we gots other work to do tonight besides this one."
Presumably it was Jem who moved closer. Adrian looked up at him dazedly, his head still ringing. The next blow would most likely crush his skull. And for some reason all he could think of was Charlotte's reaction to his untimely demise,
"You there!" someone shouted, and just like that the men scattered into the shadows like the rats they were, Adrian thought dazedly.
He tried to sit up, and someone came up to him, putting his hand under his arm to haul him to his feet. The arm they'd hit, and he let out a string of blasphemous curses as he struggled to his feet, only to see that his savior was wearing the collar of a vicar.
"Bloody Christ," he muttered weakly.
The man laughed. "You're in one piece, Rohan. You can thank God for that, not curse him."
"Fat Tot you know," he said. He narrowed his eyes.
He was still seeing a shadow around everything, but he was fairly certain he'd never met this man before. "Who are you?" he demanded, suspicious. "How do you know who I am? Did you set those men on me?”
“I'm the one who saved you, remember? I know who you are because I've come to see you. I'm Simon Pagett. I've come from Lord Montague."
He was already dizzy, and the man's words weren't helping. "He's not dead, is he?" he said in a dangerous voice.
"No. But he doesn't have long. He wants his closest friends to come and say goodbye."
For a long moment Adrian didn't say anything. And then he nodded toward his house. "I live just over there. Come in with me and you can tell me about it."
“I don't have much time. I'm to meet with some people and escort them to Sussex."
"I don't have much time either. My head is killing me and I damned well want to get drunk and go to bed."
"It might not be a good idea to get drunk after someone slammed you in the head," the vicar said mildly.
"Are y
ou a doctor?"
"No."
"Then I'll take my chances. Come along. Vicar. There's drinking to be done."
19
Charlotte, normally the best of travelers, was totally miserable on the seemingly endless drive to Sussex. It took all her willpower not to throw up as the traveling coach lumbered along the bumpy roads, and when they stopped to change horses she couldn't manage more than a few sips of weak tea.
It was late morning by the time the coach pulled up at Hensley Court and discharged its bedraggled passengers. Mr. Pagett had gone ahead of them for the last hour, in order to make certain all was in readiness for their arrival.
Indeed, the interaction between Lina and Mr. Pagett provided Charlotte with much-needed distraction from her current woes. She couldn't very well think about Adrian Rohan without fury churning her poor beleaguered stomach. How dare he? How dare he tempt and taunt her like that, as if she were some idle plaything. She could console herself with the knowledge that she hadn't given in, no matter how much her body had cried out for it. She'd won the battle.
It just happened to feel like she'd lost the war.
At least thinking about Lina and the vicar kept her mind off her stomach. Listening to Lina's fuming diatribe had been wonderfully distracting.
"Isn't he the most odious man, Charlotte?" Lina had demanded early in the trip. Mr. Pagett was riding outside, having to keep his horse's pace slow to match the heavy coach. "You were spared much of his company, or you'd realize how abominably high-handed he is. The Lord preserve me from small-minded vicars and their prosy ways!"
"He didn't seem particularly prosy" Charlotte said, a hand clasped to her roiling stomach beneath her loose pelisse. "He mainly seemed concerned about Montague. A concern you share."
'That's the only thing we do share," Lina said with an angry sniff. "And he has no right to cast judgment on anybody—his own early life was fully as sordid as the most depraved libertine's."
"How do you know that?"
"He told me," Lina said artlessly. "You just need to take a good look at him to realize the truth. He looks a good ten years older than his real age, all due to excesses of brandy, of whoring, of ruinous behavior. How dare he tell me what I should be doing?" She fumed as Charlotte had rarely seen her.