by Jane Charles
“Don't be foolish. I didn't mean— Charlotte, come back here. We need to talk.”
Enough had been said already and she'd be damned if she was going to let him see her tears. She'd read his note in private and try her best to be the countess he expected her to be.
Or not.
Rage, mortification, and finally disbelief filled her when she closed the door to her room and read his note:
I NEED AN HEIR.
Chapter 4
James cursed himself for the catastrophe that had transpired in the drawing room. Had he known she was in there, he would have waited. No. That wasn't true. He'd have still gone in there, but he'd have handled it differently.
The truth was, he was less than a month shy of his thirty-first birthday. His apparent need for an heir, coupled with his mother's weekly reminders, had driven him to finally approach the subject with Charlotte. She was his countess, after all. Her brother was a viscount and her sister a countess, she knew her role. Still, he should have handled their meeting better. As it was, he hadn't even told her what he wanted.
He brought his hands to his cheeks; he blew out a deep breath and froze. Where was the note he'd been stupid enough to scratch out? He dropped his hands to his thighs and quickly felt between and underneath his legs. Nothing. He stood. Not on the settee. Reaching one hand into the breast pocket of his coat, he bent down to peek under the settee and frowned. Not in his pocket. Not under the settee.
He remembered having it…
A flicker of a memory flashed in his mind. Charlotte had walked over to him, spouting some nonsense apology and declaring she'd stay in her room like a petulant child. Had she taken the note? He honestly couldn't remember. He remembered holding it. He remembered her childish words and how it always amazed him that such a beautiful woman could have such a venomous tongue. But he didn't remember the fate of the note…
Likely she has it, he reasoned with himself. No matter. He didn't know how to actually tell her it was time for them to secure an heir. It would be better for her to read it. As a boon, she was already furious with him so if she took it and read it now, she could be furious about both things and not have a new reason to be angry with him tonight.
A small, hollow smile bent his lips. He'd never dreamed marriage would be so miserable, but he had to admit, he was starting to understand it a little better.
Seven hours later he wasn't so sure.
“Dulcey, has Lady Wynn returned?”
“No, my lord.” The butler confirmed James' fear.
“I should have forbidden her from leaving,” James muttered.
Dulcey snorted.
James pierced him with his stare. “Did you say something?”
“No, my lord.”
“Good,” James clipped. “I need my coat and hat. I'm going out.”
Ever the dutiful butler, Dulcey handed James his requested items and James was out the door.
James had never given it a thought one way or the other that he lived only six blocks away from his brother-in-law, but on this unusually cool, windy summer's day, he was relieved.
Squaring his shoulders, James stomped up the five steps in front of Worthe's townhouse and banged on the door.
Tanner, the butler, answered the door. “He's in his study, my lord,” Tanner said by way of greeting.
James bobbed his head and handed the butler his hat. He didn't come here to see Worthe, but it might be for the best to have Lord Worthe summons James' wayward bride.
“Ho there,” Worthe greeted, giving James a weak wave before turning back to the papers on his desk.
“Is this a bad time?” James asked from the doorway.
Lord Worthe shook his head. “Just need to settle this ledger, then I'll be joining my wife for dinner.”
“Just your wife?” James prayed Lord Worthe wouldn't take that the wrong way.
“Yes.” Lord Worthe flashed James a smile. “Have you lost yours?”
James frowned. “No.”
Lord Worthe chuckled. “She left here a few hours ago.”
Dozens of questions ran through James' mind. None of which he wanted to actually put voice to, but all of them he wanted the answers to. He nodded.
“She mentioned she needed to go to the apothecary,” Lord Worthe offered.
Apothecary? What the devil would she be doing there? He didn't realize he'd said the words aloud until Lord Worthe spoke.
“She said she needs herbs.”
“Herbs?”
“Seems to me she wants to get it right on the first try.”
Heat flooded James' face. “Did she tell you this?”
“She didn't have to.”
“Then how did—” James broke off. He really didn't want to know any more.
“Why else would she need herbs?” Lord Worthe said with a shrug.
“Yes, why indeed.” Shame flooded him at his words. He should never have written that stupid note.
“Unless…”
James started and narrowed his eyes on his brother-in-law. “Unless what?'
Lord Worthe steepled his hands in front of his chin then dropped them and gave his head a shake. “Nothing.”
“Is there something I need to know?”
“Need to know?” Lord Worthe repeated slowly, drumming his fingertips on his desk. “I'd say so. But—” he pushed away from his desk, put his feet up on the edge, and shrugged “—I doubt you'd care.”
The man's words rankled James. “She's my wife. Everything about her is my concern and if you know something I need to know, you'd better tell me.”
Lord Worthe lifted a finger and waggled it back and forth. “That's why I said you should know, but—” He twisted his lips and turned his head to the side.
James pursed his lips and walked over to the older man's desk, irritation swelling in his chest. “What the devil is—” His words died on his tongue when his eyes flickered over a piece of paper that he'd been certain he'd seen in his wife's hands just this morning in the drawing room. He picked it up and read it.
With each sentence he read, his pulse quickened.
“Who the hell sent this?”
“I don't know,” Lord Worthe said easily. “But I see it's safe to cross your name off the list.”
It took every ounce of restraint James had not to reach across the desk and pummel the irritating man. “No, I didn't write that,” he thundered. “And I'll kill the man who did.”
“Pity.”
“Pity?” James burst out, crumpling that confounded note. “Yes, it will be a pity for him when I cut off his—”
“No, pity for you that you didn't write it,” Lord Worthe said, casual as you please. “You should have seen the look on Charlotte's face when she brought it to me.”
“I send Charlotte little notes all the time,” James fired back. What kind of look had been on Charlotte's face at that…that…nonsense?
“Yes, you do send her notes,” Lord Worthe acknowledged, lifting up another familiar note and waving it before James' face. “The look on her face when she presented me with this one.” He shook his head, his lips thinning. “Not so attractive.”
James scowled at the man and ripped his note from the earl's hand. “Yes, well, me and this other man both have the same intentions with Charlotte. I was just more direct.”
“That might be true, but she's a lady, Wynn, not a mare.”
“I know that.”
“Then perhaps you should treat her like one.”
“I do.” James winced at his tone and collapsed into the empty chair beside him. “She lives in one of the largest townhouses in London, she has more gowns than anyone I know, she is welcome to come and go whenever she pleases.” He snorted. “She doesn't even tell me when she's leaving or coming home or shopping or how much she wants to spend. She does whatever the hell she wants.”
“And do you think that makes her happy?”
“I'm sure it does.”
Lord Worthe's expression didn't change
. “Tell me, Wynn, does that make you happy?”
“What does my happiness have to do with anything? We only married because—”
“Never mind that. You two are married now and she isn't going anywhere. So, how can you make things more tolerable until you cock your toes up?”
Chapter 5
Charlotte hadn't felt so nervous since the early days of her marriage when she fully expected Lord Highhanded to come visit her bed any night. It took two months of dressing in a filmy nightrail her sister had insisted she order and nervously clutching the bedclothes in anticipation of his visit before she finally realized he would never visit her bedchamber.
Disappointment over never having a child of her own had left her melancholy at first, but she wouldn't be honest if she didn't admit she was somewhat relieved. A child would have been a blessed ray of sunshine in her dark world, but it would have only led to her absolute demise when Lord Wynn decided to separate her from her child and poison him or her against her.
Charlotte blinked back the hot tears that burned her eyes. She'd finally created a shell of a life that seemed tolerable to her for the rest of her life and now he wanted to ruin it. She twisted her fingers in the silk sheets and took in a deep breath. Surely he'd lumber into her room any minute now. He'd been rummaging around in his room for well over twenty minutes now. All he was required to do was remove his clothes, what could possibly be taking him so long?
She took in another breath to calm her nerves and smiled. The apothecary had sent her home with more than a hundred pounds' worth of some of the finest herbs and spices that could be found in the world. “This one will help with task,” the man had said, sliding her a bottle filled with what looked like dried grass. He picked up a bottle marked lavender and winked, “And so will this. Just put it on your neck and wrist and it'll help keep you relaxed. Use as much as you need.”
Charlotte needed more!
Releasing her death grip on her sheets she swung her feet over the side of the bed and stood. She padded over to her bureau and attempted to uncork the bottle of lavender with her trembling hands.
Scratch. Scratch.
Every muscle in her body stilled, her hair rising on end.
Is that his way of seeking permission?
Slowly, she turned toward the adjoining door and froze.
On the floor, just inside her room was a folded piece of unmarked paper.
Trepidation washed over her. Clutching the bottle of lavender as if it'd keep her safe from whatever was scrawled on that paper, she walked over to it and picked it up, then carried it to her bed. She needed to sit desperately. The bottle of lavender slipped from her fingers as if it weighed six stones. Charlotte spread her fingers and wiped her clammy left palm over the gauzy fabric of her nightrail, then transferred his missive to the other hand and wiped her right palm, but it did no good. Her blood pounded in her ears, her heart slammed in her chest, and a cold sweat broke out over her every pore.
Steeling her spine in fearful anticipation she carefully unfolded his note and then sat lifeless staring down at the two words that stared up at her:
I'M SORRY.
James stood stock-still, peering through a tiny crack formed when he'd eased the adjoining door like an idiot waiting for his wife's response when she read the note.
Would she have that wistful grin he occasionally caught her wearing when she didn't know he was across the ballroom? Would a wide grin transform her face the way it did when Jane came over to tell her about their other sister's new husband? Or would she squeal with delight like she did the time their nephew, Christopher, gave her a bouquet of flowers and declared Aunt Charlotte was his favorite person in the whole, wide world?
No.
None of those. Just a blank expression.
He frowned. Was she disappointed he wouldn't be visiting her room? He did a slow sweep of her delicious form, lingering a little longer than necessary at her breasts. His pulse quickened and his body hardened. If she was disappointed… No, he told himself. Not now that he'd just apologized to her for his earlier stupidity. If he went in there now with seduction on his mind, she'd be more furious than a horse with a bee under his saddle.
I'd only wanted to make her happy, he reminded himself. Unfortunately, that didn't seem to be possible no matter what he did.
Just as quietly as he'd opened the door, he closed it. Then he went to his bed, flopped down on the feather mattress, buried his head in the pillows, and fighting the urge to release a savage battle cry that would wake the entire city, he went to sleep.
Tomorrow was a new day.
A new day, yes, but that didn't mean it was a better day.
“Has anyone ever told you that you are the most infuriating lady ever born?” James asked without preamble, when he came into the breakfast room and laid eyes upon his wife happily humming. Yes, humming!
“Only you,” she said in a sing-song tone. “Everyone else thinks I'm a perfect delight.”
James snorted. “That's because they don't know you.”
Charlotte pushed her empty plate away from her and stood. “Or perhaps it's because they do.” She shrugged and brushed past him.
Too irritated to bother with breakfast, James headed outside with no destination in mind.
Ten minutes later he was on Lord Worthe's doorstep. The man was married to Charlotte's sister, perhaps he'd have clues to the puzzle known as Charlotte.
“Didn't work,” James said, entering the earl's study.
Lord Worthe, not one to mince words himself, didn't look surprised or confused. “What did you say?”
“That I was sorry.”
Lord Worthe stared at him as if he expected James to add something to that.
“I don't have to apologize for wanting my heir,” James reminded him. “She knows she has a duty to my title. I was trying to be considerate.”
“Considerate,” echoed a voice behind James with a thump of his cane. “You have a lot to learn about ladies.”
Exhaling, James slowly turned to confirm his worst fear— the meddlesome Duke of Danby, Charlotte's great-uncle had joined their conversation. “Your Grace,” he greeted the older man.
“I suppose I shouldn't be expecting another great-great-grandson in the near future,” the man said, hobbling into the room. He sat down in one of Worthe's chairs with a loud groan. “Or ever.”
James crossed his arms over his chest. “What's that supposed to mean?”
“If you're apologizing to your wife for wanting an heir with the guise of being considerate for some unknown reason, it'll be a blasted miracle if you're able to get the deed done.”
Heat blistered James' cheeks, but he continued to hold the duke's gaze. “Perhaps if she wasn't my friend's sister it might be easier to bed her.”
“Poppycock.” Thump! “Gareth is better friends with Holbrook than you'll ever be and his wife is always increasing.”
“A state that is stunning on her, I might add,” Lord Worthe put in, grinning.
“Perhaps if you snuff the candles,” Danby said.
James cringed at the duke's suggestion. An image of Charlotte in that silk trimmed, transparent nightrail from last night formed in his mind. Neither then nor now did he give consideration to her being that young girl who'd been spying on him while he swam naked in the pond. No, last night had dispelled all reservations he'd held about her being Holbrook's sister and the last thing he wanted to do then was snuff the candles.
“See, your problem is now solved,” Danby said with a nod of his head.
“No it's not,” Lord Worthe said helpfully. He reached beneath his desk and opened a drawer. A moment later, a crinkled piece of vellum appeared. Lord Worthe extended it in Danby's direction. “Read this.”
The duke reached a shaky hand out to the paper and closed his wrinkled fingers around it. Silence engulfed the room as he brought it close to his face and read it. By the time he reached the end, his bushy, grey eyebrows were at the top of his forehead.
“Thank you for your assessment,” James said dryly.
“You're welcome,” Danby said with a smile. “Would you care for more of my advice?”
The word “no” was on the tip of James' tongue, but frankly, unless he wanted a cuckoo, he could use any advice being offered. “If you'd like to share it, I'll listen.”
The duke chuckled. “Pride is a damnable thing, boy.” He grimaced and repositioned himself in his chair. “You need to write her a letter.”
“I did,” James burst out.
The duke looked thoroughly surprised. “And?”
“She didn't give a hang.”
“What did you say to her?”
James shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Er…I apologized for being an ass.”
“You did?” The duke's surprised tone was most irritating. “And what did she say?”
“Wait,” Lord Worthe said, holding up a hand. “James, you need to tell him which ass-ish behavior you were apologizing for.”
Gritting his teeth, James glared at the man. Who would have known men could be such gossips? “All right.” James idly scratched his chin. “Yesterday, I wrote Charlotte a note telling her it was time…” They were titled gentlemen, they could take his meaning. “Then in the evening, I sent her another, apologizing.”
“Son, that has to be the stupidest thing I've ever heard,” Danby said flatly, staring blankly at James. “I'm sure you already know why so I won't remind you of your faults—”
James bit the inside of his cheek. He felt foolish enough already, there wasn't any reason to admit that he didn't know what he'd done wrong!
“—what you need to do is write to her anonymously.” He waved that blasted piece of vellum around in his weathered fist. “Like this ambitious buck.”