He noted the hall was filled with roses, a sure sign that Charlie had been equally busy. He followed the scented trail to her bedroom. Her door was ajar, and he peeked in. A row of mismatched vases lined the mantel, filling the room with perfume. Charlie lay beneath the coverlet sound asleep under the cloud of fragrance. As tempting as it would be to crawl into bed with her, he reckoned he needed a bath to rid himself of the smell of sweat and horse which all the roses in the garden could not overcome.
He’d done a fair amount of thinking as he rode over his acreage, and had come to a surprising conclusion that had eluded him too long. His grandmother had been an excellent steward of the estate even at her advanced age, but there was no excuse now for him to fritter away any more time in London. His respectable army career was long over. If he hadn’t conquered his demons by now with women and drink, he never would. It was past time he assume his responsibilities as magistrate in his own little corner of the world.
But he didn’t want to live at Bayard Court alone.
In fact, he didn’t want to live anywhere without Charlie.
He didn’t know quite when her singular presence had become so necessary to him. She was a little shrew, and far past the age of biddability. He was unlikely to be Petrucchio to her Kate. In fact, it was she who had tamed him, bringing him back in touch with his boyhood home and ambition. His art was now paramount, and Charlie was his muse. Of course no one could ever set eyes on all the nudes he had done of her over the past weeks—it would be highly improper. Those drawings were for their pleasure alone. But they had warmed him up and unlocked the river of creativity which had been dammed up for a decade. He had plenty of money to indulge his hobby, and would have even more if he implemented improvements to his property. And surely she was not too old to bear him a child or two. His head was buzzing with possibilities. But foremost was securing Charlie permanently.
He would ask her to marry him this evening.
There truly could be no objection. Even if his grandmother had lived to give her opinion, Charlie was from a respectable gentry family, though they’d fallen on hard times. The fictitious Mrs. Fallon could easily disappear from Little Crackup and reappear here as a Dorset lamb come home. The Divine Deborah was now a dull married woman in distant Kent, too busy being Mrs. Bannister to bother them.
And Robert Chase would keep his mouth shut if he knew what was good for him. Bay was longing to smash him into the ground at the slightest provocation, the merest hint of a knowing smile or whispered word. He would never have the power to hurt Charlie again.
Bay whistled through his bath, pleased with his plans. The only fly in the ointment was Anne Whitley, who was not in France or any other foreign country, despite the fact that Bay had shoved her onto the packet himself weeks ago. He had learned from one of his tenant farmers today that she had been seen shopping in the village with her mother. The man obviously thought that Bay and Anne would be reunited now that the impediment of a living husband was overcome. Bay quickly disabused him of this notion. There would never be a second wedding ceremony for them in the village church no matter how many times Bay was kidnapped. He’d kill himself first.
Anne’s parents’ home was not very far from Bayard Court. She had been an object of his boyhood admiration for years before neighborliness turned to something more, and then something much less. He and Frazier had conferred on the matter this afternoon, and a few village lads were to be hired to repel unwanted guests, specifically Lady Whitley. If she caused him any further trouble, Bay was prepared to have her arrested. Charlie was apt to take matters in her own hands if she learned Anne was anywhere in the vicinity, and that was one encounter Bay could not permit.
He would marry Charlie by special license if he had to, just to make sure Anne got the point that they were finished for good. But tonight Bay had to make his own point with his future bride, a prospect that filled him with some trepidation. He’d always been much better on paper than in speech, writing poetic nonsense rather effortlessly. Charlie deserved some romantic blather, but Bay could see her stubborn chin and her incredulous look already. She was a practical woman who would no doubt disbelieve that he loved her.
He almost disbelieved it himself. He’d thought he was incapable of another grand passion until he’d been trapped indoors with Charlie through the rainiest summer in memory. Rather than chafing at the limitations, he had enjoyed every moment spent in her company. Even when she was disagreeable about her placement across a sofa as he sketched her or embarrassed by her expletives as he brought her to climax, she was a delight to him. His grandmother would have loved her, recognizing another woman who had the mettle to keep him in line.
Bay had not wanted to fall in love, had indeed fought against it, but Charlie with her honesty and incredible body had vanquished him utterly. He’d realized it today as he met with the humble farm families and felt jealous of their good fortune. Their dwellings were not as grand as Bayard Court, yet they had a shared purpose, children, affection. He would soon have that, too. The next time he rode out to visit with his tenants, she’d be with him, with bits of her lace and bunches of flowers. There would be no more hiding.
He had nothing to pledge their troth with, however. When his grandmother had passed on, he’d sent her jewels to his bank in London for safekeeping. There was nothing left but the ruby necklace, and he’d already convinced Charlie to keep it. She could have whatever she wanted—more rubies and diamonds or sapphires to match her eyes. They would go to Garrard’s first thing when they returned to London, although he was loath to break up their idyll to do so. However, something must be done about the house on Jane Street and his art collection. Perhaps if he promised Charlie all his lovely Italian ladies could be housed in one empty room at Bayard Court, she wouldn’t protest too loudly. She put them all to shame anyhow.
Feeling refreshed and confident, Bay stepped down the hall to find Charlie. She was, he was surprised to see, still firmly asleep, her hand curled under her chin like a child’s—and snoring just a bit. A delicate and ladylike snore, but a snore nonetheless. He had tired her out every night for weeks, poor thing, and would continue to do so for the rest of his life while he still could. A wife like Charlie might keep him young forever.
He bent over her and blew a breath across her eyelids. Her lashes fluttered, her eyebrows scrunched, but she continued to sleep. The sun would not dip behind the cliffs for hours yet, and he had every intention of seeing her naked in the foam before too long.
“Sweetheart, wake up.”
She rolled away with a grunt.
“Charlie, it’s still warm and beautiful outside. Let’s enjoy the rest of the day together.”
“Go away,” she mumbled.
“Come on, sleepyhead.” He tugged the covers from her. To his disappointment, she was in one of her prim white nightgowns, not an inch of her delicious skin visible save for her face and hands and toes. Her cheeks were sleep-rumpled and rosier than when he saw her last. The day in the garden and the nap had done her good. “I’ve got a supper fit for a princess down at the shore. Are you hungry?”
“Mmmf.”
“I’ll take that as a yes. I’ll send Irene up to help you dress, unless you’d like me to play maid.”
“As if you’d put clothes on me.” She stretched like a lazy cat. “What time is it?”
“Just after six. I thought we could have a swim before we eat.”
“I don’t have a bathing costume.”
Bay lifted an eyebrow but said nothing.
“Oh, but you’re a fiend.” She said the epithet mildly, as though she was very fond of fiends, him in particular.
“I’ll meet you in the garden in thirty minutes. I want to see the wonders you worked.”
“Mostly I just cut.” She rubbed her hands together. Bay noticed a scratch and kissed it.
“It was worth the injury. The house smells wonderful, like it did when my grandmother was alive. She would have liked you.”
“You can’t know that.”
“Oh, but I do. And even if she didn’t, I like you enough for two or three people,” he teased.
Charlie blushed. “Oh, go away and let me get dressed. I won’t need Irene, either.”
“As you wish.” He kissed her hand again and then drew her to him, finding her lips warm and soft, a seductive promise of what was to come. “Don’t be too long. I’m very anxious for our swimming lesson.”
“Perhaps I’ll teach you a trick or two,” Charlie said, a naughty gleam in her blue eyes.
“Perhaps you will.” Bay looked forward to it.
The sun hovered over the horizon, still a bold orange in the sky. Bay led her across the thick lawn to the beach below, holding her hand as they picked their way over a jumble of rocks. Charlotte was amazed to see a mock room set up in the curve of sheltering stones. There was an enormous moth-eaten carpet unrolled over the sand, two camp chairs, heaps of pillows placed here and there, blankets tented over poles to keep the wind away. A small freestanding stove was already alight, a tin bucket of coals next to it. Boxes and baskets of provisions anchored one corner of the rug and a flickering lantern was sunk into the sand. Bay—or someone—had thought of everything.
“This is lovely!”
“Not as lovely as you. Here, sit down.” He indicated a flat rock.
Mystified, Charlotte did as she was told. Bay dropped to his knees and Charlotte’s heart lurched. Surely he wasn’t going to propose.
Assuredly, he wasn’t. He began to unlace her boots with concentration.
“I can do that.” She managed to sound quite normal after her scare. But it wasn’t a scare, it was a dream. And a foolish one at that.
“Don’t spoil my fun.” She watched as his fingers slowly worked at the knot she’d so hastily tied so she could be ready for their picnic on time.
“Blast. You don’t mind if I cut this, do you?”
“I certainly do! These are my only boots.” Charlotte tried to tug her foot away, but Bay held on to her ankle.
“I’ll buy you new ones. Or at the very least, new laces.” He took a pocketknife out and sliced the stubborn knot. Once her foot was free, he tickled the bottom of her stocking.
She tapped him lightly on the head. “Oh, no. No tickling. You promised.”
“So I did. I’ll have to find another diversion.” His hand smoothed up her calf to her garter. Sight unseen, he flicked it with a finger and it unraveled. He unrolled both stockings, paying far too much attention to her exposed flesh as he did so. Charlotte was reminded of raindrops slowly sliding down a window. Each fingertip left its trace.
He looked up at her, his smug grin revealing that he knew perfectly well the effect he was having on her. “There! Doesn’t the sand feel good between your toes?”
Charlotte scrunched her feet into the sun-warmed sand. She hadn’t gone barefoot on the beach since she was a child chasing after Deb. “It does. But don’t ask me to remove your boots so you can say the same. I can’t do it.”
“Not a problem.” He hopped up to rummage around in a basket and pulled out a bootjack. “Frazier is a nonpareil. I should give him a raise. Scoot over.”
Charlotte made room for him on the rock. “You should. I think he’s very smitten with Kitty. He should marry her.”
“Marry!” Bay wrenched a boot off and tossed it to the rug. “He’s that far gone, is he? What do you think of the girl?”
“She’s very quiet. A hard worker. I think she’d be forever grateful to him.”
Bay frowned. “Doesn’t sound like a grand love affair to me.”
“Girls like Kitty and Mary can’t afford grand love affairs.” Or me, for that matter, she thought ruefully. “She’s very young. But I think she holds him in esteem. Her face turns as red as his hair when her sister teases her about him.”
“So grizzled old Frazier is a Lothario, is he? I’ll have to tell him I approve. There’s plenty of work for them both in London.”
Charlotte’s breath caught. “So you won’t be staying here at Bayard Court?”
Bay unwound his neckcloth. “I’ve urgent business to tend to once our month is up.”
“Oh.” Charlotte had envisioned Bay as lord of his manor, busy sketching and painting away. She supposed one of his urgent tasks was to secure another mistress for Jane Street. She was half tempted to tell him she could serve in that role as well as any other, but then she remembered the possibility of a baby. No man wanted a pregnant mistress. She didn’t want Bay’s pity or his charity. The sum he’d settled on her already was more than enough.
But soon she didn’t have the wit to think or say anything. He was peeling back her gown, unlacing her corset, slipping her chemise down to suckle her breasts. The copper strands in his hair glinted in the waning sunlight, his long fingers were dark against the white of her skin. She closed her eyes to his beauty as he worked his lips around one nipple, then the other. Her limbs loosened as his warm, wet tongue unleashed its magic.
He stopped abruptly, his dark eyes unreadable. “W-what’s wrong?” she asked.
“Not a thing. It occurs to me if we are to go swimming, we should do so now before the sun drops and the wind picks up. We’ll continue this in the water.”
Charlotte shivered in anticipation. They both shed their clothes and left them folded on the rock. Judging from Bay’s jutting erection, he had every intention of taking her quickly. She couldn’t imagine how this was to be accomplished, but was perfectly happy to be an experiment. Before she knew it, he had scooped her up and tossed her into the waves.
“It’s freezing!” she shrieked. She had forgotten just how cold it was so early in the season.
“Only at first. Better to get it out of the way than to walk in inch by inch. You’ll be warm in no time. Here, come to me.” His arms encircled her as he brought her to his chest. His brave words were false—even his nipples were pebbled. He took down her hair, tossing the pins away.
“New pins, new boots,” he said, warding off her criticism. “New everything. Kiss me, Charlie.”
As if she could refuse. They were lost in each other for a spell, hands and mouths slippery and busy, the taste of salty skin and water sweet as wine. He finally lifted her up, fitting her to him. She slid onto his cock effortlessly, and then they drifted, caressed by the waves. The sensation of being anchored to him, yet absolutely free, was a novelty. Swirling at first in lazy circles, his hands clamped around her hips, she closed her eyes again and let bliss overtake her. His movements, so gentle yet inexorable, brought them both to climax.
She held fast, feeling his erratic pulse on her check. She would never forget this day.
“Mermaid,” he whispered, toying with her hair. It floated around her like black satin ribbons. Charlotte wondered if the inestimable Frazier had packed a hairbrush, for she was likely to look more like Medusa than a mermaid when her hair dried.
She smiled up at him. “Shall I sing a song and bewitch you?”
“Unnecessary. You already have. I’ve crashed up against the rocks, shattered. Splintered. There’s no hope. Take me to your kingdom at the bottom of the sea.”
“Bah.” Charlotte pushed away from him, treading water. “What good are you to me if you drown?”
“I? Drown?” Bay thrashed through the sea, his arms wind-milling.
Charlotte was not about to be left behind. She kicked off and made a creditable attempt to catch up, ducking under the swells. Bay allowed her to reach him, and together, hand in hand, they floated on their backs, watching the sky turn turquoise and lavender, the clouds tinged silver-pink.
“It’s beautiful here,” Charlotte murmured.
“Mermaids and shipwrecked sailors cannot live on beauty alone. I’m starved.”
“I wonder what mermaids eat. Certainly not fish. That doesn’t seem right.”
“Yes, rather like a cannibal eating his own feet. Speaking of which—” He flipped over, grabbed her waist, and stood her upright. To her surprise, she fel
t sand and rocks
“This is so shallow!”
“A perfect spot to teach children to swim. You can go out quite a ways without fear. I practically lived at this cove when I was a boy. Camped out nearly every summer night with my friend Jamie. We slept rough, hoping to be carried off on a smugglers’ adventure. It was,” he said, a rueful expression on his face, “excellent training for the army. No tents or pillows or rugs for me then.”
“Thank goodness you weren’t kidnapped! Your grandmother would have been frantic!”
Bay laughed. “You don’t know the half of it. She set up a camp bed at the end of the tunnel just in case. I never found out until the butler told me years later. Either she or he or another poor servant kept vigil in the cave to watch over us.”
“Oh, she must have loved you so.”
“Yes. Spoiled me rotten, as you can see. Come on, I’ll show you her hiding place.”
They splashed to the shore. Once out of the water, Charlotte shook with cold. Bay opened a battered trunk and pulled out a thick towel and led her to stand before the little stove. He scrubbed her down thoroughly, taking more time than was absolutely necessary with every nook and cranny. Charlotte submitted, wondering how she would be able to live without his touch. Then he wrapped her in a dark blue cashmere robe that felt like a warm cloud against her skin.
Charlotte’s hand traced the soft folds. “Goodness! What else is in that trunk?”
Bay bent over, still perfectly naked. “A robe for me. I suppose you’ll want this.” He tossed her a tortoiseshell comb. “Some slippers for both of us. Odds and ends. I hoped you’d agree to spend the night with me under the stars.”
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