An Improper Situation (Sanborn-Malloy Historical Romance Series, Book One)

by Baily, Sydney Jane

  “I was starting to wonder where you were keeping yourself.” She put her hand on his arm before turning to Alicia. “Why, Mrs. Randall, your hairstyle is exquisite.”

  “Why, thank you, Mrs. Belgrave,” Alicia said, squeezing the younger woman’s hand.

  “I wasn’t aware that you were acquainted with Mrs. Randall, Helen.” Reed felt a headache begin to pound right in the middle of his forehead. It only intensified when Helen gave him her most feline smile.

  “We are newly acquainted.”

  “Mrs. Belgrave was, shall we say, instrumental in getting my niece to come to Boston, where she and my grandchildren belong.”

  “Yes, well, some consequences are simply not foreseen,” Helen said, looking pointedly at Reed. “But I fear that Mrs. Randall hasn’t seen that much of Charlotte. It seems her head has been turned by Mr. Farnsworth. Everyone has seen them about the city. Why only yesterday, I believe I saw them riding through the Common. And before that, they were rowing on the Charles. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Randall?”

  “If you ladies will excuse me,” Reed nodded his head to each, “I’ll just go get something to drink. I’ve had a long day and an even longer journey.”

  He moved away before Helen could offer to accompany him. He wanted to strangle her, knowing somehow she was the cause of his having gone halfway across the United States only to learn that Charlotte was in his own front yard.

  His mood was not improved by finding that Charlotte had been in Boston for over a week, spending much of that time in the company of one of its most eligible bachelors—who, Reed knew, was also a lazy gadabout, riding the coattails of his family’s money.

  That thought didn’t do much to lessen the green mist of jealousy that was swimming before his eyes—the very color of Charlotte’s own sparkling gaze. He downed a large scotch and felt fortified.

  After all, he was home, Charlotte was here. He looked over to where she still swayed on the dance floor, and was rewarded with her craning her neck to see him. She might be dancing with Farnsworth, but he could tell her thoughts were on him. Good!

  He’d spent a hellish month until he’d finally come to terms with the realization that he had to have her in his life and he was determined to get her. He simply hadn’t expected to see her looking as if she belonged so well in the ballroom of the Tremont. She certainly hadn’t owned that dress in Spring City.

  “Careful, Reed, you’re practically drooling.” He stiffened as Helen leaned against him, watching the dancing couple. “Her dear aunt might think that you’re intending to corrupt her niece and then you’ll find yourself minus one lucrative family account, not to mention snubbed by Alicia Randall’s circle. Besides, it appears Jason is there ahead of you.”

  “And just what part of this did you have a hand in, Helen?”

  She only blinked at him but couldn’t hide her self-satisfied gleam. “Relax, Reed, and enjoy the party. You look a little frustrated. Perhaps, if you’re very good, we can enjoy each other later.”

  He looked directly at her, taking in her clear pale skin, dark eyes, and ruby-stained lips. Every hair was in place, every detail of her wardrobe carefully planned for optimal effect. Her low-cut gown displayed just enough décolletage to entice but not be vulgar. And he felt nothing.

  “I thought I’d made my position unquestionably clear in St. Louis.”

  He looked over to where Charlotte was being escorted from the dance floor after that interminable waltz. He was, indeed, frustrated, but only a certain autumn-haired woman with eyes like emeralds could satisfy his need.

  Watching every movement she made, Reed noticed how she touched Farnsworth on the arm, how he held her elbow. It took every ounce of restraint he had to return his attention to his longtime paramour. “I’ve always been honest with you, have I not?”

  She was glowering at him now. “Maybe, maybe not, but are you being honest with yourself? What is it you think you’ve found in Miss Charlotte Sanborn that you couldn’t find here in Boston? Look at her now, Reed. Is she really any different?”

  Helen had hit on the point that had been gnawing at him since he’d walked into the room. He looked over to Charlotte. She seemed as if she were in her element—confident, gorgeous, on the arm of one of the young Brahmins.

  She didn’t look out of place or awkward or like a woman fresh from Colorado. Where was her simple knotted bun that was always coming down? When had her bright green party dress been replaced by this sophisticated, alluring gown?

  Charlotte was talking animatedly with Charles Greene, the head of the city’s most influential paper. And he was obviously eating up her words. Reed felt a lump of jealousy rise in his throat though he knew he was being selfish. He’d promised her that her writing would have new opportunities and outlets . . . but at the time, he thought he’d be the one to introduce her to those avenues.

  “She looks every bit as if she grew up in our parlors and ballrooms, doesn’t she, Reed?”

  He felt the muscle in his jaw clench. What did he least want in this world? A society miss? He ordered another scotch from a passing waiter and didn’t even mind when Helen took hold of his arm.

  “Reed, forget about Charlotte Sanborn for a moment. She’s obviously occupied. Have you eaten?”

  He looked at Helen. A couple of months ago, he would have said she was easily the most beautiful woman in the room and he would have probably taken her to his bed when the incessantly boring round of social niceties was over. She was not the most passionate creature once undressed, but at least she’d never made a moral fuss in the dawn’s light.

  Now, the woman he wanted was across the room, encircled by admirers, and even if she could break away, she wouldn’t. She couldn’t come to him under the watchful eye of her aunt. He understood that.

  Like hell he did! Would a passing greeting bring down the wrath of Alicia Randall on Charlotte’s pretty neck? He doubted it. But he dared not approach her, not given her aunt’s veiled warning and not here, while all of Boston watched and would no doubt wonder. Someone, perhaps Alicia Randall or even Farnsworth, would have to bring him to her or her to him.

  The second drink had burned its way down the back of his throat and settled into his empty stomach leaving him feeling a little raw and infinitely tired. This was getting him nowhere. It was torture to have been the only man to get close to her and now to have to watch while she attracted men as a magnet drew iron filings. He’d be damned if he was going to go begging for the favor of a greeting.

  “You’re right, I suppose. Supper, somewhere away from here, is exactly what I need.” He let Helen accompany him toward the door. “As long as you understand that this doesn’t change what we discussed in St. Louis. We’ve known each other three years and I would like to think we can still be friendly.”

  “Friendly,” Helen agreed, slanting up at him one of her brightest smiles. “Of course.”

  *****

  Charlotte watched them leave together and her hopes left with them, her heart sinking to the bottom of her lovely new slippers. She had had a near-perfect evening, despite her initial anxieties, and she’d just been asked to lunch by Charles Greene with the promise of an assignment. To cap the climax, Reed had returned to Boston. So why, suddenly, did she want to go home and cry?

  She hadn’t completely believed Helen about their romantic reunion in St. Louis, but she had seen with her own eyes that they’d walked out of the ballroom arm in arm. And Reed had never even come over to speak to her. Not even to say hello—after all the time apart. Actually, he’d looked downright forbidding.

  The assumptions she’d been making about Reed’s return trip to Spring City had to be wrong, for he definitely didn’t act like a man who’d traveled across the Plains to be with her. He had looked as though he wanted to wring her neck.

  “You look a little tired, Charlotte. It’s a lot to take in for one evening. Are you ready to go home?”

  “Yes.” The whole event had lost its rosy glow. “I’ll just go see i
f it’s acceptable to my aunt.”

  “Of course, dear, you may go. But I must accompany you. It’s far late for you to be alone with Mr. Farnsworth.”

  “Quite right,” he agreed, looking grave.

  Alicia frowned. “Though I had hoped to speak to Mrs. Peabody about the Blue Blood Society. I was going to invite Mrs. Belgrave to join, but she left. Did you see, Mr. Malloy, Charlotte?”

  “Yes,” she said, flushing despite herself.

  “They went off, without a by-your-leave,” she huffed. “Breach of etiquette, in my book,” Alicia added, with a cluck of her tongue. “But he has been away, I understand, and they looked as if they wanted time to catch up. I have it on good authority that they are all but engaged.”

  She looked pointedly at Charlotte, as if to remind her of how improper it had been to let the family lawyer sleep under her roof.

  “We may have a fall wedding to attend,” Jason offered, causing Charlotte’s already wan face to pale further.

  “My, but you do look exhausted, my dear.” Alicia turned to Jason. “I believe you’ve been running my niece off her feet. Perhaps you had better take her home immediately, and I’ll say my goodbyes properly. And mind that you take the short route, no dallying” she added, as Jason kissed Alicia Randall’s hand once more.

  Alicia kissed Charlotte on the cheek. “I’ll be along directly, dear.”

  “The short route, it is,” Jason agreed as they left. And true to his word, she was on her aunt’s doorstep only minutes later.

  Charlotte assumed Gerald had already retired when she had to use her key to open the front door. She knew that Bridget had put the children to bed hours earlier and was probably in the kitchen waiting for her mistress to come home.

  Still, she had a moment’s anxiety, looking past the glow from the gaslight chandelier down the darkened hall and feeling Jason close behind her. Then she quelled her fears, with a silent admonishment that he was a member of high society after all. She turned to face him.

  Jason leaned against the door jam, looking handsome and even a little rakish. His eyelids drooped lazily as he watched her. “I had a grand evening. I hope you did, as well.”

  “Oh, I did,” Charlotte said, not being completely truthful. After all, it wasn’t Jason’s fault that misery had closed in around her after Reed departed the Tremont. “Thank you for all your effort in introducing me to your friends and acquaintances, Jason. I felt extremely welcome.”

  “Then why the sudden long face?” he asked, his voice having dropped a notch as he reached up to stroke her cheek. She didn’t pull away as her instincts told her to do. That would be too rude. And as far as she knew, he was harmless, if a tad forward.

  “I guess, occasionally, I feel a little homesick,” she lied. No one in Boston could know of her fervent feelings for Reed; the chance that she could lose the children was too great.

  Jason smiled. “I thought it might be some such thing. Please, let me know if there is anything I can do to make you feel more at home here.”

  He leaned forward suggestively and she realized with dismay that he was going to kiss her. She stepped back involuntarily. All of a sudden, Gerald was there at her side, unsmiling but not unknowing. She took a deep breath, glad for the butler’s presence.

  “I . . . I am grateful for that. Goodnight, Jason.”

  She let Gerald begin to close the door, forcing Jason to step off the threshold. She headed up the stairs, assuring herself that the last image she’d seen of him with a hostile, even malevolent look on his face had been nothing more than the play of nighttime shadows.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Barely able to sleep after the excitement and the disappointment of the party, Charlotte eventually dreamed of Reed, as she had done so many times over the past month. Thus, it was with a fanciful feeling that she awoke, momentarily confused by her surroundings but certain she’d heard his deep, rich voice.

  Realizing where she was and how real the possibility that she’d actually heard him, she jumped out of bed, pausing at the sight of her ball gown draped over the Hepplewhite chair. The memory of Reed leaving with Helen returned unbidden. Had he even noticed her dress?

  Charlotte washed her face, brushed out her hair, which kept a gentle wave from the style of the previous night, and dressed in her new soft peach satin gown with indigo ribbons that reminded her of Reed’s gorgeous eyes.

  Descending the stairs, she headed toward the sound of laughter—warm male laughter—and children’s giggles coming from the drawing room.

  She felt a little breathless as she entered through the open door and stopped, seeing Reed with Thomas up on his right hip and Lily stretching up for a hug. Her heart skipped a beat. Thomas was talking about a grasshopper, and Charlotte knew he was relating their trip to Faneuil Hall, with its whimsical green grasshopper weathervane.

  Hearing footsteps, Reed turned and saw her, standing in the doorway. She saw an expression cross over his handsome face that was close to what she felt in her heart, but the smile he gave her was guarded. Nonetheless, she let it fill her with happiness.

  Charlotte had imagined their first meeting many times, but she had pictured them alone, without spectators. It had involved kissing and words of love, and certainly not the fresh memory of him with Helen Belgrave. Still, he was here, only feet away.

  Reed placed a quick kiss on Thomas’s forehead and set him down before taking a step toward her, then he stopped.

  “You’re looking well, Charlotte.” His tone, as his smile, seemed restrained.

  Before she could answer, Lily ran forward. “How was the ball, Aunt Charlotte? Grandma wouldn’t let us wake you up this morning. She said you were out late.”

  Irrationally, Charlotte felt guilty and stole a glance at Reed, whose own face was abruptly an emotionless mask.

  “Not that late,” she said, then stopped herself. She had done nothing wrong! He was the one who had walked out of the Tremont arm-in-arm with the woman who was no longer supposed to have a place in his life.

  “About as late as Mr. Malloy,” she added.

  “You were there, too?” Lily asked, turning to Reed.

  “And your princess?” asked Thomas.

  Reed frowned slightly. “My princess?”

  “He’s referring to Mrs. Belgrave,” Charlotte explained sweetly, watching Reed carefully. “Yes, Thomas, Uncle Reed’s princess was there, too. In fact, we had a rather interesting conversation.”

  “I didn’t know the two of you had spoken,” Reed said, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “More than once,” Charlotte said, frustrated that they were spending the first few minutes of their reunion discussing Helen.

  It seemed to be putting Reed in an equally dispirited mood, judging by the way his eyebrows had knitted together.

  Absently, she put her hands up to pull on the knot of her hair, only to realize she’d worn it down. She made a pretense of smoothing it, feeling out of place and awkward.

  Her misery must have shown on her face, for Reed cleared his features of any grim traces and flashed her a much more familiar smile. Again, he moved toward her.

  Charlotte stepped back in alarm, for his eyes bespoke an intention there could be no mistaking. He intended to embrace her. She reached out and grabbed his hands in her own before he could sweep his arms around her. Lord, was the man insane?

  “Reed,” she protested, as he stopped short.

  “Charlotte, I—”

  “Huh, uh.”

  Behind her, Charlotte heard the unmistakable sound of Alicia Randall clearing her throat. She felt Reed stiffen and she swore one of her brother’s curses under her breath. He released her hands so slowly it seemed as if she’d never be free to turn around and face her aunt, but it was probably better than springing apart with guilt.

  In Reed’s presence barely five minutes and she was already compromised!

  Moving another step away from him, she turned to face the sobering view of her aunt, wearing a garden
ing apron over her silk day dress, clutching a basket of roses in her right hand and clippers in her left.

  Alicia looked anything but idyllic, however. She looked downright sour.

  “Mr. Malloy,” Alicia Randall greeted, without even nodding her head. “Gerald said you were here. And what a display you are making with my niece in front of the children. Thomas, Lily, upstairs. It’s time for your music lessons and Miss Hunnewell is waiting.”

  Charlotte watched the children go with mournful faces, Lily dragging Thomas along by the hand. It turned out they loved Miss Hunnewell, but they seemed to adore being with Reed even more.

  “My apologies,” Reed said immediately after they’d gone. His voice was smooth as cream sherry. “Miss Sanborn and I didn’t get a chance to exchange a greeting at the ball last night, and after all we went through in Colorado, I consider her a solid acquaintance.”

  Charlotte’s eyes opened widely. What on earth was he saying? Her aunt was liable to toss her out on the street at any moment over such a remark. In fact, her aunt was staring from Charlotte to Reed, and back again.

  “All you went through?” Alicia repeated, her voice rising.

  “You did tell her about the mine shaft, and the wolf, didn’t you?” Reed asked.

  Charlotte gasped. “I . . . that is, I . . .”

  “No, she did not,” Alicia cut in. “She most definitely did not mention a wolf.”

  “I didn’t think it was important,” Charlotte began. “I mean, you’re not liable to meet any here in the city.”

  In truth, Charlotte hadn’t wanted to give Alicia any reason to think that Spring City was an unsuitable place to raise the children, should she end up returning there. She had cautioned the children on how upsetting it would be to their grandmother if she found out about the terrifying incidents, and they’d been good as gold not to mention that horrible day.

  Now, Reed was making her home sound as though it was little more than a deathtrap. He seemed utterly undaunted by Alicia’s disapproving gaze.