Suddenly

by Candace Camp

  Simon was stony-faced and silent as they walked out of the house and got into his carriage.

  “Are you all right? Truly?” he asked, concerned, as he settled down on the seat across from her. He brushed a hand down her cheek. “I’ll call that scoundrel out for this.”

  “No! Simon, promise me you won’t.” Charity grabbed his hand anxiously. Dueling had been outlawed for many years, and Charity had not heard of anyone participating in one for a long time. But the mood Simon was in, she was not sure that he would not challenge Reed to a duel.

  “What?” He looked down at her with an offended expression. “You think I couldn’t outshoot that worm?”

  “No. Of course you could. But you could be thrown in jail for it, too.”

  “I think it would be worth it to get rid of Faraday Reed.” His face darkened again, but then he shrugged. “Anyway, it won’t come to that. I know Reed. A challenge would send him scurrying to the Continent as quickly as he could pack his bags.”

  “Oh. Good.”

  “What happened tonight? What did he do to you?”

  “He followed me into the garden,” Charity said with a sigh. “I know. Don’t say it. I should have had more sense than to go wandering about the garden by myself. But I was bored and hot, and I was tired of trying to avoid Mr. Reed all evening. I thought if I went out, he wouldn’t know where I was.”

  “But instead he saw you and followed you.”

  “Yes.” She cast him a tentative glance. “I’m sorry. I know it was foolish of me.”

  Simon leaned closer to her, tenderly brushing a stray piece of hair back into place. “Charity, my dear, I’m not blaming you, so you needn’t apologize. I just want to know exactly what he did.”

  “Not much, really. He wanted to know why I wouldn’t see him, so I told him that I knew all about him and that I wouldn’t have been interested in him, anyway—Honestly, that vainglorious nincompoop thought I would be overcome by passion for him! Then he grabbed me. He caught me off guard. I wasn’t expecting him to attack like that, otherwise I would have sidestepped him. But he pulled me up tight, you see, and kissed me.”

  “How dare he!” Simon’s eyes flashed with fury, and his hands clenched into fists. “I should have throttled him when I had the chance.”

  “It’s all right,” Charity assured him earnestly. “I took care of him. The shock immobilized me for an instant, you see, but then I came down on his foot, like this.” Charity raised her skirt a little to demonstrate the hard jab she had made with her heel. “That distracted him enough that I was able to bring up my knee to, uh, well…strike him in an exceedingly painful place.”

  Simon stared at Charity, astonishment superseding his fury. “Just when I think nothing I hear about you could astonish me, you manage to prove me wrong.” A smile curved his lips as he relished the picture that Charity’s words conveyed. “So you set the rogue to singing soprano. By God, I’d have loved to see that.”

  “Then I popped him.”

  “What?”

  “In the nose,” Charity added, and doubled up her fist to show him. “Like this.” She frowned slightly. “I think I may have broken it. He bled quite a bit.”

  “You broke his nose!” Simon gaped at her for a moment, then burst into a roar of laughter. “Heaven help me, I’m marrying a pugilist.”

  Laughing, he pulled Charity into his lap and wrapped his arms around her. “You never cease to amaze me. Broke the fellow’s nose! If that gets around, Reed will be the laughingstock of London. My thrashing couldn’t begin to equal it.”

  He squeezed her tightly, resting his head against hers. “Ah, Charity, I think my life will never be boring with you around.” He nuzzled her hair.

  A little sigh escaped Charity as she snuggled closer to him. It was sweet to sit with his arms around her like this, enveloped in his warmth and scent.

  “I’m glad you’re home,” she murmured.

  “So am I.” His hand came up to caress the side of her face, then trailed down her neck and onto her shoulder. His fingers moved lightly over her arm and back up, coming once more to caress her neck and face. “I wish I could marry you right now. Tomorrow. I don’t like waiting.”

  “Neither do I,” Charity confessed dreamily, entranced by the delicious sensations Simon’s fingertips were stirring in her.

  She looked up into his face. His eyes were heavy-lidded and his face was faintly flushed as he gazed down at Charity. His chest moved more rapidly against her. Charity reached up and lightly touched his cheek with her hand. His skin flamed beneath hers, and he turned to lay a kiss in the palm of her hand.

  “You tempt me,” he murmured huskily, and his hand moved down to her chest until it grazed the soft top of her breast above the low neckline of her gown.

  Charity drew in a quick breath at the feel of his fingers on her bare skin, and her eyes fluttered closed. Simon gazed down at her raptly, and his hand curved around her breast. He bent and brushed his lips over the quivering flesh above her gown. Charity let out a low sound and sank her fingers into his hair.

  Simon caressed her through her gown, his hand sliding down her waist and onto her abdomen, then back up to cup her breasts, and all the while his mouth left a trail of kisses across her chest. Charity could feel the tension rising in him as he stroked and kissed her until he could no longer be content with the partial pleasure of her body. He reached one hand inside her gown, shoving down the neckline and curving his hand around her breast, lifting it until it was free of her dress.

  He swallowed hard, gazing at the soft white orb, with its dusky rose center. He bent and touched the nipple with his tongue, so that it hardened and pointed. Simon smiled and took the nipple into his mouth, lashing it with his warm, wet tongue, then gently circling it. Charity moaned, and the sound heightened Simon’s arousal. His hand slid down to her skirt and crumpled it, pulling her skirt and petticoat up. He delved beneath it and found her leg.

  Charity jumped a little bit, surprised by the touch, but his hand was warm and exciting, and she relaxed. Slowly his fingers slid up her leg, hot through the thin cloth of her pantalets, until he reached her hip. Charity trembled under his touch, excited and uncertain. She had never felt anything like this before, not even when he had kissed her so passionately beneath the stairs at his house. His mouth and hand caressed her intimately, yet so gently and sweetly that she felt giddy and lost, hardly sure whether to laugh and weep or cry out at the wild, shivery sensations he produced in her.

  His fingers came around her leg and onto her abdomen, then down to the juncture of her thighs. Charity gasped, but she did not pull away. It seemed impossible that he would touch her there, and she knew that she should feel embarrassed. Yet she felt no shame, only a crazy exhilaration and a strange urge to press herself against his hand.

  “Charity.” Her name came from him on a deep, shuddering sigh. “Sweet Lord, but I want you.” He buried his face in her neck. “I must stop.”

  “No…please…”

  Simon groaned and straightened, pulling his hand away. “I have to. I’ve done far more than a gentleman should already. You are just so beautiful…. I’m sorry.”

  Charity smiled at him. “No. Don’t apologize. I like what you did.”

  He simply looked at her for a moment, then squeezed her more tightly against him. “You are a jewel.”

  Charity giggled at the extravagance of the compliment. The carriage came to a halt at that moment. Simon sighed and reached over to twitch aside one corner of the window curtain.

  “Damn. We are at your house.”

  Charity sighed and slid off his lap onto the seat beside him. Hastily she arranged her clothing and tried to smooth her hair into place so that she looked presentable enough to go into the house.

  The coachman’s voice came from outside. “It’s Lady Bankwell’s house, my lord.”

  “Yes, Botkins,” Dure replied, a bit more irritably than he normally would have. “I realize that.”

  He opened
the door and stepped out, then reached up to help Charity down. She took his arm, and they walked to the front door as formally as if moments before they had taken an unexceptionable ride home. But Charity was grateful that it was dark, so that no one could see the flush on her face or the heightened sparkle of her eyes.

  When the footman opened the door, Simon bowed over her hand formally, but the extra squeeze he gave her fingertips hinted at deep feeling inside him. “Good night, my dear Miss Emerson. I trust you will sleep well.”

  “Good night, my lord,” Charity replied with equal gravity. “I wish the same for you.”

  Simon’s eyes danced as he looked at her. “That,” he said meaningfully, “may take some time, I’m afraid.”

  Charity chuckled, understanding very well the meaning of his words. “I know. It will be the same for me. It is always thus after so much…excitement.”

  “Minx,” he said under his breath, then turned and walked down the walkway to his carriage. Charity watched him go, then drifted dreamily up the stairs to her room. It would be some time before the rest of her family returned, and it was nice to have an ample amount of time to lie in her bed and dream about Simon.

  The next day began well enough. Charity was in a sunny mood from the moment she woke up, still fizzing with happiness from Simon’s kisses and caresses in the carriage the night before. She floated through breakfast and the morning, daydreaming about seeing Simon again that night. He had said that he would escort her and her sisters to Lady Symington’s soiree.

  Her mother insisted that they spend the entire afternoon making calls, as it had been several days since they had made any and there was a backlog of visits that had not been returned, so Charity accompanied her mother on the afternoon’s tour of Mayfair.

  Late in the afternoon they knocked at the elegant home of Caroline’s cousin, Lady Atherton. She was the daughter of the current duke, Caroline’s uncle, and a woman who was so aristocratic that even Charity’s mother found her boring, though she made regular calls on her out of family duty. The most important thing, in Lady Atherton’s estimation, was breeding, a subject on which she was wont to talk for hours. She knew the genealogies not only of her own family and their in-laws, but also of all the noble families who “really counted,” which excluded anyone whose family title was not at least five generations old.

  Caroline and Charity carried on a halting conversation with Lady Atherton and her companion, a fluttery gray-headed woman whose job in life was to agree with Her Ladyship, and Marian Bellancamp, a shrewd woman, whose husband John was a power in Parliament. A few minutes after they had settled down and started exchanging vague pleasantries, Araminta Bishop came calling on Lady Atherton, too. She bustled in, her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling with excitement. When she saw that Charity and her mother were there, her eyes widened appreciatively. She was an inveterate gossip, and it was obvious that she was glad to have a larger audience than she had anticipated.

  “Sit down, Araminta,” Lady Atherton said in her haughty way. “How are you today?”

  “I’m doing excellently, my lady. It’s very kind of you to inquire.”

  Lady Atherton gave a regal nod of agreement. Mrs. Bishop went around the group, greeting everyone, then paused for a moment, letting the drama of the moment build.

  “Well, come, Araminta, tell us. It’s clear you are bursting to say something.”

  “Oh, my lady, I’ve just heard the most dreadful news. It’s hard to believe, but Deidre Cardingham told me, and I know she would never lie….” She paused dramatically, and the others found themselves leaning forward a little, waiting for her news.

  “Faraday Reed is dead.”

  The reaction was everything she could have hoped for. Everyone stared at her, struck dumb.

  Mrs. Bishop nodded firmly, as if someone had disputed her words. “It’s true. His manservant found him this morning, sprawled on his study floor.”

  “But I just saw him last night,” Mrs. Bellancamp said, as if that would somehow prove that he could not be dead. “He looked fine then.”

  “It wasn’t a natural death,” Mrs. Bishop continued portentously. “He was murdered.”

  “Murdered!” Caroline exclaimed, astounded. Lady Atherton and the other women simply stared, mouths open.

  Charity’s face went as white as flour, and her stomach felt suddenly hot and sick. She thought of the pummeling that Simon had administered to the man. Had Simon, in his fury, hit Reed so hard that he later died of it?

  “How? What—what happened?” Charity asked.

  “He was shot. Right between the eyes.”

  “Goodness,” Lady Atherton said inadequately. “Was it a thief?”

  “No one knows, my lady.” Mrs. Bishop glanced significantly toward Charity and her mother. “But he did have enemies. Everyone knows that.”

  “Are you suggesting that I shot him?” Charity blurted out.

  “Oh, no, Miss Emerson…” Mrs. Bishop began, but Lady Atherton interrupted her.

  “Of course not, Charity, don’t be silly. Why, you’re a Stanhope.”

  “Yes indeed,” the gray-haired companion said. “The Stanhopes would never—”

  “I heard,” Mrs. Bishop continued slyly, “that Lord Dure and Mr. Reed had a terrible fight last night.”

  Charity’s face hardened, and she leaned forward. “Lord Dure was defending my honor. Mr. Reed had acted in a way not at all befitting a gentleman.”

  “Oh, my,” Caroline said, looking paler and less in command of herself than Charity had ever seen her. “Oh, my.”

  “Oh, my, indeed,” Lady Atherton agreed, her nose wrinkling as if she had smelled something bad. “It would be a scandal of the highest order.”

  “The highest order,” the companion repeated, shaking her head.

  “No Stanhope could be aligned with a—”

  “Simon did not do it!” Charity jumped to her feet, scowling at her mother’s cousin.

  “Charity! Please, rudeness is not called for. Apologize to Lady Atherton.”

  “She was implying that Simon—Lord Dure, I mean—killed Mr. Reed! I won’t allow that. I don’t care who it is!”

  “I’m sorry, Cousin Beatrice,” Caroline said, her voice strained. “I’m sure Charity doesn’t mean to be rude. She is simply overset by this news.”

  “Indeed, we all are, I’m sure,” Marian Bellancamp put in diplomatically.

  “Simon would not have killed anyone, even Mr. Reed, who certainly deserved it if anyone did,” Charity insisted. “Mother, surely you cannot think that he did!”

  “No, of course not,” Caroline replied, though her voice was less than firm. “I am sure that Lady Atherton did not mean that he did. After all, the Westports are a very good family. I believe the earldom dates from before the Wars of the Roses.”

  “Quite true.” Lady Atherton seemed taken with that argument.

  “Yes, my lady,” the companion agreed, nodding vigorously. “A fine family. Not that they can compare to the Stanhopes, of course.”

  “Oh, Evie, do stop babbling,” Lady Atherton snapped, fixing her companion with an icy stare.”

  “Yes, my lady. I’m so sorry. I do have a tendency…” She trailed off, returning her gaze to the knitting in her lap.

  “But I heard that the fight between the earl and Mr. Reed was quite fierce,” Mrs. Bishop said pointedly, innocent concern on her face.

  Charity narrowed her eyes and started to speak, but her mother trod once on her foot, hard, and Charity closed her mouth. She knew what her mother was trying to get across to her: Araminta Bishop lived on gossip, and she was trying to get a response from Charity so that she would have more gossip to tell. Simon certainly did not need people to have anything else to say about him.

  Caroline smiled in a condescending way at Mrs. Bishop. “I’m sure that what happened between the Earl of Dure and Mr. Reed had nothing to do with his death. No doubt it was a thief, as Lady Atherton suggested. Earls are usually not in the pra
ctice of going about shooting people.” Her tone suggested that Mrs. Bishop would doubtless not realize this, since her own husband lacked a title. As Mrs. Bishop’s cheeks began to flush, she went on smoothly, “And I’m sure that Mr. Reed had many enemies.”

  Mrs. Bishop forgot the previous slight and perked up at the carrot of more gossip. “Indeed?”

  “Yes, I’ve heard many things about him since we came to London. At first I received him, as I didn’t know. But then, well, I simply didn’t feel right about letting him into the house with proper young unmarried ladies.”

  Mrs. Bishop goggled and opened her mouth to speak, but Caroline said quickly, “But, then, I’m sure you’ve heard all the stories about him.”

  Mrs. Bishop made a strange, gulping noise and closed her mouth. Charity could almost see her thoughts racing across her face. The woman wanted desperately to know what Caroline had heard about Reed, but she would be highly embarrassed to admit that she, who always knew all the latest gossip about everyone of importance, did not know the apparently scandalous tales about Faraday Reed.

  Eventually her pride won, and she gave an airy wave of her hand, saying, “Oh, of course, of course. Still, he was always accepted everywhere.”

  Caroline shrugged, as if to say that she had no understanding of those who did not live by the same exacting moral code as she. “I am, I admit, very careful when it comes to my daughters’ reputations.”

  Despite her shock and anger, Charity almost had to laugh at the neat way her mother had thwarted Mrs. Bishop.

  Soon after, Caroline and Charity took their leave of Lady Atherton and the others. They said little as they walked home. Both were too stunned by Mrs. Bishop’s news to be able to say much of anything. Charity found it hard to believe that Faraday Reed could actually be dead. She had never before been confronted with the death of someone she knew—or, at least, of someone she knew who was young. Someone with whom she had walked and talked and danced. It seemed impossible. In the few hours since she had seen him last night, he had ceased to exist. No matter how much she had come to dislike him or how angrily they had parted last night, she would not wish death on anyone, even him.