The butler cast an inquiring glance at the duchess, who – after a stern silence – nodded once. Looking relieved, he bowed and left.
“Margaret, I’m sorry, but I must see him at least this once.”
“I don’t understand. Do you even know him?”
“He was in the garden last night when I left the ball. We spoke briefly. It was nothing, really.”
“Goodness! And unchaperoned, too! I’m glad no one found out. But you met him, and that does make a difference, I suppose.” The duchess seemed to consider this for a moment. Finally, she nodded wisely. “I understand.”
Charlotte’s heart thudded hollowly. “Oh?”
“Lud, yes. He is obviously interested in you, but – as you’ve said – you met no one at the ball who interested you, so it’s not reciprocated.”
“Yes, yes. That’s it.”
“If you just send him on his way without seeing him, it’s very likely he’ll return for another visit. And another and another. He has no polish. Living abroad has ruined him, and his uncle says he’s damnably impetuous, too. It would indeed be best if you go to him now, and send him away in a firm, but kind manner. That will save you the irritation of having to do it later on.”
Charlotte realized she was still holding her napkin and she’d somehow twisted it into a knot around one of her hands. She untangled it and placed it on the table. “I’ll be back shortly.”
“Very good, my dear. When you return, we’ll go to Bond Street and look for some new bonnets. Something better than those horrid caps you seem to like.”
“Very well.” Charlotte gathered herself and then left the breakfast room. Once in the hallway, she paused before a mirror, pulled her lace cap from her pocket, arranged it upon her brown curls, and pinned it in place. As she did so, she leaned closer and looked at her reflection. She didn’t look forty-two, but she most assuredly appeared as a woman in her thirties. Her skin was good, but faint wrinkles marked the corners of her eyes. And her brown hair, always thick and curly, had a smattering of silver at the temples. Not much, but enough.
This is who I am and if it’s not enough for Angus Reeves or anyone else, then that’s their loss. She pinched her cheeks to give them some color, and then, her shoulders straight, she marched downstairs to the sitting room.
As she reached the landing, two footmen stood at attention and opened the doors. With a deep breath, she entered the room.
Angus was standing by the long set of windows that ran along one wall, his hands clasped behind his back. He turned toward her as she’d entered the room, watching her every move with somber silver eyes. He made no move to come forward until the footmen stepped back into the hallway, leaving the doors open as was proper. Only then, did Angus drop his hands to his side and walk forward. Now, in the full brunt of sunlight, she could see him clearly and marvel at the changes the moonlight had only hinted at.
He’d been slender as a youth, and pale, too, which had made him seem romantic, like a poet. Now he was big, broad, and hardened, his face lined with the harshness of his experiences. She wondered what had happened to carve those lines. There were so many things about him that she didn’t know.
She caught his gaze, his expression so intent that it sucked her breath away. Dear God, he might take my hand, his bare skin upon mine. Her heart thudded wildly. He might even press his lips to my fingers. A shiver danced up her spine and settled in her stomach.
If her unbridled reaction to his touch last night had been any indication, such contact was neither necessary nor desirable.
And oh, had her reaction been unbridled. She’d had to force herself to even breathe, and then she’d had to deal with the most muddled of thoughts that had left her babbling about wild animals and oh, all sorts of things.
Today, she needed her wits about her, so before he could reach her, she scurried to the chairs by the fireplace. She stood beside one and gestured to the other, which was a satisfactory distance away. “We can sit here.”
He paused, his brow lowering. “You are running from me.”
“No, I’m not. I’m just sitting down.” Her face hot, she sat in her chair, her skirts puffing as she dropped into the seat. She spied one of her knitting baskets by one side and she gratefully collected it into her lap like a shield. “I’m quite tired today; I was up quite late last night what with the ball and whatnot.” She found her needles and tugged out a ball of yarn. Then she tucked the basket away and stretched out the scarf she’d been making for one of her nieces. “I’m not usually so frivolous as to stay up so late. It was quite fatiguing.”
“So it was.” He came closer, but instead of taking the chair she’d indicated, he took his place by the fireplace, leaning one arm against the mantle, and looking at her with a hot silver gaze. “I had to see you.”
A flutter danced through her stomach and then rose to her chest. She had to catch her breath before she could say, “And here I am.” She hated the false jocularity of her voice, but it was all she could muster.
“I wished to talk to you today, although I didn’t expect to do it from such a distance. Perhaps the settee—”
“No.” The word snapped like a book falling on a marble floor. She cleared her throat. “I’m confortable where I am.”
“Fine. Stay where you are.” His gaze roamed over her. “You’ve taken to wearing caps, I see.”
Charlotte stiffened. “I like my caps.”
“I like them, too.” He smiled faintly. “It’s just that I prefer you in something more . . . frivolous.”
What did he mean by that? And why, oh why, did she feel so breathlessly pleased by it?
His gaze traced over her face, and then flicked down to her lap where she held her knitting needles. “You knit now, I see. I never imagined you as a knitting sort of woman.”
“You left almost twenty years ago. Neither of us are the same.” Which was especially true of him.
“You still read, though.” He didn’t ask.
She nodded and knit faster. There were two things she did for relaxation – reading and knitting. If she had a particularly good book, she’d try to do both, with a book propped open before her, but such nonsense had resulted in two sweaters with uneven sleeves and a number of scarves that were far longer than was safe for the wearer, so she now refrained from combining the two.
But knitting now, with Angus so close, did not relax her a bit. If anything, her harried nervousness translated through her needles into the yarn and she found herself knitting very, very tightly, so tightly that her needles were soon caught into knots and she had to stop, unloop the yarn, and then force herself to proceed at a slower, calmer pace.
That done, she shot him a look from under her lashes. “I hope you enjoyed the ball after I left, or did you stay in the garden?”
“I was forced to join my uncle and spend an agonizing hour pretending to be interested in a woman so young that I felt as if I were tending someone’s child while they napped.”
Her lips quirked. “Such is the burden of age.”
“I never think of age when I’m with you.”
“You used to.”
“I felt as if you thought I was less mature than you.” His silver gaze darkened. “Something I fear I proved was indeed the case: you were much more mature than I was. For that, I am truly sorry.”
“Angus, please, there’s no need to continue.”
“Yes, there is. We must talk about this.” The words were brusque and brokered no argument.
She raised her brows. “Whatever’s happened to you over the years, you’ve gotten very good at ordering people about.”
His brows knit as he said stiffly, “I’m not ordering you to do anything; I’m merely stating the obvious – there are things that must be said.”
Her needles clacked a bit louder. “Then say them. I can’t promise to agree, but I will listen.”
His jaw tightened. “Fine. It seems we have different concepts of how things ended between us.”
> “I know how we ended; you gave up on us and sailed away.” Her needles clacked a bit louder. “Nothing you say can change the past. It’s there. It’s set. It’s over.” She paused and looked up at him. “We should leave it where it is – in the past.”
“You truly believe that there is no more to be said? No explanations to make? Because I have explanations to give, and questions to ask. Some that I’ve wondered about for almost twenty years.”
So did she, but the thought was painful. “Feeding those ghosts will just encourage them. We should leave well enough alone.”
“No. Now that I’ve met you again, I would have answers. We left so many things left unsaid, you and I.”
“You left without giving either of us time to do so,” she snapped, startled at her own vehemence.
“I know.” His voice had turned gruff with meaning. “I feared the pain of that meeting, of saying goodbye. I thought – mistakenly, I now know – that the faster I left, and the less said, the easier it would be. Charlotte, I’m truly sorry for that.”
Of all the things she expected to hear, an apology wasn’t one. She tugged more yarn from the ball and looped it on her knee. “Our last meeting didn’t show either of us to advantage. You were angry at my father’s refusal to allow us to court, and I—” She paused. “I was frustrated you wanted his approval more than mine.”
Angus’s brow lowered. “I had to have his approval, otherwise we couldn’t marry.”
“There were other things we could have done. We could have proven to him by our longevity that we were meant to be. Shown him that we were not children playing at Romeo and Juliet, but mature adults. Did you ever think of that? No, you were so angry, so certain that without his consent, we had no future.”
“You think he would have softened over time?”
She could tell by Angus’s tone that he’d never imagined such a thing. “We’ll never know, will we?”
“I never thought that. He said no, and I assumed that was that. Bloody hell.” Angus rubbed his neck as if it ached. “I was a green youth, only nineteen. Everything seems permanent when you’re nineteen. And, like a fool, I reacted as if it was. Meanwhile, you kept saying there was hope–” He gave a laugh that ended in a groan. “That infuriated me.”
“It infuriated me you were so quick to quit, to walk away, and without even a goodbye.” She dropped her gaze to her needles, absently watching them fly, glad the tears that burned her eyes seemed unable to escape. “Father was right; we were both too young.”
His gaze narrowed, his silver eyes pinned on her face as if he would memorize her expression. “Charlotte, why did you send me away? Why did you say you didn’t love me enough?”
“I didn’t!” Her fingers trembled and she lifted her gaze from the partially finished scarf. “I said there wasn’t enough love in the world to overcome the obstacles we faced, not when our biggest obstacle was your lack of belief in our future.”
Angus found it difficult to meet her steady blue-gray gaze. Was that what she’d said? He’d heard something far different. He’d heard the doubt in her voice and, refusing to admit his overreaction had given her just cause, he’d angrily assumed the worst – that she didn’t love him enough.
Damn it, what did I do? He’d been an impulsive youth, and he’d allowed his impulses, and not his heart, to guide him.
Charlotte’s bottom lip quivered, ripping at his heart. “I loved you, Angus. Enough to oversee all obstacles. You are the one who didn’t love enough.” She blinked and he could see the tears in her eyes. “I kept hoping you’d decide we were worth fighting for, but instead, you just left.”
“I was hasty; I see that now. But I didn’t give up on you, or even us. It was the world that was against us, fate; that was what I gave up on.”
“No. If you’d really loved me, nothing would have turned you from us. But I was just as big of a fool as you. Even though I watched you sail from sight, I believed you’d return, filled with plans to win my father over, or with a carriage ready for Gretna Green. But that never happened. The days became weeks and then months and then years and then—” She bent her head and began to unwind yarn, her motions jerky. “It wasn’t meant to be.”
He looked at the lace cap, sitting so prettily on her brown curls, and wished he could see her face. “You watched me sail for India?”
“Father told me you were leaving. I didn’t believe him at first, but he seemed so certain, so I went to the docks.” She swallowed. “Your ship had just left the slip. You were on deck, looking out at the sea, your cloak lifting about you. You looked happy. Excited, even.” She pulled out her sewing basket and dropped her knitting back into it, and then tucked it neatly by her seat. “There was no reason to discuss this. We are as far apart as ever.” She stood, facing him. “But I’m glad we had this conversation. Now, we can genuinely admit that there’s nothing more to say.”
“No, there’s one more question left.” He pushed himself from where he’d been leaning on the mantle. “Where do we go from here?”
Her gaze met his, and in that second, he realized what was the biggest difference between this Charlotte and the one he’d left all those years ago. The old Charlotte had been full of hope, forever planning for a future that had been as bright as the sun in the sky, but this Charlotte was resigned to her fate. There was a deep wariness in her eyes, a wall of caution that hid her thoughts.
I caused that. His heart in his throat, Angus closed the distance between them. “Charlotte, don’t—”
“No. Angus, this is the goodbye we never had. And this time, it’s final.” She turned from him.
He captured one of her hands and tugged her back to face him. “I don’t accept that. What was between us before is still here. I can feel it. You can feel it.”
“You don’t know what I feel.”
“I know this.” And with that, he swept her into his arms, capturing her mouth with his. At the first touch, passion swept over him, heating his body until he couldn’t think. She gasped against him, her lips parting beneath his. He thrust his tongue against hers. She stiffened as if to resist, but then she shuddered and grasped his coat with both hands as she pressed herself to him, as eager for him as he was for her.
His body thrummed with passion and he slid his hands to her waist and—
“Ahem!”
He released her and they both stepped away from one another, flustered and panting.
The butler, his gaze fixed firmly on the ceiling, said in a passionless voice, “Pardon me, yer ladyship, bu’ her grace needs her seal to send some letters by post. ‘Tis in the desk by the window.”
“Yes, yes. Of course.” Charlotte’s hands fluttered over her hair, her gown, tugging and patting, trying to put herself to rights as though her flaming face hadn’t already betrayed them. “Lord MacThune was just leaving. I—I must go, as well. Someone—Margaret needs me. I think I heard her—” As Charlotte spoke, she whisked herself out of the room and disappeared out the doorway, leaving Angus behind.
Left alone, he and the butler eyed one another. Angus refused to speak first, waiting for the older man to break the silence.
After a long moment, the butler finally said in a frosty voice, “Shall I fetch yer hat and gloves, me lor’?”
“No, thank you. They are on the table in the hallway; I’ll get them myself.” Angus walked past the butler and into the hall. He had just collected his hat and gloves when the duchess came sailing down the staircase, a stack of small envelopes in one hand.
“MacDougal, did you find the seal?” The duchess stopped upon the bottom step as she saw Angus. “Lord MacThune, are you still here?”
“Apparently so.”
She crossed the foyer, a considering look in her bright blue eyes. “Actually, it’s good you’re still here.”
“Is it?” he said stiffly.
She flipped through the envelopes in her hand, removed one, and held it out. “This is for your uncle. I’m inviting Lord MacDermott for a s
mall dinner party and was going to post the invitation, but you may carry it to him instead.”
Angus took the envelope. “Of course.” All he wanted to do was find Charlotte, but now was not the time.
The duchess cocked a brow at him. “Pray don’t mention this to your uncle, but I think he might be a good match for my friend.”
Bitterness flooded through Angus, but before he could speak, she patted his arm in a kindly way. “Yes, yes, I know you had thoughts in that direction, but she needs someone far more assertive than you, my dear. She’s too independent by half, and you—”
“You don’t know me.”
“No. I don’t, I suppose, but I have a sense about these things. You need someone younger, more pliable.“ Her gaze narrowed suddenly. “Come to dinner with your uncle. I believe – No, I’m certain I might know the woman for you, too.”
“That’s very kind of you, but I must decline.“
“Nonsense. Come. You’ll thank me for it later.” She nodded to a footman, who hurried to open the front door. “Be here at eight sharp. There will be some music before dinner. Not too much, for I want people to talk, but enough that you will not wish to miss it.”
Angus thought of a million replies, none of them polite. It took all of his self-control to bow over the duchess’s hand and leave, the invitation stuffed into his pocket.
The next morning, a cock’s crow rudely awakened Lord MacDermott who found himself staring at the ceiling, unable to fall back asleep. Cursing his neighbor’s ill-advised attempt at keeping chickens in his back garden, MacDermott arose, dressed, and drearily made his way to the breakfast room.
Though he’d rung for his valet a half hour earlier and ordered his chef be awakened to provide breakfast, MacDermott still managed to surprise his footmen who’d never seen their master up before noon. “Blast the lot of you,” he told the gawking servants. “’Tis unusual, I’ll grant you tha’, but ‘tis no’ the end of the earth. One of you, stop your starin’ and bring me some food!”
That had sent the fellow scampering, though it did little to soothe MacDermott’s frayed soul.
Still huffing, he made his way to the breakfast room where, to his surprise, he found his nephew finishing a cup of coffee, a plate of eggs and ham before him. “I’d wish you a good mornin’, but to my way of thinkin’, such a thing does no’ exist before noon.” MacDermott sank into a chair at the table. “Did tha’ bloody bird awaken you, too?”
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