As she fell, he went with her, releasing his tenuous hold on his own passion. With every stroke, he branded her his. Finally, breathless and damp, they both collapsed against their makeshift bed, replete and fulfilled.
For a long time, they stayed where they were, cushioned by flour sacks, her head upon his shoulder, his arms about her, warming her with his embrace.
Angus rested his cheek on Charlotte’s silky curls and wished to never leave this pantry again. He’d never experienced passion with any woman that could even touch the smallest kiss he and Charlotte shared. This is rare. So rare. And I walked away from it. What in the hell was wrong with me? What was I thinking? But he knew the answer. His pride had done the thinking, and overridden his heart.
Charlotte placed her hand on his chest and traced her fingers his crisp hair, her eyes dark with her thoughts.
He captured her hand and pressed a kiss to her fingers. “There will never be another woman for me.”
She paused, and then lifted on her elbow, her hair falling about her in riotous curls. The lamplight cast a shadow over her face, highlighting her curls and dancing over the silk of her skin. “You can’t promise that.”
“I can and did.”
She pulled away, sitting up, pulling her legs to her chest and wrapping her arms about her knees. It was a forlorn pose, almost childlike, and it weighed upon his heart like a stone.
He almost reached for her, but calmed himself. He’d followed an impetuous decision before, one which had hurt her more than he’d realized. There would be no more hurrying. No more hurting. “Charlotte, what is it?”
She sighed, reached across their makeshift bed, and picked up her clothes. In silence, she arose and dressed. He watched, noting the expressions that crossed her face. He could almost hear her conversation with herself, the longing and the doubt both. When she was dressed, she faced him, her gaze finding him still naked upon the pile of sacks.
Her cheeks warmed with color, but she was unable to keep the longing from her gaze.
That’s right, my love. Even after that passionate romp, you still want me. As I want you. And he did. His cock was hardening with each look she sent his way, each blush that touched her warm cheeks.
“No!” She threw up her hands. “Angus, we can’t do this. I can’t start this again.” The distress in her voice gave him pause.
Patience, MacThune. Patience. “Very well, my love.” He stood and collected his clothes. “But you must admit we are even better at this today than we were as inexperienced youths.”
A faint smile touched her mouth. “I don’t have to admit any such thing.”
He grinned and dressed, pausing to pick up her spectacles. He approached her and, with the tenderest care, replaced them on her nose, following the spectacles with a kiss.
Her eyes filled with tears. “Angus, as wonderful as it was, I wonder what chance we have? We’ve failed before. What if this is just a moment’s respite? An anomaly from being locked away from the world?”
He cupped her face, tracing her lip with his thumb. “You are the woman I want. I know it without reservation. The only question left is, am I the man you want? And Charlotte, my love, that is your decision to make, not mine.”
“Angus, no. Please— I don’t know what to do.”
“You don’t have to decide today. You don’t even have to decide tomorrow. Or the day after that, or the day after that.”
“You won’t care if it takes a long time?”
“Oh, I’ll care. I’ll care deeply and passionately. But I’ll care so much that I will wait. I will wait months, years, decades if I must.”
Charlotte leaned her head against his broad shoulder, her mind in turmoil. Her body, so gloriously warm and replete, hummed, but her chest ached with emotion. “I wish it were simpler.”
“But it is.” He rubbed his cheek on her hair. “The second I saw you in the garden, I knew the truth; that while my body had gone to India, I’d left my heart on that dock. You are everything to me, and always were. I was just too foolish to realize it.” He wrapped his arms about her and held her there.
It was so warm and safe within his arms; a tremor of lingering passion swirled beneath her skin and made her shiver and burrow closer.
“Ah, my love.” His breath brushed her temple, warm and tantalizing. “I adore you.” He placed his hand under her chin and tilted her face to his, placing a kiss upon her lips.
He’d kissed her before, but this was different. It didn’t ask, nor seek. It merely gave, warm and gentle. It offered and teased, as gentle as a whisper, and yet more powerful even than the passion they’d just shared.
She savored the kiss, sighing with regret when he finally lifted his head to smile at her. “We must come to an agreement before our sanctuary has been invaded. Tomorrow, I must escort my mother home to Scotland.”
Charlotte’s heart sank. “I’d hoped she’d get better.”
“She has, much to the surprise of her doctors, but she’s still weak. I dare not allow her to travel without me. We leave at noon, but I won’t be gone long.” He pressed her fingers to his lips for a soft kiss. “Tomorrow morning at this time, I’ll be where we first met. Do you remember?”
“Hyde Park.”
“Under our tree. Waiting for you.” He rubbed her fingers along his cheek, his silver eyes warm. “If we are to continue in this love, it will be because you have chosen me, despite my flaws and mistakes. Because I can promise I’ve already chosen you, spectacles and fists, sweet lips and all.”
Tears flooded her eyes, but she couldn’t say a word.
His smile held a tinge of sadness. “I don’t expect you to come the first day, but I will wait. Just know this, Charlotte, I will return. As soon as Mother is settled, I will wait under that tree every morning in the hopes that one day, you’ll come to me there.”
“This shouldn’t be my decision alone.”
“Charlotte, when you admitted you were angry, every item on your list was something done to you by another – me, your father, Margaret, society. All of us have made decisions for you, wrong decisions. It’s time for you to choose your own path. I won’t lie to you; I hope and pray you will choose me. But if you don’t, I’ll still be there, and I’ll still love you. No matter how many mornings I must stand under that tree, I won’t give up on us.”
She swiped at her eyes. “And when you’re not waiting under that tree?”
“When I’m not waiting, I fully intend on spending my days and evenings wooing you, proving myself and my heart. I shall shower you with gifts and rides in my carriage, I will dress you in silks and buy you more books than you could ever read, and I will vow before the world that you are the woman I love.”
“And if I decide to never come to you? What then?”
“I’ll understand. It won’t be easy, but—”
“Lady Charlotte?” came a cry from the top of the steps, followed by Randolph’s bark.
“Mrs. Lind!” Charlotte stepped out of Angus’s arms and looked around, a startled look on her face. “My gown is so wrinkled! And I must fix my hair, but there’s no mirror, and—”
“Easy, love.” He found the punch bowl they’d retrieved from the shelf. He held it near the lantern. “How’s this?”
The silver bowl showed her image just enough to make her wince. She hurried to pin her hair, having to dig in the flour sacks for her lace cap. She used it to cover the worst of the mess.
His possessive gaze looked her up and down, a satisfied smile on his lips. “No matter what you do, you will still look like a woman well loved.”
She paused, a pin hovering over her ear. “But—”
The door rattled. “Lady Charlotte?”
Charlotte stepped away from Angus and cleared her throat. “Yes?” she called.
“How did you get locked in the pantry?” the housekeeper asked, the maids declaring they couldn’t imagine how such a thing came to be. “Where is the key? Oh! It’s in the lock.”
The h
ousekeeper turned the key.
Angus gave Charlotte one last look. “You know where I’ll be.”
The door opened and Charlotte was swarmed by chattering maids and a clucking Mrs. Lind.
Mrs. Lind’s sharp gaze took in the open bottle of bourbon and the stack of flour sacks. She blazed Angus with a hostile glare even as she bundled Charlotte off, without giving her time for so much as a backward glance.
Soon, the chattering maids and housekeeper were gone, their voices fading as they carried Charlotte back upstairs, leaving Angus alone in the pantry,
He didn’t linger, but made his own way out of the kitchen, and up the stairs, pausing to scratch the ears of the little pug who’d stood watch. “Say a prayer for me, little dog,” Angus told him. “I’m going to need every one I can get.”
The sun rose over Hyde Park, stretching shadows across the dewy green grass. The trees rustled with an early morning breeze, bees humming happily as they hovered over clumps of flowers. Spring had never felt so fresh.
Angus, leaning against a huge oak, pulled out his pocket watch and noted the time, his heart sinking. He hadn’t expected her to come. Not yet. But still, some small part of him had hoped . . . dreamed . . . wanted.
But it was not to be. In twenty minutes, the caravan of coaches and carts carrying his mother to their home would be leaving. He couldn’t wait any longer.
Heart heavy, he straightened from the tree and took a step—
A parasol rolled onto the path before him, dancing and hopping with the wind as if carried by an invisible fairy.
Angus caught it, his heart racing as he turned.
Charlotte stood in the center of the pathway, the wind tugging her skirts, and ruffling her curls about her lace cap, a fat pug on a leash standing at her side. Charlotte’s silver-blue eyes sparkled with happiness.
Angus wet his suddenly dry lips. “You came.” His voice cut harshly, his emotions as raw as his heart.
“I had to. I’m sorry I brought the dog. Randolph saw me leaving and was making too much noise to be left behind.”
The pug sat as if to say he wasn’t leaving, his tongue lolling out of his mouth as he seemed to grin.
“Randolph is welcome to stay.”
“Thank you.” She adjusted her spectacles and took a steadying breath. “I was up all night, and all I could think was that you were right; I am afraid. I’ve been afraid of failing, of being hurt, of making mistakes – so many things. And I’ve been afraid for so long. I’m done with it. This time, I’m going to follow my heart, and trust it will lead me to the place I belong.” She straightened her shoulders. “If we’re to do this, we’re going to do it right. Do you agree?”
“Yes, of course.” He would agree to anything she said, would do anything she asked, just to keep this moment from being a dream.
“I love you, Angus. I don’t want to, but I do. And there’s only one thing we can do about it. Only one answer I’ll accept.”
“What’s that?”
She swallowed hard. “Angus Reeves, will you marry me?”
From where she sat in a showy phaeton on the Ring, the gravel covered drive that encircled Hyde Park, the Duchess of Roxburghe squinted through her jeweled opera glasses.
“Wha’ are they doin’ now?” Lord MacDermott asked impatiently. “Are they still just talkin’?”
“No, now they’re walking toward one another.”
“Just walkin’?”
“Yes, but intensely.”
“Tha’ is good, isna’ it?”
“Yes, yes. And now they’ve reached one another and—Oh dear!” Cheeks red, Margaret put down the opera glasses. “That’s quite—” She peeked through the glasses again and then quickly lowered them.
MacDermott took them from her unresisting hand and eagerly looked toward the embracing couple. After a moment, he nodded. “Och, now tha’ is talent.”
“He’s not shy, is he?” Margaret fanned herself. “I’m glad they chose the early morning before the park is crowded.”
“Aye, ‘twas a well thought oot plan. Angus, my lad, tha’ is the way to make a lassie your own.” With a sigh, he handed the glasses back to Margaret.
She resumed her outlook. “I cannot fault his technique, once he’s been prodded to use it, that is.”
“Aye. He’s a mite cautious. I dinna know where he got tha’ fra’, for my side of the family certainly dinna suffer from it.”
“Roxburghe says you are one of the most impulsive men he’s ever known and that to sit beside you in a game of chance is to watch foolishness fight with fecklessness.”
MacDermott burst into a laugh. “I know my own limitations, and you’ll no’ often find me playin’ a game of chance. Not any more.”
“That is very wise of you.” The duchess watched a moment more, and then snapped the opera glasses closed and tucked them into her reticule. “I suppose we should leave before they see us. We’re the only people in the park other than a few tradesmen who use the pathways as a shortcut.”
“Verrah good, your grace.” MacDermott hied the horses forward, and drove the carriage down the lane, in the direction of Grosvenor Place.
Her grace let out a happy sigh. “MacDermott, I cannot thank you enough for coming to me once you realized your nephew’s lost love.”
“I should thank you, for I couldna’ ha’ helped him on my own. The lad is a stubborn one. Besides, why would I e’en try when I know the best matchmaker in town.”
“It was a challenge, for Lady Charlotte was hesitant to re-engage with MacThune, and rightly so.”
“Aye, he’d been a cad, though I dinna think he meant to hurt her.”
“Men never do. I’m good that you knew their story, for I was at wit’s end trying to get Charlotte to join in a search for a husband. I’d suspected there might be an old hurt at the bottom of that poor decision, but I had no way of knowing whom or when – for a chatterbox, she can be amazingly quiet about her own thoughts. I even went to her father and asked if he knew of an old attachment, but he shut me out as surely as if I’d been an impertinent servant.”
“Tha’ bounder!”
“The earl is a gudgeon. He remembered MacThune well enough, but didn’t wish to share any information. But he came around quick enough once I informed him that the viscount is now quite wealthy. The years poor Charlotte and her beau have wasted don’t bear thought. But now look at them! In love, and ready to love. They match quite well, don’t they?”
“Like a hand in glove, your grace. Like a hand in glove.” He turned the team down a wide, tree-lined avenue, wending his way between two rickety coal carts.
“I wonder if they’ll go to India?” The duchess’s face fell a little and she had to blink back tears before she said, “I shall miss Charlotte.”
“Och, they willna’ be leavin’ any time soon. The laddie will wish to be close to his mither while she recovers, and tha’ will take a while.”
“Very true.”
They rode in companionable silence for a full moment before MacDermott added, “I canno’ believe they dinna find the bottle of champagne we left them in the pantry.”
She gave an exasperated noise. “Nor the scones, nor the candles, nor the blankets and pillows I left upon a shelf right at eye level, too. They found none of it! I promise you that if I were locked in a cellar with a handsome man, I’d look for all sorts of things to increase the romantic atmosphere.”
MacDermott chuckled. “I ha’ no doubt, your grace. No doubt at all.” He pulled the phaeton to a halt before the duchess’s grand house. “Pray tell Roxburghe I am in debt for the loan of his charming wife.”
The duchess waved a hand. “Tell him yourself. Come to breakfast, MacDermott. And don’t act as if you have anything better to do.”
“Will there be anythin’ at the ready to eat? ‘Tis horridly early, you know.”
She allowed a footman to assist her down from the phaeton. “One of Roxburghe’s less redeeming qualities is that he enjoys mornings.
He’s always up at this time of the day.”
“Och, blasphemy!”
“So I tell him. Now come to breakfast.” When MacDermott hesitated, she added, “There’s always bacon. A lot of bacon.”
“Is there? How can I say no to tha’?” With a cheerful whistle, MacDermott tossed the reins to the waiting groom, climbed down from his phaeton, and joined the duchess on the walkway. There, he proffered his elbow in a stately manner. “Shall we, your grace?”
“Yes, please.” They walked toward the doorway. “You know, MacDermott, it’s odd for a man of your fine taste and standing to be without a wife. If you’d like I could—”
He came to such a sudden halt that Margaret was two paces ahead of him before she realized it. He shook his head at her, glaring under his bristly eyebrows. “Nay.”
“MacDermott, even you must agree you would be happier with a loving, genteel companion.”
“I wouldna’ mind a companion, bu’ I’m no’ so interested in a wife.”
The duchess’s smile slipped. “You need a wife. Every man needs a wife.”
“Ballycock. If ‘tis a wife ye’re thinkin’ of, then leave my bachelor bones be.”
She laughed. “Bachelor bones, are they?”
“Aye, bachelor bones they are today, and bachelor bones they’ll be tomorrow, do wha’ you will.”
“Oh my! That sounds like a challenge. I do love a good challenge.”
He caught the glint in her eyes and groaned. “Wha’ was I thinkin’, acceptin’ an invitation to breakfast wit’ a known matchmaker? I sold my freedom for naught bu’ a plate of bacon.”
She tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. “I will be gentle, my good friend. You won’t even know it has happened until it’s too late.”
“Tha’ is wha’ I am afraid of.”
She patted his hand as she led him into the house. “Come, Lord MacDermott, bacon awaits.”
New York Times and USA Today best-selling romance author Karen Hawkins was teaching political science at a small college while working on her PhD in Political Science when she sold her first book. She knew she couldn’t both fulfill a publishing contract AND a rigorous PhD program, so she made the only decision possible – she dropped out of her program and burned her stats book on the front lawn while dancing madly around the flames. Now, twenty-seven books, numerous awards, and many best-seller lists later, when not researching Regency-era customs or looking at pictures of sexy men in kilts for ‘inspiration,’ Karen writes full-time from her home in sunny Orlando, Florida.
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