Charlotte knew that Helen spoke the truth. Reed and Helen had been lovers. He'd admitted that much, but she also noted that Helen had dropped the pretense of being affianced. Yet Charlotte could think of no response. She could hardly say, "We were lovers, too, so I am allowed to take that liberty." She blushed at her own thoughts.
Helen noticed Charlotte's high coloring. "Even the word lover is too much for such a prim, dried-up oddity as yourself." She looked down a moment and smoothed her satin skirts, then she shot Charlotte a direct glance and smiled.
"I guess he didn't tell you when he sent me off to St. Louis that he would be joining me on his way to Boston. Reed has always loved that city, and it was the perfect place for us to make up from our little quarrel."
"I understand you have a sister living there," Charlotte remarked, keeping her voice calmly neutral. The notion that Reed had left her in Spring City, after their emotional conversation, only to go to the awaiting Helen was a devastating blow, but she had to find out if any of what he'd said had been true.
"Yes, I do." Helen looked surprised that Charlotte had that information, but she smiled again, a sly grin that made the hair raise on Charlotte's neck. "She is a modern woman, my sister Isabel, a suffragette. And as I am a widow, I am unrestricted under her roof to come and go as I please, and with whom I please."
Helen seemed to feel she had gained an advantage, for she continued, "Reed and I cannot easily be intimate here in Boston where everyone who is anyone knows us. But when we travel, we are freer to indulge." She laughed then. "Reed is a man of great passion."
"It is my understanding, however, that you are not—of great passion, that is."
Charlotte didn't know how those words escaped her lips, but she had been unable to stop herself from saying them. And why should she? She couldn't just stand there while Helen threw every barb.
Charlotte was satisfied to see how accurately hers hit home. Helen looked as if she'd been slapped. Her eyes were wide with shock.
"How could you...? He wouldn't... He wouldn't tell you that."
Charlotte chose to retreat to safer conversational territory. After all, any mention of Reed should be couched only in terms of his being her cousin's lawyer.
"We had many discussions while he stayed at my home to settle the children's affairs."
"The children!" Helen hissed, sounding as if she blamed them as the impetus for all her perceived problems with the handsome Mr. Malloy. "Bawling, dirty, loud little creatures, always upsetting furniture or tearing clothing. I thought you, of all people, would understand." She looked at Charlotte with a frown.
"When I found out in that awful barn that the learned 'Charles Sanborn' was actually a woman, I thought I understood you. You were living your isolated literary life and would detest the unwelcome intrusion of those little brutes." She shook her head slowly, as if she couldn't fathom Charlotte at all.
It was painful that Helen could have pegged her so well, at least the old Charlotte. But Helen didn't know of the love that had crept into Charlotte's heart or of the sheer joy she felt at sharing a hug and a smile with Lily and Thomas. And then it dawned on her.
"You didn't think I would fight for them," she said musingly, and it made sense. When Helen whispered her scandalous secrets in Alicia Randall's ear, she hadn't intended to make Charlotte come to Boston to face a moral inquisition. Rather, Helen thought Charlotte would welcome the excuse to give up her cousin's children—thereby severing all ties to Reed, including legal obligations.
It was becoming apparent that Helen's spitefulness had more to do with trying to keep hold of Reed, than with getting revenge on Charlotte. Seemingly, Helen thought if Charlotte fell from Reed's favor by sending Lily and Thomas back to Boston, his approving gaze would fall once more on her.
"You're not fond of children, Mrs. Belgrave," Charlotte said at last.
"Fortunately, my husband already had grown daughters when I married him. Children get on one's nerves so, and I imagine long exposure to them would damage my delicate constitution irreversibly." Helen sniffed. "I think it is apparent to anyone who knows me how I feel."
Including Reed, Charlotte thought, and Reed likes children. Very much. She is not the kind of woman with whom I want to spend my life, he had told Charlotte in the meadow. And he had obviously been pleased to see her warm to her young cousins.
"Whatever is that foolish smile for?" Helen cut into her thoughts. "Your coming here was a mistake; there is nothing for you here."
Charlotte considered the overwrought woman in front of her. It was clear to her now that Reed admired a woman who offered more than stunning good looks, but whether admiration could be translated into something more, she wasn't sure.
Furthermore, the idea that Reed had stopped off in St. Louis on his way home shattered all Charlotte's certainties that he had been absolutely truthful with her. It would be too easy for him to continue the convenient association he had with Helen.
Helen stamped her foot at Charlotte's silence, but Charlotte only shrugged at the dark-haired beauty. Then she said, "You could simply tell my aunt that you were mistaken, Mrs. Belgrave, and retract your accusations concerning my morality. Then, I might take the children and return to Colorado."
Helen looked as if she were considering the possibility.
"However," Charlotte continued, "I believe I quite like Boston, and for Lily and Thomas, it is home after all. In all probability, now that we are here, we shall stay, regardless of what you say to my aunt."
Helen Belgrave blanched white with fury. "If you think I will let a mudsill such as you make a laughingstock of me in my own town, you are mistaken. If you stay, I swear I will shred your reputation until every whoremonger in Boston comes scratching at your door, and I won't care what the consequences are to Alicia Randall."
In a swirl of claret red skirts, Helen was gone. Only then did Charlotte notice that Jason was watching from across the parquet floor. She approached him slowly.
"What was that all about?" he asked, his usually complacent smile replaced by genuine curiosity.
"One of the tigers, I'm afraid," Charlotte murmured, wishing the woman didn't have the ability to make her feel so shaken. But until she could talk to Reed about Helen's threats, she would have to handle them as best she could. Fortunately, there wasn't time to explain anything to Jason as her aunt called her over with an imperious wave.
"You must join the dance, my dear. Come now, Mr. Farnsworth, you must do your duty with my niece."
Before she knew it, Charlotte was whirling on the dance floor in Jason's arms. He was as good a dancer as he was a conversationalist, and a horseman, as she had discovered firsthand the day before when they'd taken a ride. And, if his words were true, he was also an excellent marksman and hunter.
"We look divine together," he told her, leaning close to speak into her ear. "Not a couple in the place looks as good as we do. Beyond doubt, no woman looks as graceful, and I don't mind saying that no man looks as dashing."
He was outrageous, but she couldn't help smiling at him.
"Your self-confidence... no, your boastfulness would seem boorish in most men, but somehow, with you, it is an endearing trait."
"Yes, I am singular," Jason admitted.
At that, her smile became a genuine laugh.
"Singularly full of yourself," she added, but he didn't look the least chagrined. "In fact, it wouldn't surprise me—"
Charlotte broke off as Jason spun her around and Reed's face came into view—unsmiling, harsh, handsome, and angry.
Chapter 17
Reed knew the exact moment Charlotte noticed him. He watched the words die on her full lips; he saw the surprise in her shimmering green eyes.
"Ah, Mr. Malloy," Alicia Randall intoned, holding out her hand to him, and he dragged his attention back to Charlotte's aunt. "I am so glad you made it to the party. I have not had the chance to thank you for handling Ann's affairs so smoothly. My daughter's death was made somewhat easier by your c
apable assistance."
"That's gracious of you to say, Mrs. Randall." Reed released her hand. "I know that not all of Ann's decisions were to your liking. In the end, however," he couldn't help letting his gaze travel back to where Charlotte was dancing in a swirling blue gown that left his chest feeling tight, "it seems it all worked out for the best."
She looked to her niece on the arm of the rich and eligible Jason Farnsworth, III. "I believe so, Mr. Malloy. I had some apprehensions, as you know, and I understand that you had concerns, too." She paused and eyed him sharply. "So much so that you felt the need to stay in my niece's home to set your mind at rest."
Reed was momentarily flabbergasted that Alicia Randall had that bit of information, but he simply returned her gaze with aplomb. He had perfected the guileless stare in the courtroom and used it now to protect Charlotte as best he could.
"Naturally, I couldn't just drop off your grandchildren in the middle of what until recently was a territory, with a woman whom their mother barely knew. I did my duty as I saw fit," he added, unable to believe his own audacity.
"Hm," murmured Alicia, apparently satisfied for the moment. "Your diligence, while admirable, was irresponsible where my niece is concerned. I wouldn't want word of it to spread here or any hint of a connection between you and my niece prior to her arrival in Boston. Do you agree?"
Reed nodded, his face grim. Clearly, he wasn't going to get to dance with Charlotte tonight after all.
"Oh, Mr. Malloy, why so sullen?" Alicia continued. "I am enjoying having my grandchildren with me, and Charlotte, too, of course. That is, when I see her at all. She is taken with young Mr. Farnsworth," Alicia pointed out, "and he with her. They do make a handsome couple, wouldn't you say?"
What Reed wanted to say, he couldn't. Not aloud. Not in polite society. And what he wanted to do would get him thrown out of the Tremont. He wanted to walk onto the dance floor, land his fist squarely in Farnsworth's soppy face, and throw Charlotte over his shoulder.
Once he had her away from the ball, he knew exactly what he'd do: he'd kiss her until she couldn't remember being in the arms of another man and then he'd undress her and—
"Mr. Malloy, are you all right?"
He returned his gaze to Alicia Randall, realizing he had stood there, staring like an idiot at the most captivating woman in the room.
"Quite," he said, looking over to the dance floor again when suddenly a beautiful face blocked his view.
"Good evening, Reed."
"Helen." He gave her a courteous nod.
"I was starting to wonder where you were keeping yourself." She put her hand on his arm before turning to Alicia. "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."
"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 Jason 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 and 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 had 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 had been determined to get her. Hence, his fruitless trip back to Colorado. He simply hadn't expected to see her looking as if she belonged so perfectly 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.
"If you keep looking like that, 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 got 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 to 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 auburn-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, Helen, 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 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 established 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. At the time, however, he had thought he would 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 much 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. Clearly, that was not going to happen.
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 dancing 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 Defiant Hearts Series Box Set Page 27