"I went in the library to find you. I looked upstairs and down, to no avail. When I came out, I thought you might be nearby and started toward your aunt's home in my carriage. By myself," he added. "Alone. Then I saw you disappear into the confines of Farnsworth's coach." His grip tightened.
"If my feet hadn't been hurting, I wouldn't have accepted a ride," she promised.
"If you get in his carriage, if you let him take you places, you're encouraging him to pursue you," Reed said, dropping her hands.
"That's not fair," she began but stopped her protests when he swore under his breath, looking to the heavens for patience.
"You don't understand how it works, Charlotte. You can't possibly, but I'm telling you, if others also saw you get into his carriage, your behavior would not be deemed appropriate, no matter how much your feet hurt."
She stared hard at him, but he was right. She looked down at the pavement. Her behavior was that of a bumpkin, someone who, as Reed had said, couldn't possibly know.
His hand lifted her chin. "Look at me." For some reason, the gentleness in his tone nearly brought her to tears, and she closed her eyes.
"Charlotte Sanborn. Look at me."
She swallowed and breathed evenly until the feeling passed. What had she to cry about anyway? When she finally looked up, she encountered an unquestionably sensual blue gaze.
"Will you come with me?"
"But you just said—"
"That doesn't apply to me, Charlotte. I am pursuing you." He smiled at her. "And you are encouraging me correct?"
She nodded and let him take her arm. "Where are we going?"
"You'll see," was all he said. Inwardly, she felt a delicious tingle at the thought of a mystery.
Finally, she was alone with Reed in his bustling city. He was by her side, they were on friendly terms, and all seemed right with the world. She thought they were heading toward his office, but then he took a turn and they were on Washington Street.
"Almost there," he said, after they'd gone a block. And in the next minute, they arrived at the corner of School Street, and she gasped.
"Oh, Reed," she exclaimed, examining the building's signage, "it's incredible." It was not the interesting architecture that caused her reaction; for though the corner building was old, it was not particularly attractive. It was the sight of all the books for sale in the large, old bookstore.
"I am sure I could only get that particular reaction out of one woman," Reed said, not taking his eyes off her brightened face. He escorted her inside.
"Tell me about it," she said to Reed, as she perused the first line of shelves.
When other men might whisper sweet nothings, he told her of the building's history. Erected in 1718, it had withstood much change and was a testimony to the ongoing value of the written word. Earlier in the century, the bookstore had the reputation as the most respectable bookselling and publishing house in America, and it was once the gathering place of Hawthorne, Longfellow, and Emerson, along with Thackeray and Dickens.
Charlotte was enchanted, even more so by the fact that Reed had understood her enough to know how she would feel. They spent an hour lingering in the shop, picking up books and pointing out passages to each other, sharing their likes and dislikes.
"Choose something and let me buy it for you," he said, as she scanned a shelf of English classics. She considered his offer.
"In the first place," she said, running her hand over the spines of the books in front of her, "I am not sure I should take a gift from you. After all, I don't understand about how such things work."
She shot him a glance and saw he was smiling wryly. "And in the second place, I would never be able to choose one," she concluded with a helpless shrug that took in the hundreds of titles available.
"It works this way," he said, grasping her gloved hand. "You let me shower you with gifts as I see fit because it brings me extreme happiness. And if you can't decide, then I shall pick one out for you," Reed countered, pulling her after him to stand by the clerk. "Stay right here," he told her. He strolled back through the shop, pausing a few moments until he finally settled on something, which he would not let her see.
"Patience," he told her, as the shop clerk wrapped his choice in brown paper. Once outside, they walked along a block to a coffeehouse and took seats outside. Only after ordering refreshments did Reed hand her the small package.
Charlotte opened the brown paper slowly, then she caught her breath as she withdrew a leather-bound copy of Ovid's Ars amatoria.
For a moment, she just looked down at the elegant gold lettering on the cover, reading over the Latin words as her mind translated, "The Art of Love." She tried to convince herself that it was silly to attach meaning to the thin volume in her hand, but her heart raced anyway.
"Have you read it?" he asked finally, when it seemed she couldn't find any words.
"No, I have not."
"Truthfully, I haven't either," he admitted.
She laughed. "I would have thought that his Metamorphoses might be more apropos given the change that has taken place in my life in the last few months."
His gaze never wavered from her face. "No, I chose the right book." He took her hand, unmindful of passersby. "Once again, Charlotte, I am asking you to marry me, but this time, I am going to do it correctly."
Chapter 24
Reed reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black velvet case. He placed it on the table, and before Charlotte had time to realize what he was doing, he opened it.
In front of her was a ring with a large, glittering solitaire diamond, rectangular in shape. It was so clear and sparkling it looked almost blue.
"It's exquisite," she murmured, unable to stop herself from leaning forward and taking a closer look.
"I wasn't going to do this now, not today, not in this manner. But running into you has been fortuitous and I cannot let the opportunity pass. Yesterday, when you gave me the mitten—"
"I did no such thing," she interrupted. "That is, I did turn down your proposal, but only because.. ," she trailed off and sat back, with her mouth closed.
"Because?" Reed insisted. "Because why?"
Charlotte groaned inwardly. He thought she was being difficult, but how could she ask him to love her?
When his question met with silence, he continued, "As I said, when you turned me down, I spent the afternoon nearly deranged with frustration—especially when I'd seen for myself how easy it was for another man to take you away from me."
"It was only a lift home, Reed," she protested, but he wasn't listening.
"Then last night, I passed a jeweler and it hit me, like a wagonload of diamonds, I guess." He smiled wryly. "A man should never ask a woman for her hand without offering her something glorious to put on it."
Charlotte had been listening to his words with growing horror. At his conclusion, she rubbed her hands over her face and sighed.
"Is that what you think of me, Reed Malloy, that I would not agree to be your wife until I saw the size of the stone? Do you think I've been saying no in order to honey-fuggle the biggest diamond I can?"
"No, that's not what I meant. Yet I can think of no other reason." He looked exasperated. "Please, Charlotte, what is the problem?"
"The problem is," Charlotte began, thinking to tell him again that she simply needed more time; then she narrowed her eyes at him. Maybe she wasn't using her head. Perhaps it was time to try the key that John Trelaine had graciously given her. "Would you care to tell me about Celia?"
"Celia." He was obviously caught off guard—she could see it in the way he stared at her, surprised, just as he had done long ago on her front porch when she'd suggested that she needed a wife. Then he shook his head.
"I wondered how long it would take before you'd ask. I admired your restraint through lunch yesterday."
But he did not look to be a happy man. "What a pity I interrupted you and John when I did. If I hadn't, you need not have bothered to ask me at all."
She refused to back down at this point. "That's not fair, Reed. Until yesterday, I didn't know there was anything to ask. Shouldn't I know about the past of the man who already knows practically everything about me?"
He stared at her a moment before settling more comfortably in his seat and sipping his coffee. When he put the cup down, he looked resigned to the ensuing discussion.
"Very well. But I'm telling you now, Charlotte, this has nothing to do with us. Do you understand that?"
Charlotte nodded. "Please continue."
Reed sighed. "I don't know why John mentioned her, of all people. She hasn't even lived in the states for over a decade. Celia was, however, the most beautiful girl in Boston when I was a green youth of eighteen."
Charlotte tried to conjure up the image of Reed being anything other than sophisticated, but failed.
"We moved in the same circles. Her father was a banker and her brother was at Dane Law School at Harvard, two years ahead of me. Naturally, I arranged to be where she was, to show up at the same parties, and always to play the gallant. What I was actually playing was the fool."
He said it as a recognized fact, without shame or humiliation or even bitterness. She stayed silent, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, willing him to continue.
"For a year, I followed her around, thinking her the sweetest, most desirable female in the world. Though there were other girls—and I'm sure some were quite nice—who showed an interest in me, my eyes could see nothing but Celia. At times, I thought I was close to winning her." He smiled wryly at his youthful naiveté.
"She would dance all evening only with me or agree to go riding on the Common. The next day, she would be out with some other young man. I started to give up hope when all of a sudden, she came to me and said that I was being far too slow at courting her. Needless to say, I was astounded... and ecstatic. A week later, I bedded her."
Charlotte gasped, and Reed locked eyes with her. "You wanted to know."
"Yes," she whispered through the abrupt pain that had no particular location in her body, just an overall jealous ache at his wanting another woman so fervently. "Go on."
"It had been over a year of wanting after all. I took the opportunity she gave me, as a drowning man finally being thrown a rope. Believe me, no one was more surprised than I." He paused, a sardonic look upon his face.
"Perhaps I should clarify, however. I believe she bedded me. For as it turned out, she was already enceinte and was looking for a suitable father. Apparently, the one who planted his seed was from the wrong side of town."
"How horrible," Charlotte exclaimed. "The woman you set up on a pedestal—"
"Turned out to be a conniving, manipulative bitch, playing every man off each other. Unfortunately, she concluded that I presented her with the best choice for a husband, as I was doing well at Dane, particularly in moot court, and showing every promise of graduating early from law school."
Reed had a faraway expression as if recalling it in vivid detail. "When her father learned about her condition, he came looking for me. Even though I'd used every precaution, unlike when you and I were intimate. For some reason, I was able to keep my head about me with her, not with you," he added, ruefully.
Charlotte felt the familiar warming flush on her cheeks, thinking of their completely uninhibited passion that wiped the thought of contraception out of both of their minds.
"He nearly succeeded in railroading me into the marriage, even when it became clear that there were other men in line for ownership of the babe blossoming inside her. Then he tried to buy me, as any wealthy banker would, I suppose. Finally, he threatened my career, and my father stepped in."
He paused and Charlotte put her hand out to touch his, though he didn't seem to notice. "My father was an excellent attorney in his day—not to mention a formidable man. He had a presence that commanded respect and in some cases, downright terror." Reed gave a wry smile, remembering.
"Before I knew it, Celia was on a boat to Europe. That was the end of that," he said firmly, before draining the last of his coffee in a quick gulp.
"And you soured on women," Charlotte finished, then thought of how he used Helen to keep marriageable women at bay, "and for a long time on marriage, too." And what about love?
"I wasn't such a twit to believe that one woman represented all women, but I did start to notice a pattern in my social circles. Something along the lines of women on the hunt, bagging the most eligible man within their reach." Reed shrugged.
"I admit that Celia's betrayal caused a certain mistrust to grow in me, and it wasn't hard to notice how women often conveniently fall in love with the wealthiest or most influential man in the room. As I became more of both, I found myself being pursued by more women than I could have imagined, some who professed to love me, almost at first sight."
Charlotte wanted to defend her own fair sex but couldn't. He was probably accurate in his assessment of the young women of his acquaintance. She withdrew her hand from his and waited for him to continue.
"Then I soured, as you put it. I'll end this by saying that at least with Helen, I knew exactly what I was getting."
And what about his recent change of heart? Charlotte wondered. "I assume your marriage proposal means that with me, as with Helen, you know exactly what you're getting, only you find me more acceptable as a wife than you do her."
He looked straight into her eyes, sensing, perhaps, that she was not entirely happy about being a creature who lacked any mystery.
"That seems a dispassionate way of looking at it, especially since you've been unorthodox from the beginning. To tell you the truth, Charlotte, I'm never sure what will happen when it comes to you."
She merely shrugged. It was his turn to take her hand. "For me, there is something incredibly appealing about an independent woman supporting herself, even spurning all company, seemingly so straight-laced but hiding an utterly sensual spirit."
She felt her cheeks grow warm, but he continued, "And then, you traveled two thousand miles to fight for children that aren't even yours."
Reed ran his free hand through his thick, dark hair. "Yet, I would have to say that you're correct. Through it all, I feel that I know where I stand with you. Or at least I did until yesterday. I don't think you're one to play games. Thus I'm at a loss, Charlotte."
He eyes searched over her face. "I know you to be an excellent companion, and I trust I can be the same to you. And our compatibility in certain areas," he continued, and she was in no doubt as to what he meant, "is obvious. I fail to see why you won't marry me?"
How could this man be so dimwitted and so intelligent at the same time? She simply could not ask out loud, Do you love me? She believed he would answer in the affirmative regardless, and she would always wonder if she'd forced it out of him. No, he would have to come to it on his own or not come to it at all.
"I've already told you," Charlotte said, referring to the myriad of trumped up reasons she'd given him the day before. Gently but firmly, she pushed the jewelry case toward him. Gathering her new book and her reticule as she glanced around at the long blue-gray shadows on the sidewalk, she added, "It's getting late. Aunt Alicia will be wondering how I could walk for so long."
His eyes narrowed and his face looked grim. "Your answer is still no."
"Yes," she said quickly. "That is, no. I mean, you are correct, my answer is still no."
He stood up silently, then reached for the velvet case and closed it with a loud snap. Pulling her chair out for her, he offered her his arm and they walked to his clarence. Still, he said nothing more. When the carriage door was closed behind them and they were moving, Charlotte lifted her head and searched out his gaze, but he was looking at the passing landscape.
"Reed," she began, but stopped as he turned to her, his piercing blue eyes locking with her own. She wasn't sure what she saw—annoyance, anger, perhaps sadness.
Then he spoke. "I will not bother you again with my offer of marriage until you have had suffici
ent time to 'experience your new life.' That is how you put it yesterday, isn't it?"
She had not heard that tone before. It was clear that she had hurt him, or perhaps wounded his pride. In either case, as things stood between them, Charlotte didn't know how to resolve the situation. If he distanced himself from her, how would he ever fall in love with her?
She leaned forward. "I have experienced far more since meeting you, and with you, than I ever have in my life. I have seen the elephant, as they say."
"But?" he prompted, his eyes staying steadily on hers. She swallowed, trying to think of a way to phrase what she truly wanted from him.
He spoke before her, "But you still think there may be something more out there, and you're not ready to settle for me."
Charlotte clutched at the book on her lap. Settle for him? How ridiculous! They both knew he could have any single woman in Boston, and probably many of the married ones, too. Still, she feared that by putting him off—giving him the mitten, as he'd said—she had touched the old wound left by Celia, who had used him horrendously trying to get what she wanted.
"You have been sheltered and closed off from relationships and society," he continued, warming to his hypothesis for why she was refusing him. "I've had more experience with the world than you, and so I'm able to ask you, with complete certainty, to share my life, despite the brevity of our acquaintance. The question is, how long shall I be willing to wait for you to do the same?"
She couldn't help but bristle at his veiled ultimatum. Plainly, he was telling her to hurry or risk no marriage at all. He had no right to accuse her of being ignorant or naive. She knew her heart and had already decided that he was all she would ever want. She paused before responding, collecting her emotions—and reminding herself that he was hurt, after all.
"It is my hope," she said softly, daring to lay her gloved hand on his arm, "that you can wait until... until everything falls into place. I have faith that the time will come sooner rather than later." She just had to figure out how to make him fall head over heels in love with her and declare it.
The Defiant Hearts Series Box Set Page 34