The Defiant Hearts Series Box Set

by Sydney Jane Baily

  She breathed a sigh.

  "I feel like being ravished," she told him, not caring if he thought her shamelessly bold. He grinned the most sensual smile she'd ever seen, lowered his head and kissed her again, deeply, thoroughly, until her nipples had ripened to hard buds, her toes were curling, and all her parts in between were turning to liquid.

  At last, he raised his head and groaned. "That's why I need to talk to you. If we don't come to some understanding—"

  "Understanding?" she repeated, thinking of his prior understanding with Helen.

  "Arrangement, treaty, agreement—whatever you want to call it, Charlotte—then I'm going to have to break my promise."

  "I don't understand." She tried to think clearly, but remembered no promise, unless... "You mean you won't wait for me anymore?" She had not said yes soon enough to his proposal, and now what? Was he kissing her goodbye?

  "I can't wait," Reed said, confirming her worst fear. He took her hand. "The vow I made that you'd be my fiancée before we made love again was sworn with the best of intentions, but it's as if you're asking a thirsty man to look at a glass of crystal clear water and not touch a drop to his lips. I need you, not only in my life but in my bed."

  She was so relieved, she felt giddy. It wasn't that he couldn't wait any longer for her response; it was that he couldn't wait for her body.

  "These past weeks, I have been trying to be the restrained and respectful suitor you deserve, but damn it, Charlotte, I don't want to be only a suitor. I want all the privileges and blessings that come with being your husband. I hold you in the highest esteem, but every time you're near me, I want strip off every last article of your clothing, very quickly, and then proceed to make love to you."

  She blushed profusely, unable to quell the image he'd conjured.

  Reed, however, looked grim. "I thought if I just waited—without Farnsworth muddying the waters and with your career flourishing—that you would finally agree to be my wife, but that hasn't happened."

  "No," she shook her head miserably. And all her excuses for more time, for the chance to get her career under way were fast running out. He wanted to be her husband, and he held her in the highest esteem. But she didn't want simply his esteem, however high. She wanted his love. She wanted...

  Charlotte looked at Reed's somber face and knew that what she wanted most was to remove the shadow from his heart, whatever had caused it.

  "Reed, tell me about long ago."

  "What?"

  "After you rescued me from the warehouse, you spoke of conscience and holding yourself responsible. Please tell me what you meant. Is it to do with Celia?"

  She watched his chest expand as he took a deep breath.

  "I've never told anyone this," he said, his voice sounding rough. "It's not Celia exactly, but the baby she carried."

  "The baby that she pretended was yours. Whose was it?"

  "I don't know. I can only assume that she knew who the father was." He stood up and walked a few steps from her. "If I had gone along with Celia's plan," he told her, his back still to her, "the child would be older than Lily."

  "What happened to the baby?" Charlotte asked, but she didn't think she wanted to hear the answer—or rather, she already knew.

  At his feet was a small weed, sprouting alone in the midst of Alicia's lush green grass; somehow, it had not yet been noticed by her aunt. Reed bent down and pulled it out with a quick twist of his fingers.

  "She never had it. She made sure I knew that, too," he said, as he stood up, his thoughts far away, "If I'd known her intentions, I think I would have married her for the child's sake." He let the weed drop from his hand.

  Charlotte stood up and closed the space between them in seconds. From behind, she put her slender arms around him and pressed her cheek to his back. She was stunned by the sheer cruelty of the woman Reed had once thought he loved.

  There had been no need for Celia to tell him she'd ended her pregnancy, except to make him suffer for having ruined her selfish plans. And Reed, with his love of children, blamed himself for all these years.

  "This has nothing to do with us, Charlotte," he said, clasping her arms under his strong hands. Then he turned in her embrace and faced her.

  Nothing to do with us. That's what he'd said before when he'd first told her about Celia. Now, she knew differently. His guilt over the unborn child and over the possible consequences of loving someone, especially the wrong person, created the fear she had detected.

  It was clear to her why it had been of utmost importance to Reed that she love Lily and Thomas. And then a thought struck her.

  "Reed, why didn't you use any contraception the last time we...?" she trailed off.

  He rested his chin against the top of her head so she couldn't see him. "I knew it would be all right, either way. I intend to keep you in my life, whatever else happens."

  Charlotte sighed. It was a good sign—Reed knew if she became pregnant, she would cherish the baby with all her heart. Obviously, he trusted her.

  Her expression was wistful, as she thought of all the Celias and Helens in the world who might have won his heart. They had only to look past the powerful lawyer and see him for the warm, caring man he was.

  Yet, she refused to believe any woman, no matter how cruel, had ruined him altogether for love, or that he could close off his heart more securely than she had done. She had been ready to live alone for the rest of her life rather than risk losing anyone else. And life had turned out to be wonderful since she opened her heart to loving the children and him. Could Reed Malloy be as afraid as she had been?

  He lifted his head and looked down at her. To her astonishment, his handsome face split open in a broad smile.

  "You look like Thomas when he has his eyes on the sweet shop."

  Oh, yes, dear Reed, my eyes are on the sweets. She pulled his head down and kissed him.

  * * *

  Reed stood by the picture window in his parlor and looked out to sea. It was nearly the end of summer, the end of another difficult trial, the end of a long day, and very nearly the end of his patience. What was wrong with the woman, anyway? It had been so much simpler when he'd been with Helen. And so much lonelier.

  He shuddered to think of their years of endless social gatherings, polished smiles, and loveless sexual encounters. Yes, it was sometimes extremely difficult with Charlotte, but he wouldn't trade what they had, tenuous as it seemed at the moment, for anything or anyone.

  He ran his hand through his hair, feeling as if it was all he could do not to pull it out.

  True to his word, despite what he'd said to her the day before, he was determined not to bed Charlotte again until she was his fiancée, until he could rightfully make her his own. Yet he was beginning to despair of ever figuring out what she was waiting for. And waiting was definitely what she was doing, looking at him with longing in those emerald eyes each time they were together.

  It was all he could do not to haul her down the aisle of the church for her own good.

  Rain was falling like sharp needles. With a heavy wind blowing, the sea was pounding relentlessly at the shore, making the pilings underneath India Wharf groan with the strain.

  It didn't worry him; these pilings had stood for a century and would continue to do so for many years to come—seemingly invincible and as unchangeable as he had felt himself to be for so long. Until Charlotte.

  He couldn't put his finger on just what had changed, but something seemed to have opened in him, a weight had been lifted, and he felt eager to start a new life with her, if only she'd give in and let him.

  "Monsieur Malloy." Reed jumped at the sound of Pierre's voice. His cook had managed to enter the room without him hearing.

  "My apology," Pierre said, holding out his employer's warmed brandy glass. "You were drifting, as you have been doing much lately."

  Reed smiled crookedly. "I have, haven't I?" He walked forward and took the drink from Pierre and sat down on the sofa.

  He was loo
king forward to a good chat with the witty Frenchman, who often bested him in a game of chess or surprised him with his insights into the American political scene. But his hopes for some stimulating conversation were dashed when he noticed that Pierre didn't hold a snifter of his own.

  "I hope you don't mind if I retire early tonight, Monsieur Malloy."

  "Not at all," Reed lied, hating to spend another evening with only his own brooding thoughts for company. "Is something wrong?"

  "It is Jeanine. These storms frighten her so much. And though I tell her we are safe..." He rolled his eyes. "Women, eh? But love makes a man a slave, and luckily, it makes women overlook our faults. Mademoiselle Sanborn has made a slave of you, yes?" He laughed good-naturedly. "Goodnight, Monsieur."

  "Goodnight, Pierre," Reed responded, but he didn't notice the man leave. He was thinking of Charlotte, of being a slave to her. A memory of Celia returned unbidden from the last time he'd seen her, the day before she had sailed away.

  "I nearly made you my slave, Reed," she'd said, unbowed by her humiliation, unashamed of her own duplicity.

  "You nearly did," he had agreed bitterly and with a silent vow that it would never happen again. No, never again, he'd sworn to himself, would he let his heart be a slave to a woman.

  Could the answer be as simple as that? It was long ago, but for a moment, it seemed as if it was yesterday—and the feelings were nearly as raw. He had told Charlotte that Celia had nothing to do with them, but perhaps he was wrong.

  Had he been holding Charlotte accountable for another woman's sins? Impossible! He loved Charlotte! Loved her with all his heart. He jumped off the sofa. Good Lord, he'd been a fool, then and now. An absolute dunce! And he couldn't wait another moment to tell her.

  * * *

  Charlotte heard the door knocker and Gerald's footsteps in the hall, and she put down her book on the parlor table. However, preparing herself for an unexpected late-night visitor and suddenly seeing Reed, without a coat, his hair soaking wet, standing in the doorway was another matter.

  There was no preparation for the feeling that started deep inside her, for the quickening pace of her heartbeat.

  What on earth was she waiting for? This man wanted to marry her! She stood up and nearly leaped into his arms.

  Gerald discreetly bowed out, closing the door behind him.

  "Reed, what is it? You look as if...," she trailed off, unable to say what his expression meant for she'd never seen it before, not on Reed's face nor on any man's. "Has something happened?"

  "Charlotte," he said, closing the space between them and taking her in his arms, mindless of the damp state of his clothes. He dropped a kiss on her parted lips, "Won't you marry the man who loves you most in this world?"

  She was thunderstruck. "You love me?" Her voice was little more than a whisper.

  He looked equally shocked at her words. He'd finally guessed at the problem but couldn't believe that was all there was to it. Still, here was his proof that she hadn't known how he felt. "Of course I love you."

  "You never said it," she told him, sagging with relief and feeling she would disgrace herself any minute by outright weeping. He loved her. She could marry him. She sniffed loudly.

  He pressed her close against him, understanding finally that the only obstruction had been his inability to recognize and speak the love he felt. Charlotte had let him into her heart and then waited bravely, even refusing his proposal. And he'd nearly let a shadowy memory stand like a giant in his path.

  "I didn't think I needed to say it," he murmured, taking her face in his hands. "In truth, I resisted saying it, thinking I could save a small part of myself from being completely in your power. It hasn't worked. But I honestly didn't realize that was why you were refusing my proposal. I thought I stated my case from all angles."

  "Like a lawyer!" she exclaimed, pushing away from his chest and searching for a handkerchief in her sleeve.

  "But I am a lawyer," he said exasperatedly, handing her a linen square from his own soggy pocket. She took it, dabbing at her eyes before scrunching it tightly under white knuckles.

  "But I am a writer, and I deal in words, and I need to have them spelled out for me—precisely," she added, sniffing again. "I was beginning to think you could never love me because of Celia."

  Reed looked surprised. "You're a smarter woman than I deserve." Then he lifted her chin, looking directly at her, his cobalt eyes ablaze with dark emotions. "Let me be precise. Charlotte Sanborn, I love you with all my heart."

  She felt a tear slip down her cheek. "And I'll need to hear those words a lot, not just once," she told him feeling a lump in her throat.

  He smiled at her tears and her sniffles, and he pulled her to him again. "Is this my independent lady writer, brought to crying by a few words?"

  "Not just any words, Reed, the words I've waited all my life to hear."

  He sobered, gazing down into her glittering green eyes. "The words I've waited all my life to say," he assured her. "And I'll tell you often, I love you."

  She reached up and kissed him. It was a long moment later when he lifted his head.

  "Not that I wouldn't mind hearing them myself," he added, the hint of a smile on his lips.

  She beamed at him, feeling the bliss of being encircled in his arms and for the first time knowing she was also surrounded by his love. "I love you Reed Malloy, and yes, I will marry you."

  * * *

  Charlotte stepped out of the carriage and walked along the front path of Reed's mother's house. At the top of the steps, on the large open porch, stood Reed, taking her breath away and making her heart skip a beat at the sight of him as he talked to someone just out of view.

  Her brother and aunt were already inside, honored guests of Reed's mother, Evelyn Malloy. Charlotte had stayed a few minutes behind with Bridget to get the children to bed. She loved their bedtime—the stories, warm kisses, and extra big hugs—and almost never missed it.

  A pretty woman, a few years younger than Charlotte, rushed out of the open front door and into Reed's arms. He caught her in a warm embrace, laughing as he did.

  Charlotte didn't even hesitate, keeping her smile in place and heading up the front steps to her engagement party. Reed caught sight of her and grinned broadly, opening one arm to welcome her while keeping the other firmly around the waist of the other woman.

  "This can only be your youngest sister," Charlotte said, having soundly been taught her lesson the first two times she'd rushed to judgment. He nodded, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips.

  "I hate gloves," the young woman announced. "Who wants to be kissed on the glove?"

  Charlotte laughed. Reed rolled his eyes.

  "Charlotte, this is Rose."

  "I'm glad to meet you," Charlotte said.

  "Not as much as I," Rose said, having just returned home from a trip to London with her mother. Hands on hips, she appraised Charlotte from head to toe. "So, you are the woman who has finally tamed my brother."

  Charlotte blushed, glancing at Reed whose face had momentarily lost all expression, refusing to give his little sister any satisfaction.

  "Rose, quick, come see this stereoscope thingamajig."

  Charlotte recognized Sophie's voice, having had tea with her just the day before.

  "See you later, Charlotte." And Rose pushed against her brother's side and was gone.

  "We don't normally let her out in polite society," Reed said, giving Charlotte a wry smile before taking her hand again. "But frankly, I hate gloves, too."

  He took her by the wrist and proceeded to peel off her lilac glove, one finger at a time. Charlotte stared at his movements, feeling her mouth grow dry. As he took her other hand and did the same, it felt as if he were undressing her in public. And it made a shiver run down her spine.

  When he was finished, he kissed her hand again, then entwined her fingers with his.

  "Much better," he said, as they walked into the soiree in their honor.

  He signale
d a passing waiter and handed Charlotte a glass of champagne.

  "I can't wait to strip the rest of you later tonight," he murmured so only she could hear.

  She choked on the chilled, bubbling liquid that she'd just sipped. When she could breathe again, she looked up at him. "I'm delighted to know that I haven't tamed you at all, Mr. Malloy."

  He put his head back and laughed.

  Epilogue

  Though the air was frosty with the winter chill of November, it was a perfect day as far as Charlotte was concerned; she walked steadily down the aisle of the King's Chapel in the heart of the city she had grown to love.

  Lily walked ahead of her with a basket of white and pink roses, clad in a white dress that mimicked Charlotte's own. Thomas had declared her a "princess" in her ivory wedding gown with its trim waist, mother-of-pearl buttons, and leg o' mutton sleeves that tapered to stylishly simple points on the back of her hands.

  The bustle was crowned by a large silk bow over a draped, folded train embedded with smaller bows and trailing out behind her for a carriage-length. Her chestnut hair, swept up in a loose chignon, was decorated with white and purple sweet William, and over this was a gossamer veil.

  The dress was entirely Alicia's doing. For her own part, Charlotte didn't care if she wore a sack, or nothing at all, as she made her way between the crowded pews to join Reed at the altar.

  Her brother walked beside her, happy to stand in for their father, though he professed himself unhappy at giving her away to any man. Even to Reed Malloy, who was dressed in slate gray tails trimmed with black piping and who waited impatiently at the front of the church with John Trelaine. Beside John, Thomas held a white pillow with her wedding ring.

  Charlotte was blissful, seeing Reed's warm eyes upon her. There was that look—that worshipful look—and she had all her clothes on! She scolded herself for improper thoughts in the church, but it seemed only minutes later that Charlotte and Reed were pronounced man and wife, and Aunt Alicia beamed at them from her honored place in the front row.

  Her thoughts couldn't be considered improper anymore, Charlotte told herself, her heart filled with happiness. Reed lifted her veil, bent his head, and kissed her. She opened her eyes to see that familiar lock of hair falling over his forehead, and she reached up as any wife would and brushed it aside for him.