To Seduce A Rogue (Southern Heat Book 1)

by Tracy Sumner

  * * *

  “Miles, did you thank him in your last letter?”

  “Yes, but I only sent it two days ago. Landsakes, he won’t have it yet!”

  * * *

  I hope the Sentinel is progressing under Benjamin Folkes’ charge. I get copies here when I can, although Stokes is suspicious regarding my intentions. Miles, let me know immediately if anything happens. As I no doubt mentioned in a previous letter, I talked with Mr. Folkes before he left for Edgemont. He seems like a nice man. A very competent editor. He should be able to teach Charlie a lot about the business.

  My work is going well, except for a minor incident last week researching a story. Due to my editorial duties, reporting is role I have not occupied for two years or more. I found I missed it. I guess I forgot that it’s not as easy as concocting an editorial while sitting at a desk.

  The weather is beginning to take a definite turn toward winter, I think. The air is cool, quite chilly at night. I’m making good use of the fireplace in my den. Likewise, Miles, a bottle of your liquor warms me on those cold nights.

  * * *

  Miles laughed. His smile fell as he caught Kathy’s frown. He coughed and continued.

  * * *

  I wish you good health and a mild winter.

  With thoughtful regard,

  Adam

  * * *

  “Hmmpt...he didn’t even mention her name.”

  Oh, Lord. “Yes, he did. He said he thought Ben Folkes could teach her a lot.”

  “That is not what I meant.”

  “Kathy—”

  She slammed the spoon against the stove for the second time. “Don’t Kathy me, Miles Lambert. She’s been back for almost two months! And here I thought Charlie and Adam were in love with each other. So did you, if I remember correctly.”

  He smiled and turned, not mentioning that this had been his idea almost from the start. He’d brought Kathy around to thinking it.

  “Mercy. I just want them to be happy. Why isn’t that possible? I feel like, with a little nudge here and there, I might be able to push them in the right direction.”

  “Oh, Kathy, you—”

  She sank to her knees before him. Grasping his hands, she looked into his face. Her eyes were shining, clear, pure green. His Kathy had a heart of gold, she did. She did pry, but earnest intentions propelled her prying.

  “Miles, wouldn’t you have wanted someone to help us if we had been...um, misdirected?” She squeezed his hands. “I’ve got an idea. It’s harmless. Truly.”

  He groaned and closed his eyes. “What do I have to do?”

  She threw her arms around his neck, then bounced to her feet. “This will help them. I promise it will.”

  He lifted his gaze skyward, all the while saying a prayer.

  “Missy, I do not like the lead from the first paragraph to the second. Not tight enough.”

  Charlie lifted her head from her arms. “You must be mistaken.”

  “No, missy, I’m not mistaken.”

  “Hellfire.”

  Benjamin Folkes popped his knuckles and gave her a bland look. He was always popping his knuckles, even the knuckle that only had an inch of finger attached to it. The first time she’d shaken his hand, he’d looked her dead in the eye and said with a terse nod, “This is a tough business, missy.”

  Had he expected her to flinch and pull her hand away? Instead she’d stared right back at him, straight as a new arrow, and returned, “Yes sir, I guess it is.”

  That had earned his grudging respect.

  Grudging because he believed journalism was no place for a woman, of which he reminded her daily. She would persevere. He knew the business like the inside of his pocket, even if he was too old and tired at times to share the contents of his pocket. His experience, his insight, was what she wanted from him. Approval she didn’t give two apples about.

  Chase had been right about Benjamin Folkes. He wouldn’t take a chance on angering Oliver Stokes. Not because he was timid or believed in the partisan system. But because he was older than dirt.

  “Missy, I think I may go home early today. My back, you know.” He placed his hand along his side and stretched. The cracking sound that followed was enough to convince her.

  She nodded. “Yes, go. I’ll work on the lead.”

  He lifted his finger.

  “I know. The other editorial needs work, too.”

  “Until tomorrow.”

  She released a ragged breath as she lowered her head to her arms. She barely heard the sound of the door opening and closing. She was so tired.

  Bone-tired. Exhausted. Overworked.

  Gerald did all he could. So did Benjamin Folkes. But, they were older men, one of them really old. They couldn’t stay up all night printing a newspaper or work two days straight to make a deadline. Therefore, she was doing what had to be done to get the Sentinel out. Of course, the deadlines had become a bit ambiguous. The paper had gone from weekly to about every ten days.

  And the work did what it was supposed to. It kept her from thinking about him. Well, it kept her from thinking about him all the time.

  He was never very far away. Yesterday, she turned in the bright sunlight and dizziness swept through her. As the patches of black filtered through her vision, she could see him, standing there in the Sentinel doorway as he had so many times, dark hair glistening, eyes flooding with anger or impatience, or as it was later...desire.

  At night, she curled her fingers around his hand, touched his lips with her own. At night, when she lingered in that place between dreams and reality.

  Those were the only moments she felt truly content.

  She could close her eyes, run her tongue across her lips and taste him. Tobacco, wine and a scent all his own. Spicy and sweet all at once. Somewhat like cinnamon.

  A smile played upon her lips as she imagined Adam Jared Chase’s reaction to being compared to cinnamon.

  “Charlie?”

  She groaned and snuggled deeper into her arms.

  “Charlie, wake up.”

  A slight nudge. She shook her head, resisting. Who was calling her? Was it time to get up already? Where was Jared? Was he still sleeping?

  “Jared?”

  A soothing touch, her hair brushed from her brow.

  “Charlie, wake up, honey.”

  Charlie lifted her head. “Kath?” She squinted and blinked.

  “You need to go home,” Kath said. “It’s getting dark.”

  Charlie sat, pushed her hair from her face and yawned. “I...” She stretched and yawned again. “I can’t. Paper due in two days.” She rubbed her eyes. “Have to finish a few editorials.”

  Kath flung her reticule down and shoved a chair by the desk. “Mercy. Should I sit in this or just rest my handkerchief there?”

  Charlie frowned. “It’s stronger than it looks.”

  Her friend didn’t look like she believed it but settled down anyway.

  “Kath, why are you in town so late in the day?”

  “Miles had to run by Mr. Whitefield’s. Something he couldn’t wait until tomorrow to do. I thought I would ride in with him. The weather’s so pleasant.” Kath smiled. “Almost like a summer day.”

  Charlie looked away. The summer had ended years ago.

  “Charlie?”

  She turned back to find Kath watching her with a sympathetic look. Oh, no. She knew that look.

  “Don’t you want to talk about it?”

  Charlie shook her head. “No, I don’t.”

  Kath laid her hand on the desk and leaned forward. Her chair squeaked and wobbled, but thankfully, did not dump her on the dirty floor. “I don’t know how to talk to you right now. I don’t know what, I have no idea how...” Kath drew in a breath and released it in a slow puff. “I want to be your friend again.”

  Friend. Kath would always be her friend. A dear friend. A lifelong friend. However, her best friend was in Richmond. That would always be. Until she was ninety. Until she died.

>   Forever.

  Charlie lifted a hand to Kath’s face, capturing the tear that was tracing a path through the light coating of dust on her face. “The baby is making you awfully teary-eyed. Poor Miles.”

  Kath dug around in her reticule until she found a handkerchief. Her initials were stitched in blue in one corner. She blew her nose, then pushed the handkerchief back in its place. “I stitched these the day after Miles asked me to marry him. My new initials, well, almost mine. This is the only handkerchief left.” She fiddled with the reticule strap. “I was so in love with him. He made the moon shine brighter, the sun shine longer. He was, and is, the very air I breathe. I don’t think I could live without him.”

  Charlie clenched her jaw and drew back. “Adam is not Miles, Kath.”

  And I’m not you.

  Kath’s cheeks flushed. “I know that.”

  Charlie lowered her face to her hands and pushed a rough breath past chafed lips. “I’m sorry.”

  Kath scooted along the seat of the chair until her elbows rested against Charlie’s on the desk. “Talk to me. I want so much to help you. I don’t even know that anything is wrong.” She tapped her fingers on the desk. “You just seem so different. So preoccupied. So troubled.”

  Charlie lifted her head. The look in her eyes, whatever it was, brought a fresh wave of tears to Kath’s.

  “For heaven’s sake, get your hankie out.”

  Kath sniffed and wiped at her nose with the back of her hand. “You look terrible, by the way.”

  Charlie smiled at this. Kath was losing more of her polite social behavior every minute. “Why thank you. I’m feeling quite well, as a matter of fact.”

  “No, you’re not. You stay in the sun too long. Your lips are chapped. You have hideous dark circles. You’ve lost weight. How much sleep do you get?”

  Charlie wrenched her gaze from Kath’s sharp-edged one. “I sleep. Some nights.”

  “Oh, Charlie.”

  “Leave it be, Kath. Please.”

  “You stay locked in here. Sometimes at night. Alone.” She waved her hand around the office. Sunlight was creeping down the walls as shadows began their daily acquisition. “Is this all you want from life?”

  Charlie pushed her chair back and vaulted from the seat. She strode to the window. Squinting, she stared at the mountains that were turning shades of black and gray with the sinking sun. “How can I convince you that I’m happy?”

  “You could start with the truth. Not all these smiles. Hiding your feelings. You never used to do that.”

  No, she hadn’t, had she? Not with Kath, at least. Why was she guarding it all so closely? Was it so painful to remember him? To recall the gentle touch of his fingers, the soft whisper of his hair upon her skin? She swallowed. “He’s not like Miles. He’s not like you or me. There are circumstances in his past. Horrible things. He couldn’t, he can’t.” She tapped the window with her fingernail. “He can’t.” The words were almost inaudible.

  “If you love him, how can you stand to be apart?”

  Kath, with all her romantic ideals and experience with “true love” would never understand what Charlie knew to be the truest form of love: to accept someone for what they were. Or, what they weren’t. “Maybe it’s not so...important to be together,” Charlie said at last.

  “You honestly believe that?”

  “I understand him, Kath. I accept the way he feels.” She did. But, it still hurt like hell to remember. Missing him was near to driving her mad.

  “Is it because he’s a worldly man? Those letters he received this summer. Mercy, they were scented of all things.”

  Charlie's smile widened. She could see it reflected in glass.

  “I’m not in love with her,” Chase had told her the night of his dinner party, as they lay in bed—naked, drowsy, sated.

  “I know that. I know you.” And she did; nonetheless it felt good to hear him say it. Somewhat surprising he felt he needed to.

  His only reply had been a grunt and a kiss to the top of her head. Then he’d whispered, “Too well, I think.”

  Charlie shook her head to clear the memory. “It’s unjust of you to blame him. Those letters” —she laughed and streaked her knuckles across the window— “have nothing to do with this. She has nothing to do with this.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Charlie laughed, knowing this would shock her conventional friend. “Of course I’m sure. I met her.”

  “Met her?”

  “She was very nice. Pretty, too.”

  “But she, she and Adam...they....”

  Charlie lifted her hand from the glass and idly circled to face her friend. “I know him. Better than anyone will ever know him. Except for his mother and his brother, who are dead. And for that he has no peace.” She steepled her fingers beneath her chin. “He was honest about the limitations of any relationship we might have, Kath. I didn’t want any more than he did. I agreed with him.”

  “Do you still agree?”

  No. She did not. The day she’d seen Taber in his stall in Richmond had affected her like a bolt of lightning on a clear day. Finally, it occurred to her that leaving terminated any connection between them—except for a few faded memories. He would not be there to help her repair her fence; or stand behind her, squeezing her shoulders as he encouraged her to write; or hold her, stroking her skin with nimble fingers when she was tired or lonely. Or aroused.

  Already, she missed those things. So much that she filtered the world through glass as dirty as the Sentinel’s window most days.

  A wagon arrived outside. Charlie turned. Miles. Good. This subject drained her.

  “We’re taking you home.”

  “Kath—”

  “Enough of this. Walking home in the dark! Gerald should be here with you.”

  “Gerald is not my chaperone, dammit.” Mrs. Peters had been enough to last a lifetime.

  “When did you start cursing so often. Just like—” Kath pursed her lips and walked quickly to the door. “I’m not leaving you here.” She pulled it open and perched against the side, waiting.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Charlie stalked to her desk and grabbed a stack of papers. “This is only because you’re pregnant, Katherine Lambert. I just don’t want to be the one to upset you. I’ll let Miles do that.”

  “Yes, dear, whatever you say.”

  “I don’t know about this. It’s interfering, it is.” Miles slid into bed and pulled the covers up.

  “If you’d talked with her today, you would know some interference is needed. I don’t mind doing it.”

  “Well, I do,” he said as he wrapped his arm around her.

  “I need you help.”

  “Now—”

  “It’s just one little letter. Simple. Honest. What harm can that do?”

  “One simple, honest, manipulating letter.”

  “Oh, Miles. Where is your sense of romance?”

  He grinned and pulled her hand beneath the covers. “I’ll help you find my sense of romance.”

  She laughed as he pulled her on top of him.

  The letter could wait until tomorrow.

  Charlie scrubbed her hands on a rag and emerged from the shelter of trees next to the stream. She drew a deep breath. Woodsmoke was heavy in the air, the smell of winter upon them. She pulled to an abrupt standstill as she spotted her cousin on the porch.

  Lila waved and smiled.

  Charlie released a sigh and advanced forward, rubbing a spot of dirt from her palm. Her boots crushed leaves and pine straw, the only sound aside from a distant bird’s call. She paused on the bottom step as Lila came forward with outstretched hands.

  “Charlotte, how are you?”

  “I’m fine, Lila. How are you?” It surprised Charlie that her cousin wasn’t fretting about her trousers. Other than a brief glance, Lila seemed unconcerned.

  After a moment, Lila dropped her hands. “I’m doing quite well, thank you for asking.” She gestured to the door. “May I come ins
ide? I wanted to talk with you.”

  Charlie nodded and climbed the steps.

  “What are these?”

  Charlie picked up one of the honey-colored shells Lila pointed to. “They’re locust skins. You know, they leave them sticking in the tree bark when they shed.”

  “Why in the world are you saving those?”

  Charlie turned the shell in her hand. “I don’t know. I like them.”

  Lila grimaced and promptly stepped inside.

  Charlie followed after shoving aside a strong urge to stick one of them in her cousin’s hair.

  Lila slid her hand over the mantle, then flicked her fingers and dust drifted to the floor. “I guess you’re wondering why I’m here. We haven’t been friendly for a long time, have we?”

  “Not too friendly since we were, oh” —Charlie tilted her head as if she were tallying a figure— “seven or eight years old.”

  Lila giggled. A distinctly nervous giggle. “Surely, it hasn’t been that long.”

  It had been that long.

  When Charlie made no effort to comment, Lila’s face flushed. “Charlotte, I wanted to tell you. Be the first to tell you that...“ She twisted her hand in her skirt. “I’m going to marry Tom Walker.”

  The rag in Charlie’s hand slipped to the floor.

  Lila’s gaze jumped to the cloth. Her tongue whisked across her lips. “I’m marrying Tom Walker.”

  Charlie snatched the rag up. “Why?”

  “What do you mean why? I’m pretty and...and my father’s arranged a nice dowry. Tom will have an even better future, working at the bank.”

  Charlie pulled a chair from the table. Finding this all very strange, but knowing she had to say something, she said, “I’m happy for you, Lila.” She walked into the kitchen and poured two glasses of tea. “Sit. Quit acting like a tense fox.”

  “I’m not tense.” Lila didn’t argue with sitting, though.

  Charlie set the glasses on the table and settled across from her cousin. “Why tell me in person?”

  Once again, Lila’s gaze danced away. She drummed her fingers on the table. “Because Tom loved you. Or thought he did. He told me so. And I wanted to tell you that, that he loves me now.”