I’ve just shared the news of our betrothal.
Why had he done it? What could possibly have made him do such a thing, a thing that would mean the end of his usefulness?
And how would he react when she arrived on his doorstep in the middle of the night?
Well, that question she knew the answer to, at least. And it would not be a pleasant answer. She tried not to think too hard about that as she told Sarah that no, she would not be undressing after the ball, but that they would be sneaking out of the house.
Her maid did not ask why; Charlotte’s face must have revealed some of her worry, her confusion, her anger at being manipulated. Hopefully her love did not show itself.
Sarah knew how to catch a hackney cab, another reason Charlotte wanted her company, in addition to the fact that while it was unsafe for two ladies to go out late at night, it was absolutely dangerous for one lady, especially one as sheltered as Charlotte normally was.
When he’d said it, one part of her had wanted to jump up and down in glee, at getting what she knew was her greatest wish: David, forever, and for always.
But she’d resolved not to settle, and she wouldn’t let the man she loved settle either. Not if it meant he’d lose everything he cared about, even if he did care somewhat for her.
“And when we get there, you let me knock first and explain things to Mr. Gotam.” Sarah sounded excited to be in on the adventure. Charlotte had done well in finding such a plucky lady’s maid. One who also seemed to like men with decidedly un-English headwear.
“I’ll wait in the cab?” Now that she was about to do this, she had a flutter in her stomach, as though many butterflies had taken up residence there.
“Don’t get skittish now,” Sarah said in a warning tone. “If whatever you have to say to him was so important you had to leave the house in the middle of the night to do it, then it’s important.”
Charlotte nodded. “You are right.” Even though no matter what happened, one of them would be unhappy.
“That’s what I thought,” Sarah replied, patting Charlotte’s hand.
After only a few more minutes, they arrived at David’s house, and Sarah clambered quickly out of the carriage, spoke a few words to the driver, and trotted quickly up the steps. She knocked on the door, and it opened after only a few minutes, revealing Gotam.
Who looked completely taken aback to see Sarah. They spoke for a moment, Gotam making some very grand gestures, until finally Sarah turned and beckoned Charlotte out of the carriage. Sarah slipped inside the house. Upstairs, a slim glimmer of light showed where a door was just slightly ajar.
She was just finishing ascending the steps when the door swung open, and David clamped a hand on her arm, pulling her inside and against his chest. His naked chest.
Oh, that chest. Goodness.
“What in God’s name are you doing here? At this time of night? Do you wish there to be more gossip about you?”
She swatted his hand away from her arm and drew off her cloak. “You know why I’m here. You cannot be that obtuse. Are you going to let me in?”
He slid his hand through his hair and muttered something under her breath. “Of course, come in.” He sounded very grumpy; perhaps his flaw was that he did not like being startled out of sleep?
Of course, nobody liked that, so that was hardly a flaw. Merely a character trait.
She lost all thought of traits and habits and flaws when she realized he had on a black silk dressing gown under which it appeared he wore nothing. Oh.
Well. So now she had that information. One more item to tick off her list.
He shut the door behind them and leaned on it. “So what is it?”
She had to concentrate, not get distracted with thoughts of his chest, and his hands, and his mouth, and those eyes … Damn it, Charlotte. Focus!
Right. Why he’d done what he had.
And just like that, all her earlier frustration returned. Her questions, which he’d better have some answers for. She strode forward and stuck her index finger right in the middle of his chest. “Why? Why did you say what you did?”
He took hold of her finger and smiled. “Your index finger is very powerful. You should never play cards, you know that? Because every single one of your thoughts is written on your face.” He let go of her finger and rubbed his chest where she’d poked him. “And written on my chest.”
She felt herself scowl. He would not dodge the question by being clever. “You have not answered my question.” Her voice was low and almost shaking. “Why?”
He reached forward and clasped her arms. The silk dressing gown gapped open, revealing more David. “I did it for you. I wanted to save your reputation.” He swallowed and looked over her head. The seconds pulsed between them until he met her gaze again. “I love you.”
He did not just say that. He did not. Did he?
Judging by his expression, he had.
She spoke without thinking. Did it matter that it was a response borne out of her own hurt at being so used in the situation? “You love me? Ha! You wanted to save my reputation, you said it yourself. Do not insult me by claiming love.”
Inside, she was trembling, exhilarated by the thought that it could possibly be true, that he did love her. Only … what then? He would stay here, and be with her, and she would be the thing to replace all of his hopes and dreams of being useful, of being more than a handsome face? That was not enough for him. For them.
Was she so selfish as to wish that for him? To take away the one thing that defined him, just for her, and what they’d shared over the past few weeks?
She wished she could be that selfish. Staring at him, her eyes drinking in every aspect of his features, knowing how his crooked, eye-crinkling smile came out just for her, she wished she could be like that. But he deserved better than that from her, especially since he was willing, apparently, to throw it all away because of her.
Was that another oxymoron? Her brain was too jumbled to even think about it.
But he still hadn’t spoken. He wasn’t looking at her anymore, either. He had one hand in his hair, pre-rake, and his mouth was drawn tight.
Not the face of a man in love, that was for certain. More like the face of a man who had seen his fate and was working on accepting it.
“Did it ever occur to you that I might not want my reputation saved?” She answered her own question, for once. “No, it didn’t. And why would you assume I would prefer to marry you, rather than have to face some scandal? Not that you’re not preferable to Mr. Goddard.”
“Thank you for that,” he replied dryly.
“But we had spoken about how important your work was, and how you didn’t wish to be seen as merely a beautiful face, and then you throw that all away just because a vindictive person spread rumors about me? Rumors that happen to be true?”
“About that,” David said, sitting down on the chair. “Why me? Why did you choose me, of all people, to use as a source of information for your column?”
She did not sit, mostly because she felt as though she couldn’t stop moving. She was too full of whatever emotions were roiling through her now to still her body. “Because you told me not to ask questions of anyone else!”
And, a traitorous voice reminded her, because she liked spending time with such a handsome man. And later, spending time with such a handsome, interesting man.
In that, she was no different from any of the other people who clustered about him. Like Lady Radnor, who would likely have gobbled up the chance to be married to him, without asking any questions.
She would not be that kind of person.
“And then, when I told you about your uncle, why didn’t you find it the right time to tell me about your own secret agenda? Didn’t you think—even for a moment—that you were using me and I should know what you were planning on doing with the information?”
Charlotte felt the hot sting of tears just under her eyelids. The look on his face showed he’d seen her regret, her guilt. It didn’t make her feel any better.
“It’s done,” he said in a weary tone. “I said it, we can’t take it back, and now we’ll be married.”
Did she hear anything beyond a quiet resignation in his voice? If only he’d sprung up and clasped her in his arms and told her he was delighted about the turn of events, even though he was still upset with her for using him in that way.
But he didn’t. He just remained sitting in the chair, his hands loosely clasped in front him, his elbows on his knees as he continued looking at her.
Her throat felt thick. “You are right, you know. About my not telling you about the column. I should have. I wanted to. I just …” She knew the truth of it was about to emerge, and she hoped she could say it without sobbing. “I just didn’t want you to laugh at me,” she finished in a soft whisper.
At that, he did rise out of his chair, and on his face was an expression of … Was it pity? Dear lord, let it not be entirely pity. He picked her hand up and ran his fingers across the top of it, sending a prickly awareness up her spine.
“I would never laugh at you,” he said, lowering his mouth to kiss her hand. She ran her other hand through his hair. It felt like silk.
Looking up at him, at how his blue eyes had softened with kindness, how he was so tender and considerate of her … well. It made her decide a few things, some of which would be more pleasurable than the others.
And she’d better hope she made the right decision, since she was going to have to live with it for the rest of her life.