Chapter Twenty-Three

A soft knock on the door jolted Charlotte from her ruminations.

How long had she been standing at the window, hoping—no praying—for an alternative? An idea, a solution…anything that would save her from the plan she now feared she could not turn back from.

She approached the door on leaden feet. With numb hands she opened it, paying no heed to her safety. She’d promised Finlay she’d have a care, but with the course she’d set for herself, Charlotte doubted she deserved such a luxury as safety.

He slipped through the door without a word, snapping it closed behind him. He pivoted, and for a fleeting moment he looked pale. Stress lines fanned out from the corners of his beautiful eyes. But she didn’t have a chance to ponder if she was to blame, because he promptly gathered her in his arms and kissed her.

Surely this was torture. No medieval executioner could devise a worse agony than having Finlay’s divine lips on hers, moving over them with confident assurance.

Charlotte longed to relax into the kiss. To show him physically what she could not say verbally. That she loved him. That she was devastated to exploit him in such a heartless way. That she would forever regret it.

Nevertheless, her path was set. If she followed through, she would have the means to be free of the Townsends, even if it meant fleeing the life she’d worked so hard to build. Just as importantly, Finlay would be free from her. She would make him hate her and thus save his reputation and very future. Her broken heart was her only payment.

So she forced herself not to return his kiss. She remained rigid in his arms. Eventually, Finlay pulled back, his forehead puckered in confusion.

“Is everything all right? Are you unwell?”

Gritting her teeth, she shook her head. “I’m fine.”

A frown marred his visage. He glanced about as he released her, his troubled gaze returning to her face. “Very well. I didn’t expect to return so soon. I didn’t want to expose you to talk, but I fear I may have left something here by mistake.”

“The locket.” She was careful not to phrase it as a question.

“Yes,” he said, drawing out the sound. His shoulders relaxed. “You found it, then?”

“I did.”

“Right,” he said, shifting back and forth on his feet. “May I have it back? I had meant to give it to my sister now that she’s returned.”

“No.”

Finlay blinked. “No…what?”

She bit the inside of her cheek before she plowed on. “No, you may not have it back…unless…”

Watching Finlay’s green eyes grow wide made Charlotte’s stomach heave.

“Unless what, Char?”

Refusing to drop her gaze, she forced the words out around her clenched teeth. “Unless you’re willing to pay me for it.”

He took a step back. “You cannot be serious?”

As much as it hurt her, like a hot blade straight to the heart, she labored to say, “Oh, indeed I am, my lord. For I know what secret the locket hides.”

“I-I…” He snapped his mouth shut and clapped a hand over it. He stared at her unblinking for several thunderous heartbeats, his confusion so plainly visible in his eyes. “You would use it?”

Choked by shame, she managed to arch a brow.

“Oh, of course.” He paused, his face turning red. Charlotte died a little more inside. “For now, you possess proof of the scandal that could destroy everything my sister and I have worked so hard to build.”

She nodded, helpless in the face of such a declaration.

“And what makes you believe I won’t tear your flat apart until I find it?”

“I never said it was here.”

He slashed a hand. “What sort of payment do you require to return my property? Will it require multiple payments?”

The harshness of his tone, the disbelief tinging every word, made her toes curl in her slippers. “A one-time only transaction will suffice.”

“Oh, a one-time only blackmail fee is all.” Finlay chuckled. The sound raised hairs on her neck. “I guess I should be thankful you don’t plan on exploiting my secret for the rest of my life.”

Fighting the urge to wave her arms and declare it all a great joke nearly overwhelmed her. The words lay on the tip of her tongue, just begging to be released so he would be freed from this heinous exploitation. So her heart would thaw from the icy agony that encased it.

But she squared her shoulders instead. Very soon, he would be safe from her, and she would be free of her wretched in-laws.

Finlay ran his hand through his hair, clutching the strands with fingers curled like talons. His eyes looked almost crazed. “Tell me, Charlotte. How much is required to buy your silence? How much do I need to pay to have the locket returned to me?”

A long, dreadful silence expanded between them. It seemed to ebb and flow throughout her tiny flat, and she wanted nothing more than to throw herself on the bed and bury her head under her pillow. She was desperate to stop the echo of betrayal and anger that befouled the space.

“Well? Are you going to tell me, or have you changed your mind?”

She cleared her throat around the humiliation. “Two hundred pounds, my lord.”

“Is that all?” Finlay emitted a sound that could only be described as a snarl. “Now is your chance to demand an amount that will see you out of this hovel”—he gestured around them with his chin—“and into a place more appropriate for a beauty like you. You could demand enough to live comfortably, even grandly, for years to come.”

She jerked her head as shame stained her cheeks. “That is not necessary, my lord. Two hundred pounds will suffice.”

“Surely, you want more than that. Here’s your opportunity to lay me low. To bleed me dry. And I can’t do a damn thing about it. You know it, and I know it. If you were to hand that locket over to Abernathy, it would not take him long to realize its significance. Not only would my political career be over, but my title as Viscount Firthwell would be stripped from me as well.” He glared at her. “My total and complete ruination is worth more than two hundred pounds.”

Charlotte didn’t know how she remained upright in the face of such a question. Licking her lips, she said, “That is all it’s worth to me.”

He pondered her, his willow green eyes a tempest. Abruptly he spun away and grasped the door handle. But he didn’t open it. When he spoke, it was to the wood. “I’ll return tomorrow with the money. Please try not to sell the locket to someone else before then.”

She raised her chin, although he couldn’t see her. “That would be unsporting of me.”

“And we certainly couldn’t have that,” he grumbled. He looked straight ahead for a long moment. “Was it all an act? Did it mean nothing to you?”

Charlotte clamped her eyes shut and shook her head even while she forced herself to say, “What do you think, my lord?”

Finlay rested his forehead on the door, and his shoulder shook as if he laughed. But he said not a word as he swept out of the room, slamming the thin oak closed behind him.

With a choked sob, Charlotte collapsed. She drew her legs into her chest and rested her head on her knees as she sobbed out the geyser of emotions she’d stored up by betraying the man she loved.

One day, perhaps, she’d congratulate herself for doing right by him. But at that moment, with despair crushing down upon her, all she could think was how horribly she’d betrayed her heart.

…

Finlay walked without seeing.

How could he have misjudged Charlotte so terribly? How had he not seen her for the grasping, opportunistic schemer he now knew her to be? It wasn’t as if she pursued him or threw herself in front of him to capture his notice. If he was honest, he’d courted her. Even when she attempted to keep him at a distance and built barriers around herself, he merrily ripped them down. Not once had he considered how vulnerable his pursuit of her had made him.

Leaving his mother’s locket behind was all Charlotte had needed to turn against him.

This was why he kept his relationships…or more accurately liaisons…with women superficial. Because when it was purely about sex, no one was hurt. They fucked, occasionally Finlay gifted a bauble, and they parted on friendly terms.

The searing agony of deceit was not part of the equation.

Why had he allowed himself to grow close to her?

He’d finally relaxed and shared his true self with a woman, and it was so easy to do with Charlotte. She was thoughtful and kind. Observant. Logical. She had made him feel that his title and connections were of zero import to her. He’d pondered a future with her, despite the obstacles they faced, and had sought counsel on how to overcome the hurdles that stood before them.

And yet, at the first opportunity, she’d exploited him.

Finlay stumbled to a stop, rubbing his chest. Lud, the ache was enough to make him grit his teeth. That he’d made himself susceptible to feel such a misery made him want to kick something. Or break something.

“Firthwell!”

Blinking rapidly, Finlay spun until he spotted Lady Flora approaching. Looking about him, he realized he’d stopped just down the lane from Little Windmill House.

The woman smiled as she came upon him. “How are you today, my lord?”

He battled to remember his manners, offering a belated bow. “I’m well, my lady. Are you on your way to the home?”

“I am. Today the young mites will be learning how to hold their seat when their mount is spooked.” She gestured with her thumb to the large man who stood behind her. “Duncan has been practicing his roar.”

“I have not, Flo,” the man groaned.

Lady Flora chuckled, her famous dimples flashing. “Don’t mind him. He’s just missish about his scaring assignment.”

“More like terrorizing assignment,” Duncan grumbled.

Despite his sluggish thoughts, Finlay couldn’t help but ask, “Do all your servants speak to you such?”

Lady Flora frowned. “Duncan isn’t my servant. He’s my cousin. He doesn’t have the brains or work ethic to be a proper servant,” she added with a smirk.

“And yet, your need for me is greater than my need for you.” Duncan spread his hands.

Finlay watched as the woman narrowed her eyes at the man. Obviously the two were tangled in their own secrets. At any other time his interest would have been piqued…but now was not that time.

“Are you also heading to the home?” Lady Flora asked.

“I am not.” He pulled out his timepiece to avoid meeting her eyes.

“Oh.”

That softly spoken utterance raised his head. Lady Flora considered him with her brow creased. She turned to leave but stopped. “Alethea invited me to dine at Darington Terrace on Saturday night. Will you be there?”

“Possibly,” he said, looking down the street in the direction of Rockhaven House. The urge to lock himself away with a glass—make that a bottle—of fine whisky was the only thing he desired.

“I should hope so, but if not, I’ll see you tomorrow at the musicale, at least.” From the corner of his eye, Finlay saw her pause. “Firthwell, is Mrs. Taylor well? Should I be concerned?”

How she knew to ask him such a question made him angry. Obviously, he’d not been circumspect with his actions and feelings toward the treacherous woman. Turning to meet her gaze, he raised a shoulder. It ached from holding himself so stiffly. “I’d say she’s how she’s always been. I’ve only just now realized it.”