Chapter Ten

Fear of falling finally snapped Charlotte back to her senses. If she didn’t break away from the magic of James’s kiss, she was going to collapse to the ground. Her legs were hard pressed to keep her upright.

She tried to ease out of the kiss, but that proved futile. James’s grip on the back of her neck was gentle, yet impossible to break. She backed off, but he simply applied a slight pressure, and the kiss heated to boiling once more.

The problem was, she didn’t really want to pull away. She wanted to move closer.

Bad idea. She was stuck at Tyndale Manor for who knew how long. She was already in love with her boss. Sleeping with him would take her to a whole new level of screwed.

She moved her hand, which had been inexplicably stroking his bicep, in between them. She meant to shove him away, but instead she gripped his lapel to keep him in place.

Damn it. Her body was not cooperating.

James swirled his tongue in her mouth, and her knees threatened to buckle again. They had to stop.

She pushed against his chest. He resisted for barely a second, then gave in with the grace she’d come to expect from him.

His hand lingered at her neck, teasing the hairs that refused to stay in the bun she’d so carefully tucked all her hair into this morning. Delicious shivers ran down her body. She could still taste him on her tongue.

Tasted like more.

She cleared her throat. “Umm.” Brilliant. What a way with words.

He smiled. “Yes. I’m at a loss for words myself. Perhaps words are superfluous to the moment.”

A slight pressure at her neck almost brought her back into him, but she resisted. How she had the strength she didn’t know. But she did. “This is a bad idea.”

“I beg to differ.”

The heat from his gaze could have scorched her, and she lost her train of thought. “What?”

“I believe it’s a wonderful idea.” His gaze drifted down to rest on her lips. He cupped her jaw, stroked her bottom lip with his thumb.

She resisted the urge to take his thumb into her mouth. Completely not the signal she needed to give off at the moment. She let her mouth fall open slightly to aid in her quest for enough air to sustain life. Her lungs were fit to burst, her heart thundering in her chest.

Finally gathering up her strength, she took a step back.

And bumped up against Miss Bea.

Thankfully, James took the hint and didn’t pursue her. He turned to his own mount. He whistled, and the horse picked his head up from the snack he’d been making of a clump of grass. “Mayhap it’s time to continue on to the picnic. Prudence will be waiting on us.”

Prue. Right. What had she been thinking? “Yes, that’s probably best.” She grabbed onto Miss Bea’s reins like they were a lifeline and put one step in front of the other, ignoring the man walking silently beside her.

Words bubbled to the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t let them go. Her face flamed at the idea of voicing any of the thoughts currently on her mind. Where did he see this going between them? Did he have any feelings for her other than lust? Did he enjoy their kiss as much as she had?

She was pretty sure the answer was a resounding ‘yes’ to the last question, but she had no idea about the others. And she couldn’t bring herself to ask. Did she really want to know the answers?

If he did have feelings for her or actually wanted to have some kind of relationship with her other than employer to employee what would she do? What did she want?

Her mind spun with the possibilities. Bloody hell. How had everything gotten so complicated?

And why did she feel so awkward, yet he could shake it off like nothing? She snuck a peak at him under her lashes.

The color in his face was a trifle high, but the path they hiked had a steady rise to it. She found herself breathing a little heavy as she kept pace. That could account for his heightened color and the sweat glistening along his brow. She swept her gaze down to take him all in. Okay. So maybe he wasn’t completely unaffected. As he walked, he made an uncomfortable looking shifting motion with his hips. The long front panels of his coat hid the evidence, but if she had to guess, an erection was making this trek less than pleasant for him.

She twisted her head away so he wouldn’t see her grin. She shouldn’t be pleased, but damn, she was suffering from her own arousal, and it was nice to know she wasn’t the only one.

He cleared his throat. “Ah, I see we have arrived at our destination.” He gestured toward a clearing in the trees. “Wait a moment, Miss Evans—Charlotte, if I may?”

She nodded. Given their recent make-out session, she figured being on a first name basis should go without saying. Then again, this was the Regency, not the twenty-first century.

“Call me James.” He paused. “When we are not in company, I should say.”

She snorted silently to herself. Yeah, she could imagine what Miss Crawford would say if she heard Charlotte call him by his given name. Such impertinence! She’d likely suggest a whipping and turning her away without references.

She made to move on, but he put a hand on her arm to stop her. It was the barest of touches, but it stopped her dead in her tracks. She liked the warmth of his hands upon her and after the kiss they’d shared, could well imagine how his hands would feel on other parts of her body.

Stop that! she chided herself. She didn’t trust her voice, so she raised an eyebrow in question.

“I feel I owe you an apology. I trust you understand that you are under no obligation to return my advances. Your position in my employ will not change should you tell me to go to the devil.”

Her eyebrow rose higher. The cursing for one. For the other, she had never expected him to say he was sorry for kissing her. “I believe you.”

With a nod, he continued. She followed only a step or two behind.

She did believe him. Her position as Prue’s governess was safe as long as Prue needed her. He wasn’t the type to use his position of power to pressure her if she chose to ignore this attraction between them. He’d probably just let it go.

She should be happy about that.

So why wasn’t she?

****

“Are you okay, sweetie?” Charlotte tucked Prue against her side and cradled her, though Prue held her little body stiff.

Fire lit Prue’s eyes as she glared at the group of giggling girls, their maids standing nearby with various expressions of worry and adulation.

“They’re stupid. I hate them all.”

Charlotte put a finger under Prue’s chin and forced her to look her in the eye. “Don’t say that. Tell me what they did, and we’ll see if we can’t work this out.”

Prue’s chin trembled, and Charlotte wanted to take a swing at the little brats herself. Similar urges had plagued her all throughout the picnic. Most of the kids weren’t bad. Prue’s friend Regina was actually a darling child. No, it was one or two spoiled little devils who were plain mean-spirited bullies.

She forced herself to view the situation from all angles as Prue told her the teasing words of her playmates. And yup, the same names popped up as the ring leaders. Little Lady Catherine Bellgrove and Lord William Hepworth.

Ugh. Both kids came from families high up on the social ladder if the maids were to be believed. And those maids were less than useless. Those kids shot rainbows out of every orifice as far as their caregivers were concerned. What a nightmare.

“They actually said that?” Wow. Making fun of a girl’s dead mother. That was low. And from the way James cherished his wife’s portrait, she’d swear he had loved his wife, deeply. Still did, she was pretty sure. And why did they care anyway? Wasn’t marrying for money the norm around here?

“I’m sorry, what?” Now she was confused. Dragging an accurate story out of an upset eight-year-old wasn’t an easy task.

“They know about Grandmama,” she whispered.

Charlotte peered down at Prue’s stark white face. “What about your grandmother?”

“That—that she worked in a brothel before marrying Grandpapa.”

Holy crap. Her mind blanked for a second. Couldn’t be. She thought back on all her interactions with James’s mother. True, the lady was a bit unorthodox for the times, but a prostitute? She couldn’t see it.

Yet Prue sure seemed to believe it was true. Even if she likely didn’t know what a brothel was, she evidently knew it was a bad thing. And was seriously upset about it if Charlotte was reading the little girl’s grim expression correctly.

Charlotte smoothed Prue’s hair back away from her face and tucked a stray strand behind her ear. She squatted down so they could look each other in the eye. “You listen to me. Don’t you worry about what they’re saying. Your grandmother is a wonderful woman who loves you with all her heart. That’s all that matters. And I know it’s hard not to hate those kids when they’re saying such mean things, but I’ll tell you what. I feel sorry for them. And I think they’re just jealous.”

“Jealous?” Her gentle brown eyes were stretched wide, her mouth hung open the tiniest bit. “They have no scandal to their names. Why would they be jealous?”

“Look around, Prue. Where are their parents?”

Prue scanned the area, pairing parents with kids. Catherine and William’s parents had not attended the picnic. Charlotte was well aware they’d elected to stay at the house with a few of the older members of the house party. They’d barely acknowledged their children other than when they first arrived and paraded them in front of the others as their pride and joys, then relegated them to the care of their nursemaids.

Prue shrugged. “I know not.”

“And where is your father?”

“Over there.” She pointed to where James sat on a blanket, Lady Crawford at his side. The witch had latched onto him the minute she arrived, but before that he’d spent most of his time with Prue. Every few moments he glanced toward them and smiled. His thoughts obviously never far from his daughter, even while Lady Crawford tried her best to monopolize his attention.

“Uh-huh.” Charlotte smiled. “Your father is here and paying attention to you. You’re here because you’re his world and he wants to be around you. They’re here because your father and grandmother invited them so you’d have someone to play with.”

Prue’s face lightened. She was beginning to understand what Charlotte was telling her.

“So I should let them say whatever they want to me?”

“Hell, uh, heck no.”

Could the child’s eyes get any wider? Charlotte fought off a blush. She had to be careful about cursing. She didn’t do it often, and even when she did, her curses were pretty mild, but here, even the weakest curse was a monstrous thing.

“You can stick up for yourself. Tell them to mind their own business. Or ignore them and tell me what’s going on.” At the hopeful expression on Prue’s face, she said, “Why don’t we stay a little closer together. That way I can hear what’s going on. Send me a signal if you want me to step in.”

Prue nodded eagerly, the sadness of a few moments ago banished. She popped out of Charlotte’s reach and raced back to the other children.

Bang! Shards of wood exploded from the tree near Charlotte’s head. She yelped and ducked to the ground. What the hell? Was that a gun shot? Ridiculous. Who’d be shooting at her?

Piercing screams filled the air around her. Something was wrong with her arm. A stinging pain spread from her shoulder down to her elbow.

James shouted a warning. Next thing she knew, he was on top of her, yelling orders at everyone.

“Prue? Where’s Prue?” She struggled to get to her feet. She had to find Prue. What if she were hurt?

“Prue’s fine. She’s fine. Stay down.” James’s voice was gruff, his hold implacable. She couldn’t move an inch.

The ground trembled from horses pounding the ground and shrieking in fright. Two of the grooms struggled to keep the normally peaceful animals in check. James yanked her back into the line of trees as one escaped and thundered past the spot they’d crouched but a moment ago.

It all happened in an instant but seemed to move in slow motion. She searched frantically for Prue and found her only a few yards away, the head groom, Max, shielding her with his body. Theresa seemed in charge of the group of nursemaids, instructing them to keep their heads down and their bodies protecting the children. Sobs of fright came from the maids as well as the kids.

James shoved her to the other side of a tree, then strode into the clearing and issued orders. People scattered to do his bidding.

She leaned heavily against the solid bulk of an evergreen. Her knees wobbled. The trunk was the only thing keeping her upright.

James grabbed her hand and squeezed. She started. She hadn’t noticed his return.

“My lord?” One of the footmen ran up to them. “We gave chase, but the scoundrel was fleet of foot and escaped us. We’re searching the area for accomplices, but Max feels certain if there were other poachers about, they’ve fled along with their friend.”

James nodded. “Thank you, Sam. Gather all our guests together and see them safely back to the manor. See to the children first.”

Sam ran off to follow his lord’s bidding.

“Where’s Prue?” she asked again. She couldn’t make her out among the children getting to their feet near their picnic spot.

“I instructed Max to spirit her away the minute the way was clear. She should be almost back at the manor by now.”

Her voice trembled as she said, “Good. That’s good.”

“Are you well?” James scanned her from head to foot.

“I…I’m fine. What happened?” She winced as pain lanced down her arm.

He took her elbow in a gentle grip. “You’ve been injured.”

She twisted her neck and tilted her chin to locate the source of her pain. The maroon fabric of her riding habit was shredded from her left shoulder to her elbow. Slivers of wood dotted her arm with blood dribbling from each small cut. Damn.

“Oh, dear. I’m afraid this outfit is ruined.”

“That is immaterial. We must return to the manor and have the doctor see to you immediately.”

No. Way. No nineteenth century quack was getting anywhere near her arm. The relatively minor injury would end up infected, and next thing she knew she’d lose her arm. Nuh-uh. “Don’t worry. It’s nothing more than a few scratches. I’ll take care of it myself.”

James pursed his lips, displeased to say the least.

****

James scowled at Charlotte’s shoulder. He wanted to yell at her for her stubborn refusal to send for the doctor but bit his tongue. Instead, he sat at her side while Theresa assisted him in removing slivers of wood from Charlotte’s arm.

Theresa cast him a disapproving glance, her sense of propriety offended at him attending Charlotte in such a personal manner.

The hell with that. He wasn’t leaving. In fact, he wished Theresa to the devil so he could be alone with Charlotte.

He dropped yet another piece of bark and skin into the bloodied water in the washbasin Theresa held. His hand shook. He fought back his nausea, wishing he could strike the image of that bullet striking the tree so close to Charlotte’s head. And Prue…a mere ten feet away.

Prue was fine. She was fine. He kept telling himself that over and over. If anything had happened to her…he refused to finish the thought. Max deserved a reward for the way he jumped to see to Prue’s welfare. Theresa had also done her duty well, impressing him with the way she took charge of the other nursemaids and saw to the children’s safety when others appeared ready to abandon their charges. Yes, both would be rewarded greatly.

Charlotte hissed. Theresa winced as he removed a particularly large and deep piece of wood from Charlotte’s arm. Charlotte twisted to inspect her wound. “Was that the last of it?”

He inspected the injury. Bloodied, thankfully not torn as badly as he feared, and no sign of any other debris. He nodded. “Yes, I believe so.”

“If you please, my lord, hand me the linen.” Charlotte nodded to a pile of clean linen she’d insisted on gathering before allowing anyone near her wound. He placed the cloth in her hand. “Thank you.”

With Theresa’s help, Charlotte’s shoulder was soon cleaned and wrapped.

Perhaps now he could get to the bottom of what had just happened. “Theresa, please leave us.” His study was scarcely a scandalous place to have a private conversation with his daughter’s governess. They had met here often enough in the past. “I must speak with Miss Evans. I assure you she will be quite safe with me.”

Theresa nodded, then gathered the mess they’d made and left, closing the door quietly behind her.

Once the door clicked shut, he asked Charlotte, “Why is someone trying to kill you?”

She gasped. Her head jerked up to meet his gaze. “What?”

Perhaps she didn’t have any idea, but he was certain. He’d even instructed the staff to be sure someone was always on hand to watch over her whenever she left the manor. Discreetly, of course. He was certain she would not approve. “Someone is trying to do you harm. I thought the flowerpot falling as we were in the area the other day an odd coincidence, yet I had no reason to believe it was anything but an accident. But when someone shoots at you, there’s no mistaking the intent.”

She gathered the hair that had come out of her bonnet, removing and replacing pins to straighten her appearance. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Didn’t Max say it was a poacher?”

He snorted. “Poachers generally avoid crowds. They certainly don’t shoot into one.”

“Then he must have been shooting at one of the guests.” She stood. “I should go clean up.” The shoulder of her dress was in tatters. The shards of wood had damaged it beyond repair, and he’d ripped the fabric further to expose her wounds.

He blocked her path to the door. “You can clean up in a moment. We need to discuss this.”

She refused to meet his gaze, her chin up and tilted to the side, staring in stony silence over his shoulder.

“Miss Evans—Charlotte.” He lowered his voice to a whisper and gently urged her chin up. “I know you’re frightened. So am I. I want to help you, and I must know what this is all about in order to do so. Please, talk to me.”

Tears glistened in her eyes. A muscle twitched near her eye. Yet she didn’t break down. Didn’t ask him to save her from her troubles. “I can take care of myself.”

No doubt. He had never thought highly of strong women, but Charlotte had shown him how much there was to admire in a person who didn’t need rescuing. He’d loved his wife, but she’d been weak. Unable to stand against the sometimes harsh views of society. A great deal of his energy had gone toward bolstering her, trying to prove his love. Charlotte would demand to stand on her own. Was there no middle ground?

“I feel assured that you can. However, why must you? You have become a valued member of this household. I would not wish to replace you.” He winced at his inept handling of the situation. He sounded as though he only valued her for her position in his employ when the truth was so much more. “Prudence has come to care for you greatly.” As do I.

He couldn’t tell her so. A kiss shared in private was one thing. Were he to confess his desire for further intimacy, he would be putting her in a most difficult situation. Not to mention the sheer folly of creating such a scandal. His daughter would be subject to further upset.

She stiffened. Took a step back. “I understand completely if you must let me go. If, and I’m not so sure you’re right, someone is out to kill me, I wouldn’t dream of exposing Prue to any danger.” She nodded. “Yes. You’re right. I should leave immediately.”

He reeled back. What just happened? “That’s not what I meant at all.” He ran a hand through his hair. How had this conversation taken such a turn? “You’re not going anywhere. You’re going to sit down and tell me the truth about yourself once and for all.”

****

The truth? She suppressed a snort. He couldn’t handle it. Shit. She couldn’t handle it.

Fury and fright warred within Charlotte. Someone was trying to kill her? No. That was too much. Her hands shook. She pressed her hands into her sides to at least hide the trembling if she couldn’t stop it.

She’d worked hard to keep her presence in this century a secret from anyone that knew her from her past. Yet—she was close to the portal. Near the caves. Had the person who’d tried to kill her and Alex back then set about to finish the job?

There were no cameras here, no television, no computers that made age progression shots of missing kids. Even if someone from her past saw her, she wasn’t ten years old anymore. She hardly resembled the girl she’d once been. No one could recognize her. Could they?

No. Focus on the fury. The fright was too much.

“Excuse me? I’m going to do what?” She poked a finger into his chest. “If I decide to go, I’ll go. Don’t think you can order me around, My Lord High and Mighty.”

The shock on his face was almost comical. Maybe it would have been if his astonishment didn’t disappear so fast. He clacked his teeth together, a muscle twitched in his jaw. His eyes narrowed, and he stuck his hands on his hips, jutting his chest out and inhaling. She braced herself.

“A simple ‘my lord’ will do.”

She blinked, picturing her face mirroring the astonishment she’d seen on his only moments before. Laughter quickly followed. His lips quirked, and she lost it. Maybe the stress got to her, but suddenly she could barely breathe she laughed so hard. She would have bent over, but her corset prevented any such movement and didn’t help with the breathlessness.

His hand at her back guided her to a settee in front of the fireplace. He sat next to her, their thighs touching, his arm resting behind her on the couch back.

Her hysteria slowly subsided. She wiped away the tears of mirth and gave him a quick grin to show she had come back to her senses.

She meant to turn away but got stuck by the heat in his gaze. A mere inch separated them. Later, she’d probably curse the instinct that took over, but when she was rewarded by the sweet press of his lips against hers, and the fire that lit her from within, she couldn’t get up the resolve to resist the temptation so close at hand.

He didn’t seem to mind. And when she inched closer, his hand rose to cup her cheek. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, and drew her onto his lap.

Glorious. She doubted she’d ever used that word in her life—too grand, too dramatic, and not her style—but right now she couldn’t think of a single word that better described the pleasure that rushed through her.

His moan, and the hardness in his breeches, told her he agreed.

The door creaked open. “Lord Tyndale? Are you in here?”

Charlotte jumped off James’s lap and scurried over to the opposite corner of the sofa. She peered over her shoulder and stifled her groan when she recognized Miss Crawford. By the daggers Miss Crawford shot out of her eyes, she hadn’t missed what had been taking place.

Her expression morphed into a light smile, and she glided into the room as if noticing nothing. “There you are, my lord.” She gave a little start. “Oh my. Miss Evans. I didn’t see you there. We were all so worried about you. I trust my lord has summoned the doctor on your behalf?”

Charlotte had to give her credit. She was an amazing actress.

James shook his head. “Miss Evans has refused to see a doctor despite my urging her to do so.” He stood. “Is there something I can do for you, Miss Crawford?”

“I hate to interrupt, but I have done my best to soothe our—” She bit her lip and tilted her head as if hiding a blush, though none appeared to redden her cheeks. “—your guests’ fears, but I feel they would benefit from your strong, commanding presence. We would not be able to help feeling the situation is completely under control if you are present. I’m sure Miss Evans would agree the guests must come first.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes. She couldn’t help it. Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t you dear? Of course, she couldn’t say that out loud, but even thinking it made her feel a bit better. “Miss Crawford is correct. And I’m fine. Plus, I really should see to Prue.”

“Tell her I’ll be up to see her in a short while.” James crooked his elbow for Miss Crawford. Not that he had much choice as she already hung upon his arm.

They swept from the room, and Charlotte was left with her thoughts.

And boy did she have a lot to think about.