Shirley Kerr (18 page)

“In the short, tumultuous time we have been acquainted,
I have come to care for you, Charlotte. A great deal more than I intended when we entered into our bargain. But there you are. And here we are.” He sighed, his warm breath stirring the hair at her temples. “I cannot in good conscience allow you to continue to put yourself in danger. Abandon your quest, let someone else retrieve the snuffbox, and be my wife. What you’re doing is far too dangerous.”

Lulled by his caressing thumb, it took a moment for the full meaning of his words to sink in. “Abandon my quest?” Charlotte jerked backward out of his grasp, until she felt the oak tree at her back and could go no farther. She should have stepped to the side—she always made sure she had more than one way out of any situation. “I’ll do no such thing. If you are worried about endangering yourself by association with me, I’ll free you from our agreement right now. I’ll go write the notice to the papers. By the day after tomorrow—”

“That’s not what I meant, not what I want.” His hands slashed through the air, erasing her words.

“Then what
do
you want?”

“How can I make you understand? What I want is—” He growled low in his throat, threw his hat to the ground, cupped her face with both hands, and kissed her.

He moved so swiftly she had no chance to evade him, had the thought even occurred. For all his speed and apparent anger, however, his touch was gentle, tender but thorough, trying to convey by touch what he couldn’t express in words alone. His control had slipped free of its moorings, but was not without rudder or helm.

His full lips were soft and warm, fit against hers
perfectly. He smelled of shaving soap and spice, and a trace of licorice, but beneath those civilized scents was the hint of
him
, elemental Alistair. She wasn’t sure which was more intimate, the press of their clothed bodies lying against each other this morning, or this direct contact now, his mouth to hers.

Blood sang through her veins, and her toes curled as she returned his kiss, powerless to stop herself, hungry for more though she wasn’t sure precisely what it was that she suddenly craved. She grasped his lapel to pull him even closer, and reached one hand inside his coat and slid it down his chest, beneath his waistcoat, until she felt his heart thudding against her palm.

He lifted his mouth from hers, and she couldn’t help a moan of protest, silenced when he began kissing his way across her jaw. He slid one hand to her neck, his thumb continuing to caress her, while his other hand skimmed down her shoulder to her waist and pulled her flush against him. Flush against the same firm, muscled body she’d felt this morning, now with his hard arousal pressing into her belly.

She’d seen evidence of male arousal before, a telltale bulge in a man’s breeches or trousers, but had never actually felt it. She’d done this to Alistair. Had made the reserved scholar lose control, at least to this degree. A thrill coursed through her. What could she achieve, if she tried on purpose?

Eyes closed, she arched her neck when he began kissing her throat just beneath her ear. How did he know that kisses and gentle nips and flicks of his tongue on her neck would make her knees weak, would make her cling
to him breathlessly? How did he know what would send sparks of pleasure shooting throughout her traitorous body, when she’d had no idea herself? Causing her to lose control just as she’d done to him must be his sweet revenge.

“What you do to me, Charlotte,” he whispered against her throat, kissing his way across to lavish the other side of her face and neck with the same tender attention.

She tried to reply, to form coherent words, but the sound came out as a groan, and she clutched him tighter.

The sound of children’s laughter and shouting encroached on the sound of her heart hammering in her ears. The children were playing just a few feet away, on the other side of the oak. She flattened her palms against Alistair’s chest but couldn’t summon the strength of will to actually push him away.

Thankfully he heard the children, too. He dropped his hands to her waist and pulled back a little, though he nuzzled her neck another few precious seconds, his ragged breathing puffing against her ear, sending fresh shivers all the way down to her toes.

He bent down to retrieve his hat, and Charlotte held her hand over her pounding heart. While his head was turned, she fanned her overheated cheeks.

Oh, my.

Alistair’s kiss was even better than she had imagined. Passionate and all-consuming. “I was right,” she said to herself.

He dusted off his hat and set it on his head. “Right about what?”

“About the way you would kiss.”

The left side of his mouth quirked up in a crooked smile. “You’ve thought about kissing me?”

She patted her clothing to make sure everything was in its proper place. “Perhaps a little. In passing.” She glanced around the park, hoping she didn’t look as wanton as she felt. The two children she saw earlier ran past the tree, chasing a ball, laughing and shrieking. Their governess was not far behind.

Once they were out of sight, Alistair gestured for her to step forward, and he reached behind her to brush the leaves and bits of bark from her dress. He barely skimmed her injured left side, but his hand lingered on the right side of her derriere, smoothing down the fabric. She arched an eyebrow at him, but he maintained a look of innocence.

Two more people headed their way on the path, a young woman Charlotte recognized from a few doors down, accompanied by her maid.

By silent agreement, Charlotte took Alistair’s arm and they began walking again.

“You’re not going to succeed in distracting me,” he began when they were out of earshot of anyone else in the park.

“I beg your pardon?” He thought
she
had been trying to distract
him
? Her lips still tingled from his tender assault.

“I won’t be swayed from my original intent.”

“Which is?”

“To persuade you to give up this dangerous quest of yours. I thought I could protect you, but I was proven wrong.”

Her spine stiffened. “I have never sought your protection, or anyone else’s. I have been endeavoring to prove,
in fact, that I don’t need anyone’s protection. Nor do I want it. I’m perfectly capable—”

“Yes, I know, and I place the blame for that independent streak squarely on Steven’s shoulders. He had no right to subject you to such a dangerous way of life, and you were too young to know any better.” The arm not holding hers gestured wildly as he talked. “Now it’s like opium to you. You crave the excitement, the danger. It’s going to get you killed.”

She dug her nails into her palm. Becoming loud and defensive would only make him think he’d proved his point. “I always choose my course of action very carefully, after gathering information to help me make the best decision. Before last night, I had never injured anything but my dignity. In five years of working in France during the war, I never sustained anything more serious than a bruise or a few scratches. Steven is the one with the scars and quick temper. He’s the one who acts rashly.”

“But you can’t control the rash actions of others with quick tempers. People who have pistols, and are willing to use them.” He halted again, and his somber expression gave her pause. “Someone tried to kill you last night. I couldn’t stop him. The only way I can protect you is to prevent you from being exposed to that kind of danger in the first place.”

Charlotte narrowed her eyes. There was more going on here than just his masculine need to protect the so-called weaker sex. Beating her head against a wall was never productive, and Alistair had certainly put up a wall when it came to this issue.

Time to go around, over, or dig beneath that wall.

“Who did you fail to protect last time?”

He staggered back half a step as though she’d struck him a physical blow. “Wh-What?”

“You’re speaking with the voice of experience. You needed to protect someone, and somehow you failed. I want to know details.”

He widened his stance and raised his chin. “It’s not that simple. And you’re trying to change the subject. We’re discussing how your pursuit of a career as a spy is putting you in danger, and how marrying me will preclude the need for such a career.”

She put her hands on her hips. “No, I think we’re discussing your need to protect people, and I simply happen to be the current target of that need.” Her instincts had always been right—it’s why she’d been so successful, and unscathed. They weren’t letting her down this time, either. “You have no objection to Steven being a spy. During the war, not once did you try to persuade your dear friend Nick that it was too dangerous for him to be a courier for the Home Office and sneak his ship through the blockades, to sail right past the noses of the French navy. It is only with me that you have a problem. Why?”

He wouldn’t meet her gaze for the longest time, but at last he raised his hand to trail his fingers down her cheek in a tender caress.

“Who was she?”

He didn’t answer aloud, but his eyes clouded with sorrow.

Her stomach clenched. She grasped his wrist. “How did she die?”

He paused, his hand still cradling her cheek, her fingers wrapped around his wrist where she felt his pounding pulse. When he at last spoke, she barely heard him over the whisper of wind in the trees.

“The axle broke, and her carriage plunged into a ravine.”

She waited a moment to let the horrific images his words conjured settle. “Were you driving? Or in the carriage?”

“No.”

She lowered his hand so she could hold it between both of hers. “Did you cause the axle to break?”

“Of course not!”

“Then how was it your fault, your failure to protect?”

His fingers tightened around hers. “I saw the crack. I knew the axle was damaged, but I said nothing.”

Her breath caught. She chose her words carefully. “You don’t strike me as someone who would intentionally allow another person to be hurt. You must have had a very good reason for not speaking up.”

He shook his head and stared off into the distance.

“How long ago did this happen?”

He mumbled a reply, his eyes apparently still seeing the accident.

“I couldn’t hear you.” She cupped his strong jaw and turned him back toward her.

“Twenty years ago, this past spring.”

Twenty years? “That would mean that at the time of the accident you were…”

“Five.”

“And you’ve carried the guilt for her accident all this time? But you were just a child!”

“You don’t understand.” His anguished tone tore at her insides.

“Then help me understand.”

He let out a shaky sigh and began walking. She fell into step beside him.

“It was not just my mother who died in the accident. My older brother and two little sisters were also traveling with her that day.”

Charlotte’s heart squeezed, forcing the air out of her lungs. She threaded her fingers through his, locking their hands together.

“They were going into the village, shopping. A trip we’d made hundreds of times. Thousands. But I was being punished for misbehavior the day before, and not allowed to go. I didn’t say anything about the axle looking wrong, because I was again being disobedient in playing in the carriage house in the first place.”

Charlotte struggled to find words that would offer him comfort. What could she say that hadn’t already been said to him, undoubtedly many times over, during the course of the years? “You’re right. The accident was your fault.”

He jerked to a halt and gaped at her.

“At the country estate of a family as exalted as yours, I would expect that your family employed at least one coachman, if not several coachmen, who were responsible for the care and maintenance of all the vehicles. I presume there were also any number of grooms and undergrooms who were employed to care for the horses, harnesses, and other equipment. With all of those adults,
clearly it was up to you, a child of five, to ensure that the coach was safe for travel.”

His jaw closed with a snap. “You make me sound ridiculous.”

“That is not my intention.” She caressed his hand with her thumb, feeling his coiled strength, hoping to impart some of hers. “I understand, at least a little, the horrible tragedy that you’re still trying to come to terms with, to have it make some sense. Don’t you think I wish there had been something I could do when my mother became ill, or my father died? Steven is still trying to prove that he is a better man than his stepfather, but we cannot dwell on the past.”

“We can’t forget the past. It’s what makes us who we are today.”

“True, but being overly protective of me will not bring back your mother or siblings. And you’re right, Steven
is
to blame for indoctrinating me into the life of a spy, but he trained me well. I have the skills and instincts to be successful at it, and nothing you say or do can change that, no matter how much you might wish it. I’m going to get back the snuffbox. You can’t stop me. But you can help me, if you want.”

The anguish was gone from his eyes, replaced by a grim determination that did nothing for her peace of mind. “You leave me little choice in the matter.”

Before she could respond, she saw Steven’s approach.

“Ah, there you are.” He sauntered up to them, hands clasped behind his back, the image of a gentleman at ease. “Lovely afternoon for a walk, isn’t it?”

The lines of tension on his face proved the image to be
false. Her emotions still near the surface from her conversation with Alistair, she tried not to immediately think the worst. “Is anything amiss?”

“Can’t a fellow simply enjoy a little stroll in the afternoon?”

“Any other fellow, perhaps.” She gave him a pointed stare. “You’re not planning to chaperone us, are you?”

“Do you two
need
a chaperone?”

“Steven,” she ground out.

“Afternoon, Blakeney,” Alistair said, perfectly polite. If his emotions were still too near the surface, he was hiding them well.

Steven acknowledged the greeting with a terse nod. He stopped in front of Charlotte. “When you are free, I’ve received some news that may be of interest to you. I just wanted you to know.” He spun on his heel and headed back down the path, out of the park.