Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

W onder of wonders, to Charlotte's surprise, they made it back to Pendrake House relatively dry and without further discussion of that kiss. Only the hem of her lovely gown where it peeped out from beneath her pelisse was damp, and that had more than likely occurred when they stood outside the church.

Luckily, Simon didn't comment as he pulled the phaeton up to the house and threw the ribbons to the groom. He opened the umbrella and held out a hand to help her down. "Ready to face our adoring family, Mrs. Beckham?"

"It's still Lady Charlotte, regardless."

Had she imagined the flicker of disappointment that passed over his face?

Frampton opened the door for them, ushering them inside and taking Charlotte's pelisse and Simon's hat. "Felicitations, Lady Charlotte. Mr. Beckham."

Charlotte darted a smug glance toward her husband. "You see?"

"Very well. Lady Charlotte Beckham. But I presume I'm allowed to call you Charlotte?" He paused, studying her. "Or do you have a pet name you prefer? Something for when we're in private?" The rogue waggled those dark brows at her again.

"Will you cease that ridiculous movement? And to remind you, there will be no private moments. You agreed."

"Not even after that kiss?"

She adopted her most innocent expression. Which, in truth, was probably as unnatural for her as it was for him. "What kiss?"

He leaned in, his incredible blue eyes growing hooded. His voice slid over her, caressing her skin as sultry and soft as velvet. "You know very well what kiss."

Even with the damp, cold early April day, heat raced up her neck to her cheeks.

The cad had the audacity to grin.

Thankfully, before the rogue could say something else and embarrass her further, Frampton opened the door again, and Simon's family poured into the entryway. Charlotte imagined a rapid, rushing stream, unfettered and wild.

What had she got herself into?

His father shook rain from his hat and handed it to Frampton. "A devil of a day to be married, but rain does make young things grow."

Simon laughed, loud and hearty. "Father, I think that's only for plants."

"Nonsense. Why, Rebecca was conceived in the worst possible storm imaginable."

Mrs. Beckham's face whitened. "Teddy! You're embarrassing our new daughter."

Charlotte blinked, the description of daughter catching her off-guard.

Once Honoria and Drake arrived, they all gathered for a sumptuous wedding breakfast. Charlotte, however, had little appetite, and she pushed her eggs around her plate with her fork. Keeping her responses succinct, she answered everyone's questions as truthfully and carefully as possible.

Kate lifted a scone from her plate. "When did you know you loved my brother?"

Well aware Simon studied her, Charlotte smiled. "Who says I love him? Perhaps he simply wore down my defenses?"

Mr. Beckham barked a laugh. "That does sound like Simon. Never one to give up on a challenge."

Burwood nodded. "I believe I said the very thing to Miss Weatherby last year when she indicated interest in him. Of course, that's when she thought he was the duke."

Simon's eyes widened. "You did? Was that before she latched herself onto you?"

"Yes. During the fox hunt."

Like Charlotte, Honoria pushed her food around aimlessly. "Let's not rehash that debacle." She moaned a little as she shifted in her seat.

Burwood placed a hand on Honoria's arm, his brow furrowed. "Darling, are you feeling unwell?"

"Simply tired."

Mrs. Beckham exchanged a look with her husband. "Your Grace, forgive me. But when is your confinement expected?"

"Not for another few weeks. However, I wish it were sooner. If I grow any larger, I won't be able to reach anything."

True, Honoria's girth prevented her from sitting closer to the table.

And although the food was perfectly prepared and delicious, guilt soured Charlotte's stomach like bad fish. Honoria would still be with her family in Somerset, the Beckhams would be attending to their lives in Wiltshire, and she would be . . . She pushed that thought from her mind. Even if Roland hadn't arranged the horrendous match with Felix, since Nash had left for America, her life under Roland's critical eye had grown unbearable .

At least marriage to Simon would provide some freedom—and hopefully not imprisonment of a different variety.

"Lady Charlotte." The Countess Gryffin pulled Charlotte from her depressing musings. The old woman had been unusually silent throughout the day's events. "Is this rascal going to take you anywhere exciting for your wedding trip?"

Charlotte's fork clattered to her plate. Alone with Simon. She hadn't thought about that. "Are you?"

A chagrined grimace passed over Simon's face. "Well, everything was so rushed, I hadn't actually thought about it."

"And why was it rushed, brother?" Beth asked.

Mrs. Beckham sent her daughter a castigatory glance. "Beth! Forgive her, Lady Charlotte. Beth tends to speak her mind."

A trait Charlotte admired, for the most part. Except at that moment.

"Um." Simon swallowed an overly large bite of toast and wiped his mouth with the serviette.

Perhaps he would choke. Charlotte smiled at the thought.

"I worried she would change her mind," Simon continued, completely ignoring her. "You women are so mercurial, especially my lovely wife."

"Come to my senses, you mean," she muttered.

Turning toward her, he grew serious. "Would you like to go somewhere? There is a very nice cottage on my father's estate. Fully equipped, and the hunting and fishing are marvelous."

Surely, he wasn't serious?

Lady Gryffin gawked in disbelief. "Good grief, man!" She turned toward her great-nephew. "Talk some sense into him, Drake." She speared a kipper and shook her head. "Fishing and hunting. On a wedding trip. Take her somewhere romantic. To Florence. Venice."

"What about Scotland?" Kate asked.

Lady Gryffin shook her head. "Don't go to Scotland this time of year, much too cold. "

Location wasn't Charlotte's concern as much as the fact that she would be alone with Simon for an extended period. "Perhaps we can discuss it later?"

Simon patted her hand. "As you wish, dumpling."

Dumpling!!

"Thank you, pudding face."

Georgie spit out her milk.

Burwood chuckled into his serviette. "If you would all excuse us. I think I will get my wife upstairs to rest for a while. Please make yourselves at home."

An awkward silence filled the space Honoria and Burwood left with their departure.

"Would you like to rest as well, dearest?" Simon said, with only the slightest trace of acid in the endearment.

Beth giggled.

"What's so funny?" Georgie asked.

Charlotte darted a glance at Simon, who grinned like the cat who got the cream. "You are incorrigible," she whispered.

Simon rose and pulled out her chair. He leaned down, his warm breath tickling the nape of her neck. "So you've told me. Now, shall we go up and allow my family to imagine all sorts of things?"

Only married to the man for a few hours, Charlotte already regretted it.

As Simon led Charlotte upstairs, he formulated a plan. His father's words rang true. He never gave up on a challenge.

And wooing Lady Charlotte Talbot—err, Beckham—would be a monumental challenge. Determined to crack her hard outer shell and reveal the heart that he knew resided within, he would persevere until he prevailed. Not that he wanted her to fall in love with him .

Heaven forbid! The wistful romantic thoughts he'd had earlier must have been because the wedding ceremony addled his brain. But if the marriage had any chance of providing an heir, she'd have to allow him to touch her.

Oh, how he wanted to touch her—and more.

He slid a gaze over at her.

Passive? No. Not in the least. Determined was more like it. Determined to resist his charms.

A slow smile tugged at his lips.

We'll see about that, my lady.

When he paused and opened the door of the room next to his, she sent him a quizzical look. "My room is at the end of the hall."

"It was. Yes. I instructed Frampton and Rose to move your belongings to the room next to mine. For appearances, you understand."

Those seductive brown eyes narrowed. "But it is my room?"

"As opposed to ours? Yes."

"And Honoria and Burwood?"

"Ah, if you're worried about that, they're in the other wing." He inclined his head to the left. "After they were married, I insisted on a room farther from theirs." He grinned. "To help with the noise."

"Noi—" Her cheeks reddened. Just as he hoped.

"Now, shall we have our discussion out in the hallway, or go inside where it's private?" Without waiting for her answer, he gave her a gentle push into the room.

The sweet scent of peonies filled the room, placed there by his request. Unbidden, his gaze drifted to the bed where a maid had already turned down the counterpane.

If only.

Charlotte glared at him, popping that dream like a fragile soap bubble on a strong breeze. "What is it you wish to discuss ?"

"Well, our wedding trip, for one. "

She sat in a chair by the window—far away from the tempting bed. "Can't we stay here in London?"

His new wife might think him simple-minded, but he'd already developed a strong argument to convince her. "If we remain here, it will be harder to keep up appearances. Especially if my family extends their stay. They will expect us to be, shall we say, privately occupied most of the time. Do you want to be cooped up in your room for days on end? Or would you rather go somewhere away from watchful eyes where you can spend your days coming and going as you wish?"

As she sucked in half of her bottom lip and worried it with her teeth, his blood stirred, remembering their kiss at the church.

"What if I don't mind staying in my room for days?"

Fine for her. But he would surely go mad if he had to stare at the four walls of his bedchamber for days. However, if he could get her into bed, that was another matter entirely.

Her brows drew down into a sharp V. "What are you thinking about? You've gone from looking horrified to enormously pleased."

He took a seat on the bed, hoping to nudge her mind toward more passionate pursuits. "I was thinking about being alone with you."

"Hmph. And get off my bed." The determination in her voice faltered—or was that his imagination? "Your father said you hate to be confined to your room. He said it was your punishment as a child."

Surprised both that his father would share this information and she remembered it, he nodded. "Yes, that's true."

Unreflected in her eyes, the smile spreading across her face was positively malicious. "Then perhaps a week isn't long enough? Don't wedding trips typically last months?"

Dear God! She'd kill him within the first year. Chills ran up his spine, his limbs grew numb, and he wanted to sprint from the room—and from her. To find his phaeton, the fastest horse, the riskiest dare—anything to save him from staying in one place and drowning of boredom. He forced down the mass in his throat. "You're serious?"

"Quite. But please tell me this cottage you mentioned is larger than a tenant's hovel. I require servants and some comforts."

What? He blinked, trying to clear his head. "I don't understand."

Her dry laugh brought him up short. "You wouldn't. You expect the worst from me, it's clear. But I yield to your argument. Reluctantly. Besides, Honoria's time of confinement grows near, and she and Burwood need time alone rather than worrying about us. And as much as I love to read, unlike my dear friend, I can only do it for so long before I need other diversions. So tell me about this cottage."

He wanted to kiss her. To jump up, grab her by the shoulders, and kiss her so hard it made her head spin. But he promised himself he would go slowly. To ease into things with her. And she had just given him an enormous gift. The last thing he wanted to do was frighten her and have her rescind her agreement.

"It's a dower house, actually. It was my grandmother's before she died. It's very cozy, and yes, large enough for a few servants, but still providing privacy for us."

"And you would spend the time hunting and fishing? Leaving me alone?"

He studied her, unsure how he should answer. Did she truly want him to leave her alone, or was she casting a line of her own, hoping he would bite? "I will yield to your will. If you want me with you, I will be with you. If you want me away, I will find something with which to occupy myself."

"And how will being confined to a cottage differ from remaining in my room here?"

"No one will question us. Swindon is but a half-hour away. Or, should you wish to spend time with my family, they are nearby but will not bother us unless invited. If you like to ride, we have a fine stable of horses. If you want a fête, my family would be happy to host one and introduce you to neighbors and friends."

"Very well. If you promise I shall have my own room there as well."

He placed his hand on his heart and adopted the most solemn expression he could muster. "I promise. It will take time to prepare. I'll advise my parents this evening when we reemerge for supper. We can leave in a few days."

"Not tomorrow?"

He shook his head. "Allow my parents to return before us and have servants sent to ready the house. But having them out from underfoot will help here as well. Drake and Honoria are aware of our situation."

"Speaking of, how long do you intend to remain here in my room?"

"At least a few hours. I wouldn't want to chance anyone seeing me slip into my room alone." Oh, it was an excuse, for certain, and it pleased him that it vexed her—just a little.

She exhaled a sigh. "Well, then. What shall we do to pass the time?"

He grinned. "I have some ideas."