Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

A fter everyone had a glimpse of little Kitty, Drake ushered them all out with instruction to Frampton to provide whatever was necessary for his guests, but stating he would remain by Honoria's side and take supper with her in her bedchamber.

Charlotte took it upon herself to act as hostess in Honoria's absence. Grudgingly, she admitted she enjoyed Simon's lively family. The younger girls filled any lulls in the conversation, chattering excitedly about the baby, the latest fashions, asking if they would have a Season since Simon resided in London with the duke and was married to a real Lady.

Still, Charlotte couldn't help but compare Drake's devotion to Honoria and even Mr. Beckham's attentiveness to his wife and daughters to her own situation. She'd had Frampton lay a place at supper for Simon, should he return.

His seat remained empty, and as she gazed across the expanse of the table at the vacant spot, her thoughts drifted to their game of vingt-et-un.

And to the kiss .

Unbidden, she touched her palm where his lips had lingered.

Ninny ! She must desist such foolishness forthwith. It would only lead to heartache.

An incongruous laugh escaped at the thought. Did she even have a heart any longer, or had she buried it so deep as to be irretrievable?

Beth's spoon of syllabub hovered at her lips. "What is it?"

"Pardon?"

"You laughed. What's funny?" Beth's spoon completed the trajectory to her mouth.

"Your brother." A mild untruth. And Simon had precipitated the line of thought leading to her ill-timed laugh.

Beth appeared unconvinced. "He does make everyone smile."

Not everyone. His flippant manner and hollow compliments vexed her. Was there a shred of sincerity and genuineness in the man? Or was it all one big game? When things grew serious or difficult, he turned tail and ran away. Her attention snagged on the empty plate.

He should be here. With his family. With his friend.

With me.

"Simon suggested we spend some time at your estate, Mr. Beckham. He mentioned a cottage there previously used by your mother."

With a mouthful of dessert, Georgie exclaimed, "Oh, yes. Please come. I can show you my favorite hiding places."

"Georgie." Mrs. Beckham lifted a castigatory brow. "Don't speak with your mouth full."

Charlotte chuckled softly to herself. She might need to hide from Simon.

Before Charlotte could answer the girl, Rebecca sent her sister a chastising glance. "Simon and Lady Charlotte will want to be alone. Not pestered by an obnoxious twelve-year-old."

"I am not obnoxious." Georgie sent a pleading look to her mother. "Am I? "

"Only on days ending in y," Beth said.

At first Georgie nodded, her dark curls bobbing, then her eyes widened. "Oh, you!" She glowered at her sister.

"Georgie, I'm certain I will be able to spare time away from Simon long enough for you to show me around." Especially if Simon deserts me as he did this evening .

Georgie stuck her tongue out at Rebecca and then Beth, which earned her another reprimand from her mother.

"If you would all excuse me, I'm rather tired. It has been a most eventful day." She placed the serviette next to her plate. "Please, feel free to gather in the drawing room after supper."

When she rose, Mr. Beckham followed suit, approaching and touching her arm. "Don't be too hard on him when he returns, my dear. His actions may seem selfish and uncaring, but Simon never did well when his mother delivered. The cries of pain become too much for him, I'm afraid. Then when Simon was fifteen, Judith lost a baby eighteen months before Georgie was born. The boy came too early and didn't survive." Mr. Beckham's eyes grew misty, and he wiped at them hastily. "Our little Alexander. A difficult time for all of us, Simon most of all. I thought he would lose his mind when Georgie was being born."

Oh, poor Simon. Poor Judith. Poor Mr. Beckham . "I'm so sorry."

Charlotte had her doubts about her husband, but Mr. Beckham's news explained Simon's terrified reaction. Still, she worried about where he had gone. She forced a weak smile. "I shall do my best to be a good wife to him, sir. However, my husband must also keep his own promises."

As she exited the dining room, Georgie's voice rose in the quiet. "Oh, Simon's in trouble now."

Unbidden, a genuine smile tugged at Charlotte's lips.

Upon arriving home, Simon had the carriage driver let him off several homes away. Not up for any lectures, he walked around and through the mews, sneaking into the house through the kitchen in the back. The room was empty, clean of all evidence of the evening's supper, and his stomach growled in protest. As quietly as he could, he crept up the hallway and spied around the corner.

When the footman stationed at the front door caught sight of him, Simon put his finger to his lips, and the man nodded. If he could make it to the study undiscovered, he kept some whisky in a drawer there. It wasn't solid, but it might take off the edge gnawing at him.

He discovered Drake, his head back, cravat untied, staring at the ceiling. Simon turned to leave but the creaking floorboard in front of the room betrayed him.

"You're back," Drake called from behind.

"Ah, yes. I didn't want to disturb you." Simon stepped into the room, praying Drake's demeanor was simple exhaustion and not one of sorrow. "Um, how is Honoria?"

The tension in Simon's chest eased at the grin breaking across Drake's face. "She's sleeping. At least for a while. She was magnificent, Simon. How do women do it?"

"So you stayed for the whole—" Simon waved a hand, not willing to utter the word.

"Birth," Drake said for him. "Yes. She's so tiny. Fragile."

"You have a daughter?"

Drake nodded. "I've been sitting here worrying about all the ways I need to protect her." His expression grew solemn, knifing Simon in the heart for having deserted his friend.

Simon retrieved the whisky and poured them both a glass. "You're not in this alone. You have Honoria. And me."

Drake's eyebrow rose as he studied Simon over the rim of his crystal glass. He sipped. "Do I? "

"You told me to go." The metaphorical knife twisted by Simon's own hand as he redirected the accusation.

"True." Drake took another sip, then laid the glass down. "However, I didn't expect you to be gone so long. After all, it is your wedding day, and you have a bride waiting for you."

The knife plunged deep. Simon winced from the pain. "Ah. Have you spoken to Charlotte?"

Drake toyed with the glass of amber liquid. "Not about that. I took supper with Honoria in her room. But Charlotte, bless her, took charge with your family. When I came down a short while ago, your mother said Charlotte had retired for the evening. She had some rather harsh words about you."

Simon snorted a laugh. "Charlotte?" That would be no surprise.

Drake shook his head. "Your mother. In fact, she said Charlotte was most gracious at supper. Are you really going to take her to your family's estate for a wedding trip?"

"If you don't need me here."

"I think I can manage for a while without you. One of the advantages of being a duke is having servants at your bidding. And I know how to review my own books should the need arise." Lifting the whisky, he took a longer sip, closing his eyes. When he opened them, he met Simon's gaze directly. "And I think you have more important business to attend to."

"Such as?"

"Making good on your boast."

Lord, there had been so many boasts. "Which in particular?"

"The one where you claimed you could woo any woman into your bed."

Oh, that one. Simon's eyes inadvertently gazed toward the ceiling, much in the same manner he'd found Drake. He tugged on the cuffs of his sleeves. "Well, never let it be said that Simon Beckham backed down from a challenge. "

As he headed upstairs to face his dragon—err, his bride—Drake's laugh echoed behind him.

Rose had fixed Charlotte's disheveled hair before supper, and Charlotte was glad to have regained that much control over her situation. Seriously, the idea of going around with her hair down for so long in the day made her stomach cramp. But as Rose readied her for bed, removing the pins and brushing the thick dark locks, Charlotte studied herself in the mirror.

With her hair flowing around her shoulders, it softened her face and reminded her of a girl of ten-and-four who couldn't wait to pin her hair up like an adult. She'd been so na?ve, eager to be grown up without truly understanding the heavy burden being a woman brought. She instructed Rose to leave her hair loose and unplaited.

After she dismissed Rose, Charlotte tightened the silk dressing gown around her and sat at the small escritoire. The last time she'd written to Nash had been after Honoria's wedding. He'd been delighted, as had his wife Adalyn, to learn of Honoria's love match. Charlotte had grown to admire her brother's wife, who transcribed his personal correspondence for him. Adalyn had a way of sneaking in little tidbits about Nash that made Charlotte smile—especially how he doted on their son, Benjamin. Charlotte suspected Adalyn kept those additions secret from her husband, who never wanted anyone to know he had a soft side.

Charlotte pulled out foolscap, ink, and pen. She'd refrained from writing with her news sooner in the unlikely—but hopeful—event some miracle would intervene and circumvent her marriage.

Dipping her pen in the inkpot, she sighed. The pen hovered over the paper .

My dearest brother,

I hope this letter finds you, Adalyn, and Benjamin well. I write to you with both joyous and disconcerting news.

She paused, her pen poised over the words and disconcerting . Should she strike them? No, best to prepare him. She left them for the moment and continued.

Honoria has given birth to a healthy baby girl. They have named the child Katherine and will call her Kitty after the duke's great aunt. The duke shows no distress over the sex of the child. In fact, he is overjoyed, cuddling and cooing at the infant. He is completely besotted. I can no longer think of him as Burwood, which conjures a cold and uncaring image, much like our father and brother, but only as Drake, which he has requested I call him. Honoria, of course, radiates happiness.

She pondered how to deliver her next news. Better to ease into it.

Odd to think there was a time when Honoria could have become my sister, should you have courted her in earnest. I have done my best to fulfill your wish to look after her. And now, by an unforeseen series of events, I find myself as close to her as a sister could be. Not only has she requested I be the godmother of her beautiful little daughter, but

She paused again, pulling in a breath before writing the words of stark reality.

I am married to the duke's man of business, Mr. Simon Beckham. It was quite sudden, and I hope you do not hear of it through other sources. Know that it was completely of my choosing, and I intend to make the best of it.

Please write again when you are able with news of young Benjamin, Adalyn, and your ventures in America.

With affection ,

Your sister, Charlotte .

There. Short and to the point. No need to coat it with sweetness. Nash would see past such insincerity in a blink. She would have Frampton frank and post it first thing in the morning.

Even with such forthrightness, Nash would have an ocean of questions. And at that moment, she was grateful he was so far away, giving her time to think and plan appropriate responses.

Tap - tap - tap.

Had the rain increased again? Mercifully, it had eased as night came. She rose and moved toward the window. But when she pulled back the curtain, no streaks of water dripped down the pane of glass.

Tap - tap - tap .

"Charlotte?" the now familiar voice called.

She pulled her wrapper around her more tightly, making certain the tie was secure, then opened the door to her husband.

After making it upstairs unseen by his family, Simon washed and prepared for bed. With a deep breath, he fortified himself, stepped from his room, and knocked on Charlotte's door.

She didn't answer. Perhaps she had already fallen asleep. He knocked again and called her name.

When she opened the door, Simon literally felt his jaw drop as Charlotte stood before him in her dressing gown.

Lord, she was beautiful with all that glorious dark hair flowing over her shoulders. When she'd taken the pins out earlier, it had been haphazard and messy—fitting for the illusion that they'd been busy in the bedroom.

But with it brushed smooth, he wanted to run his hands through it and muss it in earnest .

She glared at him. "Close your mouth. You'll catch something."

Her words hit him like the douse of cold water that had got them into this mess to begin with. He snapped his mouth shut. "I came to say goodnight and see if there is anything I can do to make you more comfortable. " He winked.

She glowered. "I'm fine, no thanks to you." She leaned in, and for a moment, he thought she might kiss him. She sniffed. "At least you don't reek of liquor. Where did you go?"

"Early in our marriage to start nagging me about my whereabouts, don't you think?"

She quirked a dark brow, but all he wanted to do was kiss it.

Damn.

He needed a different approach. "If you allow me to come in, we can discuss it away from servants' ears."

Craning her neck, which also was quite kissable, she scanned the hallway. "I don't see any servants."

Admittedly, not his most effective approach. "Charlotte, you're being childish. I'm your husband. Let me inside."

" I'm being childish?! Ha!" Still, she threw the door open and stood aside, allowing him to enter.

When Simon turned around after closing the door, Drake's words became reality. The challenge seemed insurmountable.

Charlotte crossed her arms over her chest, pushing her breasts up—the tops, round and luscious—peeking over the edge of her nightdress. "Well? I'm waiting."

He summoned his most charming grin, the one where one side of his mouth lifted in careless ease. "Why don't we discuss this on the bed?"

She continued to glare, unmoved.

No—wait. There was something—a shift in her eyes toward the bed, a slight bloom of color on her cheeks.

"No."

"How long are we to dance around this? "

"Considering we've been married less than a day, and under unusual circumstances, no less, I would say as long as it takes. And I'm still waiting to hear where you were."

"Am I to make an account of everywhere I go? Who I see? Speak with? What? For your approval? Like a real marriage?"

She huffed and took a seat in a chair by the window. "I don't want to argue with you. Not today."

"Because it's our wedding day?"

"Because it's a day of joy for our dear friends. We should both have been by their sides. He didn't say anything, but Drake wanted to show off his daughter to you."

The knife, still lodged in his chest, twisted anew, and as always, he deflected the pain. "I'll see her tomorrow. I spoke to Drake when I came home. He was the one who reminded me I had a bride waiting for me. Shall we keep the discussion centered on us for the time being?" Simply to vex her, he stretched out on the bed and patted the mattress.

"Fine. Where were you?"

"I paid a visit to the new gaming hell. Ran into a few familiar faces, met some new ones."

"Which of your ruffian friends did you see?"

"Lord Montgomery. Mr. Weatherby. Although I don't think they'd take too kindly to being called ruffians." He waited for her reaction, sorely disappointed when she remained stoic. "They weren't the only ones. Lord Felix Davies sullied the place with his presence."

"Ugh. The Worm no doubt seized the opportunity to point out you were catting around instead of being with your new wife."

"He did. And for that, I'm truly sorry, Charlotte. I had no idea he'd be there. If it helps, the owner, a tower of a man called The Captain, had him thrown out. Apparently it wasn't the first time Davies caused a disturbance in the man's club. "

With a faraway look in her eyes, Charlotte muttered, "I wonder . . ."

Simon straightened on the bed. "What?"

Her attention jerked back to him. "Nothing. Just something Miranda told us last year during the duke's house party. How long has this new gaming hell been open?"

He shrugged. "About a year, I believe." Something was brewing in that mind of hers. He had to give his wife credit. She wasn't simply a pretty face. "If it makes you feel better, I wanted to strangle the man."

"The owner?"

"No, of course not. Davies. The owner stopped me, said he quite understood." He patted the bed again. "Am I forgiven? Perhaps a little physical demonstration of your understanding for the grievous neglect of my beautiful wife?"

Both of her dark eyebrows rose. "Does that actually work for you?"

He grinned. "Most of the time. Yes."

"Go to bed, Simon."

He made a show of gazing around. "Why, look at that. I'm already there." He scooted toward the middle and stretched out again. "Ah! So comfortable." His arms folded over his chest in a semblance of repose, he closed his eyes.

Rustle of silk and the shuffle of footsteps approached, and Simon smiled inwardly.

Here she comes.

Pressure dipped the mattress.

He cracked open one eyelid.

Kneeling with her dark hair curtaining him, she glared down, her teeth bared like a lioness. "Get. Off. My. Bed."

He turned to prop himself on an elbow, but her hair caught under his arm.

"Ow!" she howled.

Reflexes keen, he slipped an arm around her waist and flipped her on her back, reversing their positions. He grinned down at her. "Hello."

He expected her to rail at him. To tell him to go to the devil. Or if he were really lucky to kiss him.

He didn't expect the panic in her eyes.

"Get off me!"

He scrambled off both her and the bed.

She swiped at her face, then turned away. "You promised!" Lord, her voice sounded like a wounded animal's.

Nausea churned his stomach. Too bad neither her brother nor Felix Davies was there to receive his accounts. "I'm so, so sorry. I'll leave."

She sat on the bed with her knees drawn to her chest, her hair curtaining and shielding her face from view.

"I didn't mean to scare you, Charlotte. Please forgive me."

"Just go." Her hand slipped up to her face again.

Unable to bear the guilt compressing his chest, he bowed his head and stared at his hand on the door handle. "Goodnight," he whispered as he slipped through the door.

On the other side, he pulled in a breath, releasing it slowly through his mouth.

What in the devil had he got himself into?