Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

T hat evening at supper, the table seemed enormous. With his family gone and Drake and Honoria taking their meals in her bedchamber, Simon did his best to fill the void. Normally, scintillating conversation was his gift, but with Charlotte, he worried over each thing that came from his mouth. Would he offend her with a joke? Insult her when all he'd meant to do was compliment her? Would she storm off in a huff from the most innocuous comment?

She was so damned unpredictable.

Except her revelation that Davies had tried to force himself on her gave Simon a peek inside that lovely head. Not to mention making him want to get his hands on the man's throat even more. Simon latched on to the word tried. No wonder Charlotte insisted he put his promise in writing.

He speared a piece of beef. "How are you enjoying your book about people who detest each other?"

She eyed him askance, then returned her attention to her plate. "Very well. "

His attempt at civil conversation was like pulling a mature carrot from hard ground. He wanted to shake her.

"Tell me about it."

She eyed him over the rim of her wine goblet. "I thought you didn't like to read."

"That doesn't mean I'm not interested in the story itself. Dazzle me with your storytelling skills."

Her eyes narrowed. "There's an insult hidden in there."

His fork dropped to his plate. "Must you be defensive about everything? I'm simply asking you a question to fill this interminable silence."

When her eyes widened, he cursed his own impatience. He softened his tone. "I apologize. Please, tell me more about the book?"

"You wouldn't enjoy it. It's become an utter fantasy. Even though the two people despise one another, they are also attracted to each other."

He snorted a laugh. "Like us." Oh. That shouldn't have slipped out. Holding his breath, he waited for her to rail and say she wasn't attracted to him.

Wine sloshed in her glass as she set it down none too gently. "You're attracted to me?"

"Well, you're a beautiful, intelligent woman, and I'm not blind. And contrary to your belief, I'm not stupid either."

Damn. He did it again. How could he be so careless and open himself up to her barbs?

She blinked—several times, then stared at her plate. "No, you're not. But"—she met his gaze—"I am not attracted to you."

Ah. There it is.

"So, these two people who are not like us. Tell me about them. Why do they despise each other?"

"She finds him proud and aloof. Frankly, I don't understand why she despises him. He's sensible and careful to avoid scandal."

"Unlike us—at least the scandal part. "

She pointed her fork at him. "That was your fault."

"For being naked?"

Her cheeks pinked. "He, on the other hand," she continued, completely ignoring his comment, "has every reason to be concerned about her. Her family is disgraceful. Except for her older sister, whom I find also sensible, if somewhat lacking a backbone. However, Elizabeth has more than enough for the both of them. In fact, I find her rather rude."

He pressed his lips together, holding in the retort.

Charlotte glared. "I know what you want to say. That she's like me."

"Actually, I think you sound more like the man. What's his name?"

"Darcy. And if you think that comparison bothers me, you're wrong."

He chewed his beef, contemplating how best to say the next thing. "So Darcy and Elizabeth are fighting their attraction for one another. What, in your estimation, would encourage him to give in?"

From the expression on her face, she truly appeared confounded.

"Would sending him flowers and little notes do the trick?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Why would a woman send a man flow—" Her fork clattered to her plate. "You're not talking about Darcy and Elizabeth."

He shrugged. "I was thinking in generalities. Just for example, mind you, what gesture could a man make to win you over?"

Her glower was lethal. "Nothing."

"Didn't you promise Honoria to give me a chance? I'm trying here, Charlotte, but I seem to be the only one. If our marriage isn't based on love, could it at least be based on honesty?"

"You won't like what I have to say."

He pulled in a breath. Probably not . "Tell me anyway."

"I don't know." She held up her hand when he opened his mouth. "I honestly don't know. No one has ever considered what I want before. What I needed. I don't think it's things most women want. It's more . . ."

He leaned forward.

Tears glistened in the rims of her eyes, but she blinked them back. Her rich alto voice dropped to a whisper. "I get so tired sometimes. Of being strong, from fighting for control, from protecting myself."

"Protecting yourself from whom? Davies?" He swallowed, dread constricting his throat. "Me?"

As if she'd been shaken from a dream, the faraway look in her eyes vanished. "No one. I don't know why I said that." She wiped her lips and rose. "If you would excuse me."

He bolted from his seat, more from concern than etiquette. "Charlotte, wait."

She turned, and the vulnerable woman seated before him moments ago disappeared. "What I want is to be left alone."

She marched from the room, head held high, shoulders straightened as if she were marching to the front lines of battle.

"But you haven't had dessert," Simon said, his words wasted on the footman, who shifted his eyes toward Simon before returning his attention to the empty space before him.

Charlotte had been on the cusp of sharing something with him. Something painful.

And Simon was unsure he wanted to hear it. He plopped back into his seat and pushed his beef and carrots around the plate, his own appetite diminishing.

Finally giving up, he motioned the footman over. "Put the dessert on a tray—two servings." Tray in hand, Simon checked the drawing room, the library, and the other common rooms, all devoid of Charlotte.

Upstairs, Rose, Charlotte's maid, approached from the servant's staircase. "Is Lady Charlotte in her room?" he asked .

"Yes, sir." She eyed the tray and held out her hands. "If that is for my lady, I can take it to her."

"Thank you, Rose, but I would like to deliver it myself and take care of whatever she needs."

Rose eyed him suspiciously. "I suspect she called me to ready her for bed, sir."

"I'll have her ring again if she needs you. But if you would be so kind as to knock and open the door. As you see, my hands are occupied."

Rose gave two raps on Charlotte's door, and Charlotte answered, "Enter."

When he stepped inside, his breath hitched in his throat.

At the window, Charlotte stood in silhouette from the bright full moon, giving her an unworldly appearance, like a fairy queen. Warm and inviting, the moonlight glowed against her skin.

"I brought dessert." He cringed as his voice cracked like a boy transitioning to manhood.

Charlotte spun toward him. "I thought you were Rose."

After placing the tray on a table, he grinned. "I'm not as pretty as Rose."

A laugh sounded behind him, and the door closed with a click .

"Is she gone?" he whispered.

"Yes. And I believe you may have finally won over my maid. Have you actually looked at Rose?"

"To me, all women are pretty. Some"—he stared pointedly at her—"are beautiful."

"Flattery is not on my list of things to win me over."

He pulled out a chair and motioned her over. "It's not flattery if it's true."

Her gaze drifted to the dessert tray. "Is that trifle?"

"Yes. I didn't want you to miss it. Now come."

As she took the offered seat, she studied him from under thick lashes. "Don't you ever give up? "

"Hopeless causes are my favorite." He made himself comfortable in the chair across from her.

"Enjoy disappointment, do you?" She spooned up some of the orange trifle. Those lush lashes drifted down as she closed her eyes, and an expression of bliss slid across her face as she savored the dessert.

Mentally, he patted himself on the back for the idea. "If this is disappointment, I've been avoiding it unnecessarily." He propped his chin on his hand and waited for her to open her eyes.

"What are you staring at?"

"You. The way you licked that spoon . . ."

"Wipe that stupid grin off your face. Don't you tire of looking like a fool?"

"I'm just appreciating how you enjoy your dessert. Last year at the house party, I noticed you favored it. So I asked Cook to make some."

Her mouth formed a little O he found rather erotic . "Because I enjoy it?"

He pressed his lips together, fighting what she called the ridiculous grin.

Before he could respond in a manner she would find more dignified, she cocked her head. "Oh. I see. You thought I would be so overwhelmed by your thoughtfulness that I would swoon at your feet." She waved a hand around her. "Conveniently in my bedroom."

She jabbed at the trifle with an aggression that would have had the thing fleeing for its life had it been alive, then spooned it into her mouth. After she swallowed, she said, "But if you had really taken notice of my preferences, you would know I like my orange trifle with chocolate shavings on top."

He tucked that away for a later date. At the moment, he simply enjoyed watching her eat .

Finished, she pushed the dish away. "Aren't you going to eat yours?"

When her gaze slid to his still untouched dessert, he pulled it closer. "Yes, and I would ask you to stop lusting after it. I see the hunger in your eyes."

"You're in—" She snapped her mouth shut and huffed.

Laughing, he spooned up some of his dessert, enjoying it with dramatic flair. "Mmmm. So good." He licked his spoon, his tongue lingering on the back of the bowl and his eyes never leaving hers.

She tore her gaze from his, her cheeks reddened. "When are we leaving for your hovel?"

He practically choked on the trifle. "My hovel ? What on earth are you expecting, Charlotte? A one-room hut?"

"No." Her dark eyes bored into his with icy seriousness. "No doubt it has two rooms."

He scraped the last of the sweet deliciousness onto his spoon. "You'll just have to wait and see, won't you? But I'd like to leave before ten."

"Then I should prepare for bed." She rose, and he followed suit.

"Before I go, I have a question."

She rolled her eyes. "Another one? Hasn't your brain been overtaxed enough for one day?"

Lord, she tried his patience—which admittedly was poor to begin with. "Well, it's more of a statement, so I think I can manage through it. You promised you would give us a chance."

"We've established that. What is your point?"

"My point is, what in your opinion does that entail? To continue keeping me at arm's length? I promised I wouldn't force you, but I hoped you could rein in your dislike of me long enough to give me an heir before I die."

Her gaze jerked away from him, moving momentarily toward the bed. "And you promised . . . "

He nodded. "I did. But I suggest we start small. Work our way up to that. "

"How?"

"We never did discuss the kiss after our wedding yesterday. Don't deny you felt something. You may not like it, but I have enough experience to know when a woman responds to me."

She huffed and turned aside. "Arrogant fool."

"Truthful. Not arrogant. If anyone is deceiving themselves, it's you."

"What do you propose?"

"Why don't we start with a goodnight kiss?"

Like a marble statue, her whole body stiffened. "Fine. Make it quick." She closed her eyes, her brow scrunched up and her lips puckered as if she were going to kiss the devil himself.

He withheld his laugh, but he stepped closer, stopping within a hair's breadth from her. "Open your eyes, Charlotte. If we're going to do this—and really have a chance—we're going to do this my way."

Perhaps he should have allowed her to keep her eyes shut. The contempt within them chilled him. "You can close them in a moment but look at me first. I'm going to slip my arm around your waist."

"You didn't say anything about touching."

"Kissing requires touching, but I promise I won't do anything extra. " He slid his arm around her, remembering how much he loved the new gowns with their lower, trim waistlines. "For support when your knees buckle."

"Ha!"

He silenced her first by cupping her cheek with his free hand. Then, when her lips parted the tiniest amount from surprise, he lowered his head, capturing them with his own. Gently at first, a slight brush of flesh upon flesh, he teased her into submission.

Her eyelids fluttered shut, those long lashes creating little half-moons upon her cheeks. Lovely . When she exhaled a soft sigh into his mouth, his own eyes closed. Tense muscles under his hand at her waist softened, and her shoulders relaxed as he deepened the kiss.

And oh, what a glorious kiss it was. Better than the one at the church. And although he had prepared himself, his quickening pulse and the hitch of his breath still took him by surprise.

With difficulty, he refrained from delving his tongue inside her mouth. That would wait for another day—another kiss. But he increased the pressure gradually, a little more each time she responded.

Slowly counting to ten, he tore himself away, satisfaction blooming in his chest when her lips chased his. "That's enough for one evening. Wouldn't want to spoil you." A half-truth, he admitted. He needed to go slow—to make her want to want him.

The glazed look in her eyes told him he'd accomplished his task. He turned quickly, preventing her from seeing his ridiculous grin and the similar look in his own eyes, and strode toward the door. "Goodnight, Charlotte. May you have beautiful dreams."

Outside in the hallway, he congratulated himself for his hard-won battle.

What he didn't want to admit was how much the kiss had affected him as well.

"Incorrigible!" Charlotte yelled from the other side. Something crashed against the door with a mighty thud .

He smiled to himself. Not only the battle, but he was inching closer to winning the war. He only hoped he wouldn't become a casualty in the victory.

Fists balled at her side, Charlotte muttered to herself. "Arrogant buffoon. Nodcock. Dolt." And because she was alone, she added a few less ladylike insults she'd picked up from Nash to her list. Simon Beckham deserved every last one .

Pieces of porcelain that had once been a vase littered the floor. She tromped to the bell pull, tugging it so hard, she thought it might come off in her hand.

How could one kiss affect her so much? She'd wanted to run her hands through the hair on his empty head. Pull him closer to her as the heat of his body burned through her gown.

Gah!

And he knew! The sparkle in his eyes when he'd released her belied his restrained demeanor as he ended the kiss—too soon.

She'd wanted it to go on, and on, and on.

How would she suffer him on the long journey to Wiltshire? He'd no doubt bring it up countless times.

And what would he suggest next?

Knock, knock.

"Enter!" The single word came out of her like a strong wind.

"My lady—" Rose's gaze dropped to the shattered vase. "What happened? Are you injured? Cut?" She stepped around the mess, then pulled Charlotte's hands into her own. Her brow furrowed upon seeing Charlotte's unblemished skin.

"I'm fine," Charlotte lied. She was anything but fine. She most certainly was losing her mind.

Once Rose swept away the remains of the poor vase, she readied Charlotte for bed, tsk, tsking at Charlotte's misfortune to have married a man who was all charm and no substance. "He vexes you, my lady. Anyone can see it."

Charlotte kept her opinions about her husband to herself. Because something had shifted—only a fraction, mind you. But it disconcerted her nonetheless.

And as she lay in bed, trying to sleep, she wondered how she could rid herself of the troublesome feelings creeping up from her long-buried heart.

Because she wanted Simon Beckham.

And that would spell her ruin.