Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

C harlotte tried to restrain her enthusiasm as Simon escorted her through the house. True, it wasn't as grand as Edgerton's seat in Shropshire, but to call it a house seemed woefully inadequate. Yet, the word mansion was much too cold for the warmth exuded within the walls.

It was a home. Filled with people who loved each other—who loved it. Even the pieces of artwork gracing the various rooms had special meaning.

Simon pointed at a sculpted crystal vase. Stems of tulips formed the walls, their leaves linking each flower to the other and the blooms forming the top ridge. "My father gave my mother this for their fifteenth wedding anniversary." Inside, a spring arrangement of yellow tulips brightened the room, their sunny faces smiling at her.

She touched a fingertip to a yellow bloom. "Everything is so cheerful here." Her voice sounded wistful to her ears.

"Not him." Simon pointed to a portrait of a gruff-looking man. His dark hair—or more likely a wig—hung in waves over the shoulders of his elaborate coat. "Mother keeps threatening to hide him away."

"Who was he?"

"My great-great-grandfather. This was his estate. George the First rewarded him for his service in the Jacobite rebellion. No title, but money and land. He invested it well and ruled the tenants with an iron-fist from what I hear. A most disagreeable fellow. Not much to admire about him."

"Except that because of him, you have all this." She swung her arm in an arc about the room.

"Fair enough. Not sure if it's something to admire or, as my father has done, use it to better others and not just ourselves."

She pondered his statement. Would Simon and Mr. Beckham hold to such altruistic beliefs if King George had bestowed a title to their ancestor as well as the land and wealth? The power afforded to those in the peerage had ill effects on many. She'd witnessed that firsthand.

But as Simon led her through the rest of the common rooms of the home, his face brightening as he greeted each servant by name, she thought they would. Perhaps there really were good, incorruptible people in the world. Weren't Honoria and Burwood proof of that?

As much as she hated to admit it, Simon had been reared to be a gentleman of a grand estate. Which begged the question. "Simon, why are you working as Burwood's man of business? Surely not for the money?"

"Hmm?" Simon pulled his attention away from a footman who paused in his duties to welcome Simon home.

"Your duties with Burwood? Why not spend the time here when it will all be yours someday?"

He blinked as if he'd never considered the question. "As his firstborn son, Father began instructing me at his knee. Of course, I could barely sit still long enough to learn anything. All I wanted to do was run around, climb trees, and shuck off my clothing to dive in the pond during the hot summers. But when it became clear I would most likely be his only son, he stressed the importance of being responsible for my mother and sisters should he . . ." Simon's voice cracked as if he couldn't manage the last word.

So unlike Roland, who veritably anticipated their sire's passing with glee. Nash had often remarked that perhaps their father's sudden death wasn't entirely from natural causes. But neither she nor her brothers mourned his loss overmuch.

"Then why not remain here? Why did you join the military?"

A shadow of darkness clouded his face, and he jerked his gaze away. "That's another story for another day. Suffice it to say, I took my father's words to heart, and although you might find it hard to believe, I took my responsibility seriously, learning as much as I could. When Drake discovered his true lineage, he panicked. He knew nothing about running an estate—especially a ducal one with multiple holdings. He needed someone he could trust to teach him and work with him so he could learn the right things to ask—to watch for. As my friend, how could I deny him? And Father encouraged the position, not only to assist Drake, but for what I could learn in managing such enormous properties. But my position with Drake as his man of business is temporary."

"Because you will one day return here when your father dies?"

He nodded. "Or my position will end upon my own death."

As much as she had led him to believe differently, in truth, she had never wished for his death. And with the events of the past few days, as she grew to know her husband, she not only didn't long for his demise, but she dreaded it.

The revelation astonished her. Had she grown to care for the man?

The flicker of darkness disappeared, as if he mentally brushed it away. "But either way, Drake has taken to his role as if he were born to it." Simon paused, slapping his knee. "Ha! I suppose he was. And he has Honoria, and even Stratford should he need counsel."

"What you did was . . ."

A dark brow hitched up. "Incorrigible? It seems to be your favorite descriptor of me."

"No. I was going to say kind. But that seems inadequate. It was selfless."

He threw a hand to his heart. "Is it still beating? A compliment from my fair wife?"

"Don't let that go to your head. It's large enough already." She couldn't help but laugh at him, but more than that, she was grateful he didn't become all sentimental over her unfortunate slip.

"Ah, there she is. The Charlotte I know. You frightened me for a moment." He peeked out one of the front windows. "Drat. It's too dark to explore the hedge maze. We'll save that for another time. Let's make our quick goodbyes while a footman fetches a carriage."

"Is the cottage so far we can't walk?"

"No. It's only about a quarter mile." His gaze drifted to her feet. "But your slippers aren't meant for walking."

Blast the man. Why did he have to be so thoughtful? Still, she refused to have him think her weak. "I'm perfectly capable of walking a short distance."

That arrogant smirk appeared. "Never said you weren't."

After saying goodbye to everyone and promising they would come tomorrow for tea at two, they set off for the cottage.

Heat from the day had vanished, leaving the country air cool and crisp. She pulled in a great lungful. "I always forget how much cleaner it smells in the country."

"Didn't you return to your brother's estate after the Season? "

"Not often. It was a blessed respite to remain in London with only Rose and a few servants."

"Away from Edgerton's judgmental eye, eh?"

She gave a soft chuckle, surprised at how wonderful it felt to laugh. She must have broken a record for the day. "Perceptive of you."

"Oooh. Selfless and perceptive. Might I coax a third compliment from you today?" He patted her hand lying on his arm. "I will file them away and take them out to look at when you're angry with me."

"They shall become dog-eared and cracked from handling." A smile tugged at her lips.

He chuckled in return.

She stole a peek at his profile as he focused on the path before them. He was handsome. She could admit that—at least to herself. And those kisses! Her face warmed. Thank goodness he couldn't see the blush on her cheeks in the growing darkness.

"Charlotte." Gone was any trace of amusement as he spoke her name. "I want to make this work between us."

A voice inside urged her to respond that she did as well, but old fears held her back. Could she trust him? Or if she allowed him in, would he use that to control and harm her? She remained silent.

"I see." Muscles in his arm tensed beneath her hand. "Well, take heart. You may not have to suffer with me for long."

The bite of his flippant remark cut through her. An apology crowded on her tongue, but before she could release it, the shadow of a building loomed before them.

Although not nearly as magnificent as the main house, the cottage was impressive in size and, from what Charlotte could see, elegant in design.

"We're home, Mrs. Beckham."

Simon tried to hold back his disappointment at Charlotte's silence. Was he really asking that much? He didn't ask her to love him. God, he didn't want that anyway, not with the possibility of death looming over him. But they'd spent such a pleasant evening together going through the main house. He had hoped they'd moved from outright hate to tolerating each other.

She'd complimented him twice. Perhaps unintentionally, but she had laughed and smiled more than he ever remembered. She seemed to enjoy his family.

And he still wanted to kiss that dimple in her cheek.

Damnation!

He opened the door to the cottage, but as she moved to enter, he stopped her.

"Tradition." He scooped her up into his arms and carried her into the house. Pleased when she didn't protest, he wondered if they had indeed made progress.

Soft candlelight and lamps cast a golden glow over Charlotte's face, and his breath hitched in his throat. "Alone at last." He gave her his signature wink.

Charlotte pushed against his chest with her fists. "Put me down, you oaf!"

How easily she could break the spell, yet he obeyed her command.

Stationed at the front door, John, one of his father's footmen, took their coats and hats.

"Don't mind my wife, John. It's her way of saying she's mad about me."

John's lips twitched, but like any good servant, he remained silent.

She straightened her skirts, brushing vigorously at them as if the mere act of holding her had wrinkled them. "I'm sure John is brighter than you are and sees the truth in the matter."

He ignored her and took her hand. "Come, I want to show you around. "

The servants had not only aired out the cottage, they had fully prepared it for a newly wed couple, no doubt all under the instruction of his mother. Hyacinths, peonies, and yes, tulips—his mother's favorite—brightened the rooms with splashes of color and filled each with the sweet scent of spring. Floorboards shined and crystal sparkled. Rugs were freshly beaten to remove offending dust.

In every room, Simon cast a quick glance to gauge Charlotte's reaction, pleased with her nod of approval. "Disappointed? Perhaps you expected a hovel surrounded by pig styes?"

Her mouth dropped open.

"Oh, dear God. You did, didn't you?" He shook his head, amused at catching her false assumptions.

"I admit to nothing." Her lips tightened, but her eyes glinted with the truth.

Tugging her hand, he pulled her toward the stairs to show her the bedchambers, choosing the largest one first.

When he flung open the door, he kept his eyes on Charlotte's face. Candlelight lit the cheerful room which reflected his grandmother's outlook on life. Given Charlotte's comments about the main house, he knew she would love it.

However, he wasn't prepared for her reaction.

The tiniest gasp escaped her lips before she threw a hand to her mouth.

"What?" he asked, then turned his attention to the room. "Oh."

Someone—presumably one of his sisters—had destroyed numerous flowers by plucking off the petals and depositing them on the bed. He strode to the bell pull by the bed and gave it a sound tug. "I promise you, I had nothing to do with this."

She snorted a laugh. "Of course not. It's too romantic."

Puzzled, Simon blinked and gaped slack-jawed at her. "You . . . like it ?

John rushed in. "Sir?"

Simon waved a hand toward the bed. "Tell whoever did this?—"

"Tell them, ‘Thank you,'" Charlotte finished.

"Will there be anything else?" John's gaze flicked between Simon and Charlotte.

Clearly not understanding that John had directed the question toward Simon, Charlotte took charge. "Please have a tub and hot water brought up for a bath."

John cast a quizzical glance toward him. "A tub, sir? But?—"

"I'll explain to Lady Charlotte. But do bring some hot water."

John scurried off.

Hands on her—ahem, provocative—hips, Charlotte pounced on him. An adorable frown dented her brow. "Don't tell me you don't have a tub available for a proper bath?"

Rather than answer, he tugged her hand again and led her to the adjoining room. "Grandmother insisted on this addition. She adored her baths and believed in cleanliness."

Charlotte's gaze swept the rather large room. "I never expected this in a cottage." Elevated on a platform, the tub's outer shell was copper, but delicately painted flowers adorned the porcelain lining. Charlotte ran her fingertips along the rim. "It's so beautiful."

"And this." Simon opened the door to the water closet. "Private as well."

She continued to stare at the tub, her face pensive. "If such a convenience had been at Pendrake House, we wouldn't be in this predicament."

"There is in the ducal bedchambers, but Old Burwood had never added them to the guest bedchambers. From what we've heard, he rarely entertained in his later years. Drake plans to make those changes, but with the baby . . ." He shrugged.

She frowned. "And you didn't think to use the available one? "

"I don't invade others' privacy, even when they're not present." Blood thrummed against his temples. How easily she could exasperate him. "And if you recall, I wasn't at my most clear-headed." Yet, even as his temper rose, the lure of her made his pounding blood sing.

He softened his tone. "Let's not argue over what can't be undone. As I said, I want to make this work, but to do so means we must be honest with each other."

Like a soldier in line for inspection, she straightened before him. "Are you accusing me of something?"

He flicked a glance toward the tub. "Let's not discuss this in a room where all I can do is picture you naked—or worse, both of us."

Her cheeks flushed pink, and she flounced from the room.

Following her, he closed the door to the bathing room behind him, shutting out the vision. "Aha! See. How long are we going to dance around the fact that we're attracted to each other?"

"You're mad!"

He grinned. "Not incorrigible?"

Arrows formed in her narrowed eyes, aimed directly for his heart.

"Be honest, Charlotte. I'm not talking about love or tender feelings. I'm talking about physical attraction."

"I'm not attracted to you." She snapped the words a little too forcefully.

With lazy indifference, he plopped into the chair by the window, receiving yet another angry glare.

"A gentleman remains standing until the lady is seated."

He motioned to the chair opposite him. "Then, by all means. Sit."

Huffing, she took the seat, arms folded over her stomach.

He raised a brow at her. "How long are we going to do this, Charlotte? Because frankly, I grow tired of it."

She glowered, her face a mask of stubbornness and pride .

"Deny it to yourself all you wish, but I know when a woman is attracted to me."

"Hmph!" She mumbled something that sounded like inflated head.

He continued on. "There are signs. The way you respond to my touch. My kiss."

With agonizing slowness, she turned toward him. "You vex me!" The vitriol in her voice surpassed the words.

"Ah. But do I vex you, or is it the fact that you want me that vexes you?"

"I . . ." Her mouth snapped shut.

"I say that because we are of like minds in that regard. You are everything I shouldn't want. Stubborn. Opinionated. Aloof. Controlling. Rigid."

"Because I know how to conduct myself with decorum? Unlike you, who acts like a buffoon. You think because you are handsome and charming people will fall at your feet?! That you can wiggle out of any difficult situation with a smile and joke? There is not one serious bone in your body!"

"You are wound so tight, the slightest breeze might snap you in half. Sadness and pain emanate from you. And I detest pain."

Barely noticeable, she flinched, as if the mere mention of it reflected it back on her. Her chin trembled slightly.

"And yet, you haunt my thoughts day and night. The silky softness of your skin. The sweetness of your lips. How your pulse raced when I kissed the inside of your wrist. That dimple in your cheek when you allow yourself a genuine smile."

Unable to help himself, he rose from his seat, then dropped to his knees before her. His hands pressed on the seat of the chair, framing her hips. "And I want to kiss that dimple so damn badly, I can't think of anything else."

Her lips parted slightly, and she blinked. "You . . . what?"

"I want to kiss that dimple. Let me kiss it, Charlotte. Just once. "

Before she could answer, John arrived at the open door, buckets of steaming water in his hands. "Sir?"

Damn.