Chapter 37

CHAPTER 37

M uch like the events that led to her marriage to the man she had grown to love, Charlotte would never be certain of the sequence that followed. She had barely pulled in a relieved breath after Samuel dropped that bloody knife when Simon turned toward her, his face a mask of horror, his voice booming.

"Charlotte! Get out of the way!"

Knife clutched in his hand, Albie Mooney lunged toward her, his gait unsteady. "I'll teach you to interfere where you shouldn't."

Before she could do as her husband commanded—and if she survived, she would have words with him later about his demands—Simon threw himself between her and Albie.

Albie slashed at Simon, his arm swinging in a wild arc.

Quick on his feet, Simon leaped away.

"Lemme at 'er!" Albie's slurred words matched his stumbling steps as he charged forward, this time at Simon. He slashed the blade in a wide arc.

Unbidden, Charlotte's hand rose to her throat as the knife sliced the air toward Simon .

Blocking her view of Albie, Simon jumped back, then darted a glance over his shoulder. "One of you fetch Mr. Cooper!"

Albie took advantage of Simon's distracted attention and slashed again, and Simon stumbled.

Gah! What was happening?!

Damned if she'd leave her husband alone in such a dire situation, Charlotte didn't hesitate to delegate the task. "Go, Roland! Your command as a marquess should light a fire under the man's arse."

Although Roland hitched a brow, he nodded once.

She yanked Roland's abominable cane from his hand. "For defense, should I need it. Now, hurry."

Captured by the ongoing melee, Samuel watched with interest, and Hester stood, frozen in horror.

Useless nodcocks!

Simon managed to grasp Albie's hand holding the knife, then pulled his arm back and planted a facer.

Albie stumbled backward, releasing the knife.

Charlotte raced behind Albie and, wielding the cane like a cricket bat, whacked him on the back of the head.

The man staggered, then crumpled to the ground.

For a moment, with only Albie lying at their feet between them, Charlotte and Simon stared at each other.

Even Hester's whispered question couldn't break their connection. "Did you kill him?"

In answer, Albie groaned.

The ridiculous grin broke across Simon's face. "Well done, Wife. Although, I had matters in hand."

Charlotte dropped the cane and thrust herself into Simon's arms. "Shut up and kiss me, you buffoon."

"Bossy. Is that the thanks I get for saving your life?"

"Saving my life? I saved your life."

As she slid her hands around Simon's arms and shoulders, a sticky wetness coated her fingers, and she pulled back .

"Tease! Where's my kiss?" Simon reached for her, but when she lifted her hand to show him the dark substance, his eyes widened, and he grabbed at her hand. "You're hurt."

"It's not my blood." Other than a tiny knife prick on her throat and being manhandled by Samuel, Charlotte survived the ordeal unscathed. She touched Simon's left arm again. "Your coat is torn here."

With trembling fingers, she unbuttoned his coat and shoved it off his shoulders. Blood oozed beneath the slash in the white linen shirt.

"No wonder my arm hurts like bloody hell."

Voices and footsteps grew louder as the constable and other men raced forward.

Mr. Cooper's gaze bounced between Simon, Samuel, Charlotte, and Hester. "What happened here?"

Albie groaned again and pushed against the ground in an effort to rise.

Roland stepped forward, as if he'd had control over the whole situation from the beginning. "These men"—he pointed at Samuel and Albie—"attacked Lady Charlotte."

Simon leaned in and whispered, "Do you want Samuel punished?"

Did she? "I do enjoy his plum tarts."

Simon laughed then, grabbing his injured arm, winced.

Charlotte faced the constable. "Samuel seemed to be under the misguided notion that my husband was responsible for his daughter's death. But I believe we've resolved that misunderstanding"—she turned toward Samuel—"haven't we, Mr. Waters?"

Samuel's gaze darted to Simon, who wrapped his hand around his throat and mimicked choking. "Yes?" the baker answered.

"And Samuel has agreed not only to drop this vendetta against my husband, but in retribution, he will make me a dozen plum tarts every week. Free of charge."

Simon chortled.

"What about him?" Mr. Cooper pointed at Albie, who sat cross-legged on the ground and rubbed his head.

She hoped the vile man's head hurt like the devil. "Oh, definitely lock him up. The man not only came after me, but he hurt my husband. And I will not tolerate that."

As two men hauled Albie to his feet, Mr. Cooper turned toward Roland. "My lord, is all this agreeable with you?"

Before Roland opened his mouth, Charlotte stepped between her brother and the constable. "Why are you asking him? He has no say in this. He wasn't the one threatened or injured."

Roland's dark brow hitched again. Apparently, she had surprised him twice in one day. "Leave us." Roland waved a hand at Mr. Cooper and the men restraining Albie. "I require a word with my sister."

As Charlotte expected, Simon strode to her side, tugging her close and glaring at her brother. "I'm staying."

Charlotte stopped Samuel as he attempted to slink off. "Samuel, please stay. You too, Miss Pace. I have something to say I want you all to hear."

Both of Roland's brows hitched. "The only thing you have to say to these people ," Roland said, as if spitting out a disgusting taste, "is goodbye. Pity I didn't receive word of your involvement in this ridiculous peasant event sooner. You are returning with me to my estate in Chippenham and then to London two days hence."

Simon's hand tightened around her waist.

Metaphorically, Charlotte dug in her heels. "No."

Next to her, Simon exhaled.

"I made my decision before all this"—mimicking her brother, she waved her hand around—"happened. I choose to stay with my husband and vex him for the remainder of his days. Samuel, you may not believe it, but Joy's death has wounded Simon, too, shuttering his heart."

She turned toward Hester. "And Miss Pace, you would be advised never to risk my wrath with your machinations toward my husband. You have witnessed what I'm capable of." Charlotte retrieved Roland's cane and gave it a swoosh , pleased when Hester paled in the moonlight.

She handed Roland's cane back. "And brother, did you not hear the bargain I struck with Samuel? Why would I leave when I can have free plum tarts every week?" Glancing up at Simon, she smiled, hoping the dimple he liked so much was on full display. "And besides. I love my husband."

Simon froze at Charlotte's words, uncertain he had heard her correctly. "I'm sorry. Would you mind repeating that?"

Charlotte tugged his coat back into place by the lapels. "I love you, you buffoon. I know you don't want me to love you but consider it the way I will vex you for the rest of your life."

Simon let out a whoop of joy, sweeping Charlotte off the ground and spinning her around. Then the pain hit him. "Damn, my arm hurts."

As everyone around them gaped, Charlotte took charge, rolling over them like a boulder on a downhill trajectory. "Samuel, make yourself useful. We need a physician—and not someone who uses leeches. My husband is losing blood; he doesn't need those slimy creatures removing more. Hester, find someone to bring our carriage around and inform Simon's family I'm taking him home. Roland, leave. We have no need for you."

Charlotte's barked orders had Samuel and Hester slinking off, each peering over their shoulders, no doubt worried Charlotte would pounce on them if they disobeyed. Simon wanted to laugh.

Edgerton, on the other hand, remained rooted in place.

As if Simon needed her support, Charlotte wrapped an arm around his waist.

He rather liked it. But it was time he took care of his wife as well. "Lord Edgerton, before you leave, thank you for your assistance and for your concern about my wife. Rest assured I will do everything in my power to give her the best possible life." He paused, locking eyes with Charlotte. "Because I love her."

Charlotte's lips parted, a tiny gasp escaping, and he hoped she saw the sincerity in his eyes.

Tearing his attention away from Charlotte—and it truly was a feat of great strength as he wanted nothing more than to plunder those rosebud lips—he continued addressing Edgerton. "And it's much too late for an annulment, if you understand my meaning, my lord."

Edgerton huffed. "Lady Charlotte, are you with this ...this man's child?"

Simon prepared to answer, but Charlotte gave his waist a squeeze.

"If I'm not yet, I expect to remedy that as soon as my husband has recovered from his wound."

Oh, definitely. Simon gave her the most ridiculous grin he could muster.

Edgerton stomped off, muttering about regrets and the idiocy of love.

"Roland didn't deserve your kindness," Charlotte said, her gaze traveling to his bloodied sleeve.

"No, but I was feeling particularly magnanimous because my wife loves me."

"Don't let it go to your head, you buffoon. It's already the size of France. "

Simon threw his head back and bellowed a laugh. "Not China or Russia?"

"No. Because I'm feeling magnanimous."

He tugged her closer to his side, which, to be honest, made his arm hurt more. "Well, then I should get you home and take advantage before you return to your normal self. We need to make good on that promise for a child." He lowered his head and savored her lips.

"Simon! Simon!" Voices pulled him from the haze of love enveloping him. It couldn't be Charlotte; not while his tongue tangled with hers.

His wife gave him a gentle push, and he broke the kiss. "Your family is coming."

For once, Simon wasn't thrilled to see his boisterous, gregarious family.

Georgie barreled into him first.

"Oomph!" Simon staggered back, exaggerating the force of Georgie's impact. He grabbed his arm. "Careful, I'm an injured man."

The rest of his sisters followed, each fawning over him in their own way until his mother pushed them all aside and smothered him with kisses. "What's this about Samuel and Albie Mooney?" She pulled back. "And what happened to your arm?"

Before he answered, his carriage pulled around. "All in good time, Mother. At the moment, I need to take my wife home and then collapse myself. Tomorrow, I promise to have a lengthy and enthralling account of the events. If Dr. Rutledge comes looking for me, tell him I'll be at the cottage."

He kissed his mother on the forehead. "Don't worry."

Amid shouts from his family, Simon ushered Charlotte into the carriage.

His wanton, adorable wife—who loved him—scowled. "That was rather rude. "

He waggled his brows. "I take my cues from the best."

Rather than bristle, Charlotte laughed. "Touché. Georgie said you were skilled at fencing."

"You're not offended?"

Charlotte shook her head, a few strands of dark hair tumbling loose from the intricate arrangement. "Not in the least. I know you meant it in the best possible way—because you love me." She narrowed her eyes. "You do love me? You weren't bamming me?"

"I've never been more serious. I was going to tell you before everything went to hell around us. But when your brother arrived, I wondered if I could make you happier by letting you go."

She gently tugged his coat free from his shoulders. "And I made my decision to stay before Samuel restrained me, to tell you I love you."

The wonder of her words washed over him. "You're incredibly brave."

"I detest bullies."

"Not that, although you put the fear of God into Hester. However, you don't have anything to worry about, even if you didn't threaten her."

She canted her head, exposing that long neck he wanted to kiss. "Then what?"

"It took great courage to confess your love and make yourself vulnerable."

Speechless, she blinked, her lips gaping seductively.

God, he wanted nothing more than to make love to her on the spot. If only his arm didn't hurt like bloody hell. "And to show Samuel compassion." He shook his head, still in disbelief. There was so much about his wife he didn't know and couldn't wait to discover.

"Both Samuel and my brother will receive punishment—by seeing how happy we are." After tugging the coat from his arms and placing it aside, she kissed him.

Catching his breath, he rested his forehead against hers. "Not that I'm complaining, but are you planning on undressing me in the carriage? I'm loath to admit it, but I'm not in the best form for ravishing at the moment."

Her laugh, full-throated and seductive, heated his blood. "I want to examine your injury. How trustworthy is this Dr. Rutledge? Should we send to London for Ashton?"

"It's a flesh wound. I'll be fine, especially with you hovering over Rutledge and glowering. He wouldn't dare make a misstep. But I do need something to keep my mind occupied away from the pain until we arrive home."

As she tenderly peeled back the blood-soaked sleeve from his body, she said, "Shall we stop the carriage so you can run about?"

"No." He pulled her close. "Tell me you love me and kiss me again."

A sly smile broke across her lips—lips she would soon press to his. "I love you, you buffoon."

Five days passed and Simon had practically gone mad from the inactivity Charlotte demanded for his recovery. Constantly hovering over him, Charlotte monitored the time his family spent with him when they came to check on his recovery. Like clockwork, she would shoo them all out after thirty minutes. His wife would have made an excellent commanding officer in the military.

She'd insisted Simon provide some financial support to Albie Mooney's family while he remained incarcerated—anonymously, of course. "We can't have Albie's family suffer for his heinous acts. Especially the children. Perhaps Mrs. Mooney will take the children and move far away from that monster's reach."

The fierce determination in his wife's eyes told Simon she would be an even stauncher defender of their own children. Which, speaking of, he was more than eager to start making.

He rang the little bell on the side table, then stretched his legs out on the sofa. The stitches in his arm itched like the devil.

Charlotte rushed into the drawing room, her usual alto voice rising in pitch with concern. "What is it?"

"I need my medicine." He placed a hand over his wounded arm and adopted— what Charlotte had taken to calling—his sad puppy expression. Curled by his side, Trifle gave a pathetic little meow of camaraderie.

"More willow bark tea?"

The day after the incident , Charlotte had insisted on sending a message to Ashton by express post, requesting his opinion on Dr. Rutledge's course of treatment. Ashton had written back posthaste, commending Charlotte for cleaning the area thoroughly before Rutledge had sutured the wound. In addition, he sent packets of willow bark with instructions to keep the wound as clean and dry as possible and to send for him if the area became red, swollen, or oozed pus.

"No more of that abominable tea, please." Simon's stomach revolted at the mere thought.

His wife laughed. "Such a baby."

"I need something stronger."

Like the slash of a blade, the words cut off her laugh, and she raced forward, placing a gentle hand on his forehead. "Are you feverish? Another episode of malaria? Do you need your quinine?"

Guilt squeezed his chest that he had frightened her. "No. Something sweeter. Your lips."

She scowled and drew her hand back. "You are incorrigible!"

Grasping her fingers, he kissed them. "But you love me. "

"And those are your lips, not mine."

"Care to remedy that?" He laughed at his own pun.

The lips he desired twitched at the corners. "Buffoon."

"Minx."

Careful to avoid jostling his injured arm, she settled next to him on the sofa, displacing Trifle, who meowed in protest.

"I believe little doses at a time are called for—to ensure your tolerance. It is, as you say, strong medicine." Pressure no more than a light brush, she kissed the corner of his mouth, then moved to his cheek, his eyes, and his nose.

He grinned up at her. "This is supposed to be making me feel better, not torturing me."

She rolled her eyes, the hint of the dimple on her cheek belying her annoyance. "Impatient man."

"You know me well." No longer waiting, he pulled her down to him, capturing her lips in a glorious kiss. "Mmm. Much better. I'm feeling stronger already. In fact...go lock the door."

Her dark brows arched, informing him she gleaned his meaning. "But your arm?"

"If I go one more day without being inside you, I'll have a relapse. I'll simply lie here, and you can have your way with me—exactly as you like." He wiggled his own brows.

She shook her head, rolling her eyes once more, but she rose and did as he asked.

Twenty minutes later, she curled next to him on the sofa. He wasn't certain who was purring the loudest—Charlotte, Trifle, or him.

Fingertips stroking the length of Charlotte's arm, he exhaled a deep sigh of contentment.

Ah, the purring came from his wanton wife, and she nuzzled her face against his chest.

"Charlotte?"

"Hmm?" she replied dreamily.

"Marry me. "

She gaped at him, her dark eyes still hazy from their coupling. "We're already married, you dolt."

"I know. I just wanted to ask you again. To let you know I want to marry you for all the right reasons." He kissed her again. "Because I love you."

She laughed. "Of course you do." And his heart swelled at the whispered addendum. "And I love you, too."

Perhaps this love thing had a silver lining after all.