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Chapter Eleven

May 18, 1818

Barrington House

Mayfair, London

Charity battled against a bad case of nerves, for this was her first society event in far too many years and the first time she officially appeared in public with the viscount as his wife.

Or at all. Before the ceremony, she stayed inside his townhouse while he went about his business, and this felt all too different.

To say nothing of the fact that he'd bedded her the night before but was gone by the time she woke in the morning.

Every thought in her head whirled, spun around like a pinwheel. When one thought vanished two others formed to take its place. Why had he done it? Was it merely a reaction to what had happened to her father's butler or their hasty nuptial ceremony? Was it possible he was as out to sea emotionally as she? Why hadn't he wanted to talk about what had happened between them? She wasn't embarrassed, but he might have been. After all, wasn't he the one who kept telling her he didn't want to be involved with another woman?

There was no way to know unless they both wished to talk about their pasts and lives before meeting each other. But were they close enough for that? Regardless of whether they were married or not. At least she hadn't failed quite so badly at being a woman after last night.

Over the years, she'd learned to take the small victories whenever she found them.

"You are lovely tonight, Charity," Michael whispered against the shell of her ear as they stood in the corridor. As of yet, they hadn't gone into the drawing room where the main portion of the rout was being held. "I adore that color on you."

Heat infused her cheeks, for he didn't need to try so hard to be charming. That trait was inherent in everything he did, and he had already married her. "It is the same gown I wore for our nuptial ceremony." There hadn't been time to engage a modiste.

"I am aware of that, but I think it lovely just the same." When he touched a gloved hand to the small of her back, tingles shivered down her spine. "It is one of those gowns that might look better on the floor near a bed."

"What?" Charity gawked at him. Was he truly flirting with her? Because of what they'd done together last night? Or was he simply making conversation, saucy thought it might be?

"You heard me," he continued in a barely there whisper." With a wink, he gave her a grin that had butterflies dancing through her lower belly. "And in the event you think I didn't heartily enjoy myself last night, I can assure you that if I had to do it all over again, I still would have made the same overture."

"Because we are married?" It was his right, after all.

"No, because I wanted to, and I'm not such an ogre that I don't feel something for you."

"Oh." That made her feel a bit better. "At least it wasn't out of pity or lost to the moment."

"Absolutely not. You and I both needed that release; there is no need for shame or apology. It was a natural function that occurs between two willing adults." Why he continued in that cheeky vein, she couldn't venture to guess, but it was entertaining. "And while we're being honest, it was a lovely way to pass the time."

"Do hush, Winteringham, lest I burn to a crisp right here." Everywhere she focused her gaze, all she saw was how handsome he was in his dark evening clothes or how stylish his red hair was or how the wink of an emerald stick pin peeked out from the snowy folds of his cravat. To say nothing of how delicious he smelled. It was well and truly intoxicating .

"I can only speak the truth, but as amazing as that interlude was, we—"

"Probably shouldn't chase that again, hmm?" she finished for him. "It wasn't in the original agreement." For if she were honest with herself, she didn't want a romance or even the complication such as a physical relationship might bring. It would only distract her from what she wanted from her future.

Except she couldn't quite puzzle that out in this moment. Every time she tried, she was met with a murky vision.

"Perhaps" Shadows filled his eyes, but she couldn't interpret what they were. "It is something we shall discuss later." He faced the door, but she could only see the staircase. People and couples milled about, talking and laughing. Yet his focus remained on her for the time being. "If this evening proves too much to bear, let me know. We shall leave."

She frowned. "I will try my best to do this because I know how much it means." Surely, she wouldn't disappoint him this early in the marriage.

"While you might think I care about my duty to the title or making public appearances, I do not." The second he peered into her eyes, she wanted to drown in those green-brown pools. "I wished to come here tonight merely to listen to any sort of gossip that might mention the piece of jewelry that is in play right now. The sooner we find out who wants it and why, the sooner we can do something about stopping them. I don't plan to waver from the promise I made to you."

Unexpectedly, a tiny piece of her heart flew into his keeping. "Thank you. Not many men would offer such a large commitment."

"I am not the usual sort of man, then."

As crowds of people moved toward the drawing room, the level of noise grew. A few men hailed the viscount, and he lifted a hand in greeting but didn't make a move to join the throng. Women cast curious glances her way, and some whispered to their companions behind fans. Charity could only imagine what they said, for there was no doubt in her mind that the rumor of her marriage to Michael had already gone through the gossip mill.

Pride straightened her spine, for she wasn't embarrassed about that fact, and the viscount was a good and decent man. Then a woman approached them in a gown of saffron-colored silk. A black-dyed ostrich feather had been stuck in her upswept blonde hair. With a gasp, Charity squeezed her fingers on Michael's arm. "Who is that woman?"

When he glanced over, some of the color leeched from his face. "Fuck me," he whispered.

She ignored the vulgarity. "Do you know her?"

"Let's just say I know of her. "

There wasn't time to say more, for the woman was upon them.

"Ah, Lord Winteringham, I didn't know you were one of the guests on tonight's roster. How lovely to see you again." Her voice was a veritable purr, rather like how a cat would act when it wished to draw a mouse closer—to play or kill. Open interest reflected in her blue eyes. Diamond-studded earbobs dangled from her lobes. "You do know who I am, correct?"

Beneath Charity's fingertips, the muscles in Michael's arm went taut, but he straightened his spine and gave a curt nod. "Lady Stover. How could I forget? During our last encounter, you nearly killed one of my friends."

Good heavens. Charity couldn't help the curiosity that rose in her chest. Was what he said true?

"Oh, yes." Her tinkling laughter held a hard edge as she continued to look at him while ignoring her. "February seems a lifetime ago, don't you think? But from what I've managed to glean, Lord Rockwell has made a full recovery."

Michael's whole body stiffened. One of his hands curled into a fist. "What are you doing here, Your Ladyship?"

Ah, this person was a countess. Charity narrowed her eyes on the stranger while her mind put up question after question.

"I am a guest, the same as you. I merely wished to come over and give my congratulations on your recent nuptials." Finally, her light blue gaze snapped to Charity's face. "How interesting and lovely for you to have married so well, hmm Lady Winteringham? Since I—nor anyone else—has heard of you, can I assume you are not part of the ton ?" Annoyance echoed in her tone.

"Uh, I am not—directly that is. My mother was the granddaughter of a baron," she managed to stammer, for it wasn't every day she was singled out by a countess. "My father was a merchant who had high connections in the beau monde , though."

"Interesting that Winteringham chose a woman without a pedigree for his second wife," Lady Stover continued almost as if Charity hadn't spoken. "But it doesn't matter if a pair has nothing in common, does it? Except, perhaps, a love of reading?"

A low growl issued from Michael's throat. "It was you who hired that man to kidnap Charity and force her into the Reading Room." There was no question in the words, only accusation.

The other woman shrugged, and even the gesture was elegant. "I'm afraid I have no idea what you refer to, Lord Winteringham." Her laughter held no gaiety, but she slid her gaze back to Charity. "I'm told your father was something of an antiques dealer, a collector of relics from all over the world. "

How could that be if she'd just said she'd never heard of her—Charity? She cleared her throat. "He owned a pawn shop that occasionally saw priceless pieces."

"I see." Interest flashed in her eyes. "I am searching for a particular tiara, made of crudely crafted silverwork and diamonds. Have you anything like that in your possession?"

Charity's mouth went dry, for this was the first clue as to who was behind the attack and break ins. "I'm afraid I do not, Your Ladyship. Papa was sometimes secretive about the pieces he brought in. He had private buyers that I was never privy to." At least that was partially true, and hopefully it would keep her and her new family safe.

"Ah. A pity, for I do so enjoy collecting pretty things, especially diamonds. The gemstones go a long way into funding my current lifestyle."

"I shall ask you again, Lady Stover. What do you want?" It sounded as if Michael forced the words out from between clenched teeth.

"So rude, Winteringham. It would seem marriage hasn't softened out your edges yet." The purr in the countess' voice was at odds with the abject hate in her eyes, but she smiled, and it was rather on the predatory side. "Nothing more than what I said. I hope you have a long and happy union." A chuckle escaped her that sent a shiver of foreboding down Charity's spine. "And if either of you do happen to find the tiara I'm after, please do call on me immediately. It will make things that much more pleasant as I'm certain harboring such a valuable piece might prove dangerous for all involved, being how there has been so much violence against the men from the Rogue's Arcade lately."

Once Lady Stover left them to go inside the drawing room, Charity's hand on his arm shook so badly she let it drop to her side and hid her fingers in the folds of her gown. "Well, she was rather unpleasant."

"That is an understatement." A muscle in his cheek twitched. "She's like much like something one might find beneath a rock in a damp garden."

"Is it true she almost killed your friend?"

"She and the thugs she hired, yes." Slowly, he shook his head. "I remember that day quite clearly. So much trauma involved, so much wondering…"

"Oh." When he said nothing else, Charity again laid a hand on his arm. "Should we go in?" His muscles beneath her fingertips were quite tight, and when she peered up into his face, he stared into the distance, at nothing, really, and she'd wager he didn't truly see her. "Michael?"

Her husband didn't answer. In fact, he didn't move at all; he was frozen once again, locked in one of those trance-like states the same as what she'd witnessed on the morning of their nuptial ceremony. The poor man, and she wanted to spare him any embarrassment this type of thing would bring.

When she promised his son that she would protect him, she'd meant those words. "Michael, you are safe, you are no longer in the war, and you are with me at a society event," she said, keeping her voice low and even. "We are going downstairs right now to somewhere quiet and safe. Do you understand?" It was the best she could do in these circumstances.

Slowly, he turned his head to look at her, but he didn't move.

"Stay with me and all will be well." Though knots of worry pulled in her belly, she grabbed onto his arm with both hands, and then maneuvered him through the crowds, down the stairs, and when they gained the lower level, she quietly and quickly ushered him to a parlor at the end of the corridor that was not in use for the rout. Once they were safely inside, she closed the door and turned the key in the lock. The click of the mechanism echoed loudly in the silence.

Still, the viscount said nothing.

Pushing aside the fear that twisted down her spine, Charity came close to him and, lifting a hand, she gave his cheek a soft but firm tap, enough that he would be able to feel it and possibly help refocus his mind. "Michael?" With her second tap, he shook his head and took a deep breath, and his eyes focused on her. "Are you back?"

"Yes." When he fumbled for her hand, she clutched his fingers. "Damn, but did I freeze again?"

"You did." Was he never aware that he did so?

"I apologize." Shadows haunted his eyes as he stared at her. "I suppose it has been a bit since I've put myself out into society. The noise and the crowds…"

"I understand." Wanting to help him and bring him comfort, Charity led him across the floor to a low sofa. The illumination from a single candle sent eerie shadows bouncing over the walls and ceiling, and the soft sound of rain against the window glass added to the closeness to the scene. "Come sit here with me for a while. We can talk, or if that bothers you, we can enjoy the silence, but I'm not leaving your side until you feel more yourself."

It was the least she could do for him.

Once they sat side by side on a sofa, he remained silent for the space of many heartbeats. She didn't mind, for enjoying the quiet with him at her side was lovely on its own. Finally, he stirred and turned toward her. As his knee crashed into hers, tingles jumped up her leg.

"My father purchased a commission for me, because I was adamant about entering the military," he said in a soft voice as he held her gaze. "Being a hot-tempered young man full of arrogance and excitement to fight the French, I took the gift and generally didn't look back."

"How did you fare once you found yourself on battlefields?" She could hardly believe he was sharing some of his history with her, and she didn't want to say much for fear of interrupting that flow.

"The first couple of times, there was nothing but excitement and anticipation. Every man in the unit wanted nothing more than to beat back the French in an effort to protect England and everything we hold dear here."

"I'll wager that didn't last long?"

"It did not." The ghost of a grin curved his lips. "As the war dragged on, we came to realize we were fighting in a never-ending problem that kept making coin for the rich and killing off our brothers and friends so they could keep throwing parties and looking important."

Charity raised an eyebrow at the bitterness in his voice; she'd never heard it there before. "You were essentially trapped."

"I am not one to desert my post or abandon a promise."

Perhaps needing to touch him for herself as much as to impart comfort to him, Charity rested a hand atop the one that lay on his thigh. "This is true. I am coming to see this from you."

His smile was a weak affair. "Two months before my commission expired, I was briefly taken captive by the French." When she gasped, he nodded. "Oh, yes. I'm not certain all the rogues know that story, because it is one that brings me pain to recount, but it's true." His eyes took on a faraway look, nearly went directly through her as he peered backward into the past. "For nigh onto two months, I endured various kinds of torture, beaten with whatever was handy, burned occasionally with tools heated in fires, all for the sake of numbers and movements of troops." His heavy swallow was audible. "I wasn't high enough in rank to even know most of that, but they continued asking how much coin the English spent on various weapons, or the weakest points of the government and society."

"Dear Lord," Charity whispered with all the horror she could summon. She couldn't imagine what he'd endured. "I am so sorry. So very sorry." Tightening her grip on his hand, he held on just as hard.

"It wasn't your fault, so please don't feel guilt or pity for me. I honestly think that is where my anxiety and slipping into a fugue state stems from, for I need to retreat into myself during those times in order to survive the torture." A muscle ticced in his cheek, but his focus had returned. When he rested his gaze on her, those green-brown pools were shadowed. "By the time the two-month mark came about, a contingent of men from my regiment snuck behind enemy lines and rescued me."

"Thank goodness for them." Her respect for the Rogue's Arcade men grew.

"Yes." Michael nodded. "They were sent at the Duke of Edenthorpe's behest. It was the Duke of Strathfield who untied me from the tree, and Sir Alexander Tattingham who half-dragged half-carried me from that hellish camp."

Tears pricked the backs of her eyelids. "If it weren't for those men, you wouldn't be here today—we wouldn't be here today." Gently, she raised his gloved hand to her cheek and pressed his palm to her skin. "That would have been devastating."

"Oh, I quite agree." This time, when he grinned, there was a hint of his old self in the gesture. "However, that wasn't my path. It took a long time for me to put that behind me, but it haunts me still, lurks in my memories, in the back of my mind until I am unable to function in society without needing to retreat somewhere I think will be safe."

A few tears slipped to Charity's cheeks. "You are such a lovely, honorable, genuine man that it pains me you are still feeling the effects of your stint in the military." Her chin quivered as she looked at him. "Yet you married me, a woman with a whole set of different problems which have thrust you into danger again; I don't know if I can have that on my conscience."

"Hush, now. I don't see it that way at all." His grin faded then it was his turn to take her hand in his. He raised it to his lips, and he kissed the back. "What I know is that you were in dire need, and I was there to answer that plea you sent up in the Reading Room."

A tremble moved down her spine. "That didn't mean marry me."

"True, but perhaps I was a bit selfish in that regard." His shrug held a wry edge. "It doesn't seem to have hurt either of us much."

"No." She couldn't help her own grin. "Last night was… surprising and inspiring."

"Agreed." For long moments, they locked gazes. Then he shook himself and perhaps came out of too many memories. "Once I returned home to London to convalesce and end my obligation with the military, I had plenty of opportunities to think."

"And?"

"I found I didn't much want to be a responsible adult any longer. I didn't want to follow directions or orders or do proper things because society willed it." His bark of laughter held a bitter note. "Society and the beau monde owed me, if you want the truth of it."

"And if you ask me , they still do." She clung to his fingers as if he might disappear at any moment.

He gave her another grin. "Time is far too precious, Charity. As people, we waste so much of it on trivial, stupid things that don't matter. I have a son. I don't want him to adhere to arbitrary rules instead of living his life to the fullest, to do what he wants over and above needing to take this title when the time comes."

"That is understandable. And I appreciate that you can see beyond tradition. Perhaps there are other ways Christopher can leave his mark on the world."

"I think so too." He nodded, and some of the shadows left his eyes. "I want him to live , for lack of a better term. To experience life and discover what sets his soul soaring."

For the space of a few heartbeats, Charity remained silent. Then she nodded. "I expect you want that for yourself as well, my lord."

A low-pitched growl emanated from him. "Michael. I am Michael, especially now that we are married, and we have come together as man and wife."

"Oh!" Heat infused her cheeks. When she attempted to release his hand, he held on tighter as he moved closer to her on the sofa. "I… Well, I sometimes forget that we are married and that I should call you by name."

"Mmm, then I'll need to try and remind you daily." A twinkle in his eye prodded the butterflies in her belly to dance. "And yes, I do want the same for myself. Where other men want to relive their days in the military, for a return of that excitement to banish ennui, I want to chase that very thing." He leaned over her so that she reclined on the sofa, nearly lying on her back with him holding his weight over her. "I want the peace, I want a surcease from responsibility at least for a while, because those days serving King and Country nearly killed me in every conceivable way."

"I don't blame you," she whispered. The sage and citrus scent of him flooded her nose while his heat called to her like magic. "You should do what you want, find what brings you the most joy."

"Agreed." Briefly, he touched his lips to hers, and she nearly swooned from the romance of it. "However, I came home and had that peace yanked away from me."

"How?"

"When it came time for my wife to bear our second child, neither of them survived." The catch in his voice went straight to her heart and evicted another tiny piece of it. "That was three years ago, and I'm just... not willing to open myself up to anything now." He kissed her again then levered himself off her to stand. "There is no longer space in myself for the personal, the deep, the vital. I am merely going through the motions of life, waiting until Christopher is old enough to take the title."

"Which would mean you were no longer on this mortal coil." Tears lodged in her throat as she struggled into a sitting position. "And what a terrible outcome that would be."

"Ah, Charity, I am mentally exhausted." He extended a hand, and when she put her fingers into his palm, he tugged her upright. "When you were in dire need, I saw a way back to having excitement in my life, and that hasn't stopped since that day in the Reading Room."

"But it isn't enough," she finished for him. It wasn't a question, and it had the potential to break her heart.

"What if it is, though? I am a broken man who has no business being a burden to a wife. It is bad enough Christopher has seen me frozen at least twice." Sadness went through his expression. "Yet you somehow have this way about you that leaves me wanting to know what happens next in the story."

It was a tiny compliment, and she would take it. "If that is what it takes to keep you away from the dark edge, then so be it. I will share my problem and the not having answers to it with you gladly, and in the solving of this, I hope you find what it is you're looking for, because there are people in your life who desperately need you." As she spoke, she came into his arms and laid her hands on his shoulders. "I am, in fact, terrified of what is going to happen, yet I am trying my best because I know with you, it can't possibly be as bad as it would have been had I been alone."

It was the most vulnerable she'd ever been, and it had taken much bravery to show that in front of him.

"Ah, Charity, what am I to do with you? For I suspect this was always meant to happen, and I am oddly ready for that challenge." Then he took her into his arms, fit his lips to hers, and spent the next few minutes kissing her at his leisure while all her senses spun. When he was finished, his eyes were luminous with unshed tears, and they prompted her own. "Let us have that first dancing lesson, hmm?"

"Here? Now?"

He made a show of glancing about. "There is no better chance, and I have you all to myself, so if there are missteps, no one will witness them."

Oh, how had he become so dear so quickly? Each time she was in his company, there was a sense of belonging, of peace, as if she'd known him forever. Perhaps it didn't need pondering. It just… was. So she nodded. "I would like that."

"Good." When he smiled, she did too. "We shall start with a country reel. It's the most common set you'll encounter…"

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