Chapter Twelve

May 19, 1818

Hyde Park

Mayfair, London

Michael manipulated his horse's reins by rote, for this morning, instead of having Christopher along for an early morning ride, his wife had consented to accompany him. And he couldn't stop stealing glances at her.

At some point yesterday before they attended the rout, Charity had met with a modiste, wherein she'd submitted to being measured in the process of ordering clothing more appropriate for a viscountess. By some simple stroke of fate, the modiste had brought a few sample pieces, and one of them happened to be a riding habit made of plum serge trimmed with black frogging and details in a military style. Apparently, Charity's measurements were the same as the sample, so the modiste gladly let her have the pieces that she would add to the bill when the other clothing was finished and delivered.

"You know, if you continue to stare at me, we should really stop the horses else you'll lead yours right off the bridle path," she said with heavy amusement in her voice.

The corners of his mouth twitched. "I beg your pardon." Even though there was a slight chill in the early morning air and a bit of fog rolling over the ground, a wave of heat still engulfed him. "Woolgathering, I suppose." With her black hair pulled back in a staid bun and a smart bonnet with a shallow brim hiding a bit of her face from view, his imagination soared.

"I see. Perhaps you didn't have enough sleep last night." She brought her mount close to his on the path. The lines of her back and form were quite proper for a lady riding in a side saddle, which she consented to without incident.

"I have had difficulty sleeping since I came home from the war." Well, that wasn't quite true. While he'd been married the first time, he'd had glorious nights filled with a certain calm and peace, and during those times, he wasn't restless or plagued with nightmares. Of course, he and his wife slept in the same bed, so that could have made the difference. He cast a wondering glance at Charity. What would she say if he asked her for the same?

"I'm sorry to hear that." When she turned her head and focused those sapphire eyes of hers on his face, a queer sort of feeling went over him, one he hadn't experienced for at least a few years. "Then we should turn back. It's quite a dreary morning and not many people are about. Usually that means it's good for sleeping."

He grunted. "Which is why it's so good for riding. I rather enjoy not having people around." As his horse tossed his head, Michael grinned. "Besides, Miss Simpkins said she would bring Christopher to meet us at the main arch later."

"Oh? Will he come riding with us?"

"I hope so. He adores the exercise. Afterward, we will return him to the townhouse in time for lessons."

"I'm glad of that. As of yet, I haven't had the opportunity to spend much time with him." A huff of annoyance escaped her. "If I was the paranoid sort, I would swear his governess is trying to keep him from me."

"Yes, well, your instincts might be right, for Miss Simpkins once fancied the thought that I would marry her."

Shock went through Charity's expression. "Did you express an interest in her?"

"Never, not even once." He shrugged then tugged on the reins slightly to keep his horse on the path without crashing into hers. "So now she is a bit miffed."

"Ah." A tiny squeal escaped her, and she scrabbled to keep her seat even though her mare was the most docile of all the horses in his possession. She tugged on the reins so tightly that her mount tossed her head and whined. "I am not as talented in riding as I wanted you to think." When she glanced at him, a hint of a blush stained her cheeks. "I rode, of course, when my father and I traveled the world, but sometimes it was astride and others it was on camels. Riding for polite society is quite… different."

Michael couldn't help but snicker. "I find it adorable how you are striving to be proper."

"Isn't that what you want?"

"Only if it aligns with your wants as well." He shook his head. "When I married you, it didn't mean life in a gilded cage or for you to completely do things that ran at cross purposes to what you're accustomed to. And if you think about, I doubt your father would want that either."

"He wouldn't. Papa encouraged me to study the differences in each culture we visited with and witnessed. He wanted me to ask questions so that I could understand, so I could see that the prevailing views in England were not the only ones with value." Again, her bay mare drifted close to his horse. "I miss him, terribly some days, and I miss the thrill that traveling brings."

"Now you've married me, the man who has done those things and only wants to sit quietly in his own garden and enjoy the peace." Perhaps they were too ill-fated for even a marriage of convenience that was becoming a rather puzzling inconvenience. It was enough to stir the anxiety and panic inside him so that it tightened his chest. The last thing he needed was to have an attack while on horseback.

"I didn't mean to sound ungrateful for what you've done for me."

He refrained from glancing at her, so focused on keeping himself together was he. "Not that there was a need, I suppose, since there hasn't been a direct attack on you since the day we met." Emotion clogged his throat; his breathing became more difficult. Had they made a mistake in wedding so hastily? And to make matters worse, he'd bedded her two days ago in a weak moment fraught with emotion. "I… ack!"

Dear God, not here, please.

With a gasp, Charity peered at him and her eyes rounded. "Oh, Michael, please don't second guess what we have done." She maneuvered her horse close to his, tried to lay a hand on his arm. "Perhaps they are clever criminals and are actually taking the time to formulate a plan."

He would have laughed at her attempt at a joke, but he was busy trying to hold his seat. The best he could do was nod as he urged his horse down the bridle path toward a remote section of the park where there were no riders or walkers. Trees and shrubberies provided privacy and would give him an opportunity to get himself in hand.

"Let us stop here."

"Perhaps that is for the best." She followed him off the path, and when he dismounted, she did as well. "You're certain the horses won't wander?"

"Yes." Michael nodded as he wrapped the reins around his pommel. "They should be satisfied with grazing for a bit." What she must think of him and his inability to appear a whole man. Not even his closest friends at the club knew how bad these attacks had grown, for he hadn't wished to burden them with his problems when they battled their own.

"You know, I can practically hear what you're thinking," Charity said as she grabbed his arm and directed him into a partial clearing. When they reached a fallen tree with a stout trunk, she more or less shoved him onto it then sat beside him.

"I hope you can't."

"Why?"

He shrugged, and his shoulder brushed against hers causing a wave of heated awareness to drift over his person. "You would have no choice except to find disappointment in me."

"I highly doubt that." When he said nothing, she slipped her arm through his and leaned into his side. "Whatever you think about yourself is colored through your experiences— your horrid experiences. None of that means you are less than or not worthy." For the space of a few heartbeats, she remained silent before speaking again. "But I know what you might be feeling. I have similar thoughts, and have been quite ineffectual since my father died. Where I once had purpose, I found myself drifting about without an anchor or direction."

"Until a still unknown assailant broke into your father's shop and stole you away." Of which he hadn't seen except for the bloody aftermath of an attack on her father's staff.

"I suppose, but even in that I failed to defend myself. And I knew better, for Papa saw to it that I was trained in knife fighting when in Egypt. He said women should at least know how to save themselves if there wasn't a man around."

That made his jaw drop. He gaped at his wife like he was a nodcock. "You have been trained in knife fighting." It wasn't a question.

Another blush filled her cheeks. "Well, there were several lessons, but I don't truly think I took to the efforts, for I never got the best of my instructor and dropped the knife more times than not." She flashed him a wry grin. "As for defending myself against my attacker, I'm afraid I caused a priceless statuette of Anubis to be broken, and I never had the chance to defend against you with a fireplace poker because you are too charming and used logic on me."

The woman had a way with words around him that never failed to lift his flagging spirits. "Ha. I appreciate that, but in all honesty, I'm glad you have that spirit of survival. If we're being honest with each other, you will no doubt need that." Having her close and pressed to his side brought out a measure of calm he'd been all too keen to find.

And he would protect that at all costs.

"I know," she whispered, but the waver in those two words went straight to his heart. "Life has changed for me in such rapid-fire ways that my head is still spinning, but it has also become quite dear. I don't take that lightly, and you have my promise I will defend it."

"I believe you." Never had he met a woman like her. His first wife had been a darling of the ton , everything prim and proper, born and raised to be the perfect hostess, wife, and mother, and she had enough prepossession and efficiency that she could function whether he was at home or not. There hadn't been anything wrong with that, and he'd loved her to distraction, but with Charity, it was different. His new wife had been raised in far-flung places, and been taught to appreciate other cultures and beliefs as much as her own, had her mind opened to an array of possibilities. On top of that, she wore curiosity and vulnerability like a garment. She needed him like no one had ever done before .

It was quite addicting and attractive.

She gently squeezed her fingers on his arm. "Being married to me might not have been the match you wanted or even needed, but this marriage has given me back something vital I have missed over the years."

"Oh?"

With a nod, she said, "I have a family again." When she held her bottom lip between her teeth and then released it, he was obliged to stifle a groan, for he wanted to claim those lips more than he ever had before. "I already think Christopher is a wonderful and clever boy; it gives me joy to know that soon he might consider me like a mother." When she shrugged, her shoulder brushed his and another wave of awareness went through him. "Obviously, I don't wish to rush you, but knowing you have a mother and a sister in Essex is exciting to me, for I lost my own mother at a very young age, and I have never had siblings."

His heart constricted along with his chest. "When the nonsense regarding the necklace or tiara is done, I shall make arrangements for us to travel to Essex so you can meet them." Perhaps they could go on a wedding trip following that.

"I would like that. Thank you."

God, she was so grateful for everything that he just wanted to wrap her in his arms and protect her from everyone who wished her ill. In her, he'd unexpectedly found purpose again. That was something that couldn't be measured or put into words.

It was time to trust her with even more of his story. "Being a member of the Rogue's Arcade, doing what we do there and helping people who have no voice or can't defend themselves from the powerful in our world comes at a cost, and that is not one everyone can pay." Michael turned toward her and took one of her hands in his as he held her gaze. "It is important that you understand this because the missions we undertake at times are not the safest, and there is inherent danger in all of them."

"I can only imagine. Some of the articles I have read in old newspapers regarding the men of your club boggle the mind." Her eyes rounded with concern or apprehension, it was too difficult to say. "None of you have been killed, correct?"

"Not to date, thank goodness, but many of the rogues have suffered injuries of various degrees. We thought a couple of the men would have succumbed to their wounds or the situations, but they came out right as rain… with a few more mental problems." His friends tested by fire, torture, seeing the women they loved almost killed had his respect, for those things had been horrifying enough.

A tremble moved through her fingers. "Then why do you continue to do these things? Why do you continue when there will always be men in this country who hate everything you stand for?"

"You have answered your own question, my dear. Because of those men, those people who wish us ill, we must keep on." He pressed his lips together as he thought about his next words. "My first marriage had been encouraged by my parents and hers. However, for half that time, I was on the march in various places."

"That didn't bode well for any sort of closeness."

"No." He shook his head. "She wanted to follow, to be with me, to share in everything that I did, but obviously it was too dangerous. It was war, for God's sake, and no woman should see such suffering, such hatred, such bloody destruction as we faced." Rubbing his free hand along the side of his face, he fixed his gaze at something over her shoulder. "When my wife wrote to me, told me she was increasing about three months after I'd left, I was in Portugal. Obviously, I couldn't disobey orders to come home. The war dragged on." His swallow was audible. "When Christopher was born, I was elated and sad. By the time I was finally able to come home, when my commission expired, he was nearly three years old."

"I am so sorry." When she squeezed his fingers again, he trained his gaze on her face. "That must have taken a piece of your soul."

"Yes." It hurt to force the words out of his tight throat. "After my military career was over, I came home permanently. We didn't know it at the time, but bearing Christopher had exhausted my wife's body; the doctor told me later that sometimes women weren't strong enough to survive pregnancy and delivery."

"You needn't go one if it's too difficult for you," Charity cautioned in a low voice.

"Somehow, I think I must, to set the weight free." How much did he appreciate her being there to hear it? "Soon after that, she announced she was increasing again. I was elated because I would have the whole experience with her, but when it came time for the birth, we both realized far too late that her body wouldn't be able to survive." The terror and sorrow of that time came back and hit him with wave after wave of emotions.

"Grief is a never-ending experience, I think. It sneaks up on us on the days when we are feeling somewhat better, and then we fall into that hole all over again."

He nodded. "She died while laboring to bring my second son into the world. Whatever was wrong with her body had also caused the child to be stillborn, so it was a crushing blow, for that whole pregnancy was for naught." When his voice broke, Charity wrapped her arms around him and simply held him as he battled with tears. "I lost my wife that night and the son I never had the opportunity to meet. The guilt I still carry because I was rarely home with her in England during the bulk of our marriage is enormous. She must have resented me for it; who wouldn't?"

"You can't let yourself think that way, Michael. I'm sure she loved you with everything that she was. The war took much from almost everyone. It's a horrific scenario, and the men who clamor for it should have to face their creation on the front lines."

He didn't trust himself to say anything. Instead, he took refuge in her arms, and oddly enough, he finally felt safe, as if his struggles meant something.

"I admire women who send their spouses off to war never knowing if they will return and if they do, how changed those men will be." The even tones worked to further soothe his ragged feelings. "I also admire the marriage the two of you must have shared. To feel that closeness with another person must be a lovely experience."

The hint of longing in her voice hit directly into his heart, and for the first time since he'd met Charity, the grief that had sat heavy on his chest loosened but it was now twisted with unexpected affection for his new wife. Because he wanted to do something for her that might help convey that morass of emotions he didn't understand him, Michael bounded to his feet and tugged her up with him.

She frowned as she looked at him. "What are you doing?"

"We are going to have our next dance lesson."

"What? Here?" Confusion lay stamped over her face. "I'm hardly dressed for the occasion and there isn't a proper floor."

"You look ravishing in that habit. And dancing, like many other things that can happen between a man and a woman, doesn't need a proper place." Once he'd led her away from the fallen tree, he easily encouraged her closer, took her head between his palms and claimed her lips. He simply couldn't help himself.

Deep, drugging kisses followed, each one taking a part of his soul and giving it to her, but he didn't care. It felt all too natural and right. By the time they came up for air, Charity clung to his shoulders. "Are you well, Lady Winteringham?"

A rather unladylike snort escaped her. "You are quite potent. It always takes me by surprise."

That candor tugged a grin from him, and unexpectedly, a tiny piece of his heart went into her keeping. Clearly, she'd wormed her way through the cracks of the wall he'd erected around that organ. Two months ago, if someone had asked him if he would marry again, he would have—and had—given them a resounding answer in the negative. But now? This unassuming woman had managed to change his life in just over a week.

"You are not without your own charms." He stroked his fingers along the sides of her neck before moving his hands over her shoulders and down her arms. "I can't wait to see what sort of gowns you've ordered." Would they be as colorful as he was beginning to see her?

"Truth be told, I've never been as excited as I was when you gave me permission to order what I wanted."

"Mmm, I would give you much more, but I suspect you might ring a peal over my head within the parameters of this union." Unable to help himself, he drew a fingertip along the plain bodice of the habit. "However, you deserve every kindness, and you don't need my permission to do what you want. That is not how a true partnership works."

"Thank you." Tears filled her eyes. "You have been so kind, and regarding our marriage…"

"Yes?" One of his eyebrows rose as he stood peering down at her.

"I wouldn't be averse to changing what this union was originally meant to be, should both you and I think to deepen the relationship."

For the space of a few heartbeats, he regarded her and thought over her words. "That can certainly be discussed between us." He moved to cup her breasts, worried her nipples beneath the fabric of her riding habit. When she gasped, he grinned. Absolutely, their union was changing into something he wasn't certain he wanted but definitely needed.

And there was no shame in that.

"I look forward to those talks." From the way she said it, he would wager the contents of his account at the Bank of England that she was flirting.

"Good." Awareness shivered along his shaft and brought with it a queer bout of excitement. "You could grace any drawing room in London, even in this, for your eyes are magnificent and sparkling, and with that blush, you are an exquisite dark English rose." Honestly, he would fight with anyone should they try and turn her head from him.

"You're having me on." But she grinned, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss her again. "I wouldn't know what to do with myself at such gatherings besides keep the wallflowers company. I'm horrid at doing the pretty in society."

"All the more reason to practice, hmm?" He swept her into a loose embrace. "Shall we waltz together?" As he spoke, Michael put them in the correct position and initiated the first steps.

"You will regret that, Winteringham. This wasn't something important to my father, so I never learned more than the rudimentary concept."

"Pish posh, my dear. If you can fight off an attacker with a statuette, you can do this." Then he swept her around and her skirts swished against her legs.

"That is hardly a believable example."

"Perhaps, but I stand by it. Now, follow my lead. Move your feet in the opposite way that mine go. Soon, you'll feel the pattern and before you know it, you'll be waltzing."

Due to the close confines of the semi-clearing, they didn't cover as much ground as they would in a ballroom, but it was a dance nonetheless. Though Charity stumbled, she did her best to keep pace with his slow rhythm. To help give her the full experience, Michael hummed snatches of a popular waltz he particularly liked. As the melody swirled through his head, he swept her through the steps over and over until she could glide over the grass with him sans tripping and stumbling.

Her gloved hand in his kept him grounded and connected, while her other hand resting on his shoulder—where his ring rested beneath the glove—constantly reminded him that he'd married this somewhat lost woman, and that she was his for the remainder of his life. There was a certain comfort there, and because of it, he pulled her a tiny bit closer.

That sparkle in her sapphire eyes gave life to her face; how had he not noticed the scattering of faint freckles that dusted the tops of her cheeks? The heat from her body called out to him, urged him to do naughty, wicked things to her in this place so far removed from the more crowded sections of the park. With each turn, her breasts brushed his chest, and the scent of lilacs teased his nose. Her thighs bumped his every time they moved, and that sensual glide and press worked to harden his shaft. Could she feel his regard? The longer he waltzed her around, had her in his arms, the more he could envision himself falling for this woman—his wife.

Did he have the courage to give her his whole heart?

Eventually, they drew to a stop and his humming faded. "Thank you, Michael. I…" She held his gaze, peered into his eyes as if she were examining his soul. "This was quite possibly the most enjoyable outing I've had in recent months. It has given me back the piece of myself I lost when my father died."

A ball of emotion rose in his throat, but he nodded. "I completely understand." He slipped a hand down her arm to grasp her fingers. "We should, ah, find the horses and make our way back to the main arch. Christopher should join us soon."

Thank goodness for that. If it weren't for the fact that his son would arrive shortly, he would have tugged his wife into a more heavily wooded section of the park and claimed her body, because she was his and he was coming to think of her as more than just a woman who needed his protection.

God help me.