Chapter Four

May 14, 1818

Winteringham House

Grosvenor Square

Mayfair, London

When Charity awoke in unfamiliar surroundings, she gasped, and her heartbeat raced. As she clawed her way out of the softest sheets and counterpane she'd ever felt, she sat upright in a bed comprised of a soft feather tick mattress, four poster frame of walnut wood, and curtains about the bed in a dainty peach color. They matched the drapes at the windows as well as the striped wallpaper that featured ivory lines and stripes stamped with peach tulips with green leaves. The Aubusson carpeting had those colors as well.

Then memories of the day before came barreling back.

She'd been taken from her father's shop at gunpoint. An attempt at escaping his carriage had resulted in being slapped, which meant a sore right cheek with a slight bruise. Her captor hadn't cared that she was bleeding from being shot. He'd made her dress in clothing fit for a young man then he took her to the British Museum at Montague House where she had to look through books on Egyptian treasures for any mention of the tiara he wanted.

Of course, there was nothing there because if the tiara hadn't been discovered legally, there would be no one to have a paper published about it, nor had someone come forward to present it to the museum.

Only by the grace of God and the daring of Viscount Winteringham had she escaped from that horrible man.

When she attempted to stretch, pain and discomfort on her left side reminded her that she truly had been injured.

Upon arriving at the viscount's home, he issued a string of commands to his staff, which were followed with the utmost urgency and discretion. A quarter of an hour later, she had been whisked upstairs to a guest room, given the opportunity to soak in a luxurious bath in a porcelain tub with a bar of finely milled French soap that smelled of lilacs and she'd been given the help of a maid to wash her hair and bathe her body.

It had been a lovely experience, for she'd never been pampered quite like that before. After the bath, the housekeeper bustled in with a thin night dress of the softest lawn with sweet pink flowers embroidered around the scooped bodice. She had also brought a basket of supplies, and it had been she who'd applied salve and dressed Charity's wounds. Though the ball had left a nasty groove about two inches long, she maintained that it would heal without leaving a scar. The bruised cheek would be gone in a week, if that, since it wasn't severe.

But while this temporary shelter from the danger had been wonderful, what would this new day bring?

A soft knock on her bedchamber door scattered her thoughts and worries, and frankly, she welcomed the interruption.

"Come in." Quickly, she sat up against the pillows and pulled the bedclothes up to her chin.

The same maid that assisted her last night entered the room with a breakfast tray. "I thought you might enjoy something to eat, Miss Maitland."

"That is kind of you… Katy." Oh, she hoped she'd remembered the name correctly. Then her stomach growled. "I would, thank you."

"You're welcome." She laid the tray beside Charity on the bed. "Ring if you should need anything else."

"I will." When Charity cast a glance to one of the chairs in the room and didn't see the clothes she'd worn last night, she added, "I will need clothes for the day. I can't go about in a night rail." For that matter, where did this piece of finery come from?

Katy smiled. She blew a strand of blonde hair off her forehead that had escaped her lace-edged cap. "The housekeeper, Mrs. Flanders, said the clothes you arrived in were a disgrace and she had them burned. I'll ask her about a dress for today. No doubt there are clothes that once belonged to the viscountess tucked away in the attics."

"I would appreciate that." Though the prior ownership of the clothing only brought more questions bubbling to her brain.

No sooner had the maid left when the door was pushed open once more and this time, a young boy took a few steps into the room. His blond hair held a tinge of red in the curls and there was a splash of freckles on the tops of each cheek. Clad in the ubiquitous ‘skeleton suit' in a sky-blue color with a white collar, he resembled any male child in London with the exception of his bare feet.

"Hullo," he said as he tucked his hands behind his back.

Who was this, then? "Good morning." She peered at the boy with healthy curiosity. "What is your name?"

"Christopher." Interest sparkled in his hazel eyes. "Who are you?"

"Miss Maitland." With a shaking hand, she poured tea into the china cup provided on the tray. "Uh, who are you?" Perhaps he belonged to the housekeeper or cook.

The child giggled, and the sound was so unexpectedly uplifting that she offered a small grin. He came further into the room. "I am the son of my father."

"Ah." Which told her absolutely nothing. When she sipped the tea, she grimaced and then added a lump of sugar. "Who is your father?"

"Viscount Winteringham." He shrugged as if that news didn't matter. "Why are you here?" With his bright eyes, he looked her form up and down, and then apparently she passed muster, for he nodded. "If you want to talk to him, he is in his new shower contraption."

That was entirely too much information in a short time period. "I didn't know Lord Winteringham had children." Yet her mind stalled on what a shower contraption was and whether the viscount was naked inside it. Their first meeting last evening had gone rather quickly, but those moments her body had been pressed against his had been thrilling, and he wasn't one of those haggard, unkempt lords with a paunch.

"He doesn't. Just me." As he spoke, the boy crept forward until he stood at the side of the bed, watching as she ate a triangle of dry toast .

"You are quite clever, aren't you?"

"How can you tell?"

"I have my ways." She smiled. "But you shouldn't be in here. I'm sure your father wouldn't like that."

"My father is a bit grumpy at times, but this will be good for him." He nodded as if he'd already talked whatever "this" was over with himself.

"What do you mean?" As she waited on his answer, she spread marmalade on another triangle of toast.

"I'll tell you later." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "I'd better get back to the morning room and my governess. Late for lessons."

"It was nice meeting you… Christopher." When he waved, she returned the gesture, then she returned to her breakfast, more curious than ever about the viscount.

At least it took her mind off the thought of her future and the danger she was in.

By midday, she'd dressed in the borrowed clothing, and was grateful for them. The frock of cotton dyed a cheerful yellow color trimmed with white embroidery put her in mind of springtime, and though the garment was a bit too big, she didn't care. A white satin sash at the waist helped keep the fabric in place, but it was the fine lawn shift beneath the dress she particularly reveled in. It was the nicest shift she'd ever worn and slipped over her skin like water. Unfortunately, there were no slippers, for apparently the viscountess had larger feet than her. With a white satin ribbon holding back the riotous mass of her hair, Charity wandered down to Winteringham's library.

As of yet, the viscount hadn't come to talk with her, and without having anything to fill her time, she needed something to concentrate on. Looking over his shelves full of books, she was surprised at the amount of literature and notes on Egyptian tombs as well as relics. There was even a travel journal from a gentleman who'd traveled there twenty years before claiming to have found what he thought was the start of the tomb of Queen Tawosret.

Where had Lord Winteringham procured this?

Reading further into the journal, her surprise turned to shock to find he'd taken several items from the tomb that had apparently escaped robbers in antiquity. Not only that, but at some point during his time in Egypt, a few of them were stolen—a beautiful silver necklace among them. On the next page was a rough sketch of the piece, and she could imagine it was indeed very elegant and wonderous.

"I thought I might find you here."

Because her nerves were already overwrought and icy fear still coursed through her veins, Charity gasped. She took up a poker from the fireplace and brandished it as if it were a sword. "Stay back." Even though the man who rescued her was handsome as sin with his red hair that had a wont to curl like his son's, she didn't know if she could trust him.

"Easy, Miss Maitland." Lord Winteringham held up a hand. "I'm not here to hurt you." Wariness reflected in his eyes. Perhaps he was as unsure as she. "I was the one who helped you escape your captor, remember?"

"Yes, I know, but what sort of man brings a strange woman back to his home?" She continued to wield the poker as he crept closer.

"The sort that wants to help a woman in need and perhaps solve the mystery surrounding her." He held out a hand, and as he did so, the scents of citrus and sage traveled to her nose. It was quite lovely. "Give me the poker and we will talk." When he raked his gaze up and down her person and a slight frown turned down his lips, he sighed. "I promise I'm not a rubbish sort. I am a viscount of good standing in the beau monde , I'm a father, and I frequently render assistance to those who have been wronged."

The timbre of his voice was warm and soothing, but it was the honesty in his hazel eyes that caused her to relax by increments and believe him. "Fine." Slowly, she gave him the poker, and once he'd replaced it with the other tools at the hearth, he came back to stand before her. "I didn't have the opportunity to thank you last night."

The viscount nodded. "Time got away from us, but there is no need to thank me. I was only doing what was right." His gaze ventured to her bare feet, and warmth went through her cheeks.

"Uh, apparently there were no shoes that could fit me; I have small feet."

"Yes, my wife was a tad larger in frame than you." As his gaze rested on the bodice of the dress and the one portion that had a tendency to slip down her shoulder, he frowned again. "I always liked that color; I'm glad the clothes are having a second life."

Yet the sadness in his eyes told a different story. Not wishing to pry, Charity nodded. "I promise to return them as soon as someone drives me home."

"Right." The viscount moved to a leather sofa in the middle of the room. "You and I need to talk first, so why don't we sit?" He waited until she'd settled on the piece of furniture before he did the same with the middle space between them. "Before we go further, how are you feeling? The housekeeper told me your wound was a rather nasty affair."

"I'm feeling well enough. Thank you for having your housekeeper tend to my wound." Before she was aware of what she was doing, the fingers of her right hand glanced over the bandaging at her side beneath her clothing. "It should scab over soon and is still tender and painful."

"I can well imagine, for I've seen my fair share of such injuries." The grin he gave her conveyed compassion. "What do you know about the man who attacked you?"

"Absolutely nothing." The remembered terror when he'd taken her from the shop fell back over her, and tears sprang to her eyes. "He came into my father's pawn shop, demanded that I give him a tiara he is searching for, and when I refused, he dragged me toward the door by my hair."

"You'd never met him before?"

"No."

"Was he a customer of your father's?"

"I don't think so. My father died six months ago." A ball of grief settled hard in the center of her chest. "Granted, I don't know all his customers, but I'm quite certain I'd not seen that man before. However, he dressed like a gentleman but not one of high quality, and his way of speaking indicated the same."

"I'm sorry for your loss. Losing a parent is difficult at any age."

She nodded. "Thank you. It is."

For the space of a few heartbeats, silence brewed between them. His presence seemed to fill the space, which was odd for he wasn't an overly large man, but he was solid and strong, as she remembered the feel of his arms around her.

The viscount met her gaze. "What do you know about the tiara he was searching for?"

"Nothing. I'd never heard of it before." It was her turn to frown. "However, he said it had once belonged to Queen Tawosret, which is odd, for you have a journal written by the man who allegedly found her tomb. Why is that?" She shrank away from him on the sofa. Was he working with the man from the shop but was the charming face of the operation?

"Easy, Miss Maitland. I can guess at what you are thinking." He shook his head. "I'm afraid I didn't add much of my own interests to this library. The books belonged to my father; he often bought boxes of such from auction houses, for his interests were varied."

"You don't enjoy reading?"

"Oh, I do, but most of the volumes I like are in the private parlor or my bedchamber." The disarming grin was back, and it sent shivers through her lower belly. "In any event, I'll have a read regarding the journal. Perhaps it will help us track down the tiara." One of his red eyebrows rose in question. "It isn't in your father's shop?"

"To be honest, I've no idea. There are many packing crates, and the back room is quite the jumble since he died." A sigh escaped her. "I'm not much help."

"Don't feel bad. When antiquities are concerned, there are many different angles, but we are going to need to search the shop if it hasn't already been ransacked."

"Agreed." A shiver racked her shoulders. Icy fear went down her spine at the thought of going back there and potentially meeting her attacker again. "Will you go with me?"

"Of course. I said as much." When he grinned, tingling awareness moved over her skin. "Then we'll need to go to your home and search for the tiara. After, you'll need to gather your belongings."

Well, that was odd. "Why?"

"You are going to marry me." The statement was delivered in that same smooth voice, and again, there was nothing but honesty in his eyes.

"What?" Charity sprang up from the sofa as her heart pounded wildly. "Are you mad?"

"Not quite yet, I think." He chuckled, and the sound was so soothing that she gaped at him. Slowly, he rose to his feet. "I want you to marry me. As you said, you have no one in the world, and you obviously need protection, and I…" Emotions flitted over his face that were too difficult to read. "Well, I don't want my boy to grow up wi thout a mother."

All valid points, yet they were strangers to each other. When she moistened her lips, his gaze dipped briefly to her mouth. "And you? What do you want from this marriage?"

"Straight away, I can tell you that I am not looking for a romance." His tone suggested no arguments.

"Ah." Neither was she, quite frankly. After traveling the world, she'd seen far too much of how men treated women, and she wanted no part, and neither was she willing to give up her freedom. "Thank you. I appreciate your offer, but I—"

"Hold." The viscount shook his head. "The fact remains that you've already spent the night here. You were in the Reading Room and were no doubt seen in those clothes."

"Yet no one could discern my identity."

"That matters not. It only takes one. Perhaps you might have been spotted in my carriage after you took your hair down. Scandal will break soon." The truth reflected in his eyes. "Best we not only get engaged but married at the first opportunity to be ahead of the rumors."

"And to spare your son the embarrassment?"

A hint of ruddy color rose up his neck. "There is that, for he is my first responsibility."

"As he should be." That love for his son tightened her chest and made her miss her father all the more. "I don't even know you. You could be a murderer or…"

He flashed a grin that immediately set her at ease. "I'm not, but I could say the same about you, except I rather think you'll try to slay me with the poker."

They shared a laugh, and she smiled. There was something about a man who knew how to laugh. "Well, I did try to defend myself in the shop yesterday with an Anubis statuette."

"Impressive." Admiration showed in his eyes. "Regardless, this union will help us both and will be in name only." Shadows flitted over his face and put even more questions in her head. "If you require references as to my character, I can give you many. Titled lords, all members of the Rogue's Arcade club."

"Oh." Her eyebrows rose in surprise. "I have read about the exploits of those men in the newspapers." What did any of it mean, though? The thoughts brought out a frown. "You have taken on some rather unusual cases and problems."

"We have, and this one is no exception."

"So then, I'm to be viewed as a charity case." Unexpectedly, a giggle escaped. "Well, I mean, my given name is Charity."

This time his grin held a different edge than before, and flutters danced through her belly. "A lovely name, and it suits you, but no. You are in need, so therefore, I—and the rogues—will stand up to help."

Heat jumped into her cheeks. "Yet you wish to marry me as well." It wasn't a question. Her frown deepened as thoughts flew about her head. "To share a marriage of convenience with me . A stranger." None of it made sense, yet oddly enough, some of it did.

"Yes, this is correct." He shrugged. "In this way, I can be assured you're taken care of and we can investigate the missing tiara together as well as come to know each other better along the way." There was nothing except earnestness in his expression. "If we do find the tiara and the reasons why it's all of a sudden in play on the market again, someone will still try and take it, and quite frankly, I want to know the reason why they want it."

Fair enough. "Will you go after the criminals?"

"Oh, yes." His grin sent a fresh cascade of tingles down her spine. "I've been itching for a good fight for a bit."

What did that mean? "You're doing this out of pity, I'll wager." Is that how she appeared to him, then?

"Actually, no. I'm doing it out of self-preservation." When she frowned, he rushed onward. "The thought of entering the Marriage Mart again terrifies me, so now I won't need to. If you agree that is. "

At least he was honest. She appreciated that. "And your son? Have you talked to him about it? He's quite intelligent for his age."

Wariness came over his face. "You met him?"

"I did." Charity nodded. "He sneaked into my room this morning as I was having breakfast. We talked briefly before he scuttled up for lessons."

"Ah." For several moments, he remained quiet. Then, he nodded. "I will speak to him about this, but I needed to talk to you first."

"Why?" That nicety flattered her.

He shrugged. "You were quite upset last night. After everything, I wasn't given the chance to see you, and when I checked in on you near midnight, you'd already fallen asleep."

"Oh." Another round of heat slapped her cheeks. "It has been a trying couple of days. Months, really, since my father died."

"Of natural causes?"

Nothing got by this man. "I thought so, but now I'm not certain."

"Neither would I be." He met her gaze again. "All the more reason for you to be under my protection."

Everything he said made sense in a queer sort of way, and it would be nice to have someone in her life to talk with again. It had been so lonely since her father died. Tears once more filled her eyes as she slowly nodded. "Then I agree to marry you. Men who were in the military are generally trustworthy, and it speaks to your character that you are a member of the Rogue's Arcade." Please let this not be a mistake. "From the little I've seen of you and how you have treated me, you are kind, gentle, and understanding."

"I have faults though."

She shrugged. "We all do, my lord."

"Michael, please."

"Very well."

"Good." He nodded. "Then it's settled. We are engaged and will be married as soon as I can arrange a special license."

Knots of apprehension tugged in her belly. "I always thought being engaged would have been more complicated than that." Her laugh sounded far too nervous. "I'm sorry there is no dowry, but then, you'll have whatever my father left me, which isn't the shop or the townhouse. He left that to his brother."

"None of that matters, and whatever your father gave you, I would like for you to keep. I'll have it written into the marriage contract." Though he smiled, the shadows had returned to his eyes. "First we need to look for the tiara and pick up your belongings."

"Things are happening so fast…" Was this the best action for her? What would her father have cautioned her to do? He would have said to trust her judgment .

"Sometimes that is life, Miss Maitland… Charity."

The sound of her name in his voice caused butterflies to erupt in her lower belly. There was no turning back now. When he took her hand and kissed the back, she couldn't help trembling. "Here's to a successful partnership, then."

At least she wouldn't need to face the danger alone. The comfort in that was most welcome.