Chapter 27

Charlotte stayed ahead of Anthony as they hurried toward the house, for she couldn’t bear to look at him. Her throat was thick and her eyes stung, making it even more difficult to see in the dark of the night.

“Are you hurt?” Anthony asked.

She shook her head and swallowed, forcing her voice to remain even as they emerged from the trees and onto the open lawn that led to Barrington Hall. “Shall I tell the servants to have the carriage prepared?”

“I will do it. You will have more to do to pack away your things.”

She nodded, unable to speak more, and silence fell between them again, the only sound their quick footsteps on the soft grass. Charlotte glanced over her shoulder for any sign of Lord Drayton. She prayed fervently they would not be obliged to interact with him before they managed to leave for London.

When they reached the door, Anthony opened and shut it warily, avoiding any creaking or whining of the hinges. They hurried toward the staircase, up the stairs, and finally slowed in front of Charlotte’s bedchamber.

Reluctantly, she turned to Anthony for the first time since the forest, trying to keep control of her fraying emotions.

“Is a quarter of an hour enough?” he asked in an urgent whisper. There was no sign of anger or frustration in his face, and it made Charlotte feel sick. He was trying to seem unaffected, but Charlotte knew better. The blow this all was ... there was no doubt in her mind it was crushing him inside.

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

He held her gaze a moment longer, as if he might say something. He brought her hand to his lips, pausing as her fingers trembled in his, then pressed a kiss there before turning toward his own bedchamber.

Charlotte slipped into her room and shut the door. Her left hand clasped her right where Anthony had kissed it. She hardly dared hope his precious feelings for her had survived the last hour, but that small gesture gave her hope. Though tonight, hope felt like a cruel thing.

She tugged the bellpull beside the bed and began accumulating her belongings—unpacked just hours ago—on the bed, her fingers still trembling. She so desperately wanted to leave this miserable place.

Within minutes, the door opened, revealing a maid, whose cap covered hastily pinned hair. Her eyes were tired and heavy.

“I must leave immediately,” Charlotte said. “Will you help me pack my things?”

The maid’s gaze widened, but she nodded and went straight to work.

It was just over a quarter of an hour since Charlotte and Anthony had parted when she arrived in the entry hall. There was no sign of Anthony there, but a glance outside the window revealed him near the carriage.

The maid opened the door, and Charlotte stepped outside, trusting she would never have to set foot within those walls again.

Anthony turned at the sound of their arrival, then hurried to assist the maid with the various items needing to be loaded onto the carriage. His movements were quick, with frequent glances at the house. He was as eager to be gone as Charlotte was.

Her throat thickened as she watched him. Even if his feelings for her, his desire for her was still intact, how would he ever be able to forgive her for the night’s events? She had pushed him to pursue the diary, convinced him they could manage the tall order of gaining Lord Drayton’s trust and his invitation. And they had failed. Because of her.

The sky was beginning to lighten on the horizon when everything was finally tied down and the carriage ready for departure. Anthony put out his hand to Charlotte. She did not truly need it for assistance up the carriage steps, but she took it despite that, as though the mere touch of his hand might be enough to reassure her about their future. If future they had.

She took her seat and watched with misgiving as Anthony took the one across from rather than beside her. He hit his fist on the ceiling and blew out a breath as the carriage pulled forward, letting his head drop back against the squabs, his brows pulled together.

Charlotte stared at him, wishing she could turn back time to their moments in her bedchamber—those perfect minutes when she had learned of his feelings for her.

Did he wish he could go back too?

Perhaps he wished to go back much farther in time, to the moments before he had even met her.

“Anthony.” Her voice sounded strange through her emotion.

His eyes opened, focusing on her.

She tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “I am ... so sorry.”

“I am too,” he said softly.

“Can you ever forgive me?”

“Forgive you?” The way he frowned stung, and she looked away.

“For ruining everything,” she said. “You said it yourself. From the moment I met you, I have made your life more difficult. I kept the diary from you, then forced you into an engagement you never wanted, and tonight ...” She clenched her eyes shut. “Were it not for my presence, you would not have had to make a choice between saving Silas or me.” Her voice became too unsteady to continue.

Anthony sat forward and scooped her hands into his. “Charlotte, I gave up on the diary the moment I knew Drayton had it in his possession. You were the one who inspired me to hope there was still a chance. You are the reason I had the courage to come here at all.”

“Precisely,” she said. “Only look what happened.”

“Of course I am disappointed at the turn of events, but more than that, I am angry with myself.”

She stared at him, uncomprehending.

“I am the one needing forgiveness from you,” he said.“I have threatened you, turned your life upside down, and put you in danger.” His thumb grazed her wrist, where the skin bruised by the ties was covered by her glove. He shut his eyes and dropped his head, hiding his face from view. When he spoke, his voice was soft, tortured. “You might have been gravely wounded or even killed tonight, Charlotte. And for what?”

“For Silas,” she said. “For justice.”

Anthony shook his head. “Silas is safe, Charlotte. He is strong. I shall write to him and explain what happened, and we will find a new path forward. We will bring him home. I am certain of it. Whether that is tomorrow or in two years, I know not. What I do know”—he scooted closer so that his knees came up against hers, and he stared into her eyes with a fervency that sent her heart into a flurry—“is that you have given me a hope I had long since lost. You have shared my burdens and given me courage to do things I would never have done on my own. You have taken the crushing loneliness of my life before, the haunting prospect of the solitary future I thought I deserved, and you have turned it all to a joy I cannot stand to lose. With you by my side, I feel I can do anything.”

His eyes searched hers, and he tried to scoot closer, but their knees prevented it.

Keeping her hands in his, he moved to the place beside her. “There were moments tonight when I thought I might lose you and Silas. I could not have borne—” His voice broke, and he shut his eyes. Taking a breath, he continued. “I will forever regret that I put you in danger, and I swear to protect you as you deserve to be protected. If you will let me.”

She pulled one of her hands from his and set it on his cheek. He shut his eyes and leaned into it. “Do you know when I began to fall in love with you?” she asked.

He smiled wryly. “The moment you met me?”

She chuckled, then stroked his cheek with her thumb, looking into his eyes. She had thought them dark before, but now, she saw the darkness for what it truly was: depth and strength. “I think my heart was lost the moment I realized that all your supposed selfishness and disagreeability was, in fact, devotion to your brother and to justice, that there is nothing you would not do for those you love.”

He covered her hand with his.

“I do not want to be protected, Anthony. I simply want you. And if there is danger to be faced, I would face it together.” Her mouth crept up at the edge, and she touched a finger to the wound on his brow. “And I would not have you hit Digby when I am not there to applaud you afterward.”

She caught a glimpse of his smile before their lips met, and all the disappointments and pains of the night slipped away, crowded out by the joy of being kissed by Anthony Yorke slowly, passionately, and thoroughly.

Their kisses finally slowed and their lips parted, the world around them coming back into focus.

Charlotte sat back against the squabs, letting her body find its way into the spot under his arm that seemed tailored to her. She rested her head on his shoulder and took his free hand in one of hers, threading their fingers together.

“I mean to speak with my brothers,” he said softly into her hair, his fingers stroking the sleeve of her traveling dress. “About tonight. I mean to try again to convince them about Silas.”

She looked up at him, searching his face. “You do?”

“They deserve to know—deserve a chance to be trusted. I have a feeling that bringing him home will require their help.”

She smiled softly, feeling a warmth inside that was not entirely due to being in his arms. It gave her joy to know Anthony would no longer be obliged to carry his family’s burden alone.

He rested his head on hers, and by the time they reached Mrs. Ashby’s townhouse, she had fallen asleep in the cocoon of his arm.

The carriage came to a halt, however, stirring her from a short slumber. The Town was already bustling with carts and early morning activity amongst merchants and post carriages and urchins.

Anthony smiled down at Charlotte sleepily, then kissed her temple. “I shall be but a moment.”

“Where are we?” They were not, as she had expected, stopped in front of Mrs. Ashby’s townhouse.

“William’s,” Anthony answered.

Charlotte raised her brows, and Anthony chuckled ruefully.

“Amidst moments admiring your beautiful sleeping face, it occurred to me that our arrival at my aunt’s is likely to cause quite a stir. She will hound us with questions.”

“Oh, yes,” Charlotte said, blinking. “I had not got so far as to think of that. What will we tell her? Or my family?”

“The truth,” Anthony replied simply. “But I cannot in good conscience do such a thing without telling William and Frederick as well. I will tell him to come with Frederick to Aunt Eugenia’s.” He kissed her forehead again, then left through the carriage door.

Charlotte looked through the window, watching the light begin to change as dawn arrived. She could hardly credit all that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. Bliss, determination and hope, fear and guilt, danger and disappointment. And now ...

She closed her eyes and let her head fall back on the squabs, her heart full in spite of it all. Just as Anthony said, she could face anything with him by her side.

He was back within a matter of minutes, and as he came down the short steps and toward the carriage, Charlotte couldn’t help but admire him. He was taking the disappointment of losing the diary far better than she had anticipated. She had been certain he would retreat behind walls impossible for her to scale. But instead, he was taking such a terrible thing in stride.

“A messenger has been sent to Frederick,” Anthony said as he climbed in, “heaven help him. I would not wish rousing Frederick earlier than ten o’clock upon anyone. We should see them at Aunt Eugenia’s within the hour.”

It was less than ten minutes to reach his aunt’s from there, and after a few minutes of waiting, Mrs. Ashby’s butler answered the door, looking far from pleased at the early callers. When he saw who it was, however, his expression turned to one of concern, and he ushered them in quickly.

“You needn’t disturb my aunt,” Anthony said as a disheveled footman appeared to help unload the carriage. “I can speak with her when?—”

“Is that you, Anthony?” Mrs. Ashby’s voice reached them from the top of the stairs, followed by the sound of her descending footsteps. “What in heaven’s name are you doing here?”