Chapter 3

CHAPTER

a

3

W in sat on a chair in a dark, rear parlor. He was in the shadows and over by the window. He was listening to the waves crashing on the shore. It was a chilly evening, with rain blowing in. He was enjoying the solitude, but just as he'd begun to revel in the moment, Miss Cronenworth tiptoed in to remind him that he had a guest in the house.

He had a few dormant manners, so he knew how to behave like a human being. He just didn't always display his better nature. If he acted like a beast, he noticed his lapse, but he rarely apologized. He was so impossibly vain that he believed he should be forgiven for any gaffe he committed.

After Boggs had gone to fetch her and the girl, Win hadn't had the patience to face her, beg her pardon, or pretend to be amiable. He'd instructed the servants to get her settled and tend her appropriately, then he'd snuck out like the cur he could definitely be.

He'd spent the evening with the neighbors, watching for smugglers, but not stumbling on any boats. As the first raindrops had fallen, he'd headed for the cottage. It was late, probably after midnight, and he was drinking a whiskey. He'd intended to finish it, then climb up to bed, but her arrival would delay that plan.

He had no desire to chat with her, and he held himself very still, hoping she'd turn and depart without noticing him, but when she came over to the window to peer out at the ocean, he figured detection couldn't be avoided. She stepped to the glass and rested a palm on the pane, her expression serene, as if she might be praying.

He was oddly curious about her. What would such a brash harpy pray about? To whom would she pray? The Christian Lord? Or was she a secret sorceress who worshipped the old earthen gods?

"Good evening, Miss Cronenworth," he said.

He hadn't meant to startle her, but she jumped a foot and whipped around. "You! You scared the life out of me! Why are you lurking in here like a burglar? When I entered the room, you should have immediately announced yourself. It's how a normal person would carry on."

"Well, I'm not a normal person. I didn't want to talk to you and I assumed you'd creep out without our having to speak."

She clucked her tongue with offense. "Do you ever voice a word that's friendly or courteous?"

"Not usually."

"I realize it has to be difficult for your grand self to rub elbows with a humble female like me, but how about if you try to be civil?"

"I will if you will."

"I am extremely polite, so it will be easy for me to be cordial. I imagine you'll struggle with it though."

She spun away and stared outside again, and he studied her meticulously, which forced him to remember that she was very pretty and could quickly entice him. She appeared to be alone in the world, so she was vulnerable, and it intrigued his masculine proclivities. If she was vulnerable, it would be a simple matter to manipulate her.

She was deftly ignoring him, as if she wasn't impressed by him, and her lack of regard was annoying. Women adored him. From highborn Society matrons, to lowborn tarts and harlots, every woman in the kingdom vied for his attention, approval, and affection.

It was stunning for her to be so blasé and it ignited his pompous sensibilities. He was eager to make her like him merely to prove she couldn't resist.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked, simply to draw her focus over to him. "Are you praying?"

"Gad, no. I don't pray anymore."

"Why not? Are you a heathen?"

"No. I've just had so many bad things happen to me that it seems pointless. I used to be very devout, but it finally occurred to me that no one was listening, so why bother?"

"That is the most negative, gloomy comment I've ever heard from a female."

"Yes, but I'm sure you surround yourself with fussy debutantes who've never suffered a single moment of distress. If any of them had staggered through some of my experiences, they wouldn't waste time praying either."

"If you're not praying, what were you doing? Tell me."

"I was sending a mental message to my sister, Theodora. We're fighting, but I would hate to have her give up on me."

"Is she fickle? Would she give up?"

She chuckled. "No. She and I are very different. She's kind and she'd never leave anyone behind. Not even me."

"Which indicates you would leave people behind. Why? Deep down, are you selfish and horrid?"

"I can barely keep my head above water, so it's not that I'm selfish. It's that I can't take care of myself, so I can't be hauling around burdens for others."

"You traveled all this way with your student, when you could have let others devise a conclusion for her, so you have a skewed view of your character. You might be more like your sister than you're admitting."

She scowled with consternation, as if he'd deduced a facet of her nature she hadn't recognized to exist. She would have turned to the window again, and it would have irked him, so he waved his glass at her. "Would you refill my whiskey?"

"No. I get that there's no servant to tend you, but are you really so lazy that you can't manage it yourself? Or are you so spoiled that you don't know how?"

"I know how, but I want to see if I can convince you to do it."

She tsked with exasperation, but to his surprise, she strolled over to the tray in the corner, grabbed the decanter, and filled his glass to the rim. As she walked back and put it down, he said, "Pour yourself some wine if you'd like."

"Are you intending a cordial conversation? I could swear that you just stated your wish for me to depart as quickly as I arrived."

"It's my prerogative to change my mind. Sit down, Miss Cronenworth. Have some wine. Or have a whiskey if you'd prefer it."

"If I chose the whiskey, you might faint."

He smiled at that. "I'll try to bear up."

"It's cold in here and I don't have my shawl. May I light a fire?"

"Can you? Are you that handy?"

"Yes. I'm not a dilettante like you. I've been fending for myself for many years."

"By all means then, light a fire. I'll watch you, and if you need any guidance, I'll be happy to make pertinent suggestions."

"I bet there's a reason you're not married. You're a bossy tyrant. What sane bride would have you?"

"For your information, women love me. They always have."

She scoffed with derision. "You're so full of yourself."

She busied herself over by the hearth, as he assessed her brisk, competent movements. Though it was embarrassing, he caught himself gaping like a smitten suitor, but he didn't yank his gaze away. She was very beautiful and he liked looking at her.

Once she had the fire burning, she went to the liquor tray, and she picked the wine rather than a whiskey. She sat in the chair nearest the hearth, where the air would swiftly warm, and he was irritated that the spot was so far away from him.

"Come over by me," he said.

"No. I'm not about to dawdle in the chilliest area of the room. You come over to me."

"You are a brazen wench; I'll give you that."

"I don't like domineering boors and I have an awful habit of ignoring idiotic commands."

"I predict you've had a difficult life because of it."

"You can't imagine how exhausting it's been," she murmured.

He hemmed and hawed, thinking he ought to stay where he was merely to spite her, but he was freezing too. He dragged his chair over, and they were silent for a bit, then she said, "Thank you for sending Boggs after us."

"You're welcome."

"He claimed it was your idea, but I'm certain it was his."

"It was. He's much nicer than me. He reins in my cocky impulses when I'm being a beast."

"The poor fellow has his job cut out for him. You can definitely be a ogre. I saw that side of you and I didn't like it."

"Maybe it's your fault that I was rude to you. Maybe you simply bring out the worst in me."

She grinned a grin he felt clear down to his toes. "I have that effect on men."

He snickered and grinned too. She was pretty and sassy, and he was being tempted in a manner he shouldn't allow to happen. He regularly reveled with trollops, but they understood their place and never presumed he'd be good for more than a fast tumble—usually for which he paid generously.

But he rarely socialized with gently-bred young ladies. He was a rich, handsome aristocrat, and if he showered a common female with any attention, it conveyed a thousand wrong signals that were completely misconstrued. He always had to remain aloof and proceed cautiously. For once though, he yearned to shuck off the barriers he normally erected. It was dark and they were alone. She was fetching and fascinating. Why not overstep a few bounds?

"You're very brave to be in here with me," he said.

"Why? Are you about to be swept away by passion? Am I about to be ravaged?"

It was a blunt, shocking query, and as she voiced it, she shot him a look of pure disdain.

"Don't you suppose I could be dangerous?" he asked. "I like to picture myself as exuding many masculine traits."

"You seem masculine enough to me, so don't let me poke a hole in your enormous ego."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it."

"I should warn you that I carry a knife in my pocket. If you try any mischief, I'll stab you and leave you bloody on the floor."

He'd just taken a sip of his drink and he coughed and pounded on his chest. It was an outrageous remark, and it dawned on him that he'd never met anyone quite like her. He planned to tarry at Fog Bay for two more weeks and he would have her tarry too. He'd been feeling low and she would entertain him in amusing ways that he would greatly enjoy.

"You'd stab me?" he said, feigning offense. "What kind of threat is that to utter to your host?"

"You were hinting that it might be perilous to loaf with you, but I'm not a trembling ninny. I can't guess what sort of females you've dealt with in the past, but I'm not like any of them."

"I can see that."

He was so oddly intrigued by her. He was a typical male, and in most instances, he insisted women be docile, polite, and respectful. He would never have imagined he could be tantalized by impudence and sass, by audacity and bluster.

She was a tiny little thing. Where did she come by such blatant attributes? He'd like to be introduced to her mother. It was obvious she'd failed to imbue her daughter with the proper feminine characteristics.

"How old are you?" he asked.

"Twenty-three. How about you?"

"Thirty."

"Are you really a bachelor?"

"That's a peculiar concern. Why pose it?"

"If you lied to me and you're actually a husband, your wife wouldn't like to have a spinster tucked away with you. I wouldn't want to stir any trouble."

"I'm really a bachelor."

He wouldn't be for much longer, but he conveniently neglected to mention his approaching wedding. When he was locked away at Fog Bay, his fiancée, London, and the Cathedral seemed very far away.

"You didn't join us for supper," she said, "and I was positive you would. Where were you?"

"You are so nosy and it's very annoying."

"I kept expecting you to stroll in, then we'd quarrel again, so I could barely eat. It was incredibly distracting to wonder when we'd cross paths."

"We didn't quarrel the first time we spoke. I simply told you to go away and not bother me."

"I stand corrected, and I'm glad you brought us back, but what will happen to us now?"

"I wrote to my mother to inquire about Polly. It's your pupil's name, yes? Mother is at Dartmouth Manor. If anyone would have information about Polly's history, it would probably be her."

"Will we wait with you until she replies?"

"Yes. Then, according to what she tells me, we'll figure out our next move."

"Thank you," she said again. "You're turning out to be surprisingly helpful."

"It's all Boggs's doing. He cracked the whip and ordered me to behave."

"You're lucky he's watching over you. Without him, you'd have no moral guidance. What would become of you?"

"That's a very good question."

He rose from his chair and tossed a log on the fire, then he circled by the liquor tray and filled his glass. He didn't want more whiskey, but he was enjoying their conversation, so he wouldn't allow her to slink off to bed. Not until he decided they were finished chatting.

He filled her glass too, then he sat down and asked, "How was supper? How is your room? I hope you were competently tended by my servants."

"Supper was delicious, the room is comfortable, and your servants have been very gracious."

"Marvelous. I advised them to spoil you."

"Where were you? You still haven't explained yourself."

"If you must know, you meddlesome wench, I was chasing smugglers. It started to rain, and I wasn't in the mood to get wet, so we called it a night."

She frowned. "Are we safe here? Is the area prone to crime and bad actors?"

"No. It's just that this portion of the coast is very isolated, so it's an easy spot to deliver cargo without being noticed."

"Have you caught some of them?"

"A few idiots, but it's hit-and-miss. You have to be on the right beach at the right moment."

"Boggs told me you were in the Navy."

"Yes, for six years. My father perished, so I had to resign my commission."

"Did you like it?"

"I loved it and I wish I was still a sailor. Instead, I have to wallow on the shore, while other men have all the fun. It's frustrating." He didn't like to share tidbits about himself, so he shifted the discussion to her. "How long have you been a teacher?"

"Four years."

"Do you like it?"

"I like it well enough."

"Are you any good at it?"

She grinned that grin of hers, the one that knocked him sideways, and said, " I thought I was exceedingly good at it, but then, I'm very vain and I presume I'm splendid at every endeavor I attempt."

"I'm exactly the same, but I'm a man and an earl, so I'm permitted my vanities. You're a female and you've declared yourself to be a spinster, so you don't possess the same liberties as me. You're supposed to be meek and humble, and by the way, you're only twenty-three. Isn't it a tad early to announce that you're over the hill? Aren't you dying to wed someday? It could occur, couldn't it?"

"I doubt it. I don't have a dowry, so I could never attract a suitable beau, and besides, I've never met a candidate worth having. If some pathetic dolt ever dared to propose to me, I can't see how I'd accept."

He laughed. "You are a strange specimen of womanhood, Miss Cronenworth. Who is your family? Who were your parents? You're obviously educated and polished, so you're from the upper classes."

She raised a brow. "Was that a compliment?"

"I guess it was, but don't get a big head. Why are you all alone in the world? Why has no one provided for you?"

"I had a normal life, once, but my father passed away unexpectedly. You're such a toplofty fellow that it would be difficult for you to fathom such a terrible circumstance, but it pitched me down Society's ladder." She shrugged, as if her fall was irrelevant. "It happens, and I'm bitter that it happened to me, but I'll try not to whine in your presence."

"I can't abide whining, so I appreciate it."

A rush of excitement swept through him, as he realized she was a damsel in distress. He was a cocky oaf, and he could picture himself jumping in to assist her, but he had no intention of involving himself in her problems. It was pointless to fantasize about being her champion, so he shoved away the generous whim.

"I was previously acquainted with a Cronenworth," he said. "Harold? By any chance, are you related to him?"

She hesitated and her face was an open book that he could clearly read. He was certain, whatever comment she voiced, it would be false.

"I have a very small gaggle of kin," she claimed, "and there's not a Harold in the bunch."

"Are you sure? He owned a huge shipping company in London. HH Imports? They had warehouses around the globe."

She shook her head. "I've never heard of him or that company."

"I don't believe you."

"Why would I lie about it?"

He stared her down. "You tell me."

"My past is very ordinary and very boring. There's no incident that could be construed as scandalous or dreadful, so I have no reason to fabricate any detail."

He chuckled snidely. "You can babble all you want, but I still don't believe you."

"You're being ridiculous and I'm exhausted. Would you excuse me?"

"No."

She stood anyway, as if she'd stomp out, but he astonished them both by grabbing her wrist to prevent her from leaving.

"Why did you come downstairs at such a late hour?" he asked. "Is your bed uncomfortable?"

"It's fine. Everything is fine. I simply have too much on my mind and I couldn't sleep."

"What are some of your dilemmas?" Before he could stop himself, he added, "Perhaps I can fix some of them."

"For starters, Mrs. Pemberton's school has closed, so I've lost my job and I'll have to search for a new one. Can you build a school and hire me to work there?"

"No, sorry."

She smiled a weary smile. "Drat it. I was hoping you could be my savior."

"I've always been told that it's hard for a female to find employment. What if you can't land another job? What will you do?"

"That, Lord Dartmouth, is precisely why I can't sleep."

"Is there anyone who might aid you? I remember you mentioning a stepmother."

"You remember what I said? How incredibly odd."

"I may be a pompous bully, but I'm not deaf. Would she help you?"

"Maybe. Or maybe not."

"If she refuses, what then?"

Her confident mask slipped, so she looked young and bewildered. Then she smoothed her expression and her anxiety was carefully concealed.

She eased her wrist out of his grip and said, "Goodnight."

"You can't depart just yet. Much to my amazement, I like chatting with you."

"Yes, well, you're too curious and I'm not eager to furnish information about myself."

"Why not?"

She gnawed on her cheek, her thoughts practically visible to him. It had dawned on her—him too—that an attraction had flared between them, but if he'd been pushed to offer an opinion, he'd have insisted he didn't like her. So why be enticed?

She exhibited none of the traits he liked to observe in a woman and her brazen nature annoyed him. But she was very pretty and there was no accounting for physical magnetism. Some couples were simply destined to wind up infatuated.

His life was tedious and uneventful and he frequently suspected he might be lonely too. It was unmanly to admit to loneliness though, so he never dwelled on it. Much of his melancholia was due to the lingering effects of Holden's suicide.

Win hadn't pardoned himself for his role in his brother's downfall, and his guilt popped out in a myriad of ways. He constantly devised entertainments that would keep him busy, so he didn't get bogged down in futile reflection. She would provide many merry moments that would be a perfect balm for his troubled soul.

She didn't appear to be in any hurry to flee Fog Bay, and he didn't absolutely have to be in London for at least a month. Then he had to show up to participate in the nuptial fêtes that Jasmine and her father had arranged. Until then, he was on his own and floating free, and with him being hidden away in the country, who was there to know how he carried on? If he wanted to engage in a flirtation, why shouldn't he?

It wouldn't be fair to her, and she'd misinterpret his intentions, but once he sent her away, he'd make it up to her. She was suffering financial difficulties, so he'd give her some money as a parting gift. In his view, money solved nearly every problem, and he'd improve her situation with a hefty infusion of cash. It would be her reward for pleasing him.

He figured some people would deem his ploy to be cold and calculating, but he was an earl who was about to do his duty to his family and his kingdom by marrying Jasmine. It had always been expected that he would wed very high and he wouldn't ever detour from that conclusion.

Yet he wouldn't deny himself the satisfaction of dallying with a fetching, unhappy spinster. He was very vain and he truly believed—by showering her with his devoted attention—he would change her life forever. When they separated, she'd be glad for what had occurred.

He'd be glad too, and he'd travel to town with a spring in his step and a renewed vigor that would propel him through the dull activities surrounding his wedding.

"I should head up to bed," she said.

"Yes, but I told you I'd like you to tarry."

"I just can't."

Abruptly, he declared, "I'm going to call you Charlotte. Would that be all right with you?"

"No."

He never asked to be on familiar terms with a girl like her, so it was a very unusual request. Her reply irked him and he said, "I'm calling you Charlotte anyway. And don't complain about it. The more you protest, the more adamant I'll grow to be."

"Bully," she muttered.

She flitted away, and he reached out to stop her, but she was too quick. He'd been overcome by a sudden, desperate yearning, but he wasn't the sort of man who grabbed a woman, so what was driving him?

Charlotte Cronenworth was a strange and exotic creature and he'd allowed her to tantalize him when he shouldn't have. She brimmed with a passionate fire that would consume him—if he dared to let it. Would he dare? Might she be worth it?

He very much thought she might be, so they would have an affair. There wasn't any other option really. The universe had tossed her into his path and he never discounted such a potent sign.

Obviously, they were supposed to meet, and she would bring him something he needed, something that was absent from all his many blessings. When she was through with him, when he was through with her, they'd both be better off.

He sipped his whiskey and stared into the flames and he was stunned to realize that he missed her. Was that likely? Was that possible? How many hours would have to trudge by before he could be with her again? Normally, he slept the morning away, but he decided he'd rise early so he could greet her the minute she marched down the stairs.

For the next few weeks, he'd pretend he was focused on Polly, that he was trying to resolve her predicament, but in reality, he would be tempting Charlotte to give him boons she shouldn't.

He understood that he could be a terrible cad, but when a woman was lucky enough to glom onto him for a short period, she was always delighted in the end. Charlotte would be too. He had no doubt at all.