An Heir of Deception (11 page)

“I would have cut off my right arm to spare you pain. Point in fact, that is precisely what I did. Yet you refuse to hear my reasons.”

“Because they are at least four years too late in coming,” he shot back. “You cared so much about my well-being, that I received not so much as a by-your-leave from you. No warning of what awaited me at the church. This was how much you cared for me?”

Charlotte looked stricken. “I sent a letter.”

“A letter?” He rolled his eyes. It had been three weeks before he could bring himself to read it. He’d gotten very
very
drunk that day and stayed drunk two weeks thereafter.

“A letter is what you send a friend to keep them apprised of your goings-on when you live a fair distance apart. A letter is not what you send your fiancé when you intend to stand him up at the altar on his wedding day.”

Abruptly, she rose to her feet, her gloves and reticule clutched in her hands and pressed tight against her skirts. “I will not allow you to take my son.” But her words were all bravado for her voice shook with fear and uncertainty.

“Pray tell, did I hear you correctly? You will not allow me to have my son? Madam, you can hardly stop me.”

Her plush bottom lip trembled and some long-suppressed and barely recognizable emotion caused his heart to contract and a stinging pain to pierce his chest.

Marrying her had meant defying the express wishes of his parents, which he’d done gladly. Most in Society had been aghast at his choice of bride. But she’d been the only woman he’d ever loved and no other would do for that kind of lifetime commitment. Who’d have thought they’d ever come to this? Why the devil had she run and ruined every good thing in his world?

No, he did not want to know. As he’d just told her, time for explanations was long past. The only thing that mattered was his son.

Alex rallied, determined not to permit himself to be misled by those quivering lips he’d kissed more in his dreams than in real life, and the torment in her eyes. The pain he felt was for all
he’d
lost—those years without his son. The pain had nothing to do with any lingering feelings for her. She meant nothing to him.

He should not have to fight against the urge to take her in his arms and kiss the frown from her face and touch her until the cause of her trembling was desire, not fear. Softening toward her would mean his experience with her had taught him nothing. Softening toward her would reveal just how weak a man he was in all matters concerning her.

With a quick pivot, he turned and strode to the entrance of the drawing room. He could hear the rustle of her dress as she followed. He had to get her out of his house. Her scent was so subtle, one could hardly detect it. But every time he inhaled, it felt as if the air around him was saturated with it, making breathing with relative ease difficult.

Bloody hell, he should be able to breathe in his own home. Was she determined to deny him that too?

“It is difficult to believe that you’ve altered this much. You never used to be cruel.” She addressed his back with no malice undertones, just a bone-deep sadness in her voice.

Alex turned to face her. She halted abruptly. They stood as if the line between them wasn’t made by the high-glossed wood planks of the floor but a line separating enemies during war. They watched each other; her warily, he, as if she’d just taken down his comrade in arms. At least that’s how he felt.

“Cruel, eh? Well if I’m cruel then it is you who has made me so.” Losing her had forever changed his life, he’d not deny that. He would not even say he’d become a better man for it—he had been told the contrary too often to delude himself into believing that. It had, however, been how he had managed to put her behind him; how he had survived.

“If you would just let me—”

“Simmons, will show you out.” His frozen gaze met and held hers for a breathless moment before he gestured with his chin toward the footman in the hall.

Charlotte’s throat closed up, making it impossible for her to swallow. Never had a dismissal stung so.

Carefully, as to maintain a modicum of dignity, she walked to the door as if she were traversing a field riddled with mines unseen by the eyes, but felt in the very depths of her heart.

“And in the future, do not come to my residence without an express invitation.” This he said in a coolly detached voice as she passed him.

She paused long enough to decide whether
to
respond. This was the man who’d, only minutes before, threatened to take her son from her. And she had no doubt he meant what he’d said. He’d already proven he’d listen to naught she had to say.

What good would it do to respond to each and every one of his barbs? If he took pleasure in hurting her, punishing her, so be it. She’d survived his absence these last five years and she’d lost his love. She could surely survive this too.

With eyes trained forward, Charlotte lifted her chin, exited the study and permitted the footman to see her out.

Chapter Six

“How did things go with Alex? Does he intend to acknowledge Nicholas?” Katie’s bombardment came the moment Charlotte entered the morning room. Her sister, regarding her expectantly, held a vase of large red roses in her hands.

Charlotte had given herself a full half hour—the time it had taken her to return home and freshen up in her bedchamber—to allow anxiety to have its way with her before forcibly reining it in. Nothing had happened yet, she’d had to keep reminding herself. All she could do at this point was pray Alex would come to see the folly of what he’d threatened to do.

“Yes he does,” she replied shortly.

Katie placed the vase on a small round table near the window. “I imagined he would.”

Not in the mood to discuss the particulars of their conversation, Charlotte gestured to the flowers and asked, “Did those come for you?”

“Pray, do not sound so hopeful. These are from yet another suitor who has lost interest. The flowers are merely an apology from Sir Camden that he will no longer be dancing attendance on me. I can now scratch him from the list of potential husbands,” Katie explained with a light laugh as she arranged the roses to be displayed to their best advantage.

Either her sister was an actress par above the rest or the rejection didn’t bother her in the least.

Charlotte quickly crossed the room to her. “Katie, I’m so sorry.”

Flashing her an easy smile, Katie replied, “You needn’t be. I’m convinced I would have perished of boredom.”

But Charlotte wasn’t fooled. Of course this had to sting. Katie herself had told her how if not for the dowager’s maliciousness, she would have married years ago. The truth of it was no matter how beautiful or how large her dowry, every year that passed without a proposal and a marriage, the greater the likelihood her sister would not wed at all. And the inevitable scandal Nicholas’s parentage would cause would help her naught. The sheer magnitude of
that
felt like a thirty-stone weight on her chest.

“Nonetheless, he should not—”

Suddenly, her sister pointed out the window and cried, “Lottie, they’re here. They’re here.” The pitch of her voice rose at the repetition of her words.

Charlotte barely had time to register the landau in the drive before Katie practically dashed from the room.

A moment later, she heard a great deal of noise coming from the entrance hall—childish shrieks as well as one long, drawn-out wail. Then Charlotte heard the low pitch of a masculine voice. Anticipation was like a tight band in the pit of her belly.

James.

Trailing Katie out into the hall, Charlotte was met with such a sight it caused the cessation of breath to her lungs. For a moment everyone stood frozen, even the children—three in all—had ceased their crying and their incessant babble to stare at her.

Charlotte’s focus began and ended at her brother’s tall, leanly muscled form. When she’d been introduced to him at the age of fifteen, she’d thought him absurdly handsome, especially for a man of his rank
and
fortune—most weren’t expected to be in possession of both. He’d been too young to be an earl at the age of twenty-eight and too much a bachelor to take on the care of his two half sisters. Or so one would have thought. However, one would have been mistaken.

But here he stood, if possible, looking more handsome than she remembered. He wore his maturity well, his dark hair showing no hint of gray, his eyes such a pale blue they sometimes appeared opaque. He smiled that wonderful smile of his—loving, tender, welcoming—and it was as if the place, once dark, was now bathed in sunlight.

That was all it took for Charlotte to rush to him. Moments later she was crushed in his hard embrace, inhaling his musky cologne and the scent of warm, masculine flesh.

“It’s about damn time you came home,” he muttered gruffly into her hair.

Hugging James was like embracing a rock, his chest solid and broad, and his arms like bands about her waist. “James. James,” was all she was able to say so overcome with emotion.

When he finally released her, she resisted the urge to hang on to him in the same manner his twins used to. Like it was in his arms they felt truly protected.

“You will never do that to us again, do you understand?”

A hiccupping laugh escaped her lips as tears stung her eyes. “James, you look wonderful. How I’ve missed you.” And she hadn’t known exactly how much until that precise moment.

Pulling her close again, James affectionately rested his chin atop her head. Many of her hairpins surrendered under the pressure and Charlotte soon felt the heavy weight of her hair at her nape. Although it had taken Jillian over a half hour to style it that morning, Charlotte didn’t care.

“Mama?” Her son called to her in a plaintive voice she was long familiar with. With that one sound it asked,
Mama, who are these people? Mama, who is that man hugging you?
Next, Charlotte felt the tug of his hands on her skirts. She quickly turned to him and spied Jillian lingering at the bottom of the stairs. The commotion must have brought them down from the playroom where Nicholas had been since her return.

“Come, darling, I want you to meet your Uncle James.” She placed him in front of her.

Her brother wore a ready smile as if he’d been forewarned of her little surprise. But his smile was transformed in a flash when his gaze settled fully on his nephew. It required all of approximately two seconds for his brain to make the connection, this Charlotte easily ascertained by the shocked expression on this face. His regard swiveled back to her, questioning, disbelieving.

“Alex,” he said sharply on an inhaled breath. Apparently, that was the one thing Katie hadn’t conveyed in her message to him.

It wasn’t a question and Charlotte need not respond. James had known Charles and apparently Nicholas’s resemblance to his uncle was such that one didn’t have to ask.

Before her brother could utter another word, her sister-in-law, Missy joined them. “I’ve given you quite enough time to greet your sister, now it’s my turn,” she teased her husband lightly, her slender hand rubbing with warm familiarity on his upper back.

James quickly made room for her in their circle.

Missy was beautiful—tall, slim with wavy, chestnut hair streaked in russets and mahogany, which she wore up in loose bun today. Charlotte had instantly taken to the new Countess of Windmere when she and James had wed nine years ago.

Missy stared at her for a heartbeat before whispering, “Oh Charlotte—” Her slate blue eyes flooding with tears. They moved in accord to reach for each other, arms wide in greeting.

Silk tulle and Indian muslin crushed as they joyously embraced. And once again, for the last two days running, Charlotte shed another gallon of tears, although Missy may well have shed more.

Her nieces and nephew came next. The twins, Jessica and Jason, now eight years, had changed much since she’d seen them last. Gone were the round cheeks and sturdy bodies. Both had grown tall and slim, Jessica a lovely combination of her mother and father but Jason was all James with his light-blue eyes, dimples and dark hair.

Their youngest, three-year-old Lily, trailed closely behind her older sister, and when Charlotte bent to kiss and embrace her, managed a smile around the thumb still tucked firmly in her mouth.

By the completion of the introductions, Nicholas lost all trace of his usual shyness and was soon giggling with his three cousins.

Along with the children’s nanny, Mrs. Eldridge, a plump, middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a ready smile, Jillian ushered the children upstairs to the nursery. Never once did her son look back at her.

“Why don’t we adjourn to the drawing room where we can speak in comfort?” James suggested mildly but his eyes were troubled. No doubt his thoughts were on Nicholas and Alex, and all that entailed.

Katie sent her a knowing glance. Missy clutched her husband’s forearm, rose on her tiptoes and whispered something in his ear. The only part of her sister-in-law’s statement Charlotte could make out was, “…wait until the morrow.”