Rules of Surrender (29 page)

”He’s your cousin.“

”He’s a thief.“

”Thief.“ She made a moue. ”That is such a cold word, Wynter.“

”Stealing is a cold art.“

”Well.“ Adorna huffed strands of hair off her forehead. ”You must keep me informed of everything you do.“

He knew better than that. ”So you can warn him, Mother? No, that seems unwise.“

”But Wynter…“ she wailed.

”But nothing.“ He had made it his mission to catch the swindler, and he would. As he limped toward the door, he grimaced at the pain in his foot.

”Wait! Wynter, what did you come by to tell me?“ she asked.

He should have known she would drive all good sense from his mind. ”Before the wedding we need to check the railings on all the balconies. The wood is rotted.“

The morning of the wedding dawned clear and bright, thus proving to Charlotte that a man owned even the weather. In the last three weeks, she had been constantly buffeted by old and new emotions, and now she sat in a tub of warm, scented water and watched the sunshine creep down the wall to the floor. She was numb, resigned to her fate. She would marry Wynter. She would be properly grateful for his charity. And she would allow him to inflict himself on her…

Briskly, she picked up her washcloth and the milled soap Adorna had given her.

In theory, the wise thing to do was
allow
him the use of her indifferent flesh. In reality, she had little control over her body or its reactions. She might want to remain quiescent under his caresses. Doing so proved quite another thing.

”Charlotte, dear, don’t tarry,“ Adorna called from the other side of the screen. ”We have your dress laid out, but it will take time to do your hair. Of course, Wynter wants you to leave it down, but I told him he could have the pleasure of unpinning it tonight. Or at least, I think he’ll have the pleasure, unless you decide to lock yourself in here and—“ Charlotte heard Adorna’s mouth snap shut.

Swiftly, Wynter’s aunt Jane picked up the conversation. ”The seamstress finished the last seams on the gown last night. Each stitch is in place, and the unornamented white satin is perfect with Charlotte’s vibrant coloring. However did you realize that, dear Adorna?“

Charlotte grinned. Aunt Jane had arrived only yesterday, but already she had impressed Charlotte with her good sense and tart wit. Both women had impressed Charlotte with their kindness; in the absence of her own female relatives, they acted as her support on this important morning.

Adorna said loftily, ”You give me too little credit, Jane.“

Charlotte grinned more. The gown had been plainly constructed because Charlotte had insisted on it. A gown of furbelows such as Adorna had wanted would have overshadowed a woman of Charlotte’s stature.

”The row of tiny buttons down the back is exquisite,“ Jane said, ”but they’ll be fiercely uncomfortable to sit on.“

”Oh, I doubt if Wynter remains much past the luncheon,“ Adorna burbled. ”You know how impatient he is.“

Charlotte dropped the bar of soap with a splash.

Silence followed from beyond the screen.

Then Jane said, ”What beautiful long sleeves. They give the gown a medieval flavor, and I recognize the veil.“

”From two weddings,“ Adorna said.

They had both worn it, and Charlotte had been touched and honored when they’d offered it to her.

”Don’t you love the jewelry? You should have been here when Wynter presented it to her!“ Adorna giggled, then squawked as if she’d been elbowed.

Jane said, ”The color of the amber reminds me of…“ Her voice trailed off.

Charlotte stopped fishing for the soap and strained to hear. What did the color remind Jane of? Had Jane seen some mark on the gown? Had the moths eaten a previously unseen—

Wynter stepped around the screen.

Charlotte froze.

He was dressed as formally as any Englishman in his black, well-cut suit that hugged his shoulders and nipped at his waist. Yet his feet were bare—and he was in her bedchamber. As she bathed. And he watched her through eyes that glowed with ardor.

Adorna recovered her voice first. ”Wynter, you come away from there immediately. It’s bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony!“

”Adorna, dear.“ Jane sounded choked. ”You’re missing the larger repercussions of his actions.“

Charlotte slapped the washcloth over her chest and sank down into the water. ”Go away!“ she whispered at her looming, impudent betrothed.

Strolling forward, he stood over her with a regal aura of privilege, looking right down into the water.

She tried to stretch the washcloth to cover all her vital parts, and discovered how truly futile that exercise was. ”Go away,“ she repeated, and submerged far enough that the water lapped at her lips.

He knelt beside the tub and stirred the bath with his finger.

Charlotte saw an indignant Jane appear at the edge of the screen and start toward them. Adorna’s arm snaked out, caught her, and pulled her back. She heard the flurry of whispers. But she couldn’t truly comprehend anything but Wynter, large and wicked.

”What do you want?“ she finally managed.

”Oh, Charlotte.“ His finger rose, dripping with water, and smoothed over her cheek. ”You. I only want you. And today, I will have you.“ Leaning over the tub, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. ”I didn’t want you to forget.“

CHAPTER 25

Charlotte stood in the antechamber of the church, holding a bouquet of white roses and listening impatiently as Lord Howard stammered, ”Y-you don’t have to marry him. I would give you anything you want if you would just come with me.“

She glared at him, wondering what god she had offended to have to suffer such visits on her wedding day. First Wynter, arriving like some unruly satyr to stand over her nude body and tell her she would soon be his wife—as if she could forget that! Then Leila and Robbie, needing reassurance that all would be well—for them she had put aside her misgivings and, without regard to her elegant gown, hugged them until they broke into grins.

Now Lord Howard. In the voice of goaded patience she usually reserved for undertrained dance instructors, she said, ”Why would I sell myself to you as your mistress? I wouldn’t even sell myself to you as your wife. Go back to Lady Howard.“

Head hung, Lord Howard stumbled out.

Charlotte turned to Mr. Burton, dressed in his best. ”I never thought I would say this, but the sooner these nuptials take place, the happier I will be.“

Stern of visage, Mr. Burton straightened his cuffs. ”From what I’ve heard of Lord Ruskin’s behavior, I must concur. That young man needs a thrashing.“

It appeared Mr. Burton was not only taking her father’s place in walking her down the aisle, but also in his ire about her groom and his everlasting arrogance. God bless Mr. Burton; how it mollified her that at least one other person thought Wynter’s behavior was outrageous. Resting her hand on Mr. Burton’s arm, she said, ”Sir, I must extend my most sincere thanks to you for consenting to walk me down the aisle. It is a debt I can never repay.“

”Ah, well.“ He cleared his throat uncomfortably. ”I’m honored you asked me, Lady Charlotte. I remember your father and—“

A voice interrupted from the doorway. ”I’ll walk you down the aisle.“

For one moment Charlotte heard her father’s voice in the abrupt sentence. Then good sense resurrected itself, and she turned.

Her uncle stood there, trussed into a formal black jacket and purple silk waistcoat. The suit was done by a London tailor; she knew, for she remembered how he had groused at the cost when he bought it. He’d told Aunt Piper not to expect him to ever buy another, that he would be buried in that suit. It appeared that if his valet could pull his corset strings tight enough, he would keep his vow.

Why had Uncle come to the antechamber of the church? Surely not to give her a tongue-lashing. Not today. Charlotte said, ”My lord, you should take your seat if you wish to watch the ceremony.“

Mr. Burton looked from one to the other.

Uncle spoke to him, abrupt, loud and overbearing.

”I’m the Earl of Porterbridge, and this is my niece. I will walk her down the aisle.“

”Lady Charlotte, what would you have me do?“ Mr. Burton asked.

”You don’t need to ask her,“ Uncle said. ”She’ll do as she’s told.“

She’ll do as she’s told.
The phrase hung in the air. If she had done as she was told, he would have walked her down the aisle nine years ago and he’d be finished with her. But that hadn’t happened, and now they were trapped by awkward emotions and uncomfortable disclosures.

Uncle scowled. ”My brother would expect me to give his daughter away.“

Her eyes widened.
Now
he worried about her father’s wishes?

”He would,“ Uncle snapped. ”I can do this right, at least.“

The moment was poignant with astonishment, and Charlotte’s realization that… good heavens, Uncle wanted to do right by her. She nodded to Mr. Burton, who bowed and left them.

An uneasy silence settled between uncle and niece. Charlotte, who prided herself on teaching even dunces what to say on every occasion, found herself searching for a topic that would not be incendiary. For the second time within a few moments, she found herself saying, ”I appreciate your gesture in offering to walk me down the aisle, my lord.“

He waved a brusque hand. ”Had to do it. Didn’t have a choice. You damn near got my head chopped off with that speech you gave about men not loving their wives.“

She didn’t understand. She didn’t have the stamina to understand or even care right now. ”I’m sorry you heard my outburst, Uncle. It was… an impulse.“

”Don’t apologize. That young whelp Ruskin deserved it.“ Uncle glared glumly forward. ”Piper said I deserved it, too.“

He captured her attention, something she didn’t believe possible right now. ”What? Deserved what?“

”She said you were right. She said I didn’t love her, thought I was the sun and she was the dirt. Said she’d loved me when I had no prospects and she loved me since I was an earl and I’d been nothing but a jackass every minute.“

Charlotte supposed she should murmur some politic denial, but she couldn’t lie. Not in church.

”She said I didn’t love her.“

Recalling all the times he’d ignored Aunt Piper, blamed Aunt Piper, sneered at Aunt Piper, Charlotte found her palms inside her gloves grow damp. ”Do you?“

”Of course I do, girl. She’s my wife.“ He hesitated; then, as if this were the inarguable evidence, he added, ”Haven’t shared another bed for thirty-five years.“

Charlotte almost laughed. Did every man in the world think alike? ”Women don’t consider fidelity the proof of love.“

”Well, what the hell else would it be?“ her uncle snapped.

”The proof of laziness,“ she snapped back.

”Your time away hasn’t improved you, girl. You’re damned cheeky.“ His gruff voice rose. ”I’m the earl. I don’t have to exert myself and go out looking for tail. Women come to me.“

She nodded, her stomach tightening yet more. Trust her uncle to turn a reconciliatory gesture into a peep show which showed her own probable future. She was marrying a viscount who admitted he didn’t love her and thought passion should be sufficient to make her happy. How could she go through with the ceremony?

Uncle apparently took her fright as contempt, for he said loudly, ”All right. You women are all the same, wanting blood from a man. Your aunt’s the only woman I’ve ever known. Some of the others have looked pretty damned good, too, Miss Sassymouth, so don’t tell me it’s just laziness. Piper’s just the only one I’ve ever wanted to—“

She interrupted him hastily, not wanting to hear more. ”I believe you, Uncle.“ Maybe she was wrong. Maybe, for a man, fidelity
was
the proof of love.

That uncomfortable silence fell again.

He cleared his throat. ”Piper said a few other things.“

Charlotte couldn’t face much more. Hands trembling, she said, ”Uncle, I appreciate your confidence, but I don’t know if I dare listen to any further details about your marriage.“

”She didn’t talk about that. She talked about you.“

”Oh.“ Charlotte had known her wedding day would be an ordeal, but not one of this magnitude.

”She said maybe we were a little rough on you, what with you having lost your parents. I said I’d lost my brother, and I thought the world of the man. Couldn’t have found a better fellow. Good earl, too. Never thought I’d inherit the title.“

Charlotte thought back to the days when her parents were alive and her uncle and his family had visited. Uncle had always been gruff and loud, but before he’d also been almost… kind.

”But Piper said losing a brother’s not the same as losing parents, and any fool would know that.“ He faced forward and glowered. ”Well, I didn’t know it.“

”Sometimes men are not insightful,“ Charlotte said in deliberate understatement.

”Well, how the hell are we supposed to know all this stuff about love and feelings? No one ever tells us until they’re ready to run away. Anyway, Piper said we could have treated you better. Maybe let you have a season, like you wanted. She even said you were right about Howard. So what I’m trying to… it’s been a few years, but I never meant… your father and I always…“

Uncle was a petty, uncouth tyrant, but he was trying to say he’d been wrong. Charlotte had met very few, young or old, rich or poor, who had the strength of character to admit that. In truth, she herself was rather lacking in that skill. Interrupting his halting flow of words, she said, ”I understand. You did the best you could.“

And, she supposed, given his character and expectations, he had.

Adorna was determined she would not cry. Weddings were joyous occasions, not the funeral dirges so many reveled in thinking them. She would just sit here in the family pew, waiting for Charlotte to walk down the aisle, and while she did she would think cheerful thoughts. After all, she never had cried at a wedding before…

”Grandmama?“ Leila’s small gloved hand tugged cautiously at the sky-blue silk and lace-trimmed skirt of Adorna’s gown, ”Why is Papa standing up in front looking so mad?“

Adorna looked down at the fingers wrinkling her garment.