The Redemption of a Dissolute Earl (4 page)

After her abysmal performance in Lady
Macbeth and the inability to locate Salisbury after her
performance, Charlotte fled the theatre for the privacy of her
home. She did not want to see any adoring fans, though she could
hardly believe they would want to see her after her mussed lines
and missed cues. Tonight she’d been a mess, and it was all Drew’s
fault.
Typical
. The no-good, dissolute scoundrel had
scattered her wits once again.

How dare he show back up in her life the day
before she was supposed to be married, and how humiliating for him
to attempt to explain how hard it was for a rich man. She did not
give a whit to know the minute details of why he held her beneath
him. Why he thought she would want to know baffled her.

How like Drew to be so self-centered, so
inconsiderate, so
very
handsome still. She hated him, but
more than that, she hated the queasy turning sensation in her
stomach. Marrying Salisbury was out of the question. Seeing Drew
again had confirmed what she had suspected but suppressed. Of
course, she was a consummate actress, and her best performance yet
had been her performance for herself. She’d fooled herself into
believing revenge and security could take the place of the way Drew
made her tremble from the inside out, or the way he stole her
breath with just a look, or the way his smile and the warm timbre
of laughter that filled his voice made the world seem perfectly
right and their stations in life surmountable.

The flaxen-haired scoundrel
!
Charlotte alit from her carriage and took her footman’s hand of
assistance. Once she was steady, she moved quickly up the stairs to
her townhome, swept past her gaping butler, and went promptly to
her library. Once there, she kicked off her shoes, poured herself a
glass of Madeira, and then padded across the rug to recline on her
settee with her feet propped. She took a fortifying drink and then
set the crystal glass on the side table in exchange for a big,
fluffy pillow, which she hugged to her chest.

Sniffing away threatening tears, she turned
her thoughts to her father―a more pleasant memory by far. She
missed him terribly. She wanted his comforting arms around her
shoulders right now, but she could not go back to Danby. Facing
that place and those people with their condescending attitudes was
more than she was willing to bear.

Perhaps she could implore her father to
visit with her here? Maybe a good long talk with him would help put
things into perspective as it had always done when she was a child.
Just thinking about ending her betrothal to Salisbury made her
groan. Not because she thought Salisbury was truly in love with
her, but because ending her betrothal to the marquess meant truly
acknowledging that revenge would not, after all, help her forget
Drew.

Perhaps she would never forget how he had
made her feel? The thought was a daunting one that made her stomach
ache. Surely time would fade her desire for Drew, and eventually
she would be ready to meet a man who loved her for who she truly
was and did not care what connections she did not possess.
Salisbury was not that man. He was as bad as Drew, but she had been
uncaring of his motives because of her own need for revenge. The
marquess wanted her for the pedigree she lacked just to purposely
anger his father, and Drew did not want her because she was only
the butler’s daughter, and he—he was too weak to go against his
father.

She rose slowly from the settee and went to
her desk, determined to pen a note to her father right now. Instead
of getting out her paper, she stared at the wooden desk while idly
rolling her quill between her fingers. How could two men be so
different yet so very much the same at the core? Of course, they
were both wealthy men who cared only for themselves.

She would never, absolutely never, entertain
any sort of relationship with a man of the
ton
again. Maybe
she would fall in love with a dashing actor? The mere idea of
loving anyone again made her stomach clench tighter. Disgusted, she
threw down her pen and rested her head in her hands.

A cream envelope lying on her desk caught
her attention. She picked up the thick paper and turned it over in
her hands to study the crest, which had been embossed in wax to
seal the envelope shut. She ran her hands over the rough edges of
the wax, her nerves tingling to awareness and concern. Why would
the Duke of Danby send her a note?

Her heart tripped as she ripped open the
paper. She cursed as the parchment cut into her skin and a drop of
blood appeared on her finger. Scanning the spidery scrawl quickly,
her heart beat heavily. The paper fluttered to her desk, and in her
haste to stand, she knocked it to the floor but did not bend to
retrieve the letter that relayed such bad news.

“Mrs. Felton,” she yelled, while ringing the
bell for her servant.

Her housekeeper appeared in the study
doorway in her robe and house slippers, which were on the wrong
feet. Charlotte would have smiled if her face hadn’t felt frozen.
Mrs. Felton patted at the wild mass of grey disarray that was
usually coiled so tightly at her thick neck. “Is there something
wrong, Miss Milne?”

Charlotte nodded. “Pack my bags at once. My
father’s very ill, and I must go to Danby first thing in the
morning in case—” Charlotte gulped back the threatening tears. “In
case he fails to recover.”

Drew slammed the empty pint of ale on the
bar and swiped a hand across his frothy lip. “Another,” he demanded
and swiveled in his seat to study Salisbury. “Let me see if I have
this straight. “You—” he pointed an accusatory finger at the
marquess— “are going to marry the woman I love.”

Salisbury nodded.

“Yet you don’t love her.”

The marquess nodded again. “Your perception
is amazing.”

“Apparently not,” Drew slurred and slipped
off his stool, only to be caught under the arms by his cousin.

“Edgy,” Drew murmured, evoking the old
nickname Edgeworth had always hated. “When did you get here?”

“A moment ago.” Edgeworth glanced at the
marquess then back at Drew. “No more ale,” Edgeworth said. His face
was dark, his tone darker.

“The ale, my good man, was for my complete
and utter astonishment in finding out that the woman I love―whose
heart I thought I broke―only dallied with me because she seems to
have a liking for men of the
ton
who will better her.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Salisbury reached out
and pushed Drew back as he started to lean forward. “Did you not
see her stricken face?”

Drew squinted and tried to recall her exact
look. He’d seen something, but now it seemed more like guilt than
the hurt he had earlier believed. “I’ve no idea what you mean.”

“Then let me explain it to you in terms that
will soak into your soggy brain. She loves you. If you didn’t see
the truth on her face or hear it in her voice, then you are blind
and deaf.”

Drew stood and dusted off his overcoat and
trousers. He needed to finally put Char out of his mind, and
talking about her with the man she intended to marry tomorrow was
not the way to do it. He started to turn away but paused. Something
did not make sense. “Why are you marrying Char if you think she
loves me?”

Salisbury held up four fingers. “Four
reasons. The woman I really love won’t marry me because my father
threatened to destroy her father if she did. Lottie is the perfect
weapon to get revenge against the old bastard. She’ll marry me to
get revenge against
you
, and she doesn’t have to worry that
her father will be hurt. We both win.”

“Her name is Charlotte,” Drew said evenly,
the soft haze of ale fading under the bright glare of awareness.
“What’s your fourth reason?”

“Her reaction to you tonight confirmed what
I had suspected.”

“Which is?”

“You hurt her so badly that I’ll never have
to worry she’ll fall in love again. I don’t want a wife who loves
me. I want a friend and someone to give me my heir. My love is
reserved for Marianne, and I fully intend to somehow convince her
to become my mistress since she refuses to be my wife.”

Drew’s mind turned with possibilities and
tentative hope. Maybe Salisbury was dead wrong about how Char felt
regarding Drew, but if the man was right… “What if I can convince
Marianne to marry you? Will you cry off with Char?” Drew asked,
reaching for a chance to secure the woman he should have never let
go.

“Impossible,” Salisbury said. “My father
will dismiss Marianne’s father as his solicitor and make sure he’s
never hired anywhere reputable that’s close to his family
again.”

“I’ll hire her father,” Drew said, hoping if
what he was planning worked, he’d still have the money to carry out
his promise. If not, he’d get on his hands and knees and beg his
grandfather to hire the man. Danby, the old goat, owed Drew at
least that much for producing such a pompous, overbearing son as
Drew’s father.

Salisbury shook his head. “I already offered
to hire her father. He won’t take charity or help.”

“He’ll never suspect it’s either. Leave it
to me.”

Salisbury slowly nodded. “I suppose there’s
no harm in trying. The wedding is at ten in the morning at my
townhome on Church Street. “You recall where I live?”

“I do. If I’m not there by ten—”

“The wedding will proceed as planned.”
Salisbury stood and put on his overcoat. “Ten is plenty of time to
see Marianne and her father. Marianne is always at Madame Marmont’s
dress shop by seven sharp. You should be at Mr. Marchinson’s home
by seven. If I know Marianne’s father, he’ll make quick work of
speaking to you and send you fast on your way, either good or bad.
I’ll not embarrass Lottie by holding up a wedding for a woman who,
in all likelihood, will not be coming.”

Drew took the glass of water that was raised
to Edgeworth’s lips out of his cousin’s hands.

“Do you mind?” Edgeworth growled.

“Sorry, Edgeworth, but I need to get sober.”
Drew quickly drank half the cool liquid.

“You need to do more than just get sober.”
Edgeworth waved Drew’s offer of sharing the water away. “If you
intend to win back Miss Milne, you need to damn well
stay
sober.”

“I completely agree,” Drew replied.

With a snort, Salisbury put on his hat and
eyed Drew. “I sincerely hope I see you tomorrow.”

Drew watched the marquess depart. How would
it be for Char, so warm and loving, to be married to such an
indifferent man? The question left him cold, but he did not order
the usual whiskey to ward off the chill of his past mistakes. It
was time to face what he’d become and set his life, and Char’s, to
rights. He hoped he could do it in the short time the marquess was
giving him.

Of course if it looked like Marianne and her
father would not cooperate, Drew could abandon his plan and simply
go to Salisbury’s house to make Char understand he loved her and
wanted to be with her. The problem was, Drew had a terrible
suspicion convincing Char he loved her was going to be as easy as
convincing the Devil to give back a soul. Impossible, without first
walking through hell. Char, no doubt, would be more than happy to
light the fire under his arse and dance gleefully around the blaze
as he burned.

The next morning Drew rose well before the
sun had banished the darkness from the sky and dressed quickly. He
went to wake Edgeworth, but the distinct sound of feminine laughter
coming from his cousin’s rented room stopped Drew in his tracks.
Good old Edgeworth had found a willing wench, as usual. A smile
played at Drew’s lips as he imagined the sound of Char’s laughter,
husky with desire for him. He prayed that would be a sound he would
once again hear in reality and not just in his fantasies. Worry
about the looming wedding plagued him, and he poked around the inn
until a maid directed him to where Edgeworth’s coachman was
sleeping. Drew awoke the snoring man, who managed to hold his
tongue but shot Drew disgruntled looks as he readied the horses
amidst the impatient sound of foot tapping.