The Rocky Mountain Heiress Collection (106 page)

“Darling,” Charlotte called, “come and meet the Cadwalladers.”

Once introductions were dispensed with, Charlotte made their excuses, and they moved toward the dining room. “A business associate of Papa’s,” Charlotte explained. “Now, shall we?”

Alex offered his arm, and together they turned the corner and paused at the top of the wide, double staircase. Two full floors below lay the dining room, glittering beneath a multitude of chandeliers. Waiters milled about, seeing to those passengers who were seated and urging others tarrying in conversation to take their places.

A light flashed, and Alex nearly tripped. “What the—”

“Miss Beck! Miss Beck! Here!” a fellow in a dark, working-man’s suit called. “A few words to go with the photograph, please? And if you would, maybe pose with your new husband?” Charlotte turned toward the gentleman, who identified himself as a journalist for the
New York Times
. “Nate and I covered your wedding,” he said.

Apparently Nate was the photographer, for the man with the camera lifted his hat in greeting. Alex gave him a curt nod.

“Your father was kind enough to allow me to slip in as his guest for the evening. I hope you don’t mind. I’d love to ask a few questions about how you and Mr. Hambly met.”

“That’s
Viscount
Hambly,” Charlotte corrected with a smile, “and of course, we wouldn’t mind.” She turned to Alex. “Would we, dear?”

“No, of course not, dear.” His smile beat hers. “Though I’d prefer if you told the story. You know how prone to misspeaking I am.”

Charlotte tilted her head and waved at someone in the crowd below. He followed her gaze and spied Eugenia Cooper Beck watching them. So was Daniel.

“After you, sir,” Charlotte said to the reporter and his photographer companion.

“Yes, of course. The better to capture you coming down the steps, perhaps?”

After two stops for photographs, the trek down the stairs and across the dining room was accomplished. Greetings were exchanged all around, and Daniel motioned for Alex and Charlotte to find their seats. Thankfully, Charlotte sat beside her father, sparing Alex any sort of private conversation with the man.

As course after course arrived and disappeared, Alex tiptoed through the delicate minefield of conversation, knowing that Daniel Beck and a reporter from the
Times
documented his every word. It was a miserable meal, and one he vowed not to repeat.

As the second round of dessert dishes was cleared, Alex reached for the box in his pocket and cleared his throat, preparing to speak his first words in nearly half an hour.

“Your attention, please.”

Charlotte and her father continued their discussion with the reporter while Mrs. Beck held a lively dialogue with the photographer. Alex waited a moment then made another attempt to gain their attention with the same result. Finally, he rose.

“Your attention, please.”

All eyes turned his direction.

“Thank you.” He looked down at Charlotte, whose wide-eyed expression revealed unmistakable terror. “Darling, do you mind?” He helped his wife to her feet.

The American beauty leaned up as if to kiss his cheek. “What are you doing?” she whispered into his ear.

“Relax,” he said only loud enough for her alone to hear. “I’m merely giving my wife a wedding gift.” He turned to the diners still seated. “It
would be redundant to remind you that my bride and I exchanged vows only yesterday.”

Mrs. Beck giggled and touched her husband’s shoulder. Daniel Beck, however, affected a stern look, his arms crossed over his chest. The reporter made a grab for his notebook, which he’d hidden beneath a damask napkin, while the photographer merely looked bored.

“And as such,” Alex continued, “I felt compelled to mark the occasion of our first day as husband and wife with a small token of my affection.” He worked up his most romantic expression and hoped the others at the table believed it. “Darling, reach into my jacket pocket, would you?”

“Wait. Get the camera, Nate,” the reporter demanded.

Charlotte gave Alex an ambivalent look.

“Go on,” he said, affectionately patting her head. “It won’t bite.” Alex paused as Charlotte slipped her hand into his pocket. “Or maybe it will,” he said quickly, causing her to squeal.

His bride quickly withdrew her hand then gave Alex’s arm a swat. “That wasn’t funny.”

“Perhaps you will give me the opportunity to make amends later,” he said. “But for now, darling, retrieve your gift.”

Charlotte reached more slowly this time, but when her fingers found the pearls, her eyes widened. “Alex?” she said with what sounded like the last of her breath.

“Go on,” he urged.

She lifted the strand slowly, each perfectly matched pearl on the rope revealing the next until she could reach no higher. And still there were more pearls—and another surprise—in his pocket.

“Look this way, please, and don’t move until I give the signal.” Nate aimed the camera at them. After what seemed like an eternity, he nodded, and Alex could move again.

Charlotte cradled the pearls in her palm. “They’re lovely,” said softly, “but you shouldn’t have been so extravagant.”

The statement was meant as a reminder of which family held the bigger bank account, no doubt. He’d not disabuse her of her erroneous belief. At least, not in front of her father.

Alex reached into his pocket and pulled out the remainder of the pearl rope, a full five feet in length. The same as her height. He tripled the rope then placed it around her neck. “Beautiful,” he said before realizing he’d spoken aloud.

When the diamond and emerald egg that hung at the end of the pearls caught her attention, Charlotte gasped. “What’s this?”

Alex captured the jewel and placed it in her hand. Ten carats of diamonds, three carats of emeralds, and one very special surprise made up the adornment. “Open it.”

She shook her head. “How?”

“Like this.” Alex showed her then waited for her reaction.

“It’s …” She giggled then held it up for the other diners to see. “There’s a watch inside.”

Alex slid Charlotte’s father a look before returning his attention to Charlotte. “Yes, darling. Can you guess why I’ve gifted you with a watch?”

Daniel Beck started to laugh. Mrs. Beck soon joined him.

“I fail to see what’s so funny,” Charlotte said. “This necklace is absolutely lovely.”

Alex wrapped his arms around his wife’s waist and hauled her closer. “Darling, I present this watch to you not only as a token of my love and
undying affection and as a commemoration of our first full day as husband and wife, but also so that you shall never feel the need to appropriate mine.”

“You’re not the least bit humorous.” Charlotte clutched the watch in her hand. “However, in the spirit of keeping harmony in our home, I accept your humble gift.”

“Isn’t that wonderful of her?” Alex asked Mrs. Beck.

“Truly wonderful,” she responded with a laugh. “But that’s our Charlotte.”

“Actually, she’s my Charlotte now.” When Daniel’s smile disappeared, Alex continued. “And as such, I’m sure you will understand I mean no disrespect when I inform the both of you that for the remainder of the voyage, my wife and I will be taking our meals in our stateroom.”

“But darling, I—”

“I’ll have no argument, Charlotte.”

Alex looked down at his temporary wife with what he hoped would appear to be deep affection. Charlotte, however, saw nothing of the sort, for as their gazes met, her eyes narrowed. There would be some discussion about his behavior once they returned to the privacy of their stateroom, of this Alex was certain.

She stood on tiptoe and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “You won’t get away with this,” she whispered against his skin.

“I already have.” He captured her chin in his hands. “Watch this.”

He kissed her. Soundly.

At some point, either Nate the photographer captured the moment for the
Times
readers or the mingling of their lips set off fireworks in the dining room. With Charlotte leaning breathless against him, Alex would have believed either possible.

“Now,” he managed as he steadied his bride, “say your good nights to our family and friends.”

When she did not, he said them for her, then took her elbow and guided her from the table.

“Hambly.” Daniel Beck caught up to them and clasped Alex’s shoulder.

Alex went eye to eye with his temporary father-in-law. “Yes?”

A moment passed as Beck stared him down. Alex returned the look, his shoulders squared. The orchestra struck up a Tchiakovsky overture. Thankfully, Charlotte kept her mouth shut.

Slowly, Daniel Beck nodded. “Congratulations, son.” He shook Alex’s hand. “I’m glad I wasn’t wrong about you.”

“Thank you, sir,” Alex mumbled. He guided Charlotte away, his bruised conscience trailing behind him.

Long after Charlotte’s head landed on the pillow, her eyes refused to shut. Whether it was anger or just plain annoyance at being treated like property, she found a dozen smart responses to Alex’s behavior that demanded to be said. But Alex had taken his blanket and pillow to the sitting room and was now happily snoring away, oblivious that she’d finally found her voice and wanted to state her opinion.

How dare he kiss her in front of a reporter, then tell her parents she would not be seeing them the remainder of the voyage?

Then again, other than the fact that he hadn’t consulted her on the matter, Alex’s choice of isolation over continued contact with Papa and Gennie was brilliant, which just made her angrier.

She balled her fists and counted to ten. Why did it bother her so much that she’d be stuck in close quarters with the infuriating man for the next week?

“Because he snores,” she muttered. Not in that awful rumbling-the-roof way, perhaps, but softly, making just enough sound to remind Charlotte that a man slept in the next room.

Throwing on her wrapper, Charlotte slipped out of bed and navigated the treacherous distance across carpet and around tables to the sitting room. The viscount lay curled up on a sofa half his length, his face
bathed in silver moonlight and partially obscured by a lock of dark hair that had fallen across one eye. The blanket had fallen to the floor in a puddle, and both his arms were curled around his pillow.

Something about the innocence on his face stopped Charlotte cold. For four years she’d thought of Alexander Hambly as that awful fellow Papa was so fond of, the man she was doomed to wed.

But now, as his even breathing continued, Charlotte felt compelled to reconsider these judgments.

She moved closer, picked up the blanket, and covered him with it. The snoring stopped. Charlotte froze, her arms wrapped around her waist, as she prepared an excuse for her intrusion on what was now Alex’s bedchamber.

He did not move, nor did his eyes open. Charlotte whispered a sigh of relief and turned to retrace her steps.

“Wife,” Alex called, stopping her in her tracks.

“Stop calling me that,” she shot over her shoulder as she picked her way through the darkened cabin.

The sofa creaked, and she heard his feet hit the floor. “And yet you are,” he responded, “whether either of us likes it or not. So what are you doing out of bed at such an hour? Were you spying on me?”

She was, of course, but she’d never admit to it.

“Charlotte?”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous.” Charlotte hurried toward her bed. The floor beneath her shuddered as the ship gently listed to port. When it righted a moment later, Charlotte slammed her bare foot against something hard. She cried out, then covered her mouth with her hand and dove under the blankets without bothering to discard her dressing gown.

“Charlotte? What happened?”

She ignored him though her toe throbbed and she longed to complain.
Again Alex called her name. She looked out from behind her bed’s velvet curtains and bit her lip as a lone tear traced down her cheek.

The shadow of her husband appeared at the door. He leaned against the frame, hands in the pockets of his robe. “You’ve hurt yourself. Can I help?”

“No,” she managed. “I’m fine.” Then she gave herself away by sniffling.

“You’re not.”

Something in his voice, softened with sleep and warm with concern, caused more tears to fall. She’d never been good at suffering in silence, though admitting that or any other weakness to the Englishman was unthinkable.

“I will be fine if you’ll just go away,” she said gently. “Please.”

But as Alex Hambly generally did, he ignored her. A moment later, he’d arrived at her bedside and found the lamp. The blaze of light blinded Charlotte, and she struggled to find her focus. When she did, Alex was staring at her with concern.

“You’re bleeding,” he said, gesturing to the floor next to the night-stand where a few drops of blood marred the rug. Nothing to fuss over.

“My toe,” she said. “But it’s just a scratch.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. I’ve had a bit of medical training. I think I can manage it.”

Charlotte shrank back from him. “You’re an astronomer. What possible training could you have that would help?”