The Rocky Mountain Heiress Collection (86 page)

He appeared ready to vault over the desk, so Charlotte clutched the papers tighter. “I prefer to discuss a mutually agreeable arrangement.” At the lift of his brow, she hurried to explain. “I’ve a plan whereby the mess I made will be repaired and, in the process, your mother will be the envy of her friends. You see, I’ve no small measure of influence with Colonel
Cody. The proprietor of the Wild West show whose acquaintance you recently made?”

“I’m no idiot, Miss Beck, though I confess interacting with you leaves me feeling like one. You didn’t come all the way to Greenwich to talk about a Wild West performer.” Fists clenched, his attention fell to the pages. “Time is a precious commodity today, so please return my property and state your business so that I may go about mine.”

“All right.” She cleared her throat and prepared to sound as formal as possible. “On behalf of Colonel Cody and the Beck family, I wish to extend an invitation for the countess to perform a stunt especially devised for her at an upcoming Wild West show performance.”

Alex Hambly leaned forward to rest both palms on the desk. And then he laughed.

Charlotte felt heat climbing into her cheeks. “I find nothing funny in that statement, Viscount Hambly. Nothing at all.”

“Is that so?” He chuckled again. “Then you know nothing of the countess. My mother astride a racing pony? Or perhaps aiming a weapon at some unfortunate man’s hat? I think not.”

Of all the nerve. The man hadn’t given her idea so much as a decent consideration before scoffing at it.

“I prefer to hear this from the countess,” she said, “so if you’ll be so kind as to make that introduction, I’ll—”

The astronomer made a grab for the pages and came up with half of them. The left half, while she still held what hadn’t torn off. When he realized what he’d done, the viscount reached for the remaining pages. Charlotte turned her back to hold the research between herself and the wall.

“Now that was completely uncalled for,” she said.

“Miss Beck,” he said through clenched jaw. “You’ve ruined my research notes, caused me bodily harm in my own home, and stolen my grandfather’s pocket watch.”

She peered over her shoulder. “I returned that watch.”

“Nonetheless,” he said as he spread the ruined pages on the desk, “you’d do me a great favor if you left.” He met her stare and she quickly turned away. “Please, just leave.”

For the second time that day, tears threatened. This was not at all going as planned.

Behind her, the shuffling of papers stopped. “Turn around,” he demanded.

She complied, wiping her eyes with her free hand.

“You’re crying.” He sighed and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket then thrust it toward her. “Go on. Take it.” When she didn’t immediately comply, he added, “It’s clean.”

Charlotte almost smiled.

“Dribble on yourself then.” The viscount muttered something about stubborn women then dropped the handkerchief on the desk between them and went back to his work.

Well, that did it. Charlotte grabbed the handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes then tossed the remains of Alex Hambly’s precious scribbling onto the desk and pointed the soggy handkerchief at him. “Yes, I am stubborn,” she said. “But I’d much rather be stubborn in pursuit of righting a wrong I caused than stubbornly selfish for my own sake.”

He froze, and the page fell from his hand. Charlotte watched it flutter to the floor, some sort of diagram with a string of gibberish beneath it, and land upside down under the spindly legs of an old brass telescope.

Papa always said she would catch more flies with honey, and this was
a fly that begged to be caught. Charlotte tucked the handkerchief into her sleeve, bent down, and grasped the torn edge of the paper.

“Miss Beck! Mind the—”

“What?” Charlotte rose abruptly and collided with something sharp that sent her stumbling backward. She landed in a tangle of skirts as a pair of hands reached around her to catch a tumbling telescope.

The earl and his treasure clattered to the ground beside her, and the tripod followed, slamming against Charlotte’s foot with a painful thud. The astronomer sat with the telescope cradled in his arms.

Her foot and her backside throbbed, but the viscount appeared to have emerged from the fracas unscathed. His stargazer, however, wasn’t as lucky.

“Is it bent?” she asked as she pushed the contraption off her.

Alex Hambly ran his hand through his hair then looked away. “Miss Beck,” he said in a tight string of words, “I am a gentleman and thus I must inquire as to whether you’ve been injured.”

She did a quick inventory of her condition and shook her head. “Nothing permanent.”

He muttered something that sounded like “a pity,” then gently set the telescope aside and climbed to his knees to move closer. “Miss Beck, has anyone ever told you that you’re a menace?”

The question should have stung, but Charlotte put it off to the combined indignities of a black eye and a broken telescope, both directly caused by her. “No,” she said as sweetly as she could manage, “you’re the first.”

Viscount Hambly dipped his head then lifted it again to regard her with an even stare. Goodness, he was handsome, even with the black eye. If he weren’t so
very
old at five and twenty …

And yet he was, and completely wrong for her in so many ways. Worse still, she became a complete embarrassment every time she came near him.

Out of the corner of her eye, Charlotte spied the item she’d bent to retrieve. Leaning away from the nobleman, she grabbed the torn paper and offered it to him. When he merely stared at it, she let the page drop between them.

The enormity of her situation hit Charlotte harder than the telescope. Humiliation, her all-too-constant companion, delivered the next blow, and her lower lip began to quiver.

“Miss Beck.”

Viscount Hambly’s image swam before her through the tears. “What?”

“Shall we strike a bargain?”

Charlotte swiped at her damp cheeks with her sleeve and tried to sniffle delicately. “What sort of bargain?”

He climbed to his feet, then removed the remains of the tripod and offered her his hand. The viscount’s grip was firm, his expression impassive as he hauled her to her feet then set her hat to rights.

“The bargain is this.” He turned her toward the door then ushered her forward with his palm against the small of her back. “I shall do as you ask and see that my mother is present at …” He paused to step over an errant page from his notes. “To which performance shall I deliver her?”

Charlotte stopped short. She hadn’t thought that far. A trip to Earls Court was in order, for the colonel certainly had to be informed of the plan.

“Perhaps I should collect that information and send a note,” she said. The viscount pressed her forward toward the door, and she complied
as she tried to think. “I’m sure Colonel Cody will wish for her to practice at least once. Maybe more.”

“Fine, yes, anything you say.”

“Wait.” Once again she stopped. This time, she turned to face him, and his hand slid against her waist in a most disconcerting fashion. “I—um, that is—you’ll not forget that there is a greater purpose behind this bargain.”

He looked away, and Charlotte took the opportunity to stare. His lashes were long and dark, and his chin quite well-shaped. Once the injured eye healed, his features would be impossibly perfect.

“The greater purpose,” he echoed, “is for me to see that I am no longer plagued by your presence.”

Now that really was uncalled for. “I beg your pardon,” she said with the appropriate balance between indignity and propriety.

He gestured to the remains of the telescope. “A fine instrument has been irreparably damaged at your hands, Miss Beck.”

“Fine,
Viscount
Hambly.” All thoughts of Miss Pence went out the window as she pointed her finger at the arrogant nobleman. “Send me a bill and I’ll be happy to pay for it.” She paused. “Or any other damages, with interest. I will, however, hold you to our bargain.”

The nobleman gave her a weary glance. “Did we reach terms?”

“We did. Your mother’s cooperation in returning the Beck family to society’s good graces in exchange for …” The rest of the bargain escaped her. “I’m sorry, what is my part of this?”

Again, he pointed her to the door, now only a few paces away. “You will go from this place and leave me, never to return. And we shall vow that this conversation is never to be repeated.”

Charlotte crossed the threshold into the hall, then turned to shake his hand. “Agreed. And lest you think I will be tempted to go back on
our bargain, you should know my time in London grows short. I’ve made arrangements to attend Wellesley College once my duties in New York and at court are satisfied.”

There. She’d said it.

Strange that she’d chosen the irritating Hambly fellow to be the first to know her plans.

“Wellesley?” His gaze showed more than a small measure of skepticism. “Dare I ask what you shall be studying?”

“I’m quite interested in several fields of study. Perhaps something that will allow me to assume a role in Father’s company.” Charlotte worked to keep a smug expression off her face as she allowed her gaze to land on the broken telescope. “If ever you decide reimbursement is required—”

“I won’t.” And Alex Hambly closed the door in her face.

June 14
Beck House, London

“An invitation?” Charlotte slid down the banister and landed beside Grandfather’s houseman in a most inelegant fashion. But Grandfather was napping and Gennie had gone to the milliners for a fitting, so what happened unobserved did not have to be admitted.

She snatched the note off the tray and slipped into Grandfather’s library. It was the one she’d hoped for, the queen’s garden party on the castle grounds. And she’d been included along with Gennie and Grandfather.

Charlotte danced in circles across the carpet then fell onto the settee, the invitation clutched to her chest. The viscount had proven himself a man of his word.

Even if he was a grump.

Were he more agreeable, Charlotte might have asked Viscount Hambly how he managed to convince his refined mother to don an Indian headdress and allow herself to be transported across the arena sidesaddle behind one of Red Shirt’s warriors. Charlotte had heard from
the colonel that persons of high character were now lining up to take their turn in the show. Which meant she could stop fretting about losing not only her social standing but also her freedom. Surely Papa would not hold against her what had been so artfully and cleverly repaired.

A sound at the door alerted her to the houseman’s presence. “Miss Beck, there are others.”

She grinned. “Put them on Grandfather’s desk, and I’ll sort through them.”

The servant returned with a basket filled nearly to the top with calling cards and notes, then hastened to answer the doorbell. The queen’s invitation tucked safely aside, Charlotte upended the basket and watched as its contents landed in a pile.

“What have we here?”

Charlotte swiveled to see Uncle Edwin watching her.

“Aren’t you popular?” he said as he moved to the window. Curtains green as the baize on the gaming table Grandfather hid behind the folding screen blocked all but a sliver of the morning light.

As Edwin lifted the heavy fabric to peer out, Charlotte noticed the lines of his face made her miss Papa all the more. But while Papa wore his handsome features as if he had no idea he possessed them, Uncle Edwin seemed very aware of the Beck charm.

“Are you unwell, Uncle?”

“Unwell?” He stepped away and allowed the curtain to fall back into place. “Nothing of the sort. Though I am a bit confused by something.”

She dropped Lady Stanton’s invitation for tea back onto the pile. “What is that?”

His stare was even, his face expressionless. And yet something about his posture made Charlotte sit a little straighter in her chair.

“How is it that you’ve gone from social pariah to London’s darling, Charlotte?” He moved toward Grandfather’s chair then chose the settee, where he sprawled across the length of it. “Just this morning I read in the
Times
that your shameless Wild West performance is now the behavior to be copied. And I must wonder, is it a coincidence that the first to imitate you was Hambly’s mother? Who did you influence? I guess it was either the heir or his spare.” He lifted his head to look at her. “Your charms are considerable, though you’re a bit young to begin using them to your benefit. Especially when it involves possible control of our companies being handed over to a Hambly.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Uncle Edwin!”

He shifted positions to stare at the painting above the mantel, a decently done oil of the Beck ancestral home Charlotte had painted on her last visit. It was a much better piece than her image of the night sky over Denver that Grandfather insisted on hanging in his bedchamber. Strangely, she’d always been drawn to capturing the constellations in paint but as yet had never quite managed to satisfy herself that she’d done them proper justice.