Wed Him Before You Bed Him (10 page)

His eyes narrowed. “So I was right. It
was
you who wrote it.”

She dropped her head in shame. “I didn't mean for it to go to the papers, I swear. It was supposed to be private.” A thought occurred to her that chilled her blood. “How did you know it was mine?” If
he
had known, others might know, too.

She had kept David's name out of it, so no one would guess about him, but they might figure out that it was she who'd written it. She would never be able to marry! Who would marry the woman who wrote such a letter, no matter how justified?

Catching her by the chin, Captain Harris lifted her head until her gaze met his. “I was so utterly miserable after you'd gone that I paid one of the servants to tell me where you were, and they said your family was in Berkshire visiting the Masters family. And word is already spreading around town that young Masters is the man who was meant in the letter. But I have not told a soul about your connection to this, I swear.”

His expression growing even more solemn, he seized her hand. “Indeed, I have come to save you. I won't let your father marry you off to such a cad. I won't!”

She caught her breath. “What do you mean to do?”

“To marry you myself, dear girl.” Dropping to one knee, he pressed a fervent kiss to her hand. “I adore you. Could you not tell?”

Come to think of it, no. In light of her explosive kisses with David, her brief flirtation with Captain Harris now seemed more like a courtly minuet than the prelude to a love affair.

She frowned. Of course it did. For all his easy man
ner, Captain Harris wasn't a rakehell and a scoundrel. He hadn't practiced for years at breaking young ladies' hearts, nor was he capable of insulting a woman with fiery but decidedly improper kisses. If that made him a tad less interesting, it was only because villainy could be awfully enticing. But villainy was villainy, and the captain's appearance here despite her disgrace showed that he was not a villain.

“We will leave for Scotland this very hour,” he went on, staring up into her face with a look that did seem rather adoring. “Even now, a friend awaits us with a post chaise that will outrun anything your father can send after you. We can be in Gretna Green in a matter of days, and you will be safe once and for all from the cruel marriage your father seeks to arrange.”

It was a bold plan of action, a decidedly romantic plan that would have had her throwing herself into his arms two weeks ago. But David's betrayal had made her cautious. Even as she thrilled to the captain's offer, her father's cold words about the man's intentions trickled into her mind, insidious in their poison.

“This is rather sudden,” she said.

His face darkened. “Perhaps you still have feelings for this scoundrel.”

“No!” She squeezed his hand. “No, never.”

With an earnest glance, he pressed her hand to his chest. “If you're worried about your past with him, I swear you need not. I will never reproach you for anything that you and he might have done in the heat of the moment.”

“My past? Done?” When it dawned on her what he was saying, she blushed violently and attempted to pull her
hand free. “I assure you, sir, that I am still chaste. I would never allow—”

“Of course not, dearest Charlotte, I didn't mean to imply otherwise.” Refusing to relinquish her hand, he scattered frantic kisses over it. “You
will
let me call you Charlotte, won't you?” His eyes raked her with a tenderness that soothed the insult she'd thought he was offering her.

“You know that Papa isn't likely to give you my dowry,” she cautioned him. “He's very angry over what I wrote.”

“I don't care,” he said, with a lofty air that sounded sincere. “It is you I want. We will live on love.”

The idyllic promise made her wince. She wasn't sure what love was anymore, but she was fairly certain she didn't feel it for Captain Harris. Still, if he felt it for her, that was more than she could expect now that she'd destroyed her life. Indeed, he was risking everything to have her. If anyone ever learned that she'd written the letters, he would be publicly mocked. For a man to take such a chance on her behalf surely showed deep feeling.

And what choice did she have, anyway? If she didn't marry Captain Harris, Papa would make her life hell. He would force her to apologize to David, which was unthinkable. As mortified as she was that the letter had ended up in the papers, she saw no reason she should apologize when David was the one who'd wronged her.

Besides, if the press discovered that she had written the letter, everything would turn even uglier. It would mean a huge scandal, and Papa would make sure she suffered for it.

But if she ran off with Captain Harris, Papa could never hurt her again. She would have her own household and a dashing husband who cared about her. In time she would surely come to love him.

When she smiled faintly at the thought, Captain Harris clutched her hand to his heart. “Is that a yes, dear Charlotte?” he asked, his eyes almost as lovely as David's.

Thrusting the traitorous comparison from her mind, she covered his hand with hers. “Indeed it is, sir. I accept your proposal.”

Richmond, England
November 1824

S
haken by her encounter with the ghosts of her past, Charlotte stood at her office window watching David ride off in his carriage. He had not changed. He was still as aggressive and bold as ever.

She rather liked that about him.

In recent years, she had grown used to making men dance to her tune. From the moment she had established this school, she had sworn that no man would ever bully her as Papa had done. No man would ever use her for his own purposes as her late husband had done. In her little domain,
she
was in control.

Even Cousin Michael had respected her boundaries. It had been wonderful to have a friendship with a man who knew the difference between dictating and advising, whose very anonymity made it easy for her to talk honestly with him. And to keep at a distance.

David had never kept her at a distance—until she'd mailed that stupid letter that had cut them off forever.

She still couldn't believe no one else had ever learned who had written the thing, but within days the world had figured out for certain that David was its subject. That
cursed dressing gown had said it all. Who could have known he was the only viscount's son from Cambridge who'd ever worn a striped dressing gown?

By then, Charlotte had been newly married to Jimmy, and in no position to do anything about it. So she'd had to watch in abject mortification as David was vilified in the press. Even though she had still hated him for his betrayal, she had not wanted him to suffer public humiliation.

There had been mocking caricatures printed for the shops, irate letters to the paper. He had been given the cut direct by half the ladies in good society. After all, it was one thing for a well-born buck to live a dissolute life—it was quite another to do it so indiscreetly that young ladies wrote letters to the newspaper about him.

Although his friends had rallied around to protect him as best they could, every barmaid he had ever drunkenly bussed had told her story for the press, and every sin he had ever committed was trotted out for the public's amusement.

Through it all, David had remained utterly silent, never revealing her name. At the time, she had assumed it was because he had not wanted her to tell her side of the story, making him look even worse than he already did.

Now she knew better. Years later, she had learned that Giles, not David, had been the one wearing the robe on that awful night. And her shame had been complete.

It still filled her with horror to think of what she had done so impetuously. Granted, her fear of her father had been very real, and she had truly believed that David was toying with her affections. Still, she should have taken proper care to make sure the letter never fell into the wrong hands. Her pique and cowardice had ruined David's reputation for a long time.

What might her life have been like if she had gone to him in person instead of writing that stupid letter? Or what if he had guessed his brother's part in the matter and came after her to reveal her mistaken assumptions?

A sigh escaped her. She probably would not have believed him. She had been so certain of his bad character, so convinced of her own good judgment. Then she had compounded her mistake by running off with Jimmy. At the memory of Jimmy's proposal, she shook her head. Foolish, silly girl. Live on love, indeed. What a joke that had proved to be.

She turned away from the window. Not that Jimmy hadn't cared for her. Sometimes she thought he really had. Certainly they'd had some enjoyable times together. But in the end, the money had clouded everything.

Her elopement and the ensuing scandal had sent Papa over the edge. He'd had a stroke, dying before he could change his will and disinherit her. Her mother had followed shortly after. As a result, Charlotte had received a very handsome inheritance. All of which merely compounded her guilt and shame. She couldn't help blaming herself for her parents' deaths.

Jimmy had told her not to. But then, Jimmy had been eager to spend her money, so he had hardly cared how it had come to them. Unfortunately, spending her inheritance had been his right as her husband. It had taken him a mere two years to work through the entirety by living extravagantly and investing badly.

By the time he had made the mistake of insulting a fellow officer and dying on the dueling field for it, there had been only enough money left to pay for his funeral. And even then, she'd had to borrow against his small pension.

Thank heaven she had been able to find a position with a girls' school in Chelsea, or who knows how she would have lived?

“Good morning, Charlotte,” boomed a robust male voice behind her.

She jumped, then spun around to find her closest male friend standing in the doorway. “For heaven's sake, Charles, don't startle me like that!”

Charles Godwin quirked up one blond brow. “Actually, since I'm ten minutes late, I expected you to be out front tapping your foot, ready to remind me how busy you are when school's in session.”

Late? For what?

Suddenly it hit her. He had promised to take her into town to view the Angerstein Collection today, so she could make sure that the paintings would be acceptable viewing for her girls. “Oh Lord, I completely forgot. I am so sorry.”

With a smile that looked forced, he entered the room. “Does your sudden lapse of memory have anything to do with the fact that I just saw Kirkwood's carriage leaving here?”

Merciful heaven, this was awkward. Unable to meet his eyes, she went to sit behind her desk. “As a matter of fact, yes. He came here to discuss a matter of business.”

“Business?” Suspicion darkened his handsome features.

Charles was the only person alive, other than David's family, who knew about her and David. She hadn't even told Cousin Michael, unable to bear letting him know the worst about her.

But Charles knew it. Indeed, that was how she and the newspaperman had become friends. If anyone could ad
vise her, it was he. Like Cousin Michael, he never pressed her beyond what she would accept.

Gesturing to a chair, she waited until Charles dropped into it before explaining about David's visit and Sarah's bequest.

When she mentioned the amount, Charles's blue gaze narrowed. “That doesn't sound like Sarah.”

“No,” she agreed. “But Lord Kirkwood insists that she was always a supporter of the school.”

“It must really stick in his craw that the woman who once destroyed his reputation will now receive a hefty portion of his wife's money.”

“If it did, I saw no sign of it. He said that what happened between him and me is all in the past. And he acted as if it truly were.”

“Ah, I see.”

But Charles did not
look
as if he saw anything. He looked shaken. And she feared she knew why. Although Charles had been devastated by the death of his wife, Judith, a couple of years ago, in the past few months he had made it clear that he was ready to move on with his life. Judging from his recent behavior, which was more like a suitor's than a friend's, his readiness to move on included Charlotte.

She did not know what to do about it. She had always liked him a great deal, but had never thought of him as a man she could marry. She had been quite close to Judith, and it seemed disloyal to contemplate him as anything but her old friend's husband. She suspected that the only reason he had not yet asked her to marry was that he realized how awkward things would become between them if she refused him.

Sometimes she wondered if
he
might be Cousin Michael. After all, Charles had come into a fortune through an uncle around the time of Jimmy's death—it was what he had used to purchase the failing
Morning Tattler
and transform it from a gossipy rag into the
London Monitor,
a radical paper advocating government reform. Being married, he would have wanted to keep his involvement with her school very private.

Still, she had read his editorials—which bore no resemblance to Cousin Michael's style. And if indeed Charles had been masquerading as her cousin all those years, why continue to do so now that he did not have Judith's feelings and reputation to protect?

“May I see the document Kirkwood brought you?” Charles asked.

“Of course.” She handed it to him.

He took his time, reading it more carefully than she'd had a chance to. “Only an attorney could say for certain, but it seems legitimate.”

“Why wouldn't it be legitimate?”

“Because it makes no sense. Sarah was certainly vain enough to want a building named after her, but this nonsense about having Kirkwood oversee the design seems blatantly intended to throw you and her husband together. That isn't something she would do, even from the grave.”

Heat rose in Charlotte's cheeks. “Sarah did not know about my previous association with her husband.”

“You can't be sure of that. Husbands say a great many things in the privacy of the marital bed.”

She sucked in a breath. That had not even occurred to her, though it would explain why Sarah had always been so nasty toward her. “So what are you saying? That Lord
Kirkwood
invented
this legacy? Why? What would it accomplish?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps he wants to begin where the two of you left off. This gives him an excuse for doing so.”

A wild laugh escaped her. “You must be joking. What I did to him was unforgivable.”

Charles gazed steadily at her. “You're a beautiful and successful woman, Charlotte. Perhaps after marriage to Silly Sarah, Kirkwood wants a wife with more character.”

There was no mistaking the jealousy in Charles's voice. She rose, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken.

“If even I,” Charles went on, “who didn't know you at the time, recognized how you were hurting when you wrote that letter, then perhaps he did, too.”

“Do not be a fool.” She went to stand at the window. “According to Anthony, who told me about it without knowing of my involvement, David Masters only spoke of me once to his friends. Although he would not reveal my identity even with them, he called me a vile name and thanked God that he had not ended up ‘leg-shackled to a woman who was half-mad.' Does that sound to you like a man who could tell I was ‘hurting'?”

“It sounds like a man in the heat of anger,” Charles said. “But eighteen years gives a person time to cool down. And you said yourself that he didn't act today as if he were angry.”

“No, but neither did he act as if he were eager to court me. David always was able to put a good face on things when necessary.”

“David?”
Charles echoed, always the observant man of the press. “After all these years, you still think of him by
his Christian name?” As she cursed her quick tongue, he added, “You must still have feelings for him.”

She whirled around, startled. “Do not be absurd. That is well in the past.”

He studied her for a long moment. “If you say so.”

She managed a smile. “This is nonsense. Sarah undoubtedly did this out of vanity, and thought it would be great fun to force her husband into being part of it.” Walking to her desk, she picked up the notebook she was taking to the Angerstein exhibit in Pall Mall. “Let's go. If we do not leave soon, we will not have time to view the paintings before you have to be back at the paper.”

“I can spare a day.” He rose, his gaze still on her. “Besides, after we're done at the exhibit, we should pay a visit to my friend Robert Jackson. He may be able to shed more light on this interesting document of Kirkwood's.”

“I already intend to bring it to
my
attorney.”

“Do not take this wrong, my dear, but while your attorney is perfectly acceptable for dealing with parent contracts and vendor agreements, you need someone with a specialized knowledge of estate law. Jackson has that.”

A sigh escaped her. She hated it when he was right. “Very well.” She set her shoulders. “But I will pay the attorney's fee.”

“For God's sake, Charlotte, let me—”

“I mean it. Either I pay the fee or I do not use him.”

With an exasperated look, he offered his arm. “As you wish, madam. Though I don't understand why you must always be so willful.”

Cautious, more like. Though she took his arm and let him lead her out, she had learned the hard way that a woman was responsible for saving herself. Relying on a man
was dicey business. She had relied on Jimmy to save her, and instead he had left her destitute. Then she had been forced to rely on Cousin Michael for help, and even the man she'd come to regard as a friend had abandoned her.

Men were not the solution to her problems, and Charles most certainly was not. He would expect nothing less than love from her, and she did not feel that for him. She had married once without love, so she saw no point in doing it again, even if Charles
was
twice the man that Jimmy had been. She wasn't even sure love was wise anyway. She had fancied herself in love with David, and it had only brought them heartache.

Besides, she was thirty-six, for heaven's sake. A marriage at this age would be absurd.

Though a love affair would not be unwelcome.

The thought came out of thin air, as shocking as it was tantalizing. She had considered it before, of course, but she had always dismissed it because of the school and the necessity of upholding her reputation. But with the school in trouble and the now unattached David coming back into her life…

She stifled a curse. What was she thinking? That would be the height of madness.

“You know, Charlotte, there might be yet another reason that Kirkwood came to you with this bequest,” Charles said, startling her.

“What is that?” she breathed, praying that he did not guess the reason for the sudden tension in her.

“Perhaps Sarah
did
leave you the money out of vanity. But if it were in a codicil, Kirkwood might have influenced the attorney to write the contract he gave you in such a way as to involve himself in the process.”