Wed Him Before You Bed Him (31 page)

D
avid awoke in a sun-drenched room with his leg throbbing like the devil. It took a second for him to realize that he was in his own bed at the estate, wearing only his shirt. How did he get here? All he could remember was staring up at the dark night sky as Charlotte rowed—

“Charlotte,” he murmured through a mouth that felt dry as toast.

“Well, well, I see the patient is finally awake.”

He swung his gaze toward the decidedly male voice and felt keen disappointment when he spotted Pinter lounging in an arm chair. Where was Charlotte? Had he dreamed that she'd said she would never leave him? And that last part…He could swear she'd said she loved him. Though he wasn't sure of that. Everything was fuzzy.

“You've given everyone quite a scare, my lord,” Pinter went on. “But you're a very lucky man. If that knife had been an inch to the left, you would never have made it off the island. Mrs. Harris's deft doctoring helped, as well. Your brother-in-law was not so lucky.”

“Is he…”

“Yes. Quite dead.”

“So we'll never know if…”

“Actually, we know it all now. Not only did he confess everything to Mrs. Harris, but we caught up to his compatriots, and they confirmed what she said, since they heard
the entire conversation. According to Mrs. Harris, Linley argued with your wife and pushed her into the tub, where she hit her head on the edge. When she lost consciousness and sank under, he just stood by and watched her drown.”

Scowling, David struggled into a sitting position.

“Here now,” Pinter said, leaning forward in alarm, “I don't know if you should be doing that.”

“I'm fine,” David gritted out, though he was careful to favor his leg as he settled himself. “I want to know everything.”

Pinter told him the entire story. It sounded exactly like something Richard would do when cornered, even down to the forged note.

“If he hadn't been so greedy,” Pinter finished, “I daresay we would never have known of his crime. But he just had to squeeze more money out of you. And that was his great mistake.”

David shook his head, appalled. Such a waste of a life. Richard had always been an impulsive hothead, but to kill his sister and then try to profit from her death…

“So we can pronounce this case closed, my lord. And I hope you'll accept the profound apologies of the magistrate's office—” Pinter paused. “I hope you'll accept
my
sincerest apologies. I shouldn't have been so ready to accuse you.”

David could afford to be generous, now that he was no longer living under a cloud of suspicion. “You were doing your job. I would have expected no less of the man who set out to find my wife's killer.”

“There's a bit more to it than that—but I'll save that tale for another day.”

The bedchamber door burst open, and Charlotte
walked in carrying a tray. “The doctor says if we can get him conscious long enough to swallow a little broth, he might—”

She dropped the tray with a cry of joy. “David, you're all right!” Running to the bed, she grabbed his head and showered kisses on his brow, his cheek…everywhere except where he wanted them.

“I'll have to get stabbed more often.” He cupped her head and pulled her down for a long, lingering kiss that she returned with such enthusiasm that his heart soared.

She drew back blushing, her gaze flitting to Pinter.

Pinter rose. “I believe that's my signal to leave,” he said with a chuckle. “Now that I'm sure you're going to live, my lord, I had best get back to London. If you ever need anything…”

“You'll be the first man I ask,” David answered.

As Pinter slipped out, David gazed up at the woman he adored. Her beautiful eyes were bloodshot, her gown was decidedly indecent without its fichu, and her hair was a rat's nest. She'd never looked lovelier.

He patted the bed. “Sit with me, my love.”

“I don't want to hurt you—” she began, but when he tugged her arm rather forcefully, she acquiesced.

As she stretched out beside him on the bed, he drew her against his shoulder. “It appears that you saved my life, looking after my wound and rowing me to land.”

She laid her hand on his chest. “It was the least I could do, after you risked your life for me.”

That comment made him frown. “And that was the only reason? Because you were grateful?”

“You know it was not,” she murmured, lifting her face to his.

The adoration in her eyes made his breath catch in his throat. Even in their youth, she'd never looked at him with such sweet caring.

Perversely, it roused his guilt anew. “I've spent the past week in agony, wanting to explain everything to you better but not being able to because—”

“I know. Mr. Pinter told me about the trap you laid.”

He cast her a rueful glance. “It didn't turn out quite how we'd planned.”

“Fancy that,” she teased, eyes twinkling. “A plan of yours going awry. Who would have thought?”

“It certainly wasn't my only plan that has gone awry of late.” Though he was loath to bring it up, he had to know where they stood. “Last night you said you forgave me for the whole Cousin Michael masquerade. Did you mean that?” He held his breath for her answer.

She dropped her gaze. “You hurt me badly, you know.”

“I know,” he choked out.

“You should have told me the truth—if not right away, then once we were lovers.”

“Yes. I have no excuse, and I wasn't fair to you. I was treating you like the girl of eighteen I knew in my youth, and not like the sensible, intelligent creature I knew from our letters.”

Oddly enough, that blunt statement made her smile. “Do you know what I spent the past week doing?”

“Cursing my name?”

“Reading your letters.”

He blinked. “All of them?”

“All 1,263 of them. Give or take a few.”

He wasn't sure what to make of that. “And what did you determine from that?”

“Well, first of all, that I should have guessed who you were from the very first arrogant statement you made,” she said dryly.

A chuckle escaped him. “Was I that transparent?”

“Now that I know the truth, yes.” She toyed with the buttons on his shirt. “But I also realized how important you had been to the school all these years. And to me. I realized that no matter how your masquerade began, it became an act of true friendship.”

He let out a breath. “So you did mean what you said last night about forgiving me,” he rasped.

“Yes.” Gently, she kissed his jaw, then his lips.

“And what you said about loving me.”

“You heard that?” she said, surprise in her voice.

“As if in a dream. I thought I might have imagined it.”

“No,” she said, a tender smile gracing her lips. “I did say it. I love you, David.”

He took his heart in his hands and risked everything. “Does that mean you'll marry me?” When she took a breath, he pressed a finger to her lips and said, “Before you answer, I want you to know that I will take you however I can get you. You can continue to run the school, and I will live there, too, if you'll let me. Mother or Giles can run the estate. Just marry me, sweeting. That's all I want.”

A minxish laugh bubbled out of her. “The last thing I need is a school full of young ladies trailing after my husband with adoring looks. You'd have them all in love with you in under a week.” When he scowled, she sobered. “You were right, you know. I
was
using the school to protect myself. From men, from life, from you.”

She cupped his cheek. “But I don't need that protection anymore. I've discovered that I want to have something
else in my life as well.
Someone
else. So as soon as you're well enough, I'll be hiring a headmistress.”

Joy coursed through him. At last Charlotte was his! Not for a night or a month or the span of an illicit affair, but for all eternity. “Sweeting, if that means you're agreeing to marry me, I'm well enough right now to leap from this bed and do a jig.”

“Don't you dare!” she said, trying not to laugh as she gave him a stern look. “After what I went through to get you to a doctor, I'll stab you myself if you open up your wound.”

He laughed, giddy with the thought of finally belonging to Charlotte, of having her belong to him. “I'll refrain from the jig then, considering that you braved the great Thames itself to save me. However did you manage that?”

“By thinking of what I would lose if you didn't live,” she said earnestly.

“And what is that?”

“My mind. My heart. My soul.”

Overcome with emotion, he kissed her, this time with more leisure. And more heat. When he drew back, it was to ask, “How soon can we be married?”

She arched one eyebrow. “Not until your mourning period is up. I shall not have people thinking—”

His mouth blotted out the rest of her sentence. They kissed deeply, so deeply he was sure she could feel the thumping of his heart beneath her hand.

He tore his lips from hers. “Wrong answer, sweeting. Let's try that again. When can we be married?”

“Now, David—” she began with a frown, but this time when he tried to kiss her, she held back. “I mean it. We are going to do this right.”

“You're just tormenting me to repay me for all my machinations,” he grumbled. “You're going to spend the next few months driving me insane, parading your lovely self about town, tempting me to madness, and making me eat crow. By the time the wedding comes, I'll be like clay in your hands.”

“What a lovely idea,” she said smugly.

“Watch it, minx,” he murmured as he drew down the sleeve of her bodice. “If you think I'll go six months without bedding you again, you have another think coming.”

Her eyes gleamed. “Well, my lesson on that subject
has
always been ‘wed him before you bed him.'”

“You already broke that rule.” He pressed a kiss to the slope of her bosom, then eased her gown down more when her breathing quickened. “Besides, I like your other lesson better.”

“What other lesson?”

“Love him before you wed him. As much as he loves you.” He gazed into her eyes, his heart full. “Because that alone takes care of everything.”

With a smile, she looped her arms about his neck. “I do believe you're right, my love.”

I
n the end, David got his way, and they were married within two months. Not because of his powers of persuasion, or even his prowess in the bedchamber. Charlotte discovered she was carrying his child.
That
consideration trumped all others.

Nor could Charlotte regret the hasty ceremony, now that they were enjoying their wedding breakfast on the new grounds of the school, surrounded by family, friends, and students. She would never have survived six months living apart from David. Besides, whenever they were in a room together, the whole world could see they were in love. There hadn't seemed much point in delaying the inevitable. Especially since the papers had finally lost interest in the story of Sarah's murder and had gone on to other scandals.

Of course, the Linleys had been hurt by their haste. Coming on the heels of losing both a daughter and a son, they were reeling from their pain. They did not begrudge David his happiness, but they did not seem in any hurry to embrace it, either. Charlotte wasn't sure if that could ever change. She suspected it would be a long time before they came to terms with the fact that their son-in-law had killed their son, who had admitted to killing their daughter.

“So where are you going for your honeymoon trip?” David's friend Anthony Dalton, Lord Norcourt, asked.
Beside him was his wife, Madeline, a former teacher at the school. She held the couple's newborn son, Toby, in her arms, and Charlotte had already made a fool of herself talking baby talk to him while David teased her for it.

“We're going to Italy, actually.” David tucked Charlotte's hand in the crook of his arm. “It was Charlotte's idea. She's always wanted to see Venice, and she claims she'll be all right if the ship is large enough. But I suspect we'll spend most of the voyage closeted in our cabin.”

“Closeted in a cabin with your lovely wife,” Anthony said. “Whatever will you do for entertainment?”

David and his friends laughed, while their wives rolled their eyes.

“We invited the newlyweds to visit us in the Highlands,” said Lady Venetia, a former pupil of Charlotte's, “but we couldn't tempt them.”

“And no wonder,” David's friend Lord Stoneville quipped. “Winter in the Highlands is ghastly.”

“It's not so bad,” Lady Venetia's Highlander husband, Sir Lachlan Ross, put in. “You haven't lived until you've seen the Highlands covered in snow.”

Major Winter strode up to the group with his wife in tow. He was scowling at Sir Lachlan. “Have we met before today, sir?” he asked. “Your brogue sounds very familiar.”

A strange expression came over Sir Lachlan's face, and he shot his wife an oddly panicked glance.

“I can't imagine when you would have met,” Venetia said hastily.

David's cousin frowned. “I could swear I heard that voice when I was in Scotland—”

“I daresay we Highlanders all sound alike,” Sir Lachlan broke in.

Venetia glanced across the grounds. “If you'll excuse us, it looks as if our son Ian is heading for the road. Come, Lachlan, we'd best go catch him before he gets into trouble.”

They hurried off, making Charlotte wonder what
that
was all about. The only Highlanders Major Winter had met in Scotland were the masked ones who'd kidnapped him and Amelia years ago. And they were all dead. Or so she'd heard.

“Mrs. Harris…beg pardon…Lady Kirkwood, is it true what I just heard about Samuel Pritchard?” asked another voice as two couples walked up to join the group.

The man who'd spoken was another of David's friends, the Duke of Foxmoor. He had his wife, Louisa, in tow, and walking beside them was his cousin Colin Hunt, the Earl of Monteith, and the earl's wife, Eliza, another former pupil of the school.

“Colin tells me,” Foxmoor went on, “that Pritchard's scheme to sell Rockhurst fell through.”

Charlotte laughed. “Indeed it did. The licensing board decided that it might not be in Richmond's best interest to have a racecourse so close to their lofty residents. Once Mr. Watson heard he wouldn't be able to get the license he needed, he backed out of their deal.”

“So then Pritchard came crawling to me asking if I wanted to buy it,” David added. “After months with no buyer and his prime deal falling through, he was growing a bit short of funds.”

“David considered it,” Charlotte said, “but we like Lord Stoneville's property so much better.”

“You ought to,” Stoneville grumbled. “Damned good piece of property. If not for my grandmother's nonsense,
I wouldn't even—” Realizing that every eye was on him, he scowled. “Kirkwood paid me a decent price, never you fear.”

“Considering the sorts of activities that used to go on here,” Foxmoor remarked, “the neighborhood must be thrilled to exchange Stoneville for a girl's school.”

Everyone laughed. Stoneville rolled his eyes.

“I still don't understand why you had to leave the old property,” Louisa said, “Surely Cousin Michael would have allowed you—”

“As it turns out, he did not own it,” Charlotte said smoothly. “He only had a lien on it for the rents, and that was about to end. Mr. Pritchard owned it, and since it's entailed, we could never have bought the place.” She cast David a teasing smile. “My husband felt it was time that the school had some permanency, so he didn't even countenance Mr. Pritchard's offer to continue renting it. And then with Cousin Michael dying, there seemed no point to it anyway.”

“Cousin Michael died?” Eliza exclaimed, with the others joining in the shock.

“Yes. A few days ago.” Charlotte ignored how Amelia and Major Winter smiled. “It was very sad. Mr. Baines was beside himself with grief over it.”

Charlotte was glad she and David had decided to let Cousin Michael die a natural death. Telling everyone his true identity would have meant resurrecting their painful past together, and the last thing they needed was another scandal. Only Amelia and Major Winter knew the truth.

And Charles Godwin, who was noticeably absent from their wedding celebration. He had taken the news of her impending marriage harder than expected, so she could
forgive him for not attending. She only hoped he would find someone else to love one day.

“So will we ever know who your cousin really was?” Foxmoor asked.

“I'm afraid it looks to remain a mystery. Mr. Baines still refuses to reveal it.” Charlotte squeezed David's arm. “Though I shall always be grateful to him for his years of friendship and kindness.”

A sudden ruckus near one of the tables caught everyone's attention. Terence was trying valiantly—and unsuccessfully—to subdue a group of squabbling children. The parents rushed over to pull their young ones away from each other and settle disputes. Stoneville took the opportunity to go refill his glass. That left Charlotte and David alone for the first time since the ceremony.

David gazed over at the melee. “See what we have to look forward to?” he murmured, nudging her belly meaningfully.

That was something else they hadn't told anyone about. It wasn't exactly the thing in either of their circles to marry with a babe in one's belly. Not to mention that the last thing her students needed was
that
sort of example. The new headmistress might be in place already, but her young ladies still regarded Charlotte as their true guide. She still ran the teas for heiresses, after all.

“After everything we have gone through, I think we can handle whatever our children throw at us,” she answered.

David was silent a moment. “Do you ever wonder how our lives might have been different if your letter had never been published? If I'd received it and come to demand the truth from you, and thus had found out about Giles? Might we now have been married for eighteen years?”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps I would never really have trusted you, stung by that incident.” She squeezed his arm. “Besides, I think I got to know you better because of your masquerade as Cousin Michael than I might have while playing the role of wife to a lord of the manor.”

“Sounds to me as if you miss Cousin Michael,” he said, an edge to his voice.

“I confess I will always have a soft spot for him.” She grinned at him. “Why? Don't tell me you're jealous of yourself.”

He looked pensive. “I was. That day when we looked at properties and you waxed eloquent about his virtues, I almost hated the man. Especially since I knew he didn't deserve the accolades you gave him.”

“That's not true,” she said gently. “Without him, I might never have realized my dream of a girl's school. And I would have lost something vital to who I am. I learned a great deal from our letters.”

“So did I.”

“Oh? And what did
you
learn, sir?”

“Why, how to seduce a prim and proper schoolmistress.”

Tugging her into a nearby copse, David backed her against a tree. It had been nearly a week since they'd made love—and judging from the quickening of her husband's breath as he leaned in close, he was as aware of that as she.

He flashed her a decidedly wolfish smile. “I learned how to read between the lines. And what I read taught me how to make you burn.”

“Well, then,” she said as she pulled his head down to hers. “Thank God for Cousin Michael.”