An Heir of Deception (32 page)

“I’m sorry.”

With a shake of her head, Miss Foster was the ever efficient
modiste
again. “Please forgive me, milady. No one need have to listen to the regrets of an aging dressmaker. Shall we begin?” She continued before Charlotte could respond. “I made several sketches of gowns sure to flatter your figure and selected some fabrics I think will look wonderful with your coloring.”

Eager to proceed, Charlotte began poring over the sketches and samples, well on her way to selecting a gown to rival the best Worth had to offer.

Alex read the letter a second time before calling for Alfred, who promptly appeared in the library.

“Yes, milord.”

“Please send Conrad,” he said briskly, glancing down to look at the date of the letter for the third time.

“Yes, milord.” With that he was gone.

Alex let out a curse. The solicitor’s office had written to tell him that Mr. Reynolds had resigned his position the day before. The letter was dated three weeks prior, so why had it only now just made its way onto his desk? Conrad had better have a good explanation for that.

Also contained in the letter was the fact the changes he’d made to his will hadn’t been properly drawn up—their humblest apologies accompanied that infuriating sentence. They’d require his signature
again
. If he could wait a fortnight, they’d send one of the other solicitors out with the new papers.

But Alex would have none of that. The matter should have been settled five weeks ago. He’d simply have to go to their office in London. If he left in the next few hours, he’d be able to go to their office when they opened in the morning and he’d be back home before noon.

“Milord, I’m unable to locate Mr. Conrad,” Alfred intoned.

Alex sat up straight in his chair. “Not here? Where is he? I don’t remember today being his day off.”

“I knocked on his door but he did not answer.”

“Did you go in?”

Alfred came as close to a gasp as he’d ever heard. “Milord, I do not possess a key for his office or his personal quarters.”

Yes indeed, dare he forget. Conrad, as the house steward, had a set of the master keys and Alex had the other, which he kept somewhere in the master suite. But he didn’t have time for that as it appeared he’d be taking a trip to London to get this whole mess with his will sorted out.

“Well when he arrives, if I’m still in residence, send him to me at once.” Where the hell was he? He’d better not be lifting the skirts of one of the housemaids. Conrad knew they were off-limits. He was young and the women considered him handsome, so there was no reason he wouldn’t be able to find his enjoyment elsewhere. During his work hours, he should be here and readily available when the lord of the house called.

Alfred gave a stiff nod and took his leave.

He’d have to inform Charlotte he was leaving. Not that it would change her routine. It had been two weeks since Lucas Beaumont had arrived and since he’d last visited her bed. Sexual frustration was now his constant companion. And he had only himself to blame for that.

But by the time he’d gotten over his anger and jealousy—which he’d finally admitted to—they’d gone two nights alone in their respective beds. He’d stubbornly hoped she’d come to him, just once. He’d always gone to her and although she’d been eager—wild for it—he wondered if she’d ever come if he did not. He received his answer. She would not.

Now she barely spoke to him and had started coming down to breakfast long after he’d gone. Dinner was the only time he saw her, where she sat coolly polite, eating her supper and making no attempt at conversation. She didn’t look as if she missed him. Certainly not as he missed her. Another thing he’d finally admitted to himself as he’d lain on his bed these past several nights staring up at the ceiling. And with each passing day, it grew harder and harder to remember the time when
she
wanted them to be truly man and wife.

All he knew was this impasse could not go on any longer. He was tired, grumpy and frustrated.

Bloody hell, he wanted his wife.

And as if he could conjure her up with his thoughts, she entered, saw him and said, “Oh, I didn’t know the library was occupied.” She moved to depart as if, apart from supper, they couldn’t remain in the same room at the same time.

“Charlotte,” he said, calling her back.

She turned to him and the sight of her started an ache he knew would take hours to subside. She wore her hair down, the curls falling about her face and trailing midway down her back. Her dress skimmed her hips and thighs, as it was obvious she wasn’t wearing one of those crinolines or whatever they called them now. Her figure looked fuller all around, which would make her about the same size she’d been five years ago.

“I must leave for London today to take care of a business matter. I should return by noon tomorrow.”

“Oh,” she said, looking disappointed.

The most emotion he’d seen her express in little over a week. Progress.

“Have you forgotten Thomas, Amelia, Elizabeth and Derek are arriving today? The ball is next Saturday.”

Damn, he hadn’t intended to miss their arrival. It seemed a dog’s year since he’d seen his friends for any great length of time. Calling to coerce them into helping him perpetrate a fraudulent marriage did not count. Hell, these days he barely spoke to Rutherford. And he’d freely admit the blame was his. When he returned tomorrow, that would all change.

“I shall call on them as soon as I return. Do send my apologies but this matter will not wait.” He rose, circled the desk and strode to where she stood next to the door, her hand on the handle as if waiting to bolt.

She swallowed as he grew closer. “Was there anything else?” she asked, her voice even, her smile strained and her knuckles white.

She was affected.
Thank God for that.

“I should like us to speak when I return.” He watched her mouth as he spoke. So pink and soft, and exquisitely talented.

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. And in her eyes, he saw what he had felt all those nights he’d spent alone in his bed. Wishing for her. Dreaming of her.

Her gaze flew to his eyes. “I should like that also,” she said softly.

If he kissed her now, he wouldn’t stop and the sooner he went to London, the sooner he’d be back home.

“Tell Nicholas I said goodbye. I will take him fishing when I return,” he said, his voice gruff.

Charlotte nodded.

He stroked the flesh just above her elbow—it was the only place he’d allow himself to touch—and took his leave.

When he reached the stairs and glanced back, she stood in the same place watching him, a mysterious smile on her face.

That look remained in his mind all the way to London.

When Charlotte arrived at her brother’s house two hours later, after Alex had departed, she found the women in the morning room gathered around the fireplace in animated discussion.

All gazes swung to her when she entered and all conversation halted. Elizabeth sprang to her feet and rushed immediately toward her amid a chorus of cheerful greetings.

“Charlotte, you’re positively glowing,” Elizabeth said, hugging her tightly and pressing an affectionate kiss to her cheek. She smelled of gardenias with a hint of talcum powder.

Charlotte’s smile widened. “And I must say motherhood suits you as I knew it would.”

A more contented smile could not have lit her friend’s face. “Today I was introduced to that young man of yours. Absolutely delightful. He and my Annabelle are getting on like a house on fire. But Johnny cries because he can’t keep up with his older sister.”

When he’d learned more children would be arriving the following day, Nicholas hadn’t wanted to come home so he’d stayed the night at her brother’s.

“Elizabeth, you mustn’t keep Charlotte all to yourself. Ladies, do come sit down,” Amelia called out from the sofa.

“Where are the men?” Charlotte asked, equally anxious to see them as well.

“Oh you know men, if they are not playing games or wagering money, they’re not satisfied with their lot in life,” Missy said with the cheek and confidence of a woman who knew her husband loved her to distraction.

Amelia, who hadn’t changed a dot since Charlotte last saw her, sprang to her feet and embraced her. Raven-haired with eyes the color of sapphires, Viscountess Armstrong was beautiful. They’d become acquainted two years before Charlotte left when Thomas had brought her to Rutherford Manor for Christmas. She’d quickly grown to love Amelia just as everyone else had—including her husband.

“Welcome home,” Amelia said softly in her ear before releasing her.

Tears pricked the back of Charlotte’s eyes. “Oh Amelia.”

“Don’t you dare cry,” Amelia warned on a teasing note. “I cried quite enough when I was pregnant with Daniel. My poor daughter thought I was dying—or someone was dying. I had to hide in my chambers and lock the door so as not to distress her when the waterworks started.”

Everyone laughed as Amelia resumed her seat and Charlotte sat beside Elizabeth on the sofa.

“Lottie, you needn’t worry, I won’t cry this time,” Katie said from the balloon chair opposite.

The morning door opened and in forged—many would say—three of the most handsome men in all of London. Had Alex been present, he’d have rounded out the quartet quite nicely.

Thomas was the first to see her.

“Charlotte.” It was a greeting and a hallelujah all rolled into that one word. His voice prompted Charlotte to her feet as she maneuvered the ottoman and the tea cart to rush into his arms much the same way her son had done to Lucas.

Laughing and smiling, Thomas caught her in his arms, pulling her into the strength and warmth of his embrace.

“Thomas. Oh, Thomas.” Never had a face looked so golden and handsome. And welcome.

“How is it possible that you look exactly the same?” Thomas asked, his dimpled, lean-cheeked face beaming down at her.

“And how is it possible you grow more handsome every time I see you?” she asked, feeling perilously close to shedding still more tears. Goodness, since she’d returned to England, she’d turned into a watering pot; tears spouting at every turn.

“I suggest you check your vision because the man is as gruesome as they come,” came Derek’s wry rejoinder from behind them.

This brought a round of guffaws, chortles and raucous laughter from his friends.

“Don’t listen to him,” Thomas said sotto voce. “He’s just jealous that of all your brother’s friends, I am your favorite.”

“I daresay, Cartwright would claim otherwise,” Derek shot back smartly. Quirking his brow, he asked, “Do I not deserve a greeting even if you won’t throw yourself at me and tell me I’m the most handsome man on earth?”

Giggling, Charlotte moved from Thomas’s arms into Derek’s. The same height as her husband, Derek encased her in his arms like a warm vise. After a prolonged embrace, he slowly released her.

“You look good,” he said, suddenly serious. “We missed you. My wife missed you intolerably. We’re glad you’re back.”

Charlotte’s throat closed up. Her five-year absence came back in a wave of regret.

“Darling, I forbid you from reducing poor Charlotte to tears,” Elizabeth lightly admonished her husband.