An Imprudent Lady (5 page)

In the aftermath, two things became clear to Daniel. First, that he’d never stopped loving Charlotte. Second, that his legs were falling asleep from pressing into the sharp edge of the desktop.

He propped himself above her gloriously disheveled figure. With her eyes still closed from her ecstasy, he was able to study her closely.

There were so many years between them. They had each lived an entire lifetime, and hers was etched in the faint feathering of skin at the corners of her eyes.

He didn’t care; he still wanted her. God, he always had, and he suspected he always would.

That was the crux of it, wasn’t it? That she’d never wanted him enough to keep him. Or to find him after her father had sent him away. Charlotte had never loved him in return. Or, maybe she had, in that distant, selfish way of the privileged.

He pulled back and stood, at once regretting it when the warmth of her thighs fell away from his hips.

When he’d offered the proposition, he had hoped to exorcise her from his system, once and for all. Now he felt exposed, vulnerable in a way he hadn’t been in years. But it was only the illusion of emotional intimacy that their physical congress had created.

“That was quite nice, my dear,” he said, then winced. He hadn’t meant to sound flippant, but no other words came. He fumbled with his clothes so he didn’t have to meet her gaze.

“Oh!” It was a tiny sound, as exclamations go, but he heard the embarrassment behind it. It took her longer, but she managed to wrestle her skirts down and her bodice up, though he was going to have to help her with the laces that she tried and failed to reach. Without a word, he stepped around to assist then offered her a hand down.

“I’m sorry, Charlotte. I didn’t mean that as it sounded.”

Charlotte stood, though she leaned against the desk as if her legs wouldn’t support her. The fire lent her an ethereal glow, and she absently patted at her hair, which had miraculously held its shape.

“It’s all right, Daniel.” Her smile was tremulous. “It
was
rather nice.”

The feeling of intimacy faded in the silence that descended like a blanket of snow. A shadow crossed Charlotte’s face as if she felt the change, too.

“About Angelica,” she said. She took a deep breath then let it out slowly. “There’s something you should know.”

He folded his arms and tilted his head. Why was she so preoccupied with the girl?

It was laughable that she thought he would notice another when she was around. Angelica might be pretty, but she wasn’t Charlotte. Vinedale was welcome to Angelica so far as he was concerned, not that he’d be so plain as to say so at the moment. He’d already made an ass of himself.

As she struggled for words, he began to grow concerned. Her complexion had turned waxy.

“Well?” he prompted. “What’s it to do with me, then? I’ve already told you I won’t court her.”

“Yes.” The whisper was so soft he could barely hear her.

“Why so concerned for her?” He smiled encouragingly. “Not that I mind a good show of jealousy from time to time, but whatever else you may think, I’m a man of my word. I’m not interested in your sister.”

“I’m not jealous,” she grit out. “That’s what I mean to tell you, Danny. It’s not to do with such a petty emotion. It’s…she’s…” Her voice cracked. “Mine. Yours.
Ours.
”

He froze.

She couldn’t mean what he thought…could she?

He stalked across the room toward her and, if it was possible, she paled even more. One hand settled on her stomach as if to still the turmoil within but she stared back, unblinking. The brave woman.

He leaned in farther. “Our
what
, Charlotte?”

She swallowed hard. “Our daughter.”

He cursed and reared back, swiftly calculating. By God, it could be. He’d never imagined. Emotions in turmoil, he moved away from Charlotte.

As if a dam had been breached, the words came rushing from her in a liberated stream. “I was so young and naive—I hadn’t any idea for a time. But Mother suspected, I think, because she announced a holiday and off we went—just the two of us—to Italy for the year. I couldn’t keep her as my own, of course,” she said and glanced his way before she returned to her study of the burgundy Oriental rug. “But I could keep her close if it was thought she was my sister. I didn’t need to give her up.”

Like you did me?

The room fell silent when she stopped talking. Daniel could only stare as her words pressed in on him. She wiggled in discomfort then began anew to fill the void.

“I named her for you. Angelica. You used to call me ‘angel’ and I wanted her to have your endearment even if she didn’t have you to raise her.”

His heart clenched. He’d lost so much more than he’d ever realized—stolen by her family when he was sent away. Somehow, he could justify that she hadn’t cared enough for him to write, but this…to keep this from him was unfathomable. She wasn’t blameless after all.

His temper finally snapped.

“You had
my
child
and you didn’t see fit to notify me? Send a simple note to give me the happy news?”

She floundered. “I…I tried, Daniel…but my letters—”

“I never received
any
letters from you. Nothing. No word. Ever.” He was unable to hold back the pain. When would it end?

She nodded. “I know that now but…well, that doesn’t matter,” she mumbled, then looked up. “Do you see now why I had to halt your interest? If you hadn’t received my letters, you couldn’t know….” She winced and let the words die.

He couldn’t hold back the rage and no longer wanted to. He had a child. With Charlotte.

“God
dammit
!” Nothing felt so good as the plaster giving way when his fist crashed into the wall. He struck three more times for good measure, darkly satisfied with the resultant hole and shattered wooden slats that gaped like a mouth full of broken teeth.

Her family had robbed him of this. By sending Daniel packing, her father hadn’t kept only Charlotte from him, but his own child. And now the daughter that he had never known was old enough to marry. It still didn’t seem possible, but he knew that it was.

He blamed her father. And her mother. And, yes, he even irrationally blamed Charlotte. His intellect told him that Charlotte had been as much a victim as he had, but his heart ached and demanded retribution.

“Get…out,” he said, so low and choked he wasn’t even sure it was a sound. When Charlotte reached an unsteady hand toward him, he rallied. “You and your damned family destroy everything you touch. Get the hell out of my house before I do you an injury.”

“Danny—”

“Now!”

He could feel the last shred of control giving way. Never in his life had he feared causing harm to someone he loved, but tonight was testing his limits. He had no idea what he might be capable of under the circumstances.

Charlotte must have sensed the danger, for she slipped out without a further word. Only the scent of orange blossoms lingered to taunt him.

He proceeded to aerate the plaster further before he was done.

Despite having cried herself out by the next evening, Charlotte was still unpresentable. Even to family members, if she’d had any inclination to join them, which she hadn’t. After sleepless hours of racking sobs, punctuated by the throbbing reminder of their lovemaking between her thighs, Charlotte was as listless as ever.

The pain was as consuming as it had been when she was sixteen years old and Daniel had disappeared. She had nearly forgotten the depth of the ache and wondered if she would be able to survive it this time.

It was amazing how silent the town house had become, now that her mother had departed for a fete with Angelica in tow. Even the servants had settled down as they finished their duties for the day. The stillness was a welcome salve to her ravaged emotions.

For the first time in hours, she rose from the tangled sheets of her bed and dispassionately studied her red-rimmed eyes in the mirror. She poured fresh water from the delicate blue china ewer and rinsed away the burn and brine from her tears.

Heavy footsteps on the stairs indicated that Ollie was still about and likely headed to his room to ready for his own nocturnal diversions. Usually he spent an evening at his club, away from society balls and routs and marriage-minded debutantes. So, when he rapped at her door, she was startled. Her head began to throb sharply, and she tugged on a robe for decency before opening the door.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Char, but I thought this might be the best opportunity to speak with you alone.”

“I’ve the megrims, Ollie. It’s not a good time….” She tried to close the door, but Ollie stepped forward to obstruct her.

“I know,” he said. “That’s why I’ve come. There’s something you need to see.”

She hesitated, but Ollie had that look of their mother at her most determined.

“Come in, then.” She waved him toward a chair while she curled up on the cream sofa before the hearth. She hugged a velvet pillow as if it could fill the emptiness within her. “What is it?”

He balanced a small coffer on his knee, cradled between his large hands. It was a simple little oak box, without markings or fancy fittings, of a type her father once used to collect inconsequential miscellanea.

“Do you know, I recall when Daniel Walsh used to come about. Before.”

She closed her eyes and the empty spot in her chest ached. This was the last thing she wanted to discuss. “I fail to see what that has—”

He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “You used to pine for him when he didn’t come about, and you conjured some very creative maladies that required his father to come and examine you. So that Daniel would come as well.” Ollie frowned, staring into the banked fire. “I was a few years younger and sent down from school for misbehavior the last time he came ‘round. Do you remember?”

“I suppose that I do,” she said softly. “Some business about painting the school master’s carriage pink, wasn’t it?”

His smile was brief. “Just so. Father was so angry he ordered me to my room for a fortnight. I used to sneak out to the orangery to break the tedium. No one ever went there.”

Charlotte froze. She and Daniel had frequently met in the orangery for just that reason.

“Or almost no one,” he continued, looking haunted, and she knew then that he’d discovered them.

She buried her face in the pillow, but it did nothing to stifle the heat flooding her cheeks. How embarrassing to be discovered trysting by one’s younger brother!

“Rest assured that I didn’t spy, Char. Whenever I came upon you, I simply returned to my room,” he added hastily and her discomfort eased a little. “What did I care what you were about? If it was something against Father’s endless rules, I was delighted to be an accomplice in the breaking of them.”

She smiled a little at the thought and relaxed as he talked, easing from the flimsy shelter of her pillow like a tortoise from its shell. She rested one cheek on the tufted edge and studied Ollie from her sideways position. Was he just looking to share bittersweet memories?

“Then Father called me from my confinement and announced that he was betrothing me. To Roberta Milligrew…” He grimaced. “God. Roberta Milligrew!”

His dismay was understandable. Roberta was at least five years older than Ollie and mean as a viper.

“I argued, Char, and pled my case. And, in the end I even begged, but Father was having none of it. ‘You won’t do better than Lady Roberta, so I’m securing her for you,’ he said. And, of course, what he meant was that eligible daughters of dukes were rare as hens’ teeth and he wouldn’t have anything less for
his
heir.” He shook his head. “The old goat.
He
wouldn’t have to live with her.”

“What did you do then?” Clearly, since he’d never married, he’d managed to get out of the bargain somehow.

He stared down at the gleaming little coffer, his knuckles whitening as he gripped it. Then he looked directly at her, eyes bleak.

“I demanded to know why
you
could have the boy of your choice while I had to settle for a nasty shrew I couldn’t even hold a conversation with.”

Her vision blurred around the edges. It was Ollie?

After all of these years, she had thought it was mere ill luck that had brought her father that fateful day. She would have sworn, before then that the Duke of Wainsborough hadn’t even been aware that he
owned
an orangery on that estate.

Ollie had given her over? Her beloved brother?

“I’ve come to beg your forgiveness, Charlotte. For the spiteful and jealous youth that I was and for the pain and loss I caused you by my careless words.” He swallowed hard. “I should have told you years ago, but I didn’t want you to hate me as you should have done. I’m so very, very sorry.”

Fat tears seared her cheeks and she squeezed the pillow tighter. Apparently she hadn’t yet cried herself dry after all.

“Oh, Ollie. Why do you tell me this now?”

“I’m shameless enough to never have mentioned it, Char. Except that it’s starting all over again between you, isn’t it? Or it could, if the past were put to rest. Am I right?”

“It’s all so raw. The pain’s fresh enough. Whether or not we can come to terms with the past, though, remains to be seen. It may be irredeemable.”

“That’s why I’ve come. Why I’m willing to show you my true nature as the horrible, selfish brother who ruined your life. No, don’t try to make me feel any better about this—it’s the truth, much to my shame.” Suddenly, he leaned forward and offered her the little wooden box. “I found this last year after Father died. I haven’t any idea why he saved them, other than to privately gloat.”

The clasp was worn and the box proved to be filled with papers. No…letters. Old letters, for they were yellowed and spotted with age and handling, and each was addressed to Charlotte with the same bold handwriting.
Daniel’s
handwriting.

With a gasp, she pushed aside the pillow and let the contents of the coffer spill across her lap.

Dozens and dozens of letters, and every one of them unopened. She stared at the sea of folded and sealed parchment, too frightened to open them, to know the contents.

“Father had these?” she whispered. “All of these years I thought Danny had left me without a word….”

“Yes.”

“How could he?”

“I’ll not defend the man, Char. I didn’t even like him.” Ollie stood up and crossed the room to push aside a curtain and stare into the dark night. “He did it a-purpose, that’s clear. But I’ll be damned if I’ll be an ally in this deceit any longer. If Mr. Walsh had never returned, I might have kept them—or better yet burned them—but he has and I can’t. You deserved to know the truth and to have them.”

Tentatively, as if expecting it to bite her for trying, she selected one, cracked the seal and unfolded the stiff missive.

My angel…

Tears began to flow anew, but she ignored them as her eyes devoured the contents of Daniel’s thoughts and words from across time.

How I long to hold you in my arms, forever…

…cannot blame your sire for thinking me an unworthy upstart…

…determined to prove my worth…

…I beg: Wait for me, beloved!