Lady of Sin (14 page)

A creak at the gate penetrated her swimming senses. Voices broke the silence of the yard. He glanced over at the sounds. His hand left her face.

“You will never know what, Nathaniel?”

They began retracing their path through the garden. He looked to the intruders but his eyes were hooded, as if he really looked inside himself. “I will just never know.”

CHAPTER
ELEVEN

H
e had to know, that was all there was to it.

Had he imagined the best of that night? Had he merely been besotted by the mood, the lighting, the mystery?

If so, he would let reality demolish the illusions. He was not inclined to live his life nostalgic over an experience that had been a fraud.

Evidence indicated that Charlotte had used him badly. Played him for a fool, to be frank about it. She may not have intended to. Unhappiness may have driven her to take impulsive risks, but she had still deceived him.

And yet . . . well, he had to know.

She was on her guard as they continued their little journey. She kept her abigail close and even insisted the maid share her chamber at inns. She managed never to be alone with him, as if she feared he would commence a seduction at the least provocation.

She averted her eyes, trying to deny the intimacies that bound them. She retreated into the contentious exchanges that had marked their conversations in the past.

He found that charming, and wondered if she suspected how hopeless her efforts were.

Their tour improved after New Shoreham. The assemblies went smoothly and the petitions gathered signatures. Charlotte performed alone. Nathaniel’s interference was not needed in the three towns they visited over the next days.

The true reason for the tour was less successful. Whenever they stopped at fishing villages on the coast, Nathaniel sought out an old woman called Jenny. He found four, but none of them had any knowledge of Harry or his mother.

“I fear we will not find her,” Charlotte said on the fifth afternoon. She had just completed her speech and was retreating from the room while townspeople surrounded the petition table. On passing him, she saw that he was perusing a map of the coast, circling the villages to be visited during the next few days.

“We will then return to London, with you relieved at our failure, and with me content I did my best for the boy.”

“I hope you understand that I do not want Harry left rootless.”

He understood that.

He did not blame her for hoping no Jenny would be found. He trusted that she did not blame him for looking, despite the potential danger in this search. It was an unlikely danger, he was concluding, but it was still there.

This was one of the things that still “much divided” them, as she had said in response to his proposal.

He had not truly believed she would agree to marriage, but had procured the license anyway. It was a way to assuage his discomfort at discovering just who his mystery goddess had been.

It had not been dutiful resignation that affected him when he finally held the license in his hand, however. His reaction had been lighthearted. Cautiously delighted. Her quick refusal had angered him.

Which was why he had to know.

“Is it your intention to stay here and visit those villages tomorrow?” she asked, angling her head to study the map.

“I have made other arrangements for our lodgings tonight. We should depart as soon as the petitions are completed.”

“Those villages are not far from here. We could avoid the extra time on the road if we remained at our current inn.”

Her color had risen a little. She kept her gaze on the map.

She suspected he was up to no good. Perhaps his restraint these last days had confused her. Or maybe she felt the anticipation coiling tighter in him with each passing hour.

“We will take lodgings tonight that are more spacious for you, and less rustic. I assumed that after five nights you would like more conveniences than this town’s inn affords.”

She glanced askance at him. He smiled innocently.

Half-convinced, but still on guard, she left to pack with her abigail.

He rode with her in the carriage again.

He had done that every day. There was plenty of room, so she could hardly refuse. With her maid Nancy sitting beside her, there was no chance of small indiscretions, let alone a big one. He did not even require conversation, since he normally read a book.

Unfortunately, she could not ignore him if he sat right there, facing her, their knees almost touching. She had too much time to notice he was so handsome that it was unnatural. The light from the window revealed how his hair contained many colors, from lightest blond to deepest bronze. His skin was not as pale as one would expect with that hair. Like his eyes, it revealed the influence on his breeding of his mother, who had not been fair at all.

She saw all the details, even though she did not want to. He was just
there,
compelling her to look and notice and study. His presence filled the small space so completely, she half expected the carriage walls to bulge to accommodate him. His physical command was the least of it. That energy that so unnerved her poured out, flooding everything.

She suspected that he knew his company made her uncomfortable, and that he intended as much. He wanted to remind her with his proximity of that conversation in the churchyard and how it had ended. He wanted her worrying about when the seduction he threatened would take place.

If that was his goal, it was working. She was very worried. She could not read her own book at all. Her condition both excited and vexed her.

Eventually the vexation won out.

“The day is very fair,” she observed. The carriage rolled through a countryside painted in the muted tones of late winter. “I believe the weather is starting to break in earnest.”

“It appears so,” he said.

“Will we be going far today?”

“An hour at most. We are almost there.”

“Such a short distance? I am surprised you did not choose to ride ahead on your horse. Since the day is so fair, that is.”

“I need to give the coachman directions.”

“You could have done so in advance, if you wanted to ride. You still could.”

“I did not say I wanted to ride. It appears that you think I should, however.”

That was just the sort of response that Nathaniel Knightridge had always given her. He had an annoying habit of thinking he saw when she dissembled, and letting her know it. It was very disconcerting to have a man not only assume that he perceived her intentions, but point them out so baldly. That he was often correct only increased the irritation.

“I only thought that your horse could use a good gallop, and that you might enjoy that too, since the day is so fair.”

He gave her a look that said he saw her game. It also communicated much more, and her heart began a slow, heavy beating. “Would you prefer if I rode? Is my intrusion unsettling you?”

“Not at all. I barely know you are here. I simply did not want you to think that you had any obligation to help me pass the time. I would understand if you preferred to ride ahead, since—”

“Since the day is so fair.”

She glimpsed amusement in his eyes. Oh, yes, he was enjoying this. He kept barging into her carriage for one reason only, and that was to exude his power and tease her with the anticipation and memories of their kisses and more.

At the inns and meetings, in the towns and villages, she could avoid him or dilute his effect with distractions. Not in this carriage, however.

She did not like playing the mouse to his cat. If Nancy were not here knitting at her side, she would tell him so very frankly. She was of half a mind to anyway.

“I know why you did not ride that horse, Mr. Knightridge. You are not the only one who can see matters very clearly.”

“Good. Then we are of one mind in seeing matters, if nothing else.”

His amusement deepened. He looked pointedly at Nancy, and smiled at her predicament.

He angled to look out the window, then called up to the coachman. “There is a lane on the right, past the next crossroad, where you must turn.”

The carriage followed the lane for a quarter mile through some woods. Charlotte peered out the window, curious at the route that was unexpectedly taking them north.

The lane curved to the left, and the woods fell away. In the distance on a little hill there perched a rough-stone manor house of good size but simple design.

Its appearance startled her. Nathaniel was not taking her to another town and another inn, as she had thought.

She called to her coachman to stop. She narrowed her eyes at Nathaniel. He returned the most placid expression.

She glanced furiously at Nancy, who had suddenly become an inconvenient hindrance to conversation.

“Mr. Knightridge, I would like to step out for a moment, to take some air.”

“Because the day is so fair?”

She glared at him.

He helped her down onto the lane. She paced ahead twenty yards, and heard him follow.

She turned on him and gestured to the house. “What is this place?”

“Elmcrest is a family property. It is not used much, but there will be enough staff to see to your comfort.”

The level of staff was not her concern. “Do they expect us?”

“I wrote to tell the housekeeper that we would visit for a day or so. The rest of the villages are an easy carriage ride from here.”

She gazed at that house. It had numerous chambers, which meant that Nancy would be sent to her own. “I would prefer to use inns.”

“I would not. You brought your maid, but I did not bring Jacobs. I grow weary of inns and their servants.”

“So it is your own comfort that you seek.”

“And yours. You will be more at ease if you do not have to use a different bed every night. You will have more privacy here, and service that is worthy of your station.”

He might as well have said
I would prefer to seduce you here than at an inn. The beds are better, and it will be more discreet.

“You do not have to look so worried, Charlotte. I would never importune you.”

“You have once before.”

“I think true importuning requires a little more resistance than I met that day, don’t you? If you are so afraid of me, tell your coachman to drive on. There will be another town and inn down the road. I, however, am staying here and will be going to those villages from this house.”

I am not afraid of you.
Except she was. Being with him in that house would make her vulnerable. He was up to no good with this plan. Even a schoolgirl could see that.

Already their isolation affected her. She did not like the confusion that quickened her heart. She wanted to think a very long time before she agreed to further intimacies, but she felt time running out.

He might have to know, but she was almost certain she did not want to.

“You are not being fair,” she said. “I should not have to decide now. I should not have to choose whether to risk the memories here, while I stand by the side of a road.”

“All you have to decide now is whether you enter that house, where servants await you with hot baths, good food, and quality linens, or whether you spend another night in a drafty inn on old muslin and a sagging mattress. I have no reason to interpret your decision as meaning more.”

He was good with words, she had to give him that. With a few careful sentences he had made her resistance look childish and silly.

Determined to be neither, she trod back to her carriage. He was right. She agreed to nothing by staying at this house.

He handed her into the carriage but did not join her there. Instead he unleashed his horse and mounted it.

“I think I will ride ahead,” he said. “Since the day is so fair.”

She faced him through the window opening. “Sometimes I really do not like you, Mr. Knightridge.”

He laughed. “And sometimes you really do, Lady M.”

“It came to the family through an uncle, my mother’s brother,” Nathaniel said. They were strolling through the ground level of the house. Charlotte had decided to do so immediately upon coming down after the housekeeper settled her into a bedchamber.

She walked beside him so slowly that it made his paces awkward. She studied every detail of the drawing room and library, of the morning room and hall. She was prolonging this, as if she intended to fill the whole afternoon with this tour.

“It is not that far from London, and the prospects from the windows are lovely,” she said, peering out one in the dining room. “There are horses back there, on that hill. Is this a farm?”

“Horses are bred here, by my eldest brother. He does not visit much, however.”

“It is his property, then?”

“Its actual owner is not clear.”

“I did not think any land in England had an unclear owner.”

“Contested property does. My uncle left it to someone, but his will was interpreted to be ambiguous, as such things can be. So my father holds it and awaits developments at Chancery.”

She strolled along to the next window. A tree diffused the light coming through this one. The way it illuminated her face captivated him. It created the
sfumato
seen in old Venetian paintings, with the hazy atmosphere softening all the features on her face, making her appear ethereal.

“To whom did your uncle bequeath the land?”

“Me.” He knew she had guessed. It was in her thoughtful countenance. Her mind often jumped ahead like that, reaching the correct conclusion before most would, seeing the whole landscape no matter how small the window from which she viewed it.