To Seduce a Rogue (32 page)

He pulled away and rolled to a sitting position. He slung his arm upon his raised knee and glanced back at her. She was regarding him quite calmly, as if she had expected his abrupt withdrawal. He supposed she had.
Damn her
.

“You mustn’t think I’m being insincere. I’m sure you’ve known many women who have been. Who wanted more than they said they did.” She lifted on her elbows, which only served to advance her breasts to the front of his mind. “I’m telling you
exactly
what I want. In definite terms, as a matter of fact.”

Insincere? Is that what she thought? Her honesty scared him senseless. He should have never touched her, never kissed her, never laid a finger on her. Because he was not going to change. Even for her. But letting her go back to Edgemont after making love to her like this was probably going to kill him.

Just looking at her, lying there, dress pulled up to her waist, eyes glowing with passion. So beautiful. He urged his gaze from her. “Oliver Stokes has contacted an editor to take over the
Sentinel
. Temporarily at least. Benjamin Folkes. I’ve met him a time or two. Been in the business for years. Well-respected. Conservative. A good front man for Stokes.” He traced a pattern in the pine straw lying between his feet. “He’s an ethical man, but he won’t buck Stokes. I’ve scheduled a meeting with him next week. Stokes wants you to meet him as well.”

“Stokes knows I’m in Richmond?”

He stabbed a piece of straw in the dirt. “News travels fast. By the way, the bastard is very happy with the progress of the
Sentinel
.”

“Why is he bringing in a new editor, then?”

“My editor in Richmond wants me back. Stokes has agreed. He figures the hard part is complete. The
Sentinel
has been reorganized. The press is in place. He has a very capable pressman and a promising reporter. Also, after the incident with his thugs...” He stopped tracing circles and swiveled his gaze to hers before returning to his study of the area between his feet. “Let’s just say I was not obliging.”

“What did you do?”

“I told him I would kill him if he tried anything like that again. Miles will keep me informed.” He neglected to mention he had said this to the man as he shook him by the collar of his linen jacket. “Stokes also mentioned the gossips around Richmond are very interested in the female reporter residing in my home.”

“Hmmm...you may have some explaining to do.”

“The explanation is, she’s an employee. And a well-chaperoned one at that.”

“An employee you’re intimate with when the chaperone isn’t looking.”

“Charlie,
please
, I’m begging you.”

“I want to know today isn’t going to be the last time. I want to
share
this with you. I don’t want you to feel bad every time. I want you to know that I accept you for who you are.” She paused, then said, “I want to call you by the name I say in my head when we’re together.”

“No.” He pushed his fingers through the straw.

She continued as if he had not spoken. “I’ll stay until next week. After we have this meeting, I’ll go back with Mrs. Peters. I’m not going to deny what I want any longer. And, I’m not going to help you deny what you want any longer, either.”

His gaze migrated to her. Her face was tilted to the sky, her sapphire eyes wide and clear. Was she so sure she could do this and leave? She seemed sure.

It was no matter, really, for he could not deny he wanted her, even if he was able to deny the depth of his emotions. He could no more leave her alone—while she slept just down the hall—than he could make it snow in July.

Next week, though. He would send her home next week. With enough memories for a lifetime.

He threw a fistful of dirt against his boot. “All right. I give up.” Perhaps this was what he needed. What he had needed since Eaton’s death.

Rain began to pelt them as he pulled her on top of him.

With the storm acting as a shield against the rest of the world, their swift desire propelled them.

The arrangement commenced.

Exploration

The investigation of unknown regions.

Charlie looked north, up the broad, deep river. The sun was fading, but she could still glimpse Richmond’s dappled, clay hillside. Those hills—she had learned—held a mélange of shops, factories, foundries, churches, hotels, warehouses, banks and mansions. She had passed the incredibly wealthy and the indescribably poor on the city’s crowded streets.

She and Chase spent the days in the city: eating ice cream on the grassy expanse of Capital Square, buying plums and grapes from the town market and feeding them to each other between laughter and kisses, stopping by the
Times
office, where Chase showed her a printing press the size of a mountain and a supply closet she would always remember with a warm glow.

They spent the nights exploring—mind
and
body—hungrily, feverishly.

They took walks along the river, talked of life and philosophy, love and religion, politics and wealth, as bells pealed and smoke from the tobacco factories swirled in the air around them. They visited small, clandestine restaurants, whispering to each other across a table as the world around them faded. They sat in companionable silence in his library as he worked on his assignments, and she sketched him with broad, sure strokes.

She observed the passing of the days with a silent eye.

Chase had become her best friend. Her closest friend. He voiced her thoughts before she did, shared her interests, supported and challenged her, ignited her temper
and
her passion. He smiled when she muttered something scandalous, debated social issues with her until she was blue in the face, and made love to her tenderly and with spirited abandon.

Glancing toward Chase’s house, the light from her bedroom window beckoned.

She walked slowly, sidestepping puddles and downed limbs from the storm the night before. As usual, her thoughts were with him. As they had for so long now. For what seemed like forever.

He had finally let her in. A bit, anyway. It felt good, so deep and sure.

Only...another part of her denied their closeness, pushed it away with an emotionless swift shove. She felt strong and independent for doing it, even as a hard knot formed in the pit of her stomach.

Last night, a crack of thunder had woken her, and she’d turned to find Chase twisting and mumbling, tangling the sheets around his legs. One name passed his lips. Eaton. She knew his were fierce nightmares. She’d shaken him, all the while murmuring soft words, not expecting his violent reaction. It was obvious from his startled expression that he was not used to sleeping in the same bed with anyone.

His past had bubbled from his lips, from his soul, like hot lava spewing from a volcano. She’d been foolish to think the circumstances affecting them were similar. Her mother and father had loved her, had willingly offered love
to
her. Chase and Eaton had turned to their father for love, only to find a harsh man who was unwilling or unable to offer more than money and a name.

They had survived simply because they had each other.

How awful it must have been for him. To hold the person he loved most in the world in his arms while their life spilled to the ground like whiskey from a broken bottle. His memory was still vivid. He said he sometimes woke to find himself wiping his hands upon the sheets—trying to wipe away Eaton’s blood.

A warm breeze off the river lifted her hair from her face. She increased her pace to a light run, throwing a glance at her window. Sure enough, Mrs. Peters’ pinched face was peeking from between the curtains.
Hellfire
.

Charlie hopped up the steps and pushed through the pantry door, the inviting warmth of the kitchen rushing to greet her. The distinctive aroma of cinnamon hung heavy in the air.

“Miss Whitney, you’d best get up there.”

Charlie flashed Mrs. Beard a weak smile. “I know, I know.”

Mrs. Beard clicked her tongue against her teeth. She kept her gaze trained on her sticky biscuit dough as she said, “That old nag has been here at least ten times asking after you. I told her you had taken a short walk.” She sniffed. “None too pleased to hear that, I tell you.”Charlie only grunted and continued through the kitchen. Knowing she was alone, she lifted her dress past her ankles and took the stairs two at a time. She wasn’t looking forward to the evening, damn Mrs. Peters and her meddling.

She halted at her bedroom door and smoothed a hand over her hair. She tugged on the sleeves of her dress, hoping to settle some of the wrinkles. She looked a mess as usual, and
she
knew it. Mrs. Peters had not yet learned to accept this as fact.

The door flew open, and Charlie gasped and took a step back.

“Young lady, where have you been? Do you have any idea what time it is?” She grabbed Charlie’s elbow and yanked her into the room.

“Mrs. Peters, the dinner guests won’t be arriving until—”

“I
know
what time the guests are arriving. I planned this evening.”

Yes, Charlie knew that as well.

“Two hours is not enough time to dress for the evening.”

Two hours?

Mrs. Peters hauled Charlie to the bureau like a recalcitrant child. “Oh, dear, I sometimes forget you have been without female influence for so long.”

“Really, this is just a simple dinner.”

Mrs. Peters glared at her before turning to the wardrobe. “Charlotte, dear, you minimize the evening I have planned. Mr. Chase is a man of means and reputation in Richmond. His father was a well-respected judge; his family is associated with the very best people. He has just recently returned from an assignment. One of interest to many of his friends.” She opened a drawer and lifted a pair of gloves, stockings and a small box of hatpins from within. Walking to the bed, she deposited them carefully before returning to the wardrobe.

“Also, and I am surprised Mr. Chase had not thought of this, he has a visitor, a colleague, staying with him as a guest in his home. Due to the fact that this visitor is a woman, there has been a great deal of curiosity and speculation. My presence lends a certain amount of credibility to the situation, but there has to be a formal introduction. Otherwise it looks, well...suffice it to say that it does not look good.”

Mrs. Peters opened another drawer and removed a turquoise fan and a pair of slippers the same shade of blue as the fan. “Although, this evening is certainly not a
formal
evening of any sort. It is a modest dinner party. Hardly appropriate, if you ask me.”

Charlie couldn’t help asking. “What would have been...appropriate?”

Mrs. Peters waltzed to the bed, depositing the other items as Charlie looked on with perceptible dread and a small flicker of fear.

“Appropriate? A ball for no less than one hundred guests. Or an evening at the opera followed by a late dinner for at least fifty friends and acquaintances. Certainly not this...this” —she flung her arm in exasperation— “affair.”

Charlie hid a smile at Mrs. Peters’ word choice.

A full hour and a half later, Charlie stood before the mirror, as presentable as she ever would be. Mrs. Peters had finally left to attend to her own toilette, proclaiming Charlie “tolerable.”