The Fur Trader’s Lady (Ladies of the Wilderness #1)

17. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

T oward the end of September, the post was finished, and Reid was pleased. The stockade was sturdy, the row house was well built to withstand the harsh winter, and the North West Company flag flew with pride in the warm wind. It waved against the brilliant blue sky as a testament that Reid and his men were here to stay.

“Throw open the gate!” Reid called to Jacques. “’Tis time to celebrate!”

Over fifty men and women stood inside the stockade and cheered as Jacques and Jean-Paul pulled the heavy gates open. Curious Indian men and women stood outside the thick walls, waiting to enter. Over a hundred people had gathered, knowing Reid would treat them to high wine and small gifts. There would also be dancing, games, competitions, and food.

Curly Head appeared with Daanis at his side. The chief walked stoically into the stockade, watching the festivities unfold. He and his people were proud and quiet, but Reid longed to make them feel welcome. He wanted Curly Head to continue placing his trust in the North West Company.

Charlotte stood apart, almost as stoically as the chief. A wistful smile lifted her lips as she watched four little boys playing their own version of lacrosse in the dusty yard. He marveled that she could find any joy at all in this world so far removed from the luxuries of her homeland.

With each passing day, Reid’s respect and admiration grew for Charlotte. How many English ladies could survive what she had endured—and continue to smile?

She glanced up and caught him watching her. A shy look softened her face and warmed his chest. Though things had become more comfortable with her again, there was still a gap between them that he feared would never be crossed again.

Reid turned his attention to Curly Head and Daanis. The young lady had visited the fort several times over the past few weeks, often to spend time with Noemie, though she had made her presence known to Reid each time. Her behavior was similar to the night she’d visited him during the storm. She hinted that she wished to join him at the fort, yet he was more and more convinced Curly Head had sent her and that she had not come on her own accord.

“Welcome,” Reid said to Curly Head in his native tongue. “I hope you enjoy the celebration.”

“Your fort is finished.” It was not a question but a statement from Curly Head.

“Aye.”

“You are ready for a wife.” He spoke in English, and his meaning was clear.

Reid was more prepared for this meeting, knowing Curly Head’s allegiance was with the North West Company, though it could change quickly. “I have much work to do before winter comes. I am not ready for a wife.”

A flicker of anger passed over Curly Head’s face, while something akin to fear danced in Daanis’s eyes.

“You do not like my daughter?” Curly Head’s jaw tightened. “XY man like my daughter.”

“I like your daughter.” Reid had to step lightly. “But I canna marry her now.” He had no intention to marry her ever, but he couldn’t be that firm with the chief. He needed more time.

“I do not wish to give my daughter to the XY man. His company is not good. Your company is bigger and better.” Curly Head studied Reid, as if contemplating his words carefully. An uncharacteristic twitch jumped in his eyelid. “I will wait until winter.”

Daanis dropped her gaze and looked at her hands, disappointment weighing down her shoulders.

“I work with North West Company since I was born.” Curly Head continued. “I work with you now. I will send my people to your trading room.”

The unexpected pronouncement surprised Reid. He’d expected more pressure from Curly Head. Was the chief trying to please him so he would take Daanis as his country wife? The alliance would benefit Curly Head as much as it would Reid.

At the moment, it mattered little. Reid was just thankful for the trust the chief had placed in him. He would work hard to keep that trust and continue to build it, hoping it would be enough when Curly Head discovered Reid had no plans to marry Daanis. “Your people will be welcome. I will be fair and honest.”

Curly Head nodded once then stepped back. Their conversation was over—at least, for now—and Reid was given more time.

Reid turned his attention to Daanis. “Would you care for some high wine, lass?”

Daanis glanced at her father. He narrowed his gaze at her, as if in warning. She turned to Reid with a smile, though sadness lingered in the depths of her eyes.

“I heard you were celebrating.” Lachlan appeared at the open gate with a half dozen of his men, his chest puffed out in self-importance. He wore buff breeches, a white shirt, and a blue tailcoat. If Reid passed him on a Montreal street, he’d have no idea that Lachlan had been raised in the interior. Lachlan exuded refinement, and Reid wondered for the first time if his father had sent him to Montreal or Europe for an education. The very thought infuriated Reid for reasons he couldn’t begin to understand.

If Lachlan had been bruised from the night they’d confronted each other on the trail three weeks ago, the marks had faded. Reid’s own eye was almost restored to normal, though the deeper wounds of resentment and hatred still festered.

“Aye.” Reid stood with his feet wide apart and his shoulders stiff. He had not invited his brother or the other XY men, but if they wanted to celebrate Reid’s accomplishment, he would not try to stop them. “We’re celebrating the establishment of the grandest fort in the Folle Avoine District.”

“You had better hope it doesna catch fire again.” Lachlan laughed, and his friends joined him.

Reid balled his fist, ready to punch the grin off his brother’s face.

All around Reid, the North West men stiffened at the comment, and several took angry steps toward Lachlan and his men. Vengeance burned in their eyes, and Reid knew if he didn’t stop them, a fight would break out, threatening the goodwill of Curly Head.

“Avail yourself of my hospitality,” Reid said loudly and evenly to Lachlan for everyone to hear, “but not my patience.” He turned to address his men. “This is a celebration. Any man who lifts a hand to our guests will be punished to the full extent of my power.”

Anger simmered among the men, but they understood his meaning. There wasn’t a voyageur among them who didn’t understand the delicate intricacies of trade relations.

“Daanis.” Lachlan moved to Daanis’s side, acting as if he hadn’t heard Reid. He bowed before her. “It does my eyes good to see you again, lass.”

A smile warmed her lips, and all traces of sadness disappeared from her face.

The others soon returned to their celebration, though Curly Head watched his daughter closely.

Lachlan did not hide his attraction to Daanis, and it was clear the young lady had feelings for him as well. If Curly Head allowed her, Reid suspected Daanis would join Lachlan that very moment. But she would not leave her father’s home unless he approved.

Reid would have to appease the chief every chance he could get and be generous in his gift giving. He would have to be confident and trustworthy, reassuring the chief that his company was superior to Lachlan’s if he wanted to stay in the chief’s good graces.

Reid did not imbibe often, but it was time to toast his achievements in the presence of his brother and Curly Head.

“Let us raise our glasses to the North West Company.” Reid glanced at the side of the row house where Charlotte stood. She watched him carefully and met his gaze with an encouraging smile.

The voyageurs lifted their cups, as did a few of the Indian guests, some of them accustomed to European traditions. Lachlan and his men refrained.

“To the North West Company!” the men cheered.

After everyone took a drink of their high wine, Reid lifted his glass again. “And to our honored guests, the Mississippi Band of Chippewa Indians. May you always feel welcomed.”

Again, the men lifted their cups. “To our honored guests!” they said in unison.

There were toasts made to Reid, to the stockade, to the women who had prepared the food, and to the other guests who continued to trickle into the celebration. As the sun began to set, sending a cascade of pink, yellow, and orange streaks across the vast sky, the men pulled out their instruments to make music. A fife, a fiddle, and a guimbarde , which Charlotte called a mouth harp, were all that was needed, and the group was soon dancing.

Despite Lachlan’s presence, Daanis stayed by Reid’s side, watching the others dance. The glow in her cheeks was a bonnie sight to behold. She spoke of Fraser and the many celebrations he’d held at the fort as well as the time he’d taken her to Grand Portage the year before he left. Even though he’d abandoned her, she spoke highly of her first husband, and Reid sensed her desire to continue being the bourgeois’s wife—whether that was with the North West Company bourgeois or the XY Company bourgeois, he could only guess. Either way, it was a coveted position for most Indian women. It afforded them luxuries that their people did not enjoy, and it allowed them to offer those luxuries to their loved ones. It was also a status symbol for many women, even though it did not guarantee stability.

For Curly Head, it meant many other things, namely protection from the fur company and their men, should he need it—as well as much needed trade goods.

Charlotte stayed on the outskirts of the group on a bench against the row house. She did not have a glass or cup in hand, and she did not dance, but she looked as if she was enjoying the spectacle around her.

“If Reid willna ask you to dance”—Lachlan stepped up to Daanis—“I will.”

Daanis turned to Lachlan, her eyes glowing, but Reid took her hand on impulse. “If you’ll have me,” he said, “I would love to dance with you.”

She looked between Lachlan and Reid and then glanced at her father.

His stoic expression did not change, but it must have communicated something to Daanis, because she nodded at Reid and walked beside him to the center of the yard. It didn’t take long to realize Daanis was an accomplished dancer, nor did it take long for the others to see their bourgeois had joined in the fun.

The music became livelier and the dancers louder. Daanis smiled—truly smiled—for the first time since he’d met her, and he found himself smiling back.

The dance ended, and everyone clapped for the musicians. They responded by starting up another song, this one a variation of a quadrille. It wouldn’t be fair to monopolize Daanis, especially with so many men present, so Reid handed her off to Jacques and made his way to the bench where Charlotte watched.

“Have you had something to eat?” he asked as he stood beside her, a bit breathless.

“I have.” She continued to watch the dancers, her foot tapping to the tune.

“Why haven’t you joined in the dancing?”

Charlotte nodded toward Noemie, who stood with a group of young Indian and mixed-blood women. “I’m trying to avoid our matchmaker.”

He grinned. “May I sit with you?”

In answer, she moved over to make room.

The bench was small, and their shoulders brushed. Though the touch was light, it filled his whole body with awareness of her.

She glanced at him and held his gaze for a moment, communicating all that was needed. Charlotte was just as aware of him as he was of her.

Daanis laughed as she danced with Jacques, who was spry and animated.

Lachlan stood on the opposite side of the gathering, also watching Daanis, his gaze hooded. His men were spread out among the stockade, though none had joined in the dancing. Reid didn’t expect trouble from them—unless they drank too much—but he would watch for any sign of disorder.

It would be a long night.

Reid and Charlotte sat silently on the bench. The quadrille ended, and the musicians began a waltz. Only those men who had a female partner stayed to dance, while the others dropped back to watch. Lachlan moved quickly to capture Daanis in his arms.

He held her close, dipping his head to speak to her, and gazed at her with a familiarity that suggested intimacy. Reid watched them, noticing Curly Head’s disapproving stare.

“Daanis is a beautiful dancer,” Charlotte said quietly as she studied the chief’s daughter.

“Aye.” He smiled and leaned closer to Charlotte. “But she’s not as good as another lass I know.”

A smile graced her lips, and Reid allowed himself to relax even more.

But as the evening progressed and Curly Head took his leave, Reid watched Lachlan and Daanis together. Without her father’s presence, Daanis stayed in Lachlan’s company for the remainder of the celebration, her actions and behaviors suggesting that the chief’s daughter and Reid’s half brother were closer than he’d first suspected.

September was usually Reid’s favorite month because of the brilliant blue skies, pleasant warm days, and cool, starry evenings. This year was no exception, and he found himself looking forward to the end of the day when he and Charlotte would sit outside to enjoy the beauty of the northwest wilderness. It had been a week since the celebration and business had been good.

Inside the trading room this afternoon, Reid met with Red Bird, one of the men he’d come to know from Curly Head’s village. The door was propped open, and the lure of the beautiful weather drew Reid’s attention. Beyond the open gate of the stockade, the Mississippi River meandered south, while the trees along the riverbanks had just started to turn different shades of yellow and red. The mosquitoes had disappeared, and the lush wildflowers grew in the nearby valley. This was why he loved this country so well.

“Are you pleased?” Reid asked Red Bird, handing him the wool blanket they had agreed upon for the final fox fur Red Bird had presented.

Red Bird nodded and said his farewell. “ Giga-waabamin menawaa .”

“Giga-waabamin menawaa,” Reid replied.

Reid leaned against the counter as he watched Red Bird take his leave. In the adjoining storage room, Charlotte was taking inventory. After a week of trading, they’d already made several transactions, and she wanted an accurate accounting of the furs they had taken in.

A shadow passed over the window in the trading room a moment before a man appeared at the door. He was dressed in black breeches, a white shirt and cravat, and a royal blue tailcoat. The tall hat he wore just barely grazed the top of the doorframe as he passed through.

Reid frowned, disbelief making him straighten. “Joseph?”

Joseph McDonnell, the man who had greeted Reid when he’d arrived at the pier in Grand Portage, entered the trading room, a grin on his face. “McCoy!”

Reid moved around the counter and met Joseph in the center of the room, taking his hand in a hearty shake. “What brings you to my post?”

Visits between bourgeois were rare but welcomed. Sometimes they were simply out of boredom, but that usually didn’t start to occur until the long days of winter set in. During the late summer and early fall, most bourgeois were too busy setting up their posts to make calls. The only other reason for a visit was to pass along news—and not always good news. Reid hoped Joseph wasn’t here on bad tidings.

“I was placed in charge of the Folle Avoine District after you left Grand Portage.” Joseph took off his hat.

“I hadna heard the good news.” It was an honor and privilege to be placed in charge of the richest district in the North West Company. That honor was not given lightly. Joseph was a good, honest, and fair man. He was also smart and hardworking. But he would not come all this way just to share the news of his promotion. “I hope you’ll stay for a while,” Reid said.

“My business should not take too long. I’ll only stay the one night.” Joseph glanced around the trading room, approval on his face. “I’d heard you had to rebuild. You’ve done well in a short time.”

“My clerk deserves the praise for the trading room,” Reid said with a bit of pride in Charlotte. “He is organized and intelligent.”

“Your clerk is the reason I’ve come.” Joseph grew serious. “A courier arrived at Fond du Lac from the Upper Red River District. He had a missive from an Englishman named Roger Rutherford.”

The air rushed out of Reid’s lungs as he stood perfectly still, forcing his face not to reveal his shock.

“Mr. Rutherford believes an English lady has infiltrated the North West Company to find a man named Stephen Corning. She wasn’t with Corning in Red River, so he said you might ken where she’s at.”

Reid shook his head, his heart pounding hard against his ribs. “I dinna think I can help you.”

“Why would Rutherford think you ken where the lady might be?” Joseph crossed his arms and watched Reid closely.

At any moment, Charlotte could leave the storage room and Joseph would start to question her. If he’d been given any description of Charlotte, it wouldn’t take him long to suspect she was the lady he sought. Reid had to keep Charlotte hidden for as long as Joseph stayed at the post.

“I’d be happy to answer your questions. I’ll close the trading room, and we can speak in my private quarters.”

“Where is your clerk?”

Reid hated to lie—but he couldn’t tell Joseph the truth or he would put Charlotte in danger. No doubt Joseph would be compelled to apprehend Charlotte until Rutherford could get to her, and Reid could not let that happen.

“I sent him to a nearby village to bring gifts to the chief.” It was a common enough practice for clerks and one Joseph wouldn’t question.

It seemed to mollify the district manager, and he left the trading room ahead of Reid.

The bright sunshine made Reid squint. He didn’t know how he’d warn Charlotte. If he didn’t tell her that Joseph was here, she might join them, and then Joseph would be doubly suspicious.

He led Joseph into his quarters from the outside. “Just make yourself at home. I need to get some tea from the storeroom.”

Joseph set his hat on the table and surveyed Reid’s home, just as he had his trading room.

Reid opened the door into the hallway, closed it behind him, and then proceeded down the hall to the door leading into the storage room. He found Charlotte there, sitting on the floor, her cassette beside her, counting a pile of fur. A flickering lantern sat nearby, since there was no window in the dim room. Without looking at him, she held up her hand, indicating that he not speak until she was done counting. But Reid had no time for her to finish her task.

“Joseph McDonnell is here,” Reid whispered as he went to the store of tea and pulled out a bag. “He’s the new district manager of the Folle Avoine, and he received a letter from Rutherford.”

Charlotte’s head whipped around, her face turning white almost instantly. “Roger knows I’m here?”

“I dinna ken.” Reid crouched down to face Charlotte. “But he told Joseph that I might ken where you are, and that’s why he’s here. I told him you went to a neighboring village to trade with the chief. I need you to stay here until I come for you. Do you understand? Do not show yourself to Joseph or anyone else.” Reid stood, needing to return to Joseph. “I’ll be back as soon as I’m able—but he’s staying all night.”

Charlotte nodded. “I’ll not make a sound.”

Reid left her in the storage room, closing the door quietly, and then walked back down the hall. He took a steady breath before he reentered his living quarters.

Joseph stood near Charlotte’s desk. Her journal sat on top, and he had it open, thumbing through the pages. It was the property of the North West Company, and he’d warned her not to write anything personal in the journal, but Reid’s pulse ticked higher as Joseph read her entries. Thankfully she had her cassette with her in the storage room, because if he had looked in it and found the letter that Stephen had sent them, Reid would have a very difficult time trying to explain it away.

Reid stirred the coals in the fireplace and put a few pieces of kindling on the glowing embers. He blew on the sparks until they caught the wood on fire, then he put a few more pieces on top of the flames. The cool teakettle hung on the iron crane, and Reid lifted it off, filled it with some water from the reservoir in the corner of the room, and set it over the fire to heat.

“Are you hungry?” Reid asked. “I have some biscuits.”

“No, thank you.” Joseph left Charlotte’s desk and took a seat at the table.

Reid joined him while he waited for the water to heat.

“Tell me why Mr. Rutherford thinks you ken where the lady might be,” Joseph said.

Sighing, Reid knew he must tell Joseph some of the truth. “Rutherford visited me in Montreal the day before I left. He believed his cousin might seek me out, based on a letter he had in his possession.” Reid explained how Stephen Corning had saved his life and how Reid had promised to repay the debt. “I told Rutherford I couldna help him find his cousin, and then I left the next day.” Reid hated lying to his friend. “When we arrived in Grand Portage, I met a lad who went by the name of—” Reid paused, as if to recall what the lad had said. “Thomas Fairfax, I believe. I was suspicious that he could be the cousin Rutherford was seeking, so I thought I owed Rutherford the courtesy of telling him what I saw. I visited him at the XY Fort at Grand Portage and told him.”

“In his letter, Mr. Rutherford said you thought the lady—or lad, as it were—headed to the Upper Red River District, but when Rutherford arrived there, he could not locate his cousin.” Joseph continued to watch Reid with a critical eye. Could he see through Reid’s lies? “He found Stephen Corning, but Corning denied all of this. He said he never wrote Lady Charlotte a letter, never told her to go to you, and had not heard from her.”

Reid lifted his hands and shrugged. “I wish I could help Rutherford, but I dinna ken any more than you.” He leaned back in his chair. “What do you make of this?”

Joseph sighed. “I’m not sure. I just wish I hadna been drawn into the mess.”

“Where does Rutherford think she went?”

Without blinking, Joseph said, “He thinks she’s with you.”

“That’s preposterous.” Sweat gathered under Reid’s collar. “I dinna have his cousin—I dinna even ken if the lad I spoke to in Grand Portage was really her.”

Joseph glanced at Charlotte’s desk and nodded at the journal. “I remember meeting your clerk in Grand Portage. He was a quiet young lad with reddish-colored hair, if I recall.”

“Aye.” Reid nodded.

“Mr. Rutherford told me in his letter that his cousin has the same color hair.”

“I remember him telling me the same.”

There was a pause as Joseph brought his attention back to Reid. “I wish your clerk was here to answer some questions.”

“What does my clerk have to do with this?”

Joseph absently scratched his sideburns and shrugged. “I dinna ken if he does or not.”

“Mr. Crawford is from a Welsh family. His faither is my mither’s distant kin. He’s a good lad. I’m sure he’d be happy to speak to you if he returns while you’re still here.”

Nodding, Joseph stretched out on his chair. “I believe you, Reid. I’ve known you for years. You’re one of the most honest men I’ve ever met. We may never know what happened to Rutherford’s cousin.”

Shame burned deep in Reid’s gut, but he’d lie as much as necessary to keep Charlotte safe. “I wish I could help Rutherford. He’s probably afraid for her.”

“I think he’s more angry than afraid.” Joseph tapped the tabletop. “He sent the courier ahead of him but said in his letter that he’s on his way to the Folle Avoine District to look for her himself. He’ll probably come looking for her here.”

Reid tried to appear neutral at hearing the news, when really, he was afraid for Charlotte. If Roger showed up before Stephen, then she’d still be at risk.

“But I’d rather speak about other things,” Joseph said. “Have you finally taken a country wife?”

He didn’t want to speak about Daanis either, but he’d rather they discuss her than Charlotte. “I’ve been a wee busy.”

Joseph chuckled. “McTavish told me to pressure you to marry Curly Head’s daughter, if I had the chance. So consider yourself pressured.”

Reid smiled, but he didn’t find humor in the situation. Joseph had taken a country wife and had several children with her. He wouldn’t understand Reid’s hesitation.

“I’ve heard Curly Head’s daughter is a bonnie lass,” Joseph said.

“Aye.” Reid nodded. “Right bonnie, indeed.”

Joseph laughed and reached across the table to slap Reid’s shoulder in fun. “Dinna forget you’re sent here to work, even if you have a bonnie lass to keep you distracted.”

If Joseph knew the bonnie lass distracting him was not the chief’s daughter—but the very lady he’d come looking for—his friend would not be smiling.

It had been hours since Reid had told Charlotte that Mr. McDonnell was at the post. Night had already fallen, though it hardly mattered in the windowless room. She’d extinguished her lantern long ago and had lain on a pile of blankets, trying to sleep while she waited. But sleep had not visited her. Thankfully, her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, though all she could see were the packages, barrels, and furs stacked in the room. If she had a book, at least she’d have a distraction from the worry that had entered with Reid so many hours ago.

Occasionally, she heard the men’s muted laughter. The longer Reid kept Mr. McDonnell pacified, the safer Charlotte would be, so she waited as patiently as possible, thankful the men were occupied with happier things.

“You can sleep in my clerk’s room.” Reid’s voice sounded closer. He must be in the hall. “He willna mind.”

Charlotte sat up on the blankets, her pulse thumping a little harder.

“Are you sure?” Mr. McDonnell asked.

“Aye. He’s an agreeable lad. He’d insist.” A door creaked open, and Charlotte imagined Reid showing Mr. McDonnell into her room with a candle.

Thankfully, she had nothing in the room that would give away her identity. Since everything she owned had been given to her after entering the fur trade, her room looked like it was occupied by a male clerk of the North West Company. The only thing she had in her possession that might suggest she was not a man was her drawing of Reid—but that was in the bottom of her cassette, which was with her in the storage room.

“If you need anything, my room is just across the hall,” Reid said. “Good night.”

“Good night, McCoy. Thank you for your hospitality.”

“My pleasure.”

The door creaked closed, and Reid’s footsteps faded back down the hall.

Where was he going?

Charlotte sat in the dark again, the sound of her breathing the only thing to keep her company. Surely Reid had not forgotten about her. Was he waiting for Mr. McDonnell to fall asleep before he came to her? The wall of the storage room was shared with the wall of her sleeping quarters. They were thick, sturdy walls made of logs, but still, they didn’t mute the sound of voices altogether.

Time passed slowly, and Charlotte lay down again. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep—but a sound in the trading room made her sit up again.

The door connecting the storage room to the trading room quietly opened, and Reid stood there with a candle. He motioned for her to follow him.

She stood and tiptoed out of the room, careful not to trip.

When she was in the trading room, Reid quietly closed the door and took her hand, leading her to the opposite corner of the room. He set the candle on a shelf next to a few biscuits he’d brought for her.

“Does Mr. McDonnell suspect me?” she whispered.

“I think he did at the beginning, but our friendship is old.” Reid shook his head, his mouth turned down. “He trusts me when I say you’re not here.”

Charlotte placed her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry you had to lie for me.”

He put his hand over hers. “I’d do it a hundred times over if it kept you from Rutherford.” Reid’s dark brown eyes were filled with concern. “He’s on his way here, lass. He could get here before Stephen. There’s no way of knowing.”

Charlotte dropped her hand, a knot forming in the pit of her stomach. “Did Mr. McDonnell tell you?”

“Aye.”

“When will he get here?”

Reid shrugged. “He probably arrived at the Upper Red River just after Stephen received my letter and sent one to you. Rutherford would have spent some time looking for you, pressuring Stephen, and convincing himself you were not in hiding there. Then he sent the letter with the courier du bois, which probably took two weeks to get to Fond du Lac.” Reid rubbed the palm of his hand against his temple. “He might be here in the next five or six weeks.”

“Will he go to Fond du Lac first? Or come here?”

“I dinna ken.” Reid took Charlotte’s hand again. “I wish I could tell you more.” He opened his arms, and she entered his embrace. “I wish I could protect you better—but I dinna think you want to hide in the storage room until Stephen arrives.”

Despite the dire situation, Charlotte smiled.

“You’ll need to sleep in the storage room tonight, though,” Reid said against her hair.

“I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll see that you are.”

The candle popped and sputtered but held its light.

Pulling away, Charlotte looked up into Reid’s face. He was so dear to her—dearer than anyone had ever been.

He touched a curl that had come loose from her queue. “Your hair is growing.”

“It always grew quickly.”

“Do you ken what makes me the saddest some days?” He lightly wrapped the curl around his index finger.

“What?”

“That I might never get to see your hair long again.” He looked away from her hair and into her eyes. “I well remember the morning in Montreal when you stood in Mrs. Mallarme’s old nightgown, your bonnie hair tumbling over your shoulders like a waterfall of auburn curls.”

Warmth filled Charlotte’s cheeks at the reminder. It was the first time a man had seen her in a nightgown—though she’d been seen in far worse since then.

“Even though I’ll never forget that moment, I still wish I could see you like that again.”

Pleasure quickened in her midsection, and she had to force herself to breathe.

“Good night, Lady Charlotte.” Reid leaned forward and placed a kiss on her forehead. He lingered there for a heartbeat and then left the trading room, the feel of his kiss still sweet long after he’d gone.