Chapter 20
Henry sat at the breakfast table, nursing a cup of strong tea and doing his best to ignore the dull, relentless pounding in his skull.
“Are you joining us for the hunt this morning, Arundel?” Lord Eastbourne asked, cutting into a thick slice of ham.
Henry tried to focus on the other man’s words, but the effects of last night’s brandy lingered like a particularly irate ghost, and even the clatter of dishes and idle chatter around him set his teeth on edge.
“It should be a fine day for it,” Eastbourne continued. “I believe our best riders are attending, so it should be quite the challenge.”
The scent of freshly baked bread and warm butter, usually a comfort, turned Henry’s stomach. He could hardly fathom how he’d feel if gunshots were to ring in his ears.
“Unfortunately, I must decline,” he said smoothly, setting his cup down. “I have other matters to attend to.”
Eastbourne shrugged. “As you will. Although I must say, old chap, considering this is your house party, you’ve been less than sociable so far.”
Henry grimaced. He felt too rotten to even do the expected thing and assure Eastbourne he meant no offense. Instead, he shrugged and grabbed his teacup again.
Luckily, Eastbourne took note of his expression and laughed instead. “Too much brandy, is it? You do have some fine liquor here, I must say.”
Henry forced himself to smile. He’d been drinking too much, a consequence of his current troubles. Last night, the clear brown liquor had felt like his only escape.
As Eastbourne turned back to his companions, William, seated beside Henry, arched a brow. “Since when do you pass on an opportunity to escape the houseful of ladies?”
Henry shot him a meaningful look, remembering their agreement to ensure Charlotte wasn’t left vulnerable to an unexpected encounter with Sir Roger.
“Since now,” he muttered back.
William arched an eyebrow but said nothing more.
Moments later, Charlotte and Felicity entered the breakfast room late.
They must have been walking outside, as their faces were bright from the fresh morning air.
Charlotte’s gown, a soft shade of blue that made her eyes seem almost luminous, was simple yet elegant.
Her hair was pinned neatly, though a few loose tendrils had escaped to frame her face.
She waved at her friends, who were seated across the room.
Even in his befuddled state, the sight of her lifted Henry’s spirits, and he sat up straight as she walked in their direction.
She made her way toward him, her gaze lingering on him for a beat longer than necessary before she took the seat across from him and helped herself to tea.
With William next to them, he tried not to let show just how pleasant it was to have her near.
“We’re going on a walk to the folly this morning,” she announced, stirring sugar into her tea. “I don’t suppose we’ll see either of you there?”
“I’m going hunting,” William announced. “But Henry here looks as though he could use a gentle walk. You were certainly the worse for wear last night.” He lowered his voice on the last sentence and looked at his sister, who blushed and avoided his eyes.
Henry groaned into his teacup, as he had a vague recollection of speaking to Charlotte the previous evening. Had he come across her last night when he had been wandering the halls, addled by brandy?
An awful thought struck him. Had he revealed anything he shouldn’t?
Henry turned to Charlotte. “Actually, I believe I shall. I could use the fresh air, as William says, and I am most decidedly not in the best condition for a hunt.”
Charlotte smiled at him with mischief glinting in her eyes, and for a moment, he found himself catching his breath as their gazes met. Flustered, knowing William was watching, he quickly excused himself.
“I shall see you outside the front hall after everyone has changed into their walking clothes, my lady,” he said, bowing politely to Charlotte and then to Felicity before walking away.
Midmorning, he joined the ladies where they were gathered outside, having prepared for their walk.
The morning sun cast long, golden streaks across the manicured gardens, the scent of roses and freshly turned earth filling the air.
The grounds made such a pretty picture that Henry could almost forget his current cares.
Almost.
His stomach sank as he saw the ladies gathered close to Felicity and Charlotte, including their friends and a few others, and realized that he was unlikely to get Charlotte on her own—at least not in a way that would go unnoticed—during this walk.
As the women curtsied and simpered at him, he fancied that he could feel the weight of their expectations pressing down on him. Their eyes tracked his every movement, eager and assessing. For a moment, he wished he had braved the hunt.
He quickly fell in beside Charlotte and Felicity, who, to his amusement, was casting sharp glances at another pair of ladies.
They set off down the path, the folly visible in the distance, a small, elegant ruin atop a gentle slope.
The morning sun was mellow, the breeze mild, and Henry was just beginning to relax when Charlotte stumbled beside him.
With a sharp gasp, she fell forward. Henry caught her before she hit the ground, steadying her with both hands.
“Are you all right, my lady?” he asked, concern furrowing his brow. “That was quite a tumble.”
She winced as she tested her foot, yelping as soon as she tried to put any weight on it. “I—I think I rolled my ankle.”
Immediately, the other women crowded in, expressions ranging from concern to irritation.
Felicity stepped in their way, tilting her head up at Henry. “She should rest and get that looked at. Could you escort her back to the house, Your Grace? I’m sure the other ladies will join me on my walk.”
Henry shot Felicity a look of gratitude and seized the opportunity before the other women could contradict her. “Excellent idea. As your host, I must indeed insist that I shall escort her back. We wouldn’t want her further injuring herself.” He met Charlotte’s gaze and held out his arm. “Shall we?”
Charlotte hesitated only briefly before nodding. Henry placed her arm over his, supporting her as they turned away from the group.
“Wait!” Miss Harriet Fairchild protested. “What of a chaperone?”
Henry stopped cold. That was a very valid point. One he had not considered in his eagerness to spend time with Charlotte away from the others.
Miranda stepped forward. “I will accompany them back. I have been reading the most fascinating treatise on local orchid varietals and will gladly return to it early.”
Henry smiled at her. “That would be most welcome, Miss Sutton.”
The disgruntled stares of the other young ladies burned into his back as the three of them split off from the group, but he hardly cared, although he did feel faintly guilty that he was able to take the opportunity to accompany Charlotte only because she had injured herself.
As they made their slow way toward the house, Miranda immediately dropped behind them, as if she were a maid performing chaperone duties. It was slightly unusual but Henry was grateful for the privacy. He cleared his throat, wondering how to broach the subject of his drunken evening.
“Charlotte, about last night…” he murmured, too softly for Miranda to hear.
She peered up at him, her lips twisting slightly in amusement, although he could also see concern flickering in her eyes. If only he could remember what he’d said to her.
“Yes?”
“I wanted to apologize. I hope I wasn’t in any way inappropriate.”
Her brows knitted together. “So, you recall seeing me?”
“Not entirely,” he admitted, shamefaced.
“I remember… shadows of it. Talking to you in the corridor near my room.” He stopped as he recalled that he couldn’t remember getting into bed or taking off his boots—which had been neatly placed near the bed when he awoke that morning.
“You helped me to my room, didn’t you?” He pressed his hand over his eyes, utterly embarrassed.
She nodded, shifting her weight slightly against him. “Yes. I did. You were… rather inebriated, and I couldn’t leave you for one of your other guests to find. But you said—and did—nothing inappropriate, Your Grace. You can rest assured of that.”
Relief curled in his stomach. “Then I owe you my thanks as well as my apologies. I received some unpleasant news yesterday, and I fear I didn’t handle it well.”
She hesitated. “May I ask what news?”
He exhaled, unwilling to burden her as he had William, in spite of the fact that he instinctively knew that he could trust Charlotte just as much as he could her brother. “Nothing that need concern you. I was simply… preoccupied.”
Her frown deepened, but she didn’t press him further. Instead, she limped a little more heavily, and he carefully tightened his grip on her waist to keep her steady.
“Oh, my!” Miranda exclaimed from behind them. “This is a green-winged orchid.”
They turned to face her.
She adjusted her spectacles and straightened from where she was bent over a delicate purple flower. “Would you mind overly if we were to delay for a few minutes while I examine the orchid? I was reading about this particular species only this morning.”
“Of course, you must,” Henry insisted. A thought struck him. “There is a bench by the lake only a couple of hundred yards away. Do you see it?”
Both women looked around, shielding their eyes against the sun.
“I see it,” Miranda confirmed.
“Charlotte could use a rest. We shall retire to the bench to rest until you are finished.” He glanced at Charlotte. “If that’s acceptable to you?”
She nodded. “That would be nice, Your Grace.”
He escorted her to the bench, taking as much of her weight as he could.
Once they arrived, he helped her sit down and then settled beside her.
He found himself stealing glances of her more than he ought to, noting the way the sunlight danced on her hair and her lashes fluttered against her cheeks as she looked out at the water.
It was unsettling, this growing consciousness of her, an acute awareness of every detail of the way she looked, the way she moved.
She turned her head and caught him looking at her, her eyes wide and innocent. He couldn’t help himself; his gaze dropped to those full, pink lips.
“Your Grace?” Something like hope flared in her eyes.
He wanted to kiss her. So very badly.
She looked back at him, her eyes soft, her breath uneven. Her cheeks were flushed and her pink lips softly parted.
Her mouth was barely inches from his.
A deep, dangerous hunger surged within him, sweeping away all of his usual iron self-control.
Before he could think better of it, he brushed his fingers along her jaw, tilting her chin just slightly so that he raised her face to his.
She was holding her breath, staring up at him in wide-eyed wonder.
He hesitated, giving her the chance to pull away, but she didn’t.
Instead, her eyes fluttered closed as she tipped her face farther up to his. Her lips parted a little more in anticipation, and he could hold back no longer.
He kissed her, crushing his mouth against hers, feeling a wild desire rise up in him to have her, to make her his. But he forced himself to slow down, to be gentle with her. Charlotte melted into him, gripping his coat tightly.
It was a slow, lingering kiss, filled with something unspoken that had been simmering beneath the surface for far longer than Henry had ever allowed himself to be conscious of. But now it all came bursting into awareness.
God, he needed this woman. The world shrank to just this—the scent of her, the softness of her lips, the warmth of her body against his. Time seemed to stand still, and everything else was forgotten. There was just him, and Charlotte.
Then a sharp voice from behind him shattered the moment, ringing through the soft summer air.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
William stood a short distance away, a rifle over his shoulder, and his expression thunderous.