CHAPTER 13 #2
Her expression softened, betraying a flicker of uncertainty. “My sense is, you don’t really believe he’s innocent. So why are you helping me?”
“You know why.” He met her gaze and held it for a moment. “Because we are friends, Charlotte.”
She jumped at the intimacy.
He hadn’t called her by her given name since the strange interlude after solving their last murder investigation, when in the heat of the moment . . .
Neither of them had made mention of the kiss since it had happened.
Perhaps because neither of them wished to admit what it might mean.
“Friendship doesn’t mean you have to put your life in danger,” said Charlotte. “Yet again.”
“Have a care what you say. For you know, I will throw it back in your face at the first opportunity.” He smiled. “After all, what’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander.”
“Impossible man,” she muttered under her breath.
“Yes, well, we’re two birds of a feather.”
Charlotte shifted uncomfortably on the seat. “I’m grateful for your tolerance of my quirks, Wrexford. I . . .” She hesitated. “I haven’t yet sent the letter to Lady Peake. I know you think me impulsive, but on occasion, I do take time to think over the ramifications before I act.”
“Have you changed your mind?” The earl knew it was a decision fraught with complexities.
“No.” She sighed. “Perhaps, as you counseled, the wiser decision would be to wait until I feel ready. God knows, it would certainly be the easier one. But I think I would eventually have to make the step, if only to give the boys more opportunities in life. So there’s no point in delaying the moment, especially as I may be able to help Nicky. ”
“Spoken from both the heart and the head,” murmured Wrexford. “I find no fault with such reasoning.”
He waited, but got no reply.
“So, what is it that’s bothering you?”
Her gaze remained glued to her lap. “I must tell the boys, of course, and McClellan. And Sheffield and Henning.”
“I think it’s right that they hear it from you before it becomes public knowledge,” he agreed.
“I . . . you . . . that is . . .”
Her very un-Charlotte-like dithering might have been amusing, had the subject matter not been so serious.
He remained silent.
“I would like for you to be there, too—that is, if you don’t mind,” she said in a rush.
The request took him by surprise. “No, I don’t mind,” Wrexford answered, suddenly aware of an odd little spurt of warmth inside his chest. To cover his reaction, he added, “Just don’t ever ask me to escort you to Almack’s. Not even for friendship will I don knee breeches and white silk stockings.”
“No Almack’s,” agreed Charlotte. “Are the lemonade and cakes they serve there really so wretched? And is Lady Jersey really so loquacious?”
“Silence well deserves her sobriquet,” he said dryly.
The Countess of Jersey, one of the patronesses of the exclusive assembly rooms and a leader of the ton, was called ‘Silence’ behind her back because she was notorious for her endless talking.
“Don’t tell me you never disguised yourself as a servant and sneaked in for a look.
Your drawings have it down to perfection. ”
“I’ve contrived to see it empty,” she replied. “But however unlikely, I didn’t wish to take the chance of being recognized.”
The earl leaned back against the squabs.
“I daresay you’ll soon have a chance of seeing it in all its hideous splendor.
Lady Peake is a great favorite of Lady Jersey, and I’m sure she’ll be intent on introducing you to all the eligible gentlemen of the ton.
It is, after all, the premier marriage mart in London for those of pedigree and title. ”
“Marriage?” Her face screwed into an expression of horror. “God perish the thought!”
“I hadn’t realized you were so opposed to the idea of a leg shackle,” he said dryly.
“Oh, for pity’s sake, Wrexford. What aristocratic gentleman in his right mind would want me as a wife?”
“There are some fellows with an open mind about the intellect and abilities of a lady.” Watching her eyes, he was struck once again by what a luminous intelligence rippled beneath the sea-blue hue. “Granted, they’re not as thick as fleas on a stray mongrel, but they do exist.”
Charlotte looked away. “Now you’re truly making my skin crawl. Even if what you say is true, you’re forgetting my own feelings about life within a gilded cage.”
Wrexford glanced out the carriage window. The recent revelations about her past life were still very fresh in his mind, but they had yet to delve into them in any detail, or what the future might hold for her. With her emotions already in a tangle, this didn’t seem the right moment to begin.
“We’re getting close to your neighborhood,” he observed. “I assume you’ll want to slip out when we turn down one of the side streets.”
She gave a curt nod.
The wheels clattered over the cobblestones, the rough-edged sounds giving voice to the war of emotions playing across her face.
As the carriage drew to a halt, Charlotte slid across the seat and took hold of the door latch.
Her hand, so sure and steady when holding her satirical pen, betrayed a tiny tremor.
“Have you plans for the evening?” she asked abruptly.
“I had thought to begin making inquiries into Westmorly and his activities,” answered the earl.
“Might you consider delaying that until tomorrow? I would like to reveal my secret to the boys and our friends tonight. Now that I’ve made up my mind, there seems little reason to wait.”
“Of course.”
“The usual hour, and the usual means of entrance,” she murmured.
“Now more than ever, I have a reputation to protect.” Raven and Hawk had constructed a hidden entrance into her small back garden from the back alleyway, which allowed clandestine comings and goings to proceed under the cloak of darkness.
“I’ll alert Sheffield to be there,” said Wrexford.
“And I shall send the boys this morning with a note for Henning.” Charlotte clicked the door open. And yet, her fingers kept hold of the latch. “I’m terrified, Wrexford.”
“Understandably so,” replied the earl.
She gave a wry grimace. “Oh, fie. You’re supposed to snarl one of your usual sarcastic comments, so I can feel angry rather than cowardly.”
“You’re the bravest person I know.” Wrexford paused. “So, bloody hell, stop your self-indulgent sniveling . . .” He flicked out his foot and booted the door open. “And go do what’s needed to be done.”
Charlotte drew in a harsh breath.
“I always hated Hamlet,” he added. “All that blathering and whinging.”
The door slammed in his face, but not before her laugh slipped through the crack.