Chapter Six #2
Somehow, the last few payments had never reached the school, and now they were in arrears.
Charlotte could not imagine where those carefully guarded cheques had gone.
She did not want to examine the genuine possibility that her idiot brother had discovered their existence and rerouted them to his own pocket.
Her little golden Frederick could never be so selfish.
These worries swamped her, and she was trying to outpace them in her circuitous path beside the window when the door opened.
“Lizzy, dear, do you think you might be able to pen a letter for me?”
“I have never been called Lizzy before, but if that is what it takes for you to call me dear, then please, by all means, carry on.”
Charlotte whipped around, arm bouncing painfully in its sling.
“Mr. Scarsdale.” Charlotte was frowning. Had he been this handsome the last time she saw him?
“What are you doing out of bed? You should be resting.”
His dark hair was shorn unfashionably close to his head in the same way orphans' and prisoners' were to keep lice at bay. Somehow, though, on him, it looked soft and tempting to the touch, while simultaneously accenting the hard planes of his face.
He wore impeccably tailored evening clothes and held an elegant walking stick in one hand. Charlotte had always detested the gentlemanly accessory for its uselessness, but she suspected Scarsdale’s was more a weapon than a crutch or affectation.
“I was not expecting you.” She stood taller, rolling her shoulders back and wincing at the pain.
“No, I suppose you were not. Here I am, though. And though I imagine I cannot tout even a fraction of the usefulness of a ‘Lizzy,’ I would gladly offer my services as her stand-in. I do know how to read and write—if only passably.”
Charlotte worried her lip between her teeth. She did not want Scarsdale to know of her business with her employer—or even that she had an employer—but desperation won out, and she nodded her head.
He swept over to the writing desk in the room’s corner, folding his tall, athletic form into the elegant wooden chair, and pulled out a sheet of foolscap and a quill. She watched him with no small amount of reticence until he looked up at her and nodded expectantly.
She sighed and rubbed her good hand over her face. Why had she not learned how to write with both hands? How shortsighted of her.
∞∞∞
“Dear Mr. Keiler.” Benjamin’s hand paused at the masculine title. Who was Mr. Keiler?
Charlotte continued on, unaware of his pause.
“Please accept my apologies for not keeping our agreed appointment on the fourteenth of March. I found myself indisposed and unable to send word. I am writing now to assure you that it will not happen again, and I hope you are not opposed to continuing our agreement. Sincerely, Aston.”
At that, Benjamin looked up again. “Why do you sign with only your surname?”
He knew the question to be impertinent considering the private nature of the correspondence.
But he could not fight the prickling irritation at the idea of Charlotte maintaining an illicit “acquaintanceship” with some man.
And what was this missed appointment? God, if it were anything close to the salacious ideas he was already conjuring up—and surely it must be, for no respectable unwed lady would ever maintain a correspondence with a man who was not her brother or father—then he was perversely glad their little duel had caused her to miss the torrid rendezvous.
She did not look at him but instead kept her clinical gaze out the window. “So he does not realise I am a woman.”
Thank god. The relief was perverse, and he kept his face impassive so she might not see how such a strange admission had doused the flame of envy in his chest. But why would she be concealing her identity in a private correspondence?
Alertness pricked his ears; the familiar feeling, like a bloodhound on a scent, that there was a secret to be rooted out.
Her tone brooked no further questions, and Benjamin made a show of sanding the ink and folding it into an envelope.
“Anything else?” He hoped so. This woman was proving to be far more intriguing than just the sister of a good-for-nothing earl. She had secrets. Big ones. He itched to unravel them.
Charlotte closed her eyes for a moment as if she were in pain again, and Benjamin longed to reach out and take her hand in his. The impulse was most unwelcome and made him irritable.
“Well?” He regretted the sharpness in the word.
“Just one more, please. I would not ask if I could do it myself.” Her voice was small and strained, and he wanted to bash his own head in for his brusqueness. You could take the boy out of the gutter, but you could never wash that gutter stench off the boy.
Without a word, he pulled another page from the drawer and poised his quill above it.
“Dear Mr. Roberts and Mr. Finch of the Eton College tuition office, I apologise again for the missing fees for pupils, Marcus and Henry Aston. I have located the misdirected funds and am forwarding them to you forthwith. Sincerely, Frederick Aston Earl of Elford.” She had her face pressed against the windowpane and did not look over when she finished speaking.
“Do you make a habit of not signing your own name to your correspondence?”
Charlotte closed her eyes. “Mr. Scarsdale, might I ask that you keep the contents of these letters to yourself? Or better yet, forget them altogether?”
“Charlotte.” She did not seem to notice that he used her Christian name. “If you are in trouble, I can help you. You need only ask.”
At that, her head whipped around to look at him directly. “I do not need charity. I have it under control. Thank you, Mr. Scarsdale.”
“You may call me Benjamin if you’d like.”
“That would be the height of impropriety.”
“More improper than sharing a bed?” He grinned at her stormy expression.
“I did not agree to that arrangement. In fact, I requested to be returned to my home upon regaining consciousness.”
Benjamin was relieved to see the fire return to her eyes. He did not like the defeated way she had looked out the window while she dictated her letters.
“That does not change the fact that you have been sleeping in my bed every night since then, my dear.” He said it to provoke her, but the idea of her in his bed sent a thrill through him, culminating in a way that made him glad he was seated behind the desk.
“Sir, I once again would request the loan of a carriage to return me to my home.”
He had pushed her too far.
The idea of sending her away from the safety of his home had anxiety chasing away the thrill of desire. “That is not necessary, Charlotte. You and your reputation are safe here.”
“I no longer wish to trespass on your hospitality, Mr. Scarsdale.” She emphasised the formal address. “If you do not loan me a vehicle, I will just hire a hackney cab.”
She was bluffing. He knew for a fact that she had no money on her person, or likely in her possession at all, to pay for a hackney.
“It is not trespassing. I am the one who shot you, after all.”
“Indeed, you did. But I consider the debt repaid. I would feel far more comfortable in my own home now.”
“No.” Benjamin was growing frustrated. He felt the situation slowly rolling out of control, and he did not like not having control.
“Excuse me?” Charlotte’s lovely, faint eyebrows shot up in an almost comical expression of disbelief.
“I said, no. You may not have the use of my carriage because you will not be leaving here tonight, tomorrow, or any time before your shoulder has fully healed.” He sounded dictating even to his own ears.
She gaped for a few moments before finding her words. “You cannot hold me hostage.”
“I am not.”
“Then what do you call keeping me in your bed chamber against my will and using the fate of an innocent woman to coerce me into staying?”
Benjamin frowned at that. “What the hell?”
“Lizzy. You will sack her if I leave? That is coercion.”
“I will sack no one. I never sack my employees.”
Despite the endless swirl of speculation about the myriad cruel and debaucherous acts people suspected he had done—a hazard of the reputation—that accusation pricked his anger.
He knew what a job meant. Knew it was the line between a full belly and a cold gutter.
He did not allow people to cross that line on his account.
His statement seemed to surprise Charlotte. She stood silent, her large brown eyes watching him from a too-drawn face. She needed more rest. Had Price been by today to check her stitches?
“As for the rest, I call it good sense.” Benjamin stood and made a show of smoothing out his evening wear. “Now, I am going to Elysium. I expect you here when I return tomorrow.”
With that, he turned and left the room, marching down the stairs to his waiting carriage.