Chapter Thirty-Eight
Freddie. It had been Freddie. Charlotte sat down hard on the edge of the bed, Benjamin’s hand coming around her wrist in a steadying grip.
“We do not know it was Frederick who told Deering of your whereabouts.” She heard Benjamin’s voice as if from the end of a long tunnel. “Charlotte, we do not have the facts yet.”
“No,” she whispered. “It was Freddie.”
The certainty was like a rock in the pit of her stomach. She had never known something so absolutely in all her life. Freddie had betrayed her—betrayed her family. And she could not, for the life of her, understand how he could have done it.
She stood abruptly. “I need to find him.”
“Let Wells do it. You do not need to go running through the stews of London to find him. You would not know the first place to start.”
Charlotte thought of the stack of letters Freddie had received when Benjamin had bought up all of his debts. The kiss of lip rouge on the bottom of one. “I think I have a very good idea of where to start.”
Benjamin grumbled behind her, and she heard the sounds of his bedclothes being pushed aside. “What do you think you are doing?” she demanded sharply. “Get back into bed this instant!”
“I will not,” Benjamin replied calmly, and Charlotte found herself distracted by the long expanse of bare muscled leg that emerged from beneath the sheets. The linen tunic he wore preserved his modesty—but only just.
“If you keep looking at me that way, I will indeed have reason to return to bed—though I would prefer it to be a fresh one. This one smells as if someone has been lying at death’s door.” He gave her a devilish smile that did funny things to her insides.
“Benjamin Scarsdale. You have been shot. You are still recovering from an infection. I insist you return to bed!” She was bordering on shrill now, but she could not seem to do anything about it. Worry for his health had eclipsed all reason.
Ambling over to the bellpull by the washstand as if he had not a care in the world, Benjamin tugged the pull. Then, to her astonishment, he stripped off his shirt and went about lathering a wash rag with all the leisure of a gentleman enjoying perfect health. Completely nude.
“Benjamin!” She was mortified by the missish squeal that came from her lips, even as she should have turned around. Somehow, she could not bring herself to tear her gaze away from his firm buttocks and demur to his privacy.
“What?” The insufferable man had the audacity to sound completely innocent, as if he did not know what his sudden disrobing was doing to her—as if he had not done it on purpose.
“I must wash some of this sickly grime off of me if I am to accompany you on this foolhardy hunt for your worthless brother.”
“I—I…” Charlotte did turn around then, if only to regain some use of her mental faculties.
“It is not foolhardy. Freddie betrayed me and our family, and it is time he faced the consequences of his deeds. And—and…” She took a deep breath, her voice dropping with sorrow and uncertainty. “I need to know why.”
“I understand.” His voice was soft against her neck, and she sucked in a breath—surprised by his sudden proximity.
She spun and found him there, a hairsbreadth away, and nearly fully dressed—that was fast. And then, when she looked up into his eyes, she knew that he did understand.
There, staring back at her was a wealth of understanding, acceptance, heat, and—her heart soared—love.
“We will find your brother, Charlotte. But first, before I let you leave this room, I must ask you a question.” Charlotte felt her body swaying towards him, completely in his thrall.
“Yes?” The word was barely a breath.
Benjamin’s lips quirked before he grew serious once again. “I would have preferred to do this in a more idyllic setting, but I cannot wait.” He took her hands in both of his, still cool from the water in the washbasin. “Charlotte Aston, my Elfin Queen, will you marry me?”
Charlotte could not breathe for a moment, sure she had been drawn into some faraway dream. Benjamin’s eyes searched hers, uncertainty creeping across his face the longer she did not answer.
“Yes.” She gasped the word out, the force of it somehow loosening her tongue. “Yes. Yes!” She let out a stuttering laugh. “Yes, Benjamin. I will marry you!”
His face broke into the most radiant smile she had ever seen and transformed him from handsome to unbearably beautiful. She could not take her eyes off him.
He let out a whooping, jovial laugh that she would have never expected from a man like him, and he crushed her into his arms, lifting her feet from the ground as he kissed her. For a moment, they were suspended there together, floating above the ground. Until he let out a surprised groan.
“Your shoulder!” she nearly shouted. “You idiot man! What are you doing hauling me up like that, days after you were shot?”
“I love when you scold.” His smile was still a ray of sunshine on her face, and she found she could not maintain her frustration.
“Take care, my love. You are not mended yet.”
He grinned and kissed her again, though more gently this time. “My love. I could get used to that.”
“Eh-hem.” The pointed clearing of a throat caught their attention, and they turned to the open door to see the Duke of Wells standing rather awkwardly in the threshold.
Perhaps it was on account of her very good spirits, but Charlotte wanted to laugh at the absurd picture of a duke looking uncomfortable in his own home. It was likely a rare occurrence indeed.
“You rang?” His voice was dripping with mildly amused sarcasm, and the urbane mask was back in place.
“The duke responds to a bell summons?” Charlotte could not mask her surprise.
“He does when his friend has been shot. My staff were instructed to alert me to any changes in the patient’s health.
The maid you did ring for has already come and gone, I assume by her rather flushed appearance when she came to inform me of your clear change in health…
” he gestured lazily to the bed and Benjamin’s obvious absence in it, “that she must have caught you in a rather more compromising position than I just have.”
Charlotte felt a blush rising to the roots of her hair.
“Your Grace.” Benjamin’s sardonic delivery of the honorific title was somewhat undercut but his clear happiness. “You may be the first to congratulate us. Lady Charlotte has just agreed to be my wife.”
A slow smile spread across the duke’s carefully bored features before turning into an outright grin.
It had a similarly arresting effect on the man’s appearance, and Charlotte found herself able to imagine both men as the boys they once were.
“Well, it is about damn time. My felicitations to you both.”
∞∞∞
A half hour later, after nearly force-feeding Benjamin a tray of biscuits to try to fortify his strength after he made it very clear he would not back down from his decision to accompany her and Wells to find Freddie, Charlotte sat across from the duke in one of his lush carriages, Benjamin’s good arm wound through hers, their fingers clasped on her lap.
“Will you move back to Derbyshire?” Wells asked conversationally as he flipped the curtain from the window to better see the carriage’s progress.
Charlotte cocked an eyebrow. “I imagine we will live here.” The new concept we sent a thrill of pleasure through her, undampened by their current errand.
“What with Benjamin’s business in London, it makes the most sense.
Besides, we do not have a family residence in Derbyshire anymore—there is no reason to return.
” Though the idea of her quiet country childhood had her feeling unaccountably wistful.
“Even if we did, it would by rights belong to Freddie anyway. He is still the earl.” Whether he deserved the title or not.
Wells raised his eyebrows in response, but he was not looking at her. “You have not told her?”
“Told me what?”
Benjamin glowered at his friend but then turned an almost sheepish gaze to her.
“I suppose it is hardly a wedding gift, considering I purchased it before I had actually considered marrying you to be a possibility—and if you had stayed in Edinburgh, you would have found out soon anyway—unless Collier’s colleagues were somehow waylaid.
” None of this was making any sense to her, and if he had not been so endearingly timid about it, she might have badgered him to the point.
“Still, in light of recent developments.” He squeezed her hand in his and smiled.
“I would rather have liked to tell you upon our marriage.”
“Benjamin! Spit it out! A woman only has so much patience.” The demand was only softened by her eager smile.
“I bought Lamdel Manor. It is yours now. Everything is in your name. As it always should have been.”
Charlotte could not believe her ears. He had bought Lamdel. Her childhood home, which she had cherished so fondly. That Freddie had squandered. He had purchased it for her. In her name. And he had not intended to use it as any sort of leverage—simply bestow it upon her because she loved it.
Her eyes grew misty, and the two men’s faces grew taut with panic at the prospect of a tearful woman in their midst. The comically identical expressions made her laugh out loud.
“Apologies, I am just so—” She could not find the words. “Benjamin, I am touched beyond words. I cannot tell you what this means to me.”
He grumbled some dismissive comment when she kissed his cheek. But she saw the flush of pleasure that had stolen over his high cheekbones. Wells cleared his throat uncomfortably.
“Ah, here we are.” The obvious relief in the duke’s voice was enough to make her laugh again. For such an unflappably powerful man, it was proving remarkably easy to disconcert him.