“But then a kitten would have been bribery.”
Charlotte arranged her skirts, took him in her hand, and began the joining. “We will talk, Lucas. We will talk later.” Not only about kittens.
He sighed and quiet filled the library. Peaceful sounds punctuated the silence—the soft roar of the fire, the whisper of fabric, slow kisses.
Charlotte held off as best as she could, but Sherbourne was intent on galloping away into the frigid afternoon. She could be selfish only so long, before the passion and longing she’d denied them both in recent weeks demanded satisfaction.
She let herself fall into pleasure, secure in the knowledge that Sherbourne fell with her. She’d made her point—they were married, in every sense of the word, and what she and Sherbourne had joined, no pesky, arrogant earl, misguided wife, or stubborn husband could put asunder.
“This is not enough, Lucas.” Her brisk pronouncement came out more like a sigh murmured against his shoulder.
“Not nearly,” he replied, stroking her hair. “I need at least another fifty years of moments stolen with you in the library.”
“Sixty,” Charlotte said. “Windhams are hardy.”
Sherbourne used his grip on her hair to gently turn her face to his. “You are a Sherbourne now, madam. I’ll thank you to remember that.”
She was both, which was why she really must tell him the rest about the letters she’d sent. “Yes, Lucas.”
They remained in a quiet embrace for far too few minutes, until Charlotte’s eyes grew heavy.
“I cannot indulge you in a nap now,” Sherbourne said, “though I can carry you to bed.”
Charlotte sat up and let her husband retie her chemises. “There’ll be no more of that nonsense when I can stand on my own two feet. While your horse is being saddled, I’ll have Cook put together some provisions. We missed our luncheon.”
Must he be so proficient at dressing her? All too soon, Charlotte was shaking out the quilt and folding it neatly over the sofa while Sherbourne finished buttoning his falls.
Charlotte caught him in a hug rather than face the world beyond the door. “I don’t want you to go.”
“I don’t want to leave you, but I’ve a puzzle to solve. Do you trust me to solve it to your satisfaction, Charlotte?”
He was so warm and solid, so dear, and the puzzle—the Earl of Brantford’s trail of dishonor—was so difficult. “I trust you. I’m good at sums. Puzzles defeat me.”
“The riddle is simple: How do I hold Brantford accountable for his sins, while keeping every single groat of his money?”
“Carefully, Lucas,” Charlotte said, stepping back. “You do that very, very carefully.”
*
Leaving Charlotte ranked among the most difficult tasks Sherbourne had set for himself, and yet, he did just that not thirty minutes after she’d loved him witless in the library. The snow had stopped, and traveling by daylight was imperative if Sherbourne was to travel safely.
Then too, Haverford might take a deal of convincing.
“You choose an odd day to pay a call,” His Grace said, as Sherbourne was admitted to an octagonal parlor. “Are you hiding from your wife?”
“I don’t see your wife hanging on your coattails, Haverford.”
“Elizabeth is napping, which ladies in a delicate condition tend to do, and I, being the most considerate of husbands in all of Britain, would no more—”
“Haverford, this is not a social call.”
“We’re family, may God have mercy on us both. Of course this is a social call. Shall I ring for tea?”
A year ago, Sherbourne would have been delighted to see His Grace of Haverford pouring out for him in one of the castle’s private parlors.
“I haven’t time for tea, and neither do you.”
The duke tugged the bell pull. “One always has time for a civilized cup of tea, regardless of how disagreeable the company one finds upon one’s doorstep. Stop pacing a hole in Her Grace’s carpets and have a seat.”
“Haverford, do not, I pray you, tell me what to do. In my present mood, I might reciprocate your impertinence, and then we’ll come to blows, and our respective wives will be wroth with us.”
Haverford took up a lean against the mantel. “Something has you in a royal pet.”
Sherbourne gazed out the window, to a bleak landscape he must soon traverse. “I am in the presence of a monument to perspicacity.”
“Five entire syllables in one word.”
“Meaning to count them, you had to use every finger on one hand, but do you know what the word means, Your Grace?”
Haverford’s brows rose, and then his lips twitched. “That’s very good. I must remember to use it on Radnor.”
Sherbourne took the chair closest to the fire. “Brantford was your guest for more than a week. What was your impression of him?”
“He’ll not be my guest again,” Haverford said. “I’ve encountered any number of aristocratic ornaments, but the idle and titled usually exert themselves enough to be charming. Even on his best behavior—for my duchess tolerates nothing less than gentlemanly deportment at all times—Brantford had a subtle air of arrogance.”
“Charlotte hates him.”
Haverford took the second chair. “I would not wish Charlotte Sherbourne’s hatred on anybody lightly, but if I had to choose an apt target for her loathing, Brantford would do. There was talk, a few years ago, that he despoiled an innocent and turned his back on the lady. Radnor’s own mama confirmed that rumor, and thus I accept it as fact. I could not see that such a scandal bore directly on his commercial ventures, else I would have spoken up sooner.”
Would that he had, instead of poking his nose all over the colliery at every opportunity. “It is fact. What must a guest do in this castle to have some sustenance brought up from the kitchen?”
Haverford sat back and crossed his ankles. “Now you’re demanding your tea and crumpets? Do we blame your contrary disposition on a lack of proper nutrition?”
“You’re the one who’ll want to partake. The innocent whom Brantford despoiled was Charlotte’s dearest friend.”
Haverford stared at his feet, which were encased in a pair of worn field boots scuffed at the toes and in want of polish. “Does Charlotte know this?”
“She does now, and Brantford is threatening me with slander and worse unless I repay his investment on very favorable accelerated terms.”
“Extortion dressed up in lace and satin. I should have had Radnor take his lordship shooting, and arranged for someone’s gun to misfire. Happens all the time in the damp.”
What a delightful notion—and so simple. “Haverford, we are not barbarians.”
“Brantford is, but I gather you know that. So what brings you here? I make a very fine second—ducal consequence and all that.”
His Grace sounded uncharacteristically enthusiastic. “I’m touched, but I must decline. Charlotte says that because I am not titled, Brantford would ignore my challenge. There’s also the matter of Brantford’s son.”
A tap sounded on the door, and Haverford got up to admit a footman bearing an enormous silver tray. The offerings included tea with all the trimmings, sandwiches, shortbread, and tea cakes. The footman set the tray on a low table, bowed, and withdrew.
Haverford gestured to food. “If you expect me to pour your tea for you like some spinster auntie with a favorite nephew, you’re daft. Feed yourself, and I shall do likewise. By the way, an acquaintance in Swansea tells me that Hannibal Jones’s last day at the Waxter operation was the day before the shaft flooded. He’d been demanding that the owners spend the money to reinforce the tunnel, and they refused. The parting of the ways was not amicable, and they’ve been trying to blame Jones for the accident ever since.”
“You made inquiries on my behalf?” Inquiries Sherbourne could not have made himself.
“On behalf of the valley. Spare one beef sandwich for me, and please explain how we’re to resolve your contretemps with my least favorite earl.”