Dear God, did he intend to ask her to be his wife?

Fourteen

Meredith jumped to her feet, trying to hide her mounting alarm. Abandoning the idea of fixing her hair, she scanned the room for her reticule, every fiber of her being intent on escaping. Before he gave voice to an impossible proposal.

Philip rose and grasped her shoulders. “Meredith, I-”

She rested her fingers against his lips, cutting off his words. Trying to keep her voice calm, she said, “Don’t say anything else.”

Hurt and confusion flashed in his eyes. “Why not?”

Because I know a simple “no” will not satisfy you, that you ‘d want more of an explanation. And I cannot think of a lie in my current state of confusion that would satisfy you. And I cannot tell you the truth. And because it’s now obvious where talking to you leads-to me lying on my back. “Because I… I am not ready to hear anything more. I need time to think, and I cannot do that in your presence. You’re far too… distracting.”

A measure of the tension left his face. “You affect me in exactly that same way. Which is why-”

“No!” Full-fledged panic rose in her, doubled by the unmistakable hurt and confusion in his gaze. “Please, Philip. Please do not say anything else. Not now.”

His unwavering gaze completely unnerved her. “You know what I want to ask you, Meredith.”

She didn’t dare pretend she didn’t, lest he indeed ask her. “Yes. But not here. Not now. I… I need to think.”

He studied her for several seconds. “Very well. But we will discuss this, Meredith.”

She nodded. “But not now.” Not until I’ve had a chance to gather my thoughts and shore up my defenses against you.

“I’ll return for you here once I’ve seen to the carriage.” He quit the room, closing the door quietly behind him. The instant she was alone, Meredith buried her face in her hands.

Dear God, what had she done?


Albert pushed aside the heavy blue velvet drapes and stared out the drawing room window. Without even a glimmer of moonlight, nothing save blackness and his own somber reflection greeted his stare. He listened to the mantel clock chime, announcing it was midnight. Surely Miss Merrie would return home soon from the fancy dinner party. Would Lord Greybourne choose one of the fine ladies he’d invited to be his wife? Or would he follow his heart?

An image of Charlotte rose in his mind’s eye. Squeezing his eyes shut, he rested his forehead on the cool glass and blew out a long breath. She’d gone upstairs hours ago to put Hope to bed and had not returned. Obviously she’d retired as well.

Instantly the image in his mind shifted, and he imagined Charlotte, lying in bed, her blond hair fanned out across the pillow, firelight flickering across her golden skin. His body tightened, and he gritted his teeth, trying to banish the sensual image, but to no avail. Reaching out her arms, she said, “Albert…” A groan of misery-filled longing he could not suppress escaped him.

“Albert… are you all right?”

His eyes popped open, and he jerked upright. Reflected in the window, he saw her standing in the doorway.

Heat rushed into his face. Biting back a curse, he tried to will away his obvious arousal, but it was hopeless. And damn it, he’d left his jacket and waistcoat in his bedchamber. There was nothing to shield his condition from her.

“I’m fine.” The words came out in a strained, hoarse voice.

He watched her reflection, watched her hesitate, praying for all he was worth that she’d turn and leave him. Instead she frowned, then walked slowly toward him.

“You don’t sound fine. I heard you groan… did you hurt yourself?”

“No.” The word felt ripped from his throat. His heart pounded harder with every step she took. She didn’t stop until she stood next to him. Her delicate, flowery scent wafted over him, and he clenched his jaw and fisted his hands at his side. Although she’d retired hours ago, she still wore her gray day gown. Thank God. If she’d shown up in her night rail…

Bloody hell, don’t think of her wearin‘ a night rail. He felt her staring at his profile and resolutely fixed his gaze out the window, but that didn’t help, as he could clearly see her reflected in the glass. Her lovely profile. Her full lips. Her soft hair. Her feminine curves. God help him. Perhaps if he ignored her she would leave. Before she saw the effect she had upon him.

“I came down to make a cup of tea. Would you care for one?”

“No.” The word came out much harsher than he’d intended, and he saw her flinch, saw the look of hurt, surprised confusion pass over her features at his biting tone. Damn it all, he was making a muck of things. He had to get away from her. Now. Intent upon escaping as quickly as possible, he turned swiftly. Too swiftly. As he did so often, he tripped over his own bloody feet, and would have fallen fiat on his face had she not grabbed hold of his upper arms to steady him.

He straightened and found himself standing less than a foot away from her, her hands grasping his upper arms. The heat of humiliation at his clumsiness instantly changed into heat of an entirely different sort, radiating need and want through him from where her hands touched him. Somewhere in the back of his mind a small voice screamed at him to move away from her. But instead he looked into her eyes.

Beautiful gray eyes that stared up at him with an expression he couldn’t name, but that halted his breath just the same. By God, the feel of her hands, even through his shirt, burned fire through him. She was so close. She smelled so delicious. He loved her so deeply. And God help him, he wanted her so badly…

He’d meant to step away. Surely he had. But the longing and desire he’d fought against for so long overwhelmed him, and he stepped forward. Cupped her pale face with one unsteady hand. Wrapped his other arm around her waist to draw her flush against him. Heart slamming against his ribs, limbs shaking, he leaned in and touched his lips to hers, kissing her with all the pent-up love in his soul. For several euphoric seconds. Until he realized he was the only one participating. Abruptly ending the kiss, he straightened. And froze.

She stood wooden in his embrace, face devoid of color, eyes wide and filled with shock. Nothing but shock. No warmth, no desire, no tenderness.

He released her as if she’d burned him, and took two hasty steps backward. And finally another expression filled her eyes.

Pity.

Jesus. Anything but that. Anger. Hatred. Disgust. But not pity. For the virginal cripple who’d made a complete ass out of himself. And destroyed years of friendship with a single, thoughtless act. How could he have been so incredibly stupid?

“I… I’m sorry, Charlotte. Please, forgive me.”

She said nothing, just stood rigidly, hands clenched at her sides, staring at him with that same stunned, pity-filled expression that jabbed a knife straight through his heart. Turning, he strode from the room as swiftly as his lame leg allowed, not stopping until he reached the privacy of his bedchamber. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he propped his elbows on his shaking knees, then lowered his head into his hands.

God Almighty, never, never had anything hurt like this. Not Taggert’s fists, not his leg, nothing. And just when he thought he couldn’t be more mortified, hot tears pushed at the backs of his eyes and a shudder shook him. Bloody hell, he hadn’t been reduced to tears since he was a lad. But these weren’t tears of pain. They were tears of loss.

Another shudder racked him, and a litany of self-directed obscenities whispered past his lips. He’d ruined everything. That one-sided kiss, her utter rejection, and his utter humiliation would always stand between them. Christ, how could he ever look her in the eye again? He’d betrayed her trust. She no doubt thought him nothing more than a randy bastard, the same sort who’d misused her for years.

Raising his head, he dragged his hands down his face. He had two choices. He could try to find some way to accomplish the impossible-to find the words to make amends to her, then pray they could go on as if tonight had never happened. Or he could leave Miss Merrie’s house.

His heart shattered as it recognized that there was really only one choice.


Charlotte stared at the empty doorway where Albert had disappeared, and slowly emerged from the stupor that had afflicted her since the instant he’d stumbled into her arms. Raising a shaking hand, she pressed her fingers to her lips.

Lips that only moments before he’d touched with his own.

Heat swamped her, awakening her senses that his unexpected kiss had frozen with shock. Her eyes slid closed, and she allowed herself to relive those few seconds. Never had a man kissed her like that. With sweet, heart-stopping gentleness. With all her experience, she hadn’t known a kiss could be so… beautiful. Hadn’t known it could rob her of breath. Of movement. Render her wide-eyed, stunned, and speechless.

Yet she should have known that Albert would kiss like that. Everything about him was good and kind, tender and sweet. And heaven help her, she wanted all that goodness and kindness for herself. She wanted Albert for herself. And after the way he’d held her against him, after she’d seen the blatant desire burning in his eyes, there was no denying he’d wanted her.

Pity had suffused her that someone as fine as Albert would waste his desires on someone like her. Which brought to mind the most nagging of questions. Why would he want someone like her? Had he been drinking? No, there’d been no hint of spirits about him. Perhaps it hadn’t been her he’d desired-maybe she’d just happened upon him when he’d been thinking about some other woman, a woman he desired. Yes, most likely she’d simply found Albert at a randy moment. She well knew that men had plenty of those. A man got hard, and any woman would do.