Page 100 of A Perilous Passion

“They are, ma’am. I’m no longer to be trusted with keeping my identity a secret, it seems. I’ve been encouraged by my superiors to take up my inherited duties once more, in the safety of my own estates. A rather harsh treatment for one who thrives on action, don’t you think? I shall have to travel, perhaps, and imperil myself with daring adventures, instead.”

The mouthful of tea Charlotte was swallowing stuck like a lump in her throat. He was planning to travel? Without consulting her?

Without her?

He had changed his mind about her.

The tea went down, but her throat remained dry. Her whole body felt brittle and empty.

“Assuming my wife is content to accompany me,” he added, sending her a look, which had Flora and Mama shuffling awkwardly in their chairs.

Charlotte’s cup clattered to her saucer. “Your wife?” she asked cautiously. Uncertainty assailed her. Did he mean her or some other gloriously fortunate woman?

Beneath the table, his knee pressed against hers, but he turned away and addressed her mama. “I know it’s unconventional, but would you and your family favor me with a visit, Mrs. Allston? I would like to show you all Beckport House. So you know where Charlotte will hold sway as my wife, and are content with what I have to offer her. I’ve brought two carriages to convey us. Would you be able to leave right away for a short stay?”

Charlotte’s jaw dropped. She hadn’t even accepted him yet! There was still too much to discuss.

She winced as Mama said, “We would be happy to accept, my lord. We can be packed in the blink of an eye.”

“I’d better stay here,” said Flora quickly. “Someone needs to look after the house.”

Charlotte wanted to say she’d be happy to stay at home, too, but she’d been outgunned. Rafe was looking so smug, she wanted to smack him.

Unfortunately, she wanted to kiss him even more.

Despite everything, her heart fluttered in anticipation.

After a violent flurry of activity, she found herself outside, dressed in a warm pelisse over her best day dress, gazing nervously at the two carriages waiting beyond the gate.

Mama immediately went to the one with the coat-of-arms emblazoned on the side, and a smiling Rafe helped her in. He informed her that he and Charlotte would travel in the other vehicle, as he wished for some time alone with his betrothed.

“Strange,” Charlotte mumbled, “but I seem to have no recollection of accepting your proposal.”

“Really?” he said with feigned surprise. “I remember most distinctly. It was morning, and we were still in—”

“Hush!” she said, scandalized over what might come out of his mouth next. She knew exactly in what direction that particular memory would take the conversation.

She shot her astonished mama an anxious look as Rafe took her elbow and helped her up the steps into the second carriage.

Mama, oddly enough, did not look the least bit outraged—as might be expected. She gave Charlotte an encouraging nod, then settled back in the impressive carriage to admire her luxurious surroundings.

“I knew she’d want to go in the most ostentatious carriage,” said Rafe as he followed Charlotte in and knocked on the roof to alert his driver they were ready to go. “Which means now I have you all to myself.” The look he gave her was that of a ravening wolf.

She quivered, and wondered how long it would take to get to Beckport House.

Soon, his knee was again touching hers, the pressure increasing each time the vehicle went over a rut. She was sure he’d chosen the smaller carriage deliberately. The man was incorrigible.

The thought warmed her.

“You will be pleased to hear,” he said, “that Jessop is to go to London. I’ve found him a position as a confidential clerk in the Ministry for War. It will make excellent use of his intelligence, and carries with it every chance of promotion. He showed an admirable skill at subterfuge, so who knows? He may one day decide to become a spy.”

She nodded, her mind distracted by the pleasing cadence of Rafe’s voice and the way his fascinating mouth moved as he spoke. “That’s nice.”

Despite her reservations, she was coming under his spell again. He looked so utterly desirable in his close-fitting clothes that emphasized every muscle of his body—a body whose heat was even now seeping into her. It astonished her that he could exert such power over her flesh when they were barely touching, but each time his knee brushed hers, she was mentally throwing herself at him and begging him to make love to her.

Guilt filled her from head to toe. They ought to be talking about the acceptability—or rather, unacceptability—of a match between them. Something far more important than the demands of her body.

But all she could think about was the feel of his naked flesh pressed against hers, his knowing hands and mouth doing all manner of thrilling things to her.