Page 182 of A Perilous Passion

“Charlotte?”

Her expression altered. Treating him to a lop-sided smile, she said, “Well, given your admission, Rafe Pomeroy, Earl of Beckport, I shall give your offer positive consideration.”

Before he could decide how to interpret her words, there was a sudden eruption of noise from outside, followed by a loud cursing, and a bang.

Then the door burst open.

And Justin Jessop filled the doorway like a furious avenging angel.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Rafe’s first instinct was to leap out of bed and wrap his fingers around the young man’s throat. But he’d expose Charlotte by doing so.

Instead, regardless of his own nakedness, he shifted to place his body in front of her.

“What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded coldly. A red-faced Paynter seized the invader from behind and twisted Jessop’s arm up behind him. “Sorry, sir, for the intrusion. I tried to stop him.”

Rafe glared at Jessop. “If you would be kind enough to give me time to dress, I will gladly speak with you. Outside.”

Jessop burst out, “You black-hearted villain! You’ve ruined Charlotte. I demand satisfaction for her honor!”

“You’re hardly in any position to do so,” Rafe replied, “since you once set out to do exactly the same thing. Pray, step outside.”

“No! I demand satisfaction!” By an impressive maneuver—which must have almost dislocated his shoulder—Jessop broke free of his captor and lunged forward.

Rafe was up in a trice, his fist itching to make contact with the young man’s chin. Instead, he caught him about the throat, shoved him against the wall, and lifted him clear off the ground. “Tempting as it would be to draw your cork,” he grated out, “I won’t shed blood in the presence of a lady. Simmer down, sirrah.” Not forgetting the naked, mortified female in the bed behind him, he strove to keep his tone firm but cool.

Jessop’s eyes were watering, and he made a pitiful choking sound.

Fearful of distressing Charlotte further, Rafe dropped his prisoner and inclined his head toward the door. “Out.”

Jessop said, “You haven’t heard the last of this, Seabourne.” Casting a disdainful eye over Rafe’s semi-aroused state, he adjusted his collar, squared his shoulders, and left the room, rapidly followed by Paynter.

Rafe locked the door and turned anxiously to Charlotte. She’d buried herself beneath the sheets, her body shaking with tears. Quite justifiably. Jessop had completely ruined their moment. How Rafe ached to tan the boy’s worthless hide!

He reached out to take her in his arms and comfort her.

An unladylike snort issued from the heap of bedclothes.

His hand froze in midair. She was…laughing? They’d just been through the most hideously embarrassing moment of his life, and she found it amusing?

He peeled back the sheets to admonish her, but a slender arm reached out and pulled him down for a kiss. He smiled as he submitted. She wasn’t just a minx, but a wanton, as well—something he might have secretly hoped for, but never dared to expect.

He would have liked to lie in bed with her all day—hell, all year—but things needed attending to. Summoning all his willpower, he disentangled himself and sat back.

She pushed herself up in bed, the thin sheet barely concealing her luscious breasts. Ruthlessly brushing aside memories of the silken skin and the delightfully aroused nipples he’d sampled last night, he took her hand.

He waited until her merriment subsided, then said, “That is not how I would have wished the magic of this morning to end.”

She chuckled, squeezing his hand. “You are so magnificent when you’re angry! Even though you were naked, you didn’t flinch. Poor Justin—his eyes nearly popped out of his head!”

Rafe stroked the back of her hand. “You know the fellow,” he said. “Who will he go to with this? Much as I’d like to marry you today, I’d prefer to do it properly. I don’t want you rushed into marriage by a blabbermouth with an ax to grind. You really ought to see Beckport House before you agree to marry me. You have a right to know what manner of place you’ll be mistress of.”

“He won’t say anything,” she replied. “Until your dispatch reaches its destination, he’s a deserter. He definitely won’t go to his father, a man of no sympathy, whatsoever.”

“Won’t he tell your mama? She’s the one with the most vested interest in your reputation.”

Charlotte shook her head. “She hates him. She’s threatened to empty the slops over him if he so much as shows his face in Fortuneswell.”