Page 201 of A Perilous Passion

She gazed back into his warm brown eyes, and her heart did a somersault.

Here was Rafe Pomeroy, Earl of Beckport, as she’d never seen him before. Dressed in a cobalt blue coat that fitted his muscular figure to perfection and a pair of Hessians so finely polished they looked like bronze, he was every inch the powerful English aristocrat. A glistening white neck cloth adorned his throat, his fingers toyed with a silver-topped cane, and a gold-rimmed quizzing glass hung against his tightly-clad thigh.

As she continued to gaze in mute admiration at this splendid specimen of nobility, he stepped forward, bowed gallantly to her, and took her by the hand.

His touch was electric. Even through his gloves, she could feel the intensity of it, like a charge that had been building up in a cloud.

She dipped a curtsy, rose, and gazed her fill.

How long she stood there gaping at him in admiration, she had no idea, but when he looked past her into the hallway beyond, she suddenly remembered there were other interested parties in the house.

“P-please, come in,” she bid him.

He doffed his tall hat as she stood aside for him, placed it and his gloves on the hall table, and strode straight to the kitchen.

The kitchen!

Good heavens! Mama and Flora would be mortified. They’d be scurrying around in their aprons, tidying up before presenting themselves in the parlor.

“Not that way, my lord!” Charlotte exclaimed.

“Do not call me my lord, woman,” he said with a grin. “I smell tea and toast and would gladly avail myself of some. I got up too early for breakfast.”

“I, um… Oh.”

Moments later, he was seated at the kitchen table, with Mama and Aunt Flora dancing attendance on him as if he were royalty. He was clearly enjoying himself.

She was too flustered to appreciate the irony.

She narrowed her eyes as he crossed his legs under the table, bringing his knee into contact with hers. He returned her look with one of studied innocence.

Eventually, Mama and Flora sat down, too.

“Is your business in these parts concluded?” Flora asked.

“It is, indeed,” he said. “Dovehouse Farm was vacated yesterday after my final dispatches were sent. I’m now restored to Beckport House, much to the relief of my valet. And myself, I must admit.”

“Does this mean your spying days are over, my lord?” Mama enquired.

“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.”