Page 37 of A Perilous Passion

Well, that would be the very last time any such fate befell him.

From now on, he’d trust no one.

No one.

Chapter Sixteen

“What’s happened to your appetite, girl?” Mama asked the next morning.

Charlotte pushed a piece of cold tongue around her plate. “I’m not hungry. I must have overeaten last night.”

“Nonsense. A lady never overeats.”

Since when had she been a lady? She was the daughter of a criminal. She’d dearly loved her father, but facts were facts.

And last night, she’d shown herself as feckless as her father. She’d allowed Rafe to half undress her and feast his lips on her bare flesh…and try as she might, she couldn’t bring herself to regret it.

It had all felt…incredible.

And instead of mortification, all she felt today was—if only the tables could be turned—that she might have a taste of his.

She’d behaved deplorably.

Her only consolation was that Rafe’s transgression was even greater than her own. He’d done all he’d done to her, and led her on, all the while knowing he had no intention of seeing her again.

A loud knock on the door woke her with a start from her unhappy thoughts. It was Thomas the Carrier, delivering today’s Morning Chronicle. “But I’ve more exciting news than anything in those pages, Miss Allston,” he said as he handed the packet over. “A man was shot and killed on the heath last night, right here in Fortuneswell parish.”

She froze.

Rafe! He wouldn’t have been anywhere near there last night, would he?

Aunt Flora came up behind her. “How terrible!”

Charlotte crossed her arms to hide the trembling in her fingers. “Who was killed? Have you his name?”

“No, I haven’t heard,” he said, then tipped his hat and went about his business.

How infuriating, that he should impart such terrible news but have no details to offer. She would now spend all day wondering if Rafe was dead. They hadn’t exactly parted as friends, which would be forever on her conscience if…

No. She wouldn’t think like that.

Aunt Flora reached for her bonnet. Her voice sounded strained as she said, “I shall go find out at once. Someone in the village is bound to know.”

“You will not,” Mama called from the kitchen. “Come back to the table at once and finish your breakfast. We can’t afford to waste good food.”

Both Charlotte and her aunt reluctantly obeyed.

“I wonder if it was the highwayman who shot the poor man?” Aunt Flora said.

“Or perhaps smugglers,” Charlotte offered. “Whoever it was, it’s a great shock to have such a thing happen so close by.”

It couldn’t be Rafe.

Her stomach roiled as she tried to show an interest in her food.

It mustn’t be Rafe.

“I hope we weren’t in any danger when we came home after the ball,” said Flora anxiously.