Page 99 of A Perilous Passion

Charlotte shrank back still further. How could she possibly live up to such splendor? Although she’d pinched some color into her cheeks this morning, and arranged her curls attractively on the off-chance he might come, she wasn’t too confident of the results.

“He’s coming to the door!” squeaked Flora. “Oh my, doesn’t he look handsome? I’ve never seen him so neat and tidy before.”

Charlotte almost jumped out of her skin when the door knocker sounded. No one moved. Both her mother and aunt were staring expectantly at her.

“Well, go on,” Mama said in a stage whisper. “Aren’t you going to let him in? Flora and I will just be in the kitchen clearing away the breakfast things.”

Before Charlotte could protest, they both vanished.

Gathering her courage, she made her way to the hallway and arranged her features in an expression of polite detachment.

She hoped.

And opened the door.

Rafe had just stepped back to look up at her window. He wasn’t thinking about climbing the trellis again, was he? She smiled impishly at the memory.

When he saw her, he faltered, and stood stock still, gazing at her.

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.