Page 42 of Charity

The earl didn’t answer at first. He seemed hesitant to confirm or deny Oscar’s question. He turned away and his hands raked through his hair again. He gave the ginger locks a harsh tug and then turned. “I do want children,” the earl whispered. “It’s just that Lilly is…”

“Delicate.” Oscar finished for him when he couldn’t seem to end his sentence. Of course, that was a worry for any man. But in Daventry’s case, his fears for Lilly might have some validity. From what he understood, Lilly’s condition had altered drastically once the earl had got his hands on her, quite literally the same night. His skill at seduction had reduced her pain significantly, but a birth—he didn’t know how that would go, either.

“Have you spoken to Lilly about this?”

Daventry dropped into a chair and pressed his head into the seat back. “No. I don’t want to say anything that might disappoint her. She’s had enough of that already.”

At some point, close to when Lilly and the earl had become reacquainted, Lilly’s family had given up on her recovering her health. That she was well enough for rational conversation and not deeply drugged by laudanum was entirely thanks to Daventry’s inappropriate and scandalous behavior. Oscar drew in a deep breath. What Daventry needed was advice: advice from females who would forgive any blunt and indelicate questions, but not gossip about him later. He needed his family. But his mother was dead these past years and his sister a veritable shrew who’d make a fuss.

“I doubt anything you do would disappoint that woman, but you should talk to her about your fears.” Daventry didn’t look convinced. “At least, consider it. In the interim, should I approach my mother for advice for you? She’s always nattering on about women’s complaints. She’s from Town at present, but she returns tomorrow.”

Daventry bowed his head. “She’s invited to tomorrow night’s dinner. Did you know?”

“Actually, no. If I catch her as she arrives home, you might be able to have a quick word with her in private without Lilly realizing. Who else is coming?”

Daventry, if it were possible, looked decidedly uncomfortable as he rattled off the acceptances.

Oscar pushed to his feet, quite prepared to bolt from the house. “My God. What were you thinking?” Both his former lover and future wife were to dine together in the same house, on the same night, at his best friend’s table. It would be a catastrophe. It was his worst nightmare come to life.

Although, when he thought about it properly, his current life was as much a nightmare as it could possibly be.

Daventry grasped his arm in a tight grip. “I couldn’t convince Lilly of the problems, and I forbid you to make the evening more difficult for her. She’s a bundle of nerves as it is.”

“Was Agatha informed of the guest list?”

“Agatha has helped Lilly plan the dinner party, right down to the seating arrangements. She knows exactly who’s coming and didn’t say a word.” Daventry gave his arm a rough shake then set him free. “We’ll muddle through. Somehow.”

Oscar settled to a chair. Agatha was in for an uncomfortable night and there was nothing he could do about it.

The luncheon bell rang out and Oscar’s anxiety returned with the last bell.

Daventry hurried from the room, no doubt heading for their informal luncheon. But Oscar lingered, trying desperately to work out what he could do or say to make tomorrow night less of a trial for Agatha. Unfortunately, his mind had completely blanked of witty, clever, or even desperate suggestions.

Maybe he should have stepped between Bartholomew and Lilly and let him pull the trigger. The pain of death might have been brief, but it would have been far preferable to the hell he had to live. Anything would be better than his current life.

A timid tap at the door snapped his head up. Agatha stood waiting, fingers curled around the door frame. “You left me alone with them.” Her face was grave, but her eyes sparkled in amusement.

“Sorry.” Oscar dragged himself to his feet and walked the few short steps until they stood side by side.

Her blue eyes widened. “You really are unwell.”

When her hand rose to cup his jaw, he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. He couldn’t help it. He had the sudden urge to confess every single fear he possessed, to tell her about the endless nightmare of his dreams. But he couldn’t do that here. There was no reason for his friends to discover how badly he was affected.

Agatha’s thumb brushed across his lower lip. He drew in a ragged breath, tears causing a sting to his eyes at the tenderness of her touch. He didn’t try to reassure Agatha that he was well, because he had an inkling he’d started down this path the moment he’d let her go.

Agatha pressed her hand to his chest and he stepped back, eyes still closed. He couldn’t help but react physically to Agatha even if he didn’t want to. Tomorrow night’s dinner would be awkward in the extreme if he couldn’t hide his longing for her.

The sound of the door closing and the lock snapping shut opened his eyes. Agatha had locked them in. She stood with her head turned slightly to the side, eyeing him with concern. He tried to pull himself together, but regaining his composure was beyond him. Agatha’s arms slipped around his waist and she hugged him against her.

He folded, adjusting his height a little so they rested more comfortably together, her legs wedged between his widespread ones, his lips inches from her skin.

Agatha’s hands skimmed his waist, thumbs sliding over his waistcoat, fingertips burrowing under the band of his trousers. The warmth of her touch set his body aflame. He fought it, striving to keep his wits about him in a sea of desire. Agatha breathed deep, and then lifted her face to his.

Their lips touched without effort. Warmth pressing them together, desire making their bodies as restless as the wind. Agatha slipped her tongue past his lips. He let her be the aggressor. As much as he wanted her, he could never force her to act so recklessly in her best friend’s house.

He should stop her.

But Agatha’s fingers were digging beneath his clothes restlessly, tugging at his clothing with impatient hands. His shirt came free of his trousers and Agatha’s hands scorched his flesh.