to imply that you were.” He could taste her breath on his lips. “Damn you, Charlotte.”
Where had his anger gone? His frustration that she was mucking up all his plans evaporated.
He couldn’t allow it.
He couldn’t allow himself.
With a jerk, Anthony pulled himself away. “So, you see…”
She stared at the hand of hers that he’d just released and then looked up to meet his eyes.
“I see all right. I’ve seen all along.” She blinked once and tilted her head. “It is you who is being a slow top. Why are you sitting here talking to me? I certainly hope you aren’t expecting... Because I will not. I am not.”
He deserved it. He deserved her to slap him and then walk away, never to look back. But she did neither.
“And stop growling at me.”
“I’m not growling at you.” He huffed.
“You were.”
“Grrrr.” Perhaps he had been. “I know I shouldn’t be sitting here talking with you. And yet… it’s the only place I wish to be right now. Believe it or not, I’m making every possible effort to avoid you.”
“Might I suggest you’re failing miserably?”
Resting his elbows on his knees, he buried his head in both hands. “As I’m mucking this up, perhaps you’d do well to stay away from me in the future.” It was the last thing he wanted, and yet the only thing that made sense.
“That’s the trouble, my lord,” A heavy sigh fell between them. “I haven’t the option. You forget that my livelihood depends upon my ability to keep Miss Fairchild happy. I have no choice but to be at the beck and call of the woman who is your fiancé, now. I haven’t the choice of taking off for a brief holiday in London.” She tried to sound flippant, but he heard something in her voice that hadn’t been there before.
Hopelessness?
“I have trouble thinking of you as a servant.” God but he’d made a mess of everything. The truth of the matter was, she didn’t seem like any servant he’d ever known. “You don’t look like a servant, or act like a servant. Something in your eyes perhaps. Intelligence, damnit. And pride!”
“Would you like to watch me empty a few chamber pots? Or perhaps have a look at the cot I sleep on now?” She ought to hate him.
Good lord, this was not her fault. “I deserve to be flayed. I know. And then crushed to pieces like those infernal dried up lapis of yours.”
The trouble was that he liked her. He more than liked her, he experienced all the idiotic nonsense one reads about in poetry whenever she was near. He became tongue-tied, lost to only her.
“You are no wilting flower, my lord. More of an oak that needs chopping down. But she’d turned to stare into his eyes and didn’t look as though she wished to take an axe to him.
Because there was something between them. He could almost touch it, taste it… She knew it. He knew it.
Damn my eyes!
None of it mattered.
“I’ll do better to keep a reasonable distance in the future.” He practically choked on the promise. A few days ago, he could not have imagined feeling this way for anyone. But now… His heart skipped a beat to consider a world without her in it. And yet, he must.
“As will I.”
Both sat unmoving until with a sigh, Charlotte rose from the bench. “Good night, my lord.”
“Good night,” but couldn’t help himself. “Charlotte.” Her name on his lips was as close as he’d get to ever touching her again.
It could not be goodbye, however. It might be easier if it could be. No, he would return tomorrow morning to go over contracts with Viscount Denton.
Chapter 6
Weather Takes a Turn
Anthony awoke early, despite not leaving Lord Denton’s estate until well past midnight. He’d avoided spirits last night but might as well have been soused for the blasted headache torturing him today.
“Not so tight, Penrose.” Knowing Anthony was to make his official address to Lord Denton today, his fastidious valet had retied the blasted knot on his cravat seven times already. His hessians were buffed to a high shine and the coat and cravat pin draped nearby were the finest he owned.
When Anthony entered the breakfast room, he fought the urge to run back upstairs and change into his oldest riding clothes. Anything to avoid this meeting today.
Daphne glanced up from where she sat nibbling on a piece of toast and raised her brows. Michael turned a page of the newspaper he was reading.
“You’re