mine. One of my favorites. Lucy and I looked everywhere for that earring. Last fall.” They’d ransacked her room and examined every part of the house where she’d been. Charlotte had even dared to interrogate the other servants, who’d sneered at her and tried to convince her that Lucy had stolen it. And through it all, Henry had stood silently by and said nothing. Charlotte shivered. He’d gone into her room when she wasn’t there, into her jewelry box. He’d fingered her things. Had he noticed that she often wore the blue earrings? Had he remembered that they’d been her mother’s? Had she even told him that…?
“Do you recognize any of the others?” The evenness of his voice calmed her a little.
“No.” She picked it out. “I’m taking it back.” Her tone dared him to object, but he didn’t. How had Henry gotten so many women’s earrings? No women visited, and he… but what did she know about where he went and who he saw? “He was a thief. A sneaking thief.”
“He stole from people who were important to him, somehow.”
“I wasn’t important to him,” objected Charlotte. “Except for my money.”
“My uncle was a benighted fool!”
The emotion in his voice silenced Charlotte. She became acutely aware of his shoulder brushing hers. The room seemed warmer suddenly. “Things from his father… his brother. Did he get on with your father?”
“When they were young… I don’t know. Father was five years older. They were both sent to Eton, and I never heard that they didn’t get along. But when my Aunt Bella started her lawsuit, my uncle said he thought she was quite right, and if she were successful, he would do the same. Father was very angry.”
“This was…?”
“Almost fifteen years ago now. You must understand that my aunt and uncle received substantial legacies when my grandfather died, and more when my grandmother followed him three years later. My father did inherit the estate, but he was expected to make his income from managing it well. The liquid assets went to them, which didn’t keep my aunt from accusing Father of deception, forgery, and a dozen other things,” he finished bitterly.
Charlotte shifted uncomfortably. It sounded dreadful, but Lady Isabella had been so kind to her. She contented herself with saying, “Henry would do anything for money.”
“Wait, there’s one more here.” Sir Alexander reached high again. “No, not an earring, this is…”
“My father’s!” Charlotte almost wailed. She stared at the watch fob of sapphire bound with silver, her throat tightening. “My mother gave it to him the day they were married. He thought he’d lost it; it broke his heart. And I…” She’d been so impatient, so unfeeling. His memory lapses were common by then, and she’d blamed him for misplacing a precious remnant of her mother. Henry—damn him, damn him!—had visited around that time, she remembered.
All the regrets, humiliations, disappointments of the last year burst upon her in one great wave. So much lost, such… cruelty. Yes, it was cruelty. What else could you call it? A sob shook her, and the tears descended—unstoppable. They racked her chest, so intense she swayed on her feet.
Sir Alexander’s arms enfolded her, drew her in, held her close. She leaned; she let her head sink on his shoulder, and she cried. The sneers, the rages, the cold night hours when she’d blamed herself for all of it drove those tears. They poured out of her, bitter salt, and his embrace held it all. Safe, it was safe to cry, here and now. She wasn’t alone. She allowed herself to give way completely for the first time since this nightmare began.
She couldn’t have said how long the tears lasted. It seemed long, and yet just a little while before self-consciousness returned. The shoulder of his coat was wet. “I… I’m sorry.” She tried to pull away.
“What have you to be sorry for?” he answered gently. Charlotte looked up, into green eyes full of compassion—and something warmer. She felt the hard muscles of his body pressed against hers. Heat vanquished the last tears. She raised a hand to his cheek, touched it softly. His eyes flared. His arms tightened. She pulled him down to her.
The kiss was like the last time, and different. The revelation of touch returned, the sheer physical joy that his lips could rouse in her. But this time, something deep within Charlotte leapt and melted. It was more than a kiss; it was being kissed by this man. She would never get enough—how