Page 10 of Every Rake Has A Silver Lining

“However, I had no idea this”—Roland pointed at Mr. Beckham—“ishowI would find you. You have no choice now but to marry Lord Felix.”

Mr. Beckham’s head snapped around toward her. “Is this why you came here? To escape from marrying this?—”

Charlotte squared her shoulders. “Worm. Yes, I did. And yes, he struck me.”

The worm—err, Felix—studied his well-manicured nails, then lifted his icy gaze to hers. “Unless you would like to see the details of this”—he waved a hand between her and Mr. Beckham—“discussed inThe Muckraker, I suggest you change your mind.”

“She’s not going to marry you,” Mr. Beckham said. He swayed a little on his feet. Goodness, but he looked almost green.

Something in her memory snapped into place. Quinine treated malaria. Mr. Beckham had been in the military in India. Mr. Beckham had malaria!

“Because she’s going to marry me.”

Then he promptly cast up his accounts on the front of Roland’s brocade waistcoat.

If Charlotte hadn’t been in shock over Mr. Beckham’s declaration, she would have cheered.

Simon’s bitof lunch covered the one chap’s gold waistcoat. He should have aimed for the blackguard, Felix.

Giving a shout of disgust, both men jumped back out of range of any further projectiles.

Frampton ran over with a towel and, like the exceptional butler he was, tried to dab Simon’s stomach contents off the man.

“Get your hands off me!” The churlish lout snatched the towel, pushed Frampton out of the way, then proceeded to brush off his waistcoat.

Served him right for bursting into his room unannounced. However, at the moment, vomiting on the man wasn’t Simon’s greatest concern.

This infernal illness is affecting my brain.Simon shook himself. There could be no other explanation for his rash, and admittedly stupid, declaration. Marry the ice queen? Really. What was he thinking?

Mad. The illness was driving him mad.

And yet . . .

He stared at the bruise darkening Charlotte’s cheek. The situation—hersituation, in all honesty—was untenable. Personally, he’d survived worse. But here she was, caught alone in a room with a naked man.

“She willnotmarry you,” the vomit-covered dandy said. “My sister is a well-bred, aristocratic lady, and I won’t even utter the wordsirin relation to you.”

Ah, her brother.The infamous Marquess of Edgerton. The insult bounced off Simon like a pesky mosquito.

Considering his current condition, perhaps that was a poor analogy. However, he pressed forward. “Isn’t that up to the lady? She’s well past the age of majority.” He slid a glance toward Lady Charlotte.

She winced.

Heshouldapologize for the slight, but he felt like bloody hell and only wanted everyone out of his bedchamber so he could climb back into his foul-smelling bed and let sleep ease his pain.

Before he could open his mouth, Charlotte stepped forward. Fierce determination shone in her dark eyes—like a warrior ready to charge into battle.

He braced himself for a slap across his face and an exhortation to take his insincere offer and go to the devil.

She squared her shoulders and met her brother’s contemptuous glare. “Iwillmarry Mr. Beckham, and there isn’t anything you can do to stop me.”

If it were possible, his whole body blinked. Well, that was a surprise.

“We’ll see about that.” Edgerton flung the towel on the floor. “You’ll both be sorry for this. Come, Davies.”

Simon couldn’t resist goading the man further. “Frampton, when you see thegentlemenout, please bring Lady Charlotte’s bag upstairs. Settle her in the room next to mine. I would like easy access so we can continue cavorting.”

“Barbarians!” Edgerton stomped from the room.

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