Page 101 of Every Rake Has A Silver Lining

But Simon’s parents cherished him. Reared him with love. From what Charlotte had witnessed in their interactions, that much was clear. There were no tense postures or clipped, overlypolite words. Genuine laughter and affectionate teasing evidenced the family’s love for one another.

In short, the complete opposite of what Charlotte had experienced.

However, appearances could be deceiving. And in truth, did she really know her husband? She struggled to understand. An accident, perhaps?

“Simon.” Her whispered voice sounded tentative to her own ears. “Did you kill that man’s daughter?”

His body stiffened, and he jerked his head toward her. “Of course not! But Samuel blames me for her death, nonetheless. I’d hoped six years had given him time to cool his head.”

“What happened?”

He stared ahead as they approached a cluster of people. “Not now. I’ll tell you when we’re alone. I promise.”

Before she could open her mouth to either protest or acquiesce, angry voices escalated from the group before them.

A man pulled a young boy by the collar of his worn coat. “How many times do I have to tell you, boy?”

About twelve, the boy struggled against the man’s grip. His eyes were as wide as saucers, his gaze darting frantically around him, then landing squarely on Charlotte, as if he were screaming,helpme!

A woman tugged at the man’s arm, trying to disengage it from his hold on the child. “Stop, Albie! He didn’t mean nothin’ by it. The boy’s just curious, is all.”

Planting his free hand on the woman’s face, the man shoved her away, and she stumbled, falling to the ground. Then he proceeded to box the child’s ears. When the boy crouched by the woman, hands covering his head, the man kicked him in the ribs.

People hurried by, giving the angry man a wide berth.

Charlotte had had enough. “Someone needs to stop him!”

Drained of color, Simon’s face was a mask of horror, but he seemed frozen in place.

“Snap out of it!” She gave his arm a firm shake.

Finally focusing, Simon said, “It’s Albert Mooney. Probably drunk again. He’ll sleep it off after?—”

Charlotte wanted to scream. “After he maims or kills the boy?”

Simon’s resigned look broke her heart.

“Coward.” She spit the word at her husband, and he flinched as surely as if one of Albert Mooney’s blows had struck him squarely in the chest.

“You don’t understand.”

When Simon grasped her hands in his, she yanked them away. In six determined steps, she stood between Mooney and the boy. “Leave. The. Child. Alone.” She punctuated each word with a jab to Mooney’s chest.

Mooney leaned forward, inches from her face and bellowed a laugh, his breath sour with whisky and something more foul. “This hellcat belong to you, Beckham?”

“I am no one’s property,sir.” Charlotte laced as much derision into the address as she could. The man didn’t deserve respect. “I am Lady Charlotte, and if you lay one more finger on that boy, you will answer to me.”

Mooney’s eyes widened, and he threw up his hands, shaking in mock horror. “Oooh. I’m scared.” He laughed again, then pranced about like a clumsy dandy, his hand flapping in the air. “Lady Charlotte. Defender of children.” He gave the boy another kick, and the child curled into a ball next to the woman.

Anger boiled in Charlotte’s stomach, and her hand clenched in a fist. Once again, she placed herself between Mooney and the child. Then, with all her strength, she drew back her arm and punched Mooney in the nose.

“You bloody well better believe it.”

Mooney doubled over, blood dripping from his nose. “You little . . .” He straightened and hate spewed from his dark, beady eyes.

Charlotte’s hand hurt like the devil, but she didn’t care. She braced herself to fend off an attack when Mooney reached out, but his hands dropped to his sides as his gaze darted around her.

Turning, she found Simon behind her.

---