Page 106 of Every Rake Has A Silver Lining

She gawked at her husband. “And you don’t? You detest me.”

Simon’s expression softened—an odd reaction to her deliberate scowl. “I don’t detest you. In fact, I’m growing to like you. If you would only stop getting in your own way.”

She’d heard the expression take the wind out of the sails from naval men, but it wasn’t until that moment she understood it. Perhaps Simon Beckham was the one man with whom she could not only be herself, but who was strong enough to accept her for it. Who would have imagined?

Anxious to steer the conversation away from herself, she tried to make amends. “Thank you for Trifle.”

A slow smile crept across his face. “You’re welcome. We’ll stop by the main house to get her before we return home.”

Perhaps the time had come to heed Honoria’s request. Summoning her courage, Charlotte touched Simon’s arm. “If you wish, you may come to my bed tonight.”

If he wished?If he wished?! Simon had thought of nothing else since they exchanged vows. Hell, truthfully, even before that, as ill-advised as it had been. Attracted to her from the moment he saw her at Drake’s house party the previous summer, Simonhad been devastated to learn she was the daughter and sister of the former and current Marquess of Edgerton.

Reason dictated he should immediately dislike her, and her prickly demeanor and snide comments had made the task effortless.

He didn’t want to feel the pull to her, because like Icarus, if he flew too close, he would no doubt be burned—even consumed. There were so many analogies. Black widow spiders. Praying Mantises. She would entice him in and then quickly stab him in the back.

Lady Charlotte was a dangerous woman.

Or so he had thought. But over the course of the last few weeks, he’d caught tiny glimpses of the vulnerable woman she kept locked away under that harsh exterior.

The joy on her face when he’d taught her how to hold Drake’s newborn daughter. Her appreciation of his family’s estate. The genuine affection in her eyes as she conversed with Georgie. Softening of her features as she cuddled Trifle. The fierce determination to protect a child being mistreated.

And of course, her understanding of his own failings with Joy. She may not have realized it, but he saw compassion in her eyes, not condemnation or judgment as he expected, when he confessed all to her.

Something—or someone—made her hide that side of herself, only allowing it to slip out when she believed no one was watching, or in time of great emotion.

Lady Charlotte was a complicated woman. One who didn’t mirror back his faults as Joy had, but would—perhaps, just perhaps—balance them out. As he might for her.

“Well?” She huffed, the look in her eyes more worry than annoyance belying her exasperated tone. “If you don’t wish to?—”

“Oh. I wish to. In fact. Hold on to your tarts.” He snappedthe ribbons, sending the poor horses into a gallop, and Charlotte fell back against the seat with a squeal.

Fortuitously, they arrived back at the house in record time. Dark clouds loomed overhead as they descended from the carriage, and he scanned the sky. “Looks like we’re in for a storm.” He instructed the groom to leave the carriage there for their return to the cottage.

After making their apologies to his family, declining his mother’s offer to stay for supper, they retrieved Trifle. Worn out, the kitten was curled up in a ball, sleeping next to Nightly.

With care Simon had begun to pay particular notice to, Charlotte scooped the kitten in her hands and was rewarded with an enormous yawn and protesting meow.

When Georgie noticed the package of tarts, she practically drooled.

His mother’s gaze darted between him and Charlotte, her brow furrowed with concern. “You stopped at the bakery?”

“Yes. I’ve told Charlotte everything.”

Although relief painted his mother’s face, Georgie’s brow furrowed. “Everything what?” Only five at the time, Georgie was oblivious to what happened with Joy.

“Never mind,” he said, patting his sister on the head.

Charlotte gave him a censorious look. “She’s not a dog, Simon, and she’s too old to pat on the head.”

Georgie crossed her arms over her slight chest, giving a curt nod, then stuck out her tongue, completely negating Charlotte’s assessment.

And no doubt to Charlotte’s disdain, Simon mimicked back the gesture to his sister. “I don’t have time to explain. We need to be off before the storm hits.” It was a perfect excuse, even if it was a little cowardly.

Charlotte handed Trifle to Georgie and made haste unwrapping the tarts, leaving eight for Simon’s family—one foreach except for Georgie, who Charlotte said could have two. “That leaves four for Simon and me.”

“Two each?” Simon asked, his mouth already watering.

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