Page 107 of Every Rake Has A Silver Lining

“No. One for you, three for me.” The sparkle in Charlotte’s dark eyes told him she might be persuaded to relinquish the third one if given the proper persuasion.

Quickly re-wrapping the package as Charlotte retrieved Trifle, he scooped it up and ushered Charlotte out of the house.

During the short amount of time they’d been inside, the clouds had grown darker, and the air grew thick with the building storm. In the distance, a flash of lightning slashed through the darkening sky. Simon waited for the answeringboomof thunder, relieved when it didn’t follow immediately.

“We have time. The storm’s still miles away.”

“How can you tell?” When the answering call of thunder finally arrived, Charlotte jumped in her seat, clutching Trifle to her bosom.

“That’s how.” He tipped his head toward the approaching storm. “The closer the storm, the sooner the thunder sounds after a lightning flash. But we should still hurry.”

By the time they arrived at the cottage, fat raindrops plopped against the ground, slowly at first, then increasing in both rapidity and number.

They dashed into the house, with only their outer garments touched by the downpour. Trifle jumped from Charlotte’s arms, eager to explore her new home.

Simon handed his hat to John, then helped Charlotte with her pelisse.

He leaned in, whispering, “You smell fresh like the rain.” He allowed his fingers to linger on the soft skin at her neck, then tugged the pelisse from her shoulders.

While he gave instructions for Cook to prepare a light supper, his gaze snagged on Charlotte peering out the front window. Thecurtain, hooked in her hand, shook as another roar of thunder cut through the silence.

In four long strides, he traversed the floor to be by her side. About to ask if she enjoyed watching the storm, he held his tongue.

Her eyes appeared frantic, jerking back and forth as if searching the sky, her mouth set in a grim line. Lightning flashed again in the distance, and she sucked in an audible breath.

“Count, Charlotte. Slowly.”

As her gaze darted toward him, her brow furrowed.

“To mark the distance and see if the storm is moving closer or farther away,” he explained.

When the thunder crashed, she jumped.

The urge to wrap his arms around her, pulling her close to his chest, wrestled with his need to flee from the pain flashing in her eyes with each crack of thunder.

The least he could do was force himself to remain by her side and count the intervals between flash andcrash.

Counts of one, two, three, four, five, and so on slipped softly from Charlotte’s lips with each pairing of the storm. When the counts increased to twelve and the thunder’s sound grew fainter, her shoulders relaxed, and she met his gaze, her eyes questioning.

“It’s moving away. From the look of the clouds, eastward toward London. Now, will you come away from the window? We have time to refresh before supper.”

He wanted to ask if her offer to come to her bed still stood, but he remained silent. She would think him a cad, only concerned about his own selfish needs. He admitted his selfishness, but he was grateful for the reprieve from the storm nonetheless.

Conversation during supper was surprisingly pleasant, with Charlotte slipping tiny bites of chicken to Trifle, who meowed at her feet.

Enraptured, Simon observed his wife.His wife.For the firsttime since they’d exchanged vows, he welcomed the words. The adoration on her face as she first admonished the kitten, then gave in to Trifle’s demands, causing his heart to squeeze. If she’d see herself as he did at that moment, she would know she was lovable.

The thought brought him up sharply, and he quickly brushed it away. He caredabout her, certainly. A husband should care about his wife’s happiness and well-being. It wasn’t the same as love. He would treat her well and give her affection without giving her his heart, or she give hers—surely.

“You’re going to spoil her,” he said after she gave Trifle the sixth piece of chicken. Purposely keeping his voice light and uncritical, he added, “Either that or make her sick. She’s not used to such things.”

“Did you hear that, Trifle? Your papa says no more.”

The kitten’s meow of protest quickly changed as he lowered a shred of chicken toward the floor, waving it to get Trifle’s attention.

He chuckled to himself.Papa indeed. Unbidden, an image of Charlotte swollen with his child flashed before him. Warmth spread through him as he pictured Charlotte grousing over her increasing belly and complaining of the inability to see her feet.

And he found he enjoyed it—even looked forward to it. He would pamper and tease her, and she would call him ridiculous when he would insist she rest, a pillow propped under her feet and behind her back.

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