Page 110 of Every Rake Has A Silver Lining

Because he loved her.

He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him with a softsnick. Barefoot, he padded soundlessly across the carpet toward her. “Charlotte.”

Although he kept his voice gentle with the whisper of her name, her head shot up toward him, her eyes wide, her cheeks wet with tears.

Turn! Run!the cowardly voice in his head shouted.

“No.” He hadn’t meant to say the word aloud, only to override the overwhelming desire to protect himself when he needed to protect Charlotte.

Charlotte swiped at her tear-stained face, her brows drawn in a typical scowl. “How dare you have the audacity to tell me not to cry?”

He should have run when he had the chance. “I wasn’t. I was talking to myself.”

She straightened, wiping her face again, then turned away. “A likely story. Although you’re daft enough to do it. I suppose you’re here to claim your husbandly rights.”

He crouched down next to her. “I grew worried when Rose didn’t come for me. When I heard the storm, my concern grew tenfold.”

“Well, as you can see, I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. If there is one thing I can count on about you, it’s your brutal honesty, so don’t lie to me now. Not about something that matters.” He softened his voice again. “Tell me why the storms upset you.”

Dark curls, draping alluringly down her shoulders, brushed against her nightrail as she shook her head. “You’ll laugh and think I’m ridiculous.”

Seated fully on the floor beside her, he stretched out his legs. “Remember to whom you’re speaking. Of all people, I’m the last to think someone is ridiculous.”

A strangled burble of a laugh escaped her. “True enough.” When her eyes locked with his, affection shone in their dark depths.

Taking a chance, he lifted her hand and entwined it with his. “Tell me. I promise I will remain serious. It will be a chore, I admit, but I shall prevail.” He grinned at her, hoping to coax her into continuing.

“Then why are you smiling like a fool?” Her lips tipped up a fraction. Not enough to display her dimple, but enough to put forth a brave front.

He wanted to kiss her tear-stained cheeks, but that wouldcome later. First, he needed to listen while she unburdened herself. And to do that, he needed to be serious.

For Charlotte.

With his free hand, he wiped down his face, erasing the silly grin, replacing it with a more solemn expression. “Better?”

Charlotte marveledat Simon’s fingers laced together. Larger, his hand practically engulfed hers. Warm and comforting, his touch secured her to the present.

To her own amazement, for once in her life, she felt safe. She took a deep breath. “I was always afraid of thunderstorms; the noise, the jagged flashes of lightning like daggers in the air. I turned to my mother. She would hold me, whispering soothing words, allowing me to sleep with her.”

As if to taunt her, another burst of light illuminated Simon’s face. She braced herself for the crack of thunder, still jumping when it arrived.

Squeezing her hand, Simon urged her on. “But something changed.”

“Yes. My mother died the winter of my sixth year.” She didn’t have the heart to tell Simon her mother had died from complications of a difficult pregnancy—not considering how he stormed from Pendrake House in a fright during Honoria’s delivery. “One night the next spring, during a particularly severe storm, Nanny chastised me, telling me to cease my foolish crying. I wanted my mother, but of course, she was gone. Roland was on a grand tour of Europe and Nash was away at school.”

“Did your brothers give you comfort?” The doubt in Simon’s eyes was unmistakable.

“Not Roland, of course. But if Mother wasn’t available, Nash would hold my hand”—her attention drifted down to Simon’shand joined with hers—“much as you are. He’d tell me the noise was simply the angels arranging furniture.”

“He sounds like a good man.”

She smiled at Simon’s serious expression. “Nash would laugh at that, then deny it flatly. He hides it well, but yes, he is. I miss him.”

“What did you do when Nanny criticized you? And from my viewpoint, she sounds like a horrible nanny.”

Another burble of strangled laughter escaped her throat. “Oh, she was. Father dismissed my previous nanny when Mother died and hired Miss Crabbypants.”

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