Page 123 of Every Rake Has A Silver Lining

“Considerate!? She was shut out.”

“Apologize then?”

Occupied with her breakfast, Charlotte didn’t answer.

Simon cast her one more glance before slipping out the door, marveling at how his luck had changed.

He whistled softly as he entered his room and tugged the bell pull for Brown. Perhaps he’d even catch Gus.

CHAPTER 33

Once Charlotte had eaten, bathed, and dressed, she sought out Simon. Her blush had finally cooled, although truth be told, each time she thought of him kissing her—there—her cheeks heated anew.

My, but the man was talented. No wonder so many women pursued him—that particular thought souring her stomach.

He promised to be faithful, but could she trust him? Did she even really know him? She had no definitive answer to the first question, but the second was a decidedno.

“Have you seen Mr. Beckham?” she asked John, the footman.

“He went fishing, my lady.”

Right.He’d said as much after he had thoroughly discombobulated her with his tongue. Her cheeks flamed again.

“He requested his curricle be readied in case you wished to spend time at the main house. I would be happy to drive you.”

A deliciously wicked idea popped into her head. “That won’t be necessary, John. I’ll drive myself.”

After donning a bonnet, pelisse, and kid leather gloves, sheclimbed into the curricle John had brought to the front of the house.

John cast her a dubious glance. “Have you driven one before, ma’am?”

“No. But how hard can it be?” An experienced rider, she presumed controlling the animals would be similar. She took the whip from him, reluctant to use it on the sleek animals. “Do you hit them with it?” she asked, unable to keep the horrified tone from her voice. She’d always refused to use a crop when riding.

“Oh, no, my lady. Never. Just crack it above them. The sound alone spurs them faster.”

Relief flooded her. Then the rest of John’s response landed as hard.Faster.She set the whip on the seat next to her and picked up the ribbons. The two matched chestnuts raised their heads in readiness, and Charlotte snapped the ribbons as she’d seen Simon do—careful not to strike the horses’ backs.

The carriage jerked forward. “Oomph!” Charlotte refrained from reaching for her bonnet and instead held tight to the reins.

“Be careful, my lady!” John’s voice drifted off behind her.

Charlotte’s confidence grew as she guided the horses forward, following close to the path she’d walked the day before. Moving at a trot at first, the horses seemed to yearn to break free into a gallop.

Or was that her imagination? Perhaps she’d been around Simon too long. She laughed at the notion, then picked up the whip. “Please don’t let me hit them,” she mumbled, then cracked it in the air above them.

The horses broke into a gallop, throwing Charlotte back against the small bench-like seat’s back. “Oomph!” she said again, a little more loudly.

Wind rushed against her face, the smell of the previous night’s rain, fresh and clean, tempting her nose. A rabbit scurried from the path ahead of her, and her heart rose to her throat, hoping the horses didn’t trample the little thing. She imagined itshaking its little fist in the air and cursing her for her reckless driving.

By the time she reached the main house and pulled back on the ribbons, she was windblown and completely exhilarated. A footman opened the door and raced forward to hold the horses. Mrs. Beckham hurried forward. “Charlotte! Oh, my dear! Is something amiss?”

As the footman assisted her down from the curricle—which she no longer considered a death trap—she laughed. “Not at all. Simon is off fishing again, and I’ve come to call.”

Mrs. Beckham held a handkerchief to her bosom. “Oh, thank goodness.” She wrapped an arm around Charlotte’s waist and led her inside the house. “Although I should definitely have a talk with my son about leaving his lovely wife alone so frequently this early in your marriage.”

How quickly Charlotte had grown to like Simon’s family. “It truly is fine, Mrs. Beckham. Simon grows so fidgety if he isn’t doing something, he would drive me mad if I insisted he stay in the house with me.”

Mrs. Beckham’s smile widened. “My son chose wisely when he married you. You understand him well. Call me Judith, Charlotte. Remember?” The warmth in Judith’s eyes pinged Charlotte’s heart but not as much as Judith’s next words. “Or Mother.”

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