Page 20 of Every Rake Has A Silver Lining

Arms folded over her enticing bosom answered his question.

“No? Pity. I think the sandalwood is quite nice.” He sniffed under his arm. “Ah.”

She huffed, the ghost of a smile vanishing. “I’m going back inside since I can’t even have a moment’s peace by myself out here.”

Regret pricked at his conscience that he had pushed her a bit too far. “No. Stay out here and enjoy the daffodils. I’ll leave you now that I’m assured you won’t catch a chill.” He didn’t wait for her response, but turned and headed back inside the house, deciding to use the small bit of resumed strength to begin drafting the marriage contract.

In his study adjacent to Drake’s, Simon settled at his desk and dipped his pen into the inkpot. He remembered the last marriage contract he’d drawn up. A much happier occasion, for certain. Drake and Honoria’s marriage was like a fairy tale, although Drake’s deception had nearly cost him the woman of his dreams.But Drake’s unwavering love for Honoria made Simon wonder if he could experience such a love himself.

Damnation.

He’d never hoped for love, marriage, and a family before. Oh, he realized he would have to marry someday, if nothing else, to ensure his mother and sisters were provided for, as he told Charlotte.

And although his parents had a happy marriage, personal experience taught him that even a perceived betrayal of one party could destroy the other. Grief was the price of loving someone. And that was too much pain for Simon to contemplate.

Pain—of any kind—was the one thing he wanted to avoid at any cost. It didn’t mean he was a coward. He’d charged into the fray of battle as determined as any other soldier. The difference being, he simply refused to think about the possibility of being injured and the subsequent pain.

And then malaria had struck, swift and hard.

Free from attacks since he’d returned home to England, hope dangled before him like a string before a cat. But the moment he reached for it, another attack snatched it away.

With pain being something he didn’t dwell on, he couldn’t remember if this last attack was better or worse than the ones before. The only clear thing was the cursed illness still had its hooks in him.

And that meant one thing. He needed a wife and a son, and although he hadn’t given much thought as to whom theluckywoman would be, the moment Lady Charlotte Talbot appeared on his doorstep seeking refuge from an untenable position, fate had chosen for him.

Tap, tap.

He wrenched his attention from the still blank parchment to the open door of the study.

His coat dangled from Charlotte’s fingers. “I’m sorry tointrude. Frampton told me you were in here. I thought you would like this back.”

Wonder of wonders.

She seemed . . . apologetic.

Pointing to the chair on the opposite side of the desk, he said, “You can lay it there. I’ll take it up with me later.”

He watched as she folded it neatly and draped it across the back of the chair. Entranced as her long, elegant fingers caressed the material, lingering a moment longer than necessary.

“You could have given it to Frampton.”

She didn’t meet his gaze. “I wanted to thank you. It was gallant—and unexpected.”

His mouth flew open, and for a moment, no longer than a blink, he considered delivering a snappy retort. But for the first time in his memory, she actually appeared vulnerable. “You’re welcome.”

Still not meeting his eyes, she nodded. “I should leave you to your work.”

In a breath, she was gone.

An uncomfortable thought flashed through his mind. Charlotte Talbot was a woman he could love whether he wanted to or not.

The blob of ink on the tip of his pen dropped like a fat mosquito onto the white paper.

CHAPTER 7

During the next two days, Charlotte saw little of Simon. According to Frampton, Mr. Beckham had suffered another relapse and had sequestered himself to his room. With the return of the two footmen and two maids, Charlotte felt no compulsion to enquire if he had need of her. Surely, the staff would take care of anything he should require.

Yet, each time she passed his door, she would pause, her fist raised to knock and enquire as to his recovery before she thought better of it.

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