Page 35 of Every Rake Has A Silver Lining

He placed his hat on his head and gave it a little tap at the top. “So you’ve said. Repeatedly. Might I suggest you expand your vocabulary? I understand the duke has a magnificent dictionary in his library.”

The countess hobbled toward them. “Should I wish you joy or condolences? I believe I’ve never witnessed a more somber bride. And you, sir!” She smacked Simon on the arm and lowered her voice. “I read that gossip rag. If even half of it istrue, I’m ashamed of you. But at least you’re doing the right thing by the girl.”

“Thank you?” Simon said, more question than statement.

The countess’s gaze softened as she raked it over Charlotte. “If anyone can get this rascal to toe the line, I believe it’s you. He needs a firm hand.”

Simon chortled a laugh, and Charlotte suspected he’d imagined something inappropriate. She had grown accustomed to such reactions from her brother, Nash.

Holding out his arm, Simon led her to—of all things—the phaeton.

“Oh, no. No, no, no. It’s raining. Don’t you have another conveyance? Or perhaps I can ride back to Pendrake House with Honoria.”

He adopted the most innocent of expressions, belying the rake within. “I have the top up.”

“It’s still open in front. We’ll get soaked.”

“Not the way I drive. We’ll race right through the raindrops.”

She snorted her disbelief. “That’s what I’m afraid of.” She folded her arms over her chest. “No.”

“I promise. I’ll behave.” He waggled his dark brows. “It will be my wedding gift to you.”

“What? To frighten me into an early grave? A wet grave, I might add.”

His only answer was to laugh and hand her into the carriage of death.

Settling next to her, he picked up the ribbons and gave them a snap. “Now that we’re alone, are we going to talk about that kiss?”

It was precisely what she didn’t want to talk about. But the memory of the kiss burned her lips.

CHAPTER 11

Wonder of wonders, to Charlotte’s surprise, they made it back to Pendrake House relatively dry and without further discussion of that kiss. Only the hem of her lovely gown where it peeped out from beneath her pelisse was damp, and that had more than likely occurred when they stood outside the church.

Luckily, Simon didn’t comment as he pulled the phaeton up to the house and threw the ribbons to the groom. He opened the umbrella and held out a hand to help her down. “Ready to face our adoring family, Mrs. Beckham?”

“It’s still Lady Charlotte, regardless.”

Had she imagined the flicker of disappointment that passed over his face?

Frampton opened the door for them, ushering them inside and taking Charlotte’s pelisse and Simon’s hat. “Felicitations, Lady Charlotte. Mr. Beckham.”

Charlotte darted a smug glance toward her husband. “You see?”

“Very well. Lady Charlotte Beckham. But I presume I’mallowed to call you Charlotte?” He paused, studying her. “Or do you have a pet name you prefer? Something for when we’re in private?” The rogue waggled those dark brows at her again.

“Will you cease that ridiculous movement? And to remind you, there will be noprivatemoments. You agreed.”

“Not even after that kiss?”

She adopted her most innocent expression. Which, in truth, was probably as unnatural for her as it was for him. “What kiss?”

He leaned in, his incredible blue eyes growing hooded. His voice slid over her, caressing her skin as sultry and soft as velvet. “You know very well what kiss.”

Even with the damp, cold early April day, heat raced up her neck to her cheeks.

The cad had the audacity to grin.

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