Page 4 of Every Rake Has A Silver Lining

His cold, hollow laugh chilled her. “You can’t say no to a husband.” He grabbed her around the neck with his other hand and hauled her against his body. Then he forced his mouth on hers.

She bit him on the lip.

“You little . . .” He wiped at his lip, then gawked at the blood on his fingers. With a speed she didn’t think him capable of, he reared back and struck her across the face. “You had better learn to mind, or you shall become intimately acquainted with the back of my hand.”

Tears stung Charlotte’s eyes, but she willed them back. She refused to show any weakness to the worm in front of her. Instead, she delivered a sound slap of her own. “I will...and do...saynoto you. And you will never be my husband.”

With narrowed eyes, he rubbed his cheek. “Perhaps Edgerton didn’t make it clear. If you value your reputation—whichknowing you, you do—you’ll think long and hard about refusing me.”

“Do your worst, sir. If you besmirch my innocence, you do damage to your own reputation as well. No man of honor would admit to taking a woman’s virtue without marrying her.”

He doubled over, laughing so hard the air around her seemed to vibrate. Tears of mirth formed in his eyes, and he wiped them away. “You fool. Even if I were a man of honor—which you know very well I’m not—both my father and your brother will attest to the fact that Ihaveoffered for you, and you turned me down.” He tugged on the sleeves of his coat, reminding her of Roland. “And theremightbe a bit more gossip leaked about how I wasn’t the first to experience yourcarnal pleasures.”

Every muscle in Charlotte’s body tensed tighter than a bowstring. Blood pounded in her head. “You are lower than a worm. You are a . . . a . . .” What was a lower lifeform? At the moment, Charlotte would have gladly traded places with Beatrix Townsend. Bluestocking that she was, she would know.

Felix hitched a well-trimmed sandy eyebrow. “Yes?”

“I don’t know. But it’s an insult to worms to make a comparison to you.” She trounced to the door and tugged the bell pull.

When a footman appeared, she said, “Show Lord Felix out. And make certain you slam the door after him, preferably before he’s fully exited.”

Felix had the audacity to laugh. “You’ll change your mind soon enough.” The slimy worm slithered forward. He leaned in and Charlotte felt his hot breath. “But bear in mind, I won’t be as forgiving.”

The footman motioned for Felix to precede him, then gave her a nervous nod.

She had no doubt Roland would be informed she had refused Felix’s proposal—had he even proposed?—either by the footman or by Felix himself.

She needed a plan of action—somewhere to go. A haven. A sanctuary.

Honoria!

Simon was drowningin a foul-smelling swamp. Flailing his arms, he startled awake and clutched the sweat-soaked bed linens.

God. What was that stench? He took a tentative sniff of his armpit, discovering it washim.

Cursing the fact he’d had Frampton send all the servants away, he swung his legs off the bed and tried to rise.You can do this.

As he tried to stand, Simon’s legs jiggled just about as much as the delicious jellied concoction Drake’s cook had prepared for supper a week ago. He grabbed the bedside table, steadying himself.

His gaze drifted to a note lying on top.

Mr. Beckham,

Dr. Somersby said he expected you to sleep for hours. Cook left for the market, and I’ve taken the liberty of using the time for a personal errand. I will return shortly.

~ Frampton

“Damnation,” Simon muttered. A little voice in the back of his fevered mind whispered he should wait for Frampton to return. He brushed the niggling aside.Simon Beckham waits for no one.And he could damn well take care of himself. Slowly releasing his grip on the bedside table, he pulled in a deep breath.You can do this.

Once he assured himself he wouldn’t fall over, he pulled the soaked nightshirt off and tossed it aside. He’d only worn the bloody thing for Dr. Somersby’s visit because Frampton insisted upon it.

Although he still smelled like a sewer, the cool air on his skin was a welcome relief. He needed to bathe and change the bed linens.

With tentative steps, he shuffled to the washstand, only to find the water remaining in the bowl had grown colder than the room itself. Nevertheless, he splashed some on his face, generating a series of intense shivers.

He stared down at the discarded nightshirt, quickly dismissing the idea of throwing it back on. He wasn’t fully recovered yet, but he would feel somewhat human again if he could only get a bath and some clean linens.

The door seemed impossibly far away, and the kitchen on the ground floor where he could boil some water might as well be heaven for him to reach it. Managing both would be a herculean task in his condition.

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