Page 5 of Every Rake Has A Silver Lining

One step at a time.

Thank goodness Drake had chairs placed strategically along the hallway and at the top and foot of the stairway. As Honoria increased, Drake worried about her walking too far, even though she assured him he was being ridiculous. Simon only recalled seeing her use the chair at the top of the stairs once, but at the moment, he was extremely grateful for Drake’s overprotective nature.

Still foregoing the nightshirt, he tugged on a pair of trousers in case Cook was present in the kitchen. Admittedly, he might have missed a button or two as his trembling hands fastened the fall, but he was relatively decent.

You can do this.

You can do this.

You can do this.

He blew out a heavy breath and told himself to quit saying it and just do it! With each step, his legs wobbled like a newborn colt’s, and more sweat beaded his brow. Finally out of his room, he made it to the first chair in the hallway in the nick of time.

Plop.

Gauging the distance to the next chair, which mercifully was the one near the top of the staircase, he calculated perhaps thirty steps. Once there, going down the stairs would be easier. Gravity would be on his side.

He refused to think about climbing them on his return—especially carrying a pot of hot water.

You can do this.

Convinced he had regained his strength, he forged forward, pleased he closed the distance with less difficulty. After a brief debate about foregoing another rest, he sat, but only for a few moments before he proceeded on his never-ending trek. The stairs did indeed prove easier, and he managed them quite well.

Perhaps he was improving already. The thought cheered him, which in turn cheered him more. He hated being sullen or dwelling on the negative.

Or stagnating in the damn bed. As difficult as his odyssey to the kitchen was, simply moving about improved his mood.

He’d just passed the front door, deciding to sit for a moment before heading toward the back stairs that led to the ground floor, when several knocks sounded.

If he was lucky, they would go away.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Bloody hell.” Unsure why he murmured since he was the only one to hear himself curse, he rose from the chair and prepared to shoo off the impatient visitor.

He plastered on his most charming smile and threw open the door.

His nightmare waited on the other side.

CHAPTER 3

Charlotte reeled back at the sight of a half-naked Simon Beckham, his body filling the open doorway. Her gaze locked on the smattering of dark hair on his bare—and annoyingly muscular—chest. “How dare you answer the door in that state of dishabille?! Where is the butler?”

The man flashed that ridiculous grin at her, reminding her of Felix and what she had just escaped. “Good afternoon to you, too, Lady Charlotte. Frampton is out on some errands. To what do I owe thepleasure?”

She tried to peer around him and not stare at his chest—which admittedly was a difficult feat. “Where is Honoria?” Her grip tightened on the handle of her bulging portmanteau.

“She and Drake are on their way to Somerset. The viscountess died.”

At that bit of news, Charlotte’s gaze snapped back to Mr. Beckham.

Sweat dotted his forehead, and his skin appeared flushed. She darted a quick—very well, it most likely wasn’t quick—glance athis lower half. Two buttons on his fall appeared undone, and one was most definitely in the wrong opening.What is going—oh!

Heat flooded her cheeks—not something that happened to her often. She attributed it to being taken completely off guard. She summoned her most caustic tone. “I beg your pardon. I didn’t mean to interrupt your liaison. Although, I shouldn’t be surprised. While the cat’s away and all that. But you should be ashamed, sir, taking advantage of Honoria’s time of grief for your own pleasure.”

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