Page 91 of Every Rake Has A Silver Lining

When he didn’t answer, she lifted her gaze to his and her cheeks darkened. “Oh.”

“It’s quite effective in relaxing the mind and body.” He sipped his coffee for another pregnant pause. “If done properly.”

“Then I’m sure I have missed nothing.”

Oh. That did it!She could insult his intelligence, but attacking his skills in the bedroom was beyond the pale.

Pushing his plate aside, he rose and strode toward the window. Overcast skies replaced the sun that had awoken him. No doubt the one dastardly beam had broken through simply to nettle him. He needed a diversion, something pleasant to get his mind off his wife. He knew just the thing, and it lifted his spirits. “Since you find my company so distasteful, I shall give you a wedding gift and make myself scarce. It’s a perfect day for fishing. Please make yourself at home while I’m gone.”

“I thought thiswasmy home now,” she grumbled.

Right.

He turned, only to have his breath hitch.

Bent over her coffee, she offered him a view of her long, graceful—and very kissable—neck.

His lips tingled just looking at it. With quiet steps, he moved behind her, bending over to whisper in her ear. “Unless you want me to stay, and we could continue where we left off last night.” He traced a fingertip from the sensitive spot under her ear to the juncture of that kissable neck and her shoulder.

She stiffened, her answer clear before she spoke it. “No.”

“Very well.” Anxious to remove himself from further temptation, he left her without a word of goodbye.

After grabbing an old battered hat and shoving it on his head, he gathered his tackle and strode from the house.

The fish would be better company. At least they might take his bait.

With Simon off fishing—ifindeed that’s what he was doing—Charlotte grew restless sitting in the cottage alone. When she tried to read, Elizabeth Bennet’s growing ardor for Mr. Darcy made Charlotte’s mind reel back to the delicious kisses Simon had lavished on her the previous evening, not to mention those she herself had initiated.

Had she truly been so bold as to tug the man’s mouth to hers? Why, yes. Yes, she had, and the feeling of being in control sent a surge of power through her. Not to mention Simon’s reaction. For a man so experienced—at least to hear him tell it—she seemed to affect him as much as he did her.

She had tossed and turned all night, wondering if she should have allowed him to take things further.

Gah!She would grow mad dwelling on it. She needed something else to occupy her thoughts. She tossed the book aside, rose and looked out the window, pleased earlier clouds had dissipated and the sun dappled the ground outside.

A walk would clear her head and push thoughts of Simon Beckham’s roguish grin and talented lips from her mind.

After grabbing her bonnet and a pelisse, she slipped out the front door without a word to any of the servants.

Fragrant lilac floated on the gentle breeze, the grounds between the cottage and the main house immaculately maintained. Away from Simon’s watchful eyes, she dropped her armor and freely appreciated the beauty around her, stooping to pick a few flowers, lifting them to her nose, and inhaling deeply.

Birds chirped in the trees, and she spied a nest of robins, the mother bird feeding her young. The sight reminded her Simon would need an heir. Which, in turn, reminded her of the kisses they shared and the passion sparking between them.

It would seem nothing could distract her from thinking about the irritating man.

Even with the abundance of fragrant flowers filling the cottage—the vision of the petals on the bed rising—she couldn’tresist picking a few more wildflowers. She thought of the forget-me-nots adorning Honoria’s hair at her wedding to the duke. Such a simple flower, but the meaning it held for her dear friends was unmistakable.

One lone daffodil clung to life under the shade of an enormous oak. She laughed, thinking of Simon once again, and how she had compared him to the sunny flower. Pausing, she considered picking it. It would wither and drop its petals soon anyway, returning to slumber and resting until the next spring.

Perhaps she would place it on Simon’s pillow, and she could already hear his laugh, wild and free. Decision made, she apologized to the flower before pinching the stem close to the ground.

She ambled along, breathing in the fresh country air, basking in the warm sun upon her cheeks, the rays striping the ground and dancing amid the swaying leaves on the trees.

Peaceful, idyllic. That she would someday be the mistress of the entire estate gave her pause. She would easily grow to love her new home. Not because of the size, beauty, or wealth of the estate itself, but because of the contentment being there generated in her parched soul. And she had Simon Beckham to thank for it.

In the past, when Charlotte had envisioned marriage—and admittedly it had not been often— it had always been to a well-titled man with vast holdings. Both her father and her brother had expected her to marry well and extend their connections within society and their power in the government.

Charlotte had not expected contentment from those imagined unions, and certainly not happiness. But at that moment, she glimpsed the possibility for both. She might even begin to feel safe.

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