Page 13 of Too Wylde To Tame
“Well, first it was a fire,” he admitted. “Then it was stolen livestock from several of my tenants. A dammed river that was threatening crops. One of my horses, a favorite of mine, was lamed and had to be put down. The list goes on. One calamity after another, and all of them intended to keep me from returning to town and furthering our acquaintance.”
She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Do you honestly expect me to believe that your brother has sabotaged you at every turn just to spend time with me?”
“No. I believe that is part of the reason he’s doing it. But I also know that Jameson does nothing unless there is a profit to be made in it. I suspect that there is some wager with his wretched friends—the nature of which eludes me.”
Charity wanted to deny it. She desperately wanted it not to be true. Not that she wanted to have Lord Jameson’s attentions. She did not. Not at all. But she didn’t want them to be prompted only to win a bet, either. To think that a man would only want to be in her company because he might win a wager with his friends was beyond insulting. “Even if what you say is true, that does not excuse the fact that your behavior toward me was not that of a gentleman. To leave a woman waiting for you—.”
“Three dozen roses… one red, one pink and one white. From Gatton’s Shop. I won’t bother to tell you what I’d had written on the card as my brother undoubtedly discarded it before he gave them to you.”
Charity blinked in shock. He couldn’t have known that. Oh, it would have ben easy enough to guess that if his brother had called on her he would have brought a gift of some sort. Flowers or chocolates were the traditional sort of offering. But for him to know the specifics—the composition of the bouquet, the colors, the florist from which it had originated—that was difficult to explain away.
“What did the card say?” she asked.
* * *
Frederick feltthe pleasant surge of victory in his blood. She believed him, or at the very least, she wanted to. “I confess to it not being especially romantic. I relayed the message through my man of affairs. Perhaps if I had penned it myself, I might have spoken more freely. I asked him to offer my apologies for my unexpected departure and an assurance that I would return as soon as possible. Alas, one event after the next kept me consumed with estate matters for the duration since last we spoke.”
“I see,” she said.
“Miss Wylde, I know we have only had one occasion to meet, but I cannot and will not deny that I am very attracted to you. I pray that you will forgive this unintended slight and that you will offer me an opportunity to make it up to you,” he implored.
She shook her head. “Do you know what happens to a toy that children fight over? It gets broken, my lord. Invariably. I’ve no wish to be that toy ripped to shreds between you are your brother.”
It was an argument he could not refute. Whatever his intentions toward her and whatever his feelings, if she were to enter into an understanding with him, Jameson would see it only as a challenge. And hurting her to hurt him was not out of the question. “Indeed, Miss Wylde,” he said. “Even in my disappointment, I cannot say that you are wrong without being the deceitful sort you must have thought me when I did not arrive for our scheduled meeting. But should you change your mind, or decide that it might be worth risking, know that you have only to say the word.”
She nodded. “Thank you, my lord. If you will excuse me, I need to return to my cousin. She knows very few people here besides my sister and myself and is—well, shy.”
He nodded and stepped aside, leaving the gravel path so that she could pass him easily. Watching her walk away, Frederick felt more bitterness toward his brother than he ever had in his life. He had loved Jameson at one time, he thought. When he’d been born, he had thought it was the most perfect thing in the world to have a brother, to have what he assumed would be a lifelong friend and companion. But over the years, Jameson’s jealousy and resentment of his position as the eldest and the heir had chipped away at those affections, leaving only anger and distrust behind.
“Damn him,” Frederick murmured. “Damn him for his spite.”
With that, he walked away—heading in the opposite direction which Miss Wylde had taken. He would spend the next week avoiding her. Her position had been made clear and her reasons behind it were too sound for him to refute. Which meant he could only learn to bear his disappointment with some degree of dignity and the knowledge that he was stepping aside for her safety. Because, as she’d said, Jameson would very much see her as a child would see a toy. A thing to be used. A thing to be broken if he did not get his way. That was the last thing he wanted to see happen to her. For her to be hurt because of him, even indirectly, was an unbearable thought.
EIGHT
After what seemed like ages of battling midges and heaven knew what other kind of creatures, Charity pled fatigue from their journey and escaped the gathered guests. Felicity had offered to send up a tray to her room, but she had declined. She wouldn’t make things harder for her sister by making Felicity worry about her. She’d have a bit of a lie down, escape the hovering presence of Lord Jameson and the disturbing presence of Lord Frederick.
No sooner had she crossed the threshold of their room and made her way to her bed when it opened once more. Delia came in, all but vibrating with excitement. It didn’t take a great deal of intellectual acuity to know that the interrogation was about to begin.
“What did he have to say for himself?” Delia demanded instantly.
“Must we talk about this now?”
“Yes!” Her cousin exclaimed. “Because if I am seated near him at dinner, I need to know whether or not to give him the cut.”
Charity shook her head vehemently. “Absolutely not. It wasn’t at all what I thought, but that doesn’t mean things are repaired between us or that they ever will be. In truth, it is all much more complicated than I had thought it would be. If anyone should receive the cut, it is Lord Jameson. But I do not want to cause a scandal that might leave a black mark on Felicity as this is her first event as a hostess. We must, both of us, be ever mindful of that.”
Delia sat down on the edge of the bed. “I know you are right, but I cannot like it. They have treated you very poorly, indeed. Both of them.”
“Lord Frederick has not… not intentionally, at any rate.” Reluctantly, Charity relayed the incident with the roses and what Lord Jameson had done.
“What a scoundrel he is! And he seemed so very nice and attentive. Why, Charity? What possible reason could he have?”
It was a humiliating thing to admit, even to Delia. “More than likely a wager. Which, quite honestly, is in line with all the gossip, rumor and innuendo about Lord Jameson that has come my way. He’s known to be quite callous… I think that is only part of it though. There is some resentment between them that, if I had to guess, falls mostly on the shoulders of Lord Jameson. He’s quite the scapegrace and for all that I have heard about Viscount Welbey, he is anything but. That is why it was so shocking that he would arrange a meeting between us and then fail to appear.”
“I will be cordial to him then. I will be cordial to Lord Jameson if I cannot avoid him. But… Charity, if Lord Frederick really is not to blame for what occurred, then couldn’t things be repaired between the two of you?”
“What things? We shared a single dance,” Charity said dismissively. Even to her own ears it rang false. It had been a dance, yes. But it had also been a connection. There had been something, some pull between them, that defied reason and the fact that they had only just met.
