Page 26 of Too Wylde To Tame
“Why wouldn’t you expect me to say it back? Why in the devil do you think I’m marrying you?” He asked, his puzzlement obvious. “I’ve been resisting the notion that I what we had was more than just the seedling of love. It was too soon. Too instantaneous. But I can admit it now, Charity, freely and without qualm. I’ve been in love with you from the moment I first saw you.”
She blinked up at him. “Oh… well. I felt the same. That it was silly to think such depth of feeling could happen so quickly—but the reality is that… I think I loved you before I knew you. And I have to wonder now if the reason I have failed so spectacularly in every other attempt to gain a suitor wasn’t simply because I was waiting for you.”
“You make me believe in fate,” he admitted. “You make me believe that some people, like us, are simply destined for one another.”
“I had hoped you would feel it too, but I didn’t know. Not really.”
He pulled her close once more, his arms wrapping around her even as he shook his head. “You’ll never have to wonder again. I mean to tell you everyday of our lives that you are beautiful… and that you are loved. Now, for the love of God, go get your clothes back on before I lose all sense of propriety and we scandalize every servant in your sister’s house.”
She was laughing as she dressed. It was a slow process because he couldn’t stop touching her. By the time they opened his door to peer into the corridor, he was fighting the temptation to say to hell with all of it and drag her back to bed with him. But somehow, he managed to stick to the plan. He walked her back to her room, pausing to kiss her once more outside the door before ushering her inside and going back to his own room.
He had to get to Rochester that day and get the license for their wedding the following day. If he left early enough, he could be back by the afternoon… and perhaps even another private interlude with his bride to be.
* * *
Charity slipped silentlyinto the bedchamber she shared with her cousin. The first faint light of dawn was seeping between the closed curtains as she managed to discard her rumpled gown and stays. Wearing only her chemise she pulled back the covers and climbed into her crimson draped bed only feet from Cordelia’s identical one. She hadn’t even managed to pull the covers up over her before Cordelia’s eyes opened and her cousin pinned her with a look that implied she knew precisely what Charity had been doing.
“And just where have you been?” Delia asked.
Charity didn’t bother lying. “I was with Frederick.”
Delia sat up instantly. “When you say with… do you mean in his company or do you mean you werewithhim?”
“I waswithhim,” Charity confirmed. “And you cannot let Aunt Marguerite know. Or Felicity because she would tell Phinneas and he’d feel bound by honor to do something about it, which is entirely unnecessary as we are to be married anyway.”
Delia sprang from her bed and bounded over to Charity’s with a squeal. She plopped down next to her, the ropes of the bed squeaking in protest at their combined weight. “Was it wonderful? Was it all that you’d dreamed it would be?”
Charity thought about that for a moment. “It was wonderful. But it was nothing at all like I thought it would be. It was much… well, more. It was just more. And I can’t explain it any further. Even if I possessed the words, I strongly suspect that it’s a different experience for everyone.”
Delia considered that for a moment then nodded. “You are likely right. And if I knew all about it, my own well confirmed spinsterhood would only feel more like a prison sentence. Perhaps it’s best that I don’t know what I’m missing.”
Charity hugged Delia, the two of them snuggled in her bed like they had as small girls. “You will find someone. I believe that with all my heart. After all, I did, and heaven knows I was the one considered most unsuitable.”
“I wish I could share your certainty,” Delia sighed. “It feels very much like I’ll be alone forever. Well, except for Marguerite. Perhaps I can stay on as her companion and not have to go back to deadly dull Bath and the ever disappointed and worried faces of my parents.”
Charity sighed. She couldn’t fault Delia for her pessimism. Only weeks earlier she had felt exactly the same. “It can all change in an instant, Delia. Do not get so mired in the disappointments of today that you miss the promise of tomorrow’s happiness.”
EIGHTEEN
Jameson had left London in the wee hours, slipping out the side entrance of the hell after having disappeared upstairs with one of the wenches—paid for by Kent, of course. Not that the’d gotten to enjoy her favors. As Kent had said, it was all about establishing his alibi. He’d been seen out and about, his presence noted by everyone at the gaming hell. He’d been observed leaving with his bit of baggage. And no one was the wiser that by the time they’d sought their own beds, he was half way to Chelmsford.
The initial attack on Frederick had been ill thought out. In retrospect, he could see that such an impulsive action had only made matters more difficult. For the end result he desired, he would need to be much more calculating. More cool headed and in control. Depending upon a faulty girth to end his wretched brother had been far too uncertain. His next attempt would be much more direct. So long as he was discreet and no one knew he had returned, he could see to the matter in a far more decisive fashion.
The plan, courtesy of Kent, was that he should slip into the house unseen and lay in wait for his brother. There was a bottle of laudanum in his pocket. It would be easy enough to add it to his drink or food without anyone the wiser. Enough of the drug would be fatal. And if he didn’t give him enough, he would at least be incapacitated enough that Jameson would have no trouble smothering him in his sleep. Then, with Frederick out of the way, that that sow, Charity Wylde would be done for in society. She’d just be another unwanted spinster who couldn’t catch a husband and not the future Viscountess Welbey.
Her rejection of him had stung. It wasn’t that he wanted her. He had never wanted her. But it was the height of effrontery for her to be so completely dismissive of him, as if he were somehow beneath her notice. No doubt when he assumed the title, and the family fortunes were his to control, she’d be singing a very different tune. As a second son, he was always second choice—to everyone he’d ever met. His own father had been no different. The second son, born of the second wife, their father had always doted on Frederick while being constantly critical of Jameson.
Nothing he’d done had ever been good enough. Even minor scrapes as a boy had been met with glaring disapproval. What young man hadn’t sired at least one bastard, after all? And losing at the gaming tables was a right of passage. Every young man did so when they went to town. Yes, he’d raced recklessly through the streets in his father’s phaeton that he’d borrowed without asking permission. But that hardly signified. Harmless stunts and pranks. Nothing more than the normal pitfalls of being a young man about town.
It had been Frederick even then, he thought. Frederick constantly whispering in their father’s ear that his wicked ways should be curbed, that he needed to be more responsible and not cause such scandal. If Frederick had just left it alone, his father might not have even cared. He might not have such restrictive financial support after his father’s passing. Nothing he had done had warranted such measures. His sins were hardly the worst committed by members of the Dartwell family. They were all notoriously debauched. Only Frederick was a paragon of virtue.
He squinted into the distance. A rider was approaching, cutting across the fields as he’d done, but coming from a different direction. He could not afford to be seen. Leading his horse into the trees, he stayed to the shadows as he moved closer to the rider. A sneaking suspicion began to niggle at his mind. Surely he could not be so lucky. Surely he had not stumbled upon his own brother, the object of all his plots, riding alone in the early hours of the morning.
But then Jameson realized that fortune had truly smiled upon him. That familiar gray horse was unmistakable. The rider was no other than his brother. What was he doing out so early? But there was only one answer. His brother was heading toward the main road that would take him either to London or Rochester. And if he was going to either of those places in the middle of the house party, there was only one reason for such a journey. Frederick was going to obtain a marriage license.
Leave it to Frederick to fall madly in love with a woman after only one dance.And, of course, she’d accept his offer because what fat, aging, spinster would turn down an offer of marriage from a wealthy viscount? Miss Wylde was many things but he did not think her foolish enough to do that.
If Frederick had already proposed to her, there was no time to waste. Once they married, should Frederick die, then he would have to wait until a reasonable amount of time had passed without issue. While his brother was an exemplary gentleman, that didn’t mean he was without urges. It was very possible that he and Miss Wylde might have already consummated their relationship. And how suspicious would it look if they both succumbed to accidents or the nefarious deeds of a wayward footpad on the cusp of their marriage? No. It was best to see Frederick in the grave before he had the chance to marry her. To do otherwise would only complicate matters further.
