Page 14 of Touched By a Traitor
“If your parents wished for a son, they partially succeeded.”
She cut him a sharp glance, and he caught a flash of hurt beneath her defiance. “I’m unchanged from six years ago. Did your lordship question my sex then?”
The memory of their intimacy struck like lightning—her soft gasps, the way she’d trembled in his arms, how she’d kissed him with such sweet desperation. His body betrayed him with instant recognition, desire warring with the fresh wound of seeing her with Chatham.
His body’s response mocked his wounded pride. Six years, and she could still unravel his composure with nothing more than proximity.
“You’re clever, Miss Morton, but heed this advice,” he murmured, closing the distance between them until he could smell the faint scent of jasmine that clung to her skin. “Be wise. Don’t tempt me.”
A ghost of a smile touched her lips, and for a moment he saw the Charlotte he remembered—bold, challenging, utterly fearless. “It seems my very existence tests your control, my lord.”
His throat tightened at the truth of her words. She had always been his weakness, his one moment of complete abandon. Forcing gravity into his voice, he asked, “Who trained you?”
“The Duke of Chatham.”
“Naturally.” Bitter laughter escaped him before he could stop it. “That explains the scene I witnessed. What else could have persuaded His Grace to champion you against Parliament’s fury?”
She lifted her chin, folding her hands. “I assure you, my legal acumen equals—perhaps exceeds—that of my male peers. Which reminds me, did you verify the accuracy of my warning from our first encounter?”
“Yes,” he admitted, the word tasting of defeat and grudging respect.
Charlotte’s lips curved into that sweet, dimpled smile he remembered too well, triumph and something deeper flickeringin her eyes. “How fortunate I could assist before your solicitor had the opportunity.”
She straightened her spine, and her jaw set in a hard line. “I thank you for your escort, Lord Carlisle. Good evening.” As she turned to leave, Andrew felt something fracture inside his chest. The distance between them felt vast—an ocean he’d helped create.
She retreated into the garden, each step away from him costing him more strength than the last. Andrew remained frozen, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as he watched her solitary figure disappear into the shadows.
Every instinct screamed at him to follow—to ensure her safety, to apologize, to somehow undo the damage his words had inflicted. The garden was poorly lit, and London’s streets grew dangerous after dark.
But following her now would only compound his betrayal, make him appear even more duplicitous than he already was. She’d made it clear she wanted nothing from him—not his escort, not his concern, certainly not his presence.
*
The cool nightair did nothing to calm Charlotte’s flushed skin or the storm of emotions churning in her chest. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to still her racing heart. Despite all that had transpired between them, she couldn’t deny the electric awareness that still crackled whenever he was near.
The contradiction left her reeling. He’d defended her from the crowd’s anger only to deliver his own with surgical precision.
His appearance at the ceremony had shaken her more than she cared to admit. Though thinner and paler than she remembered—the weight of his new responsibilities evident in the sharp angles of his face—he remained devastatinglyhandsome. His broad shoulders and strong jaw stirred feelings she thought long buried.
But more than his physical presence, it was his behavior that left her reeling. The man who had once promised to fund her dreams with no strings attached had publicly humiliated her. The same hands that had touched her with such reverence now gestured dismissively at her presence.
The soft crunch of gravel made her turn sharply, her heart leaping at the unexpected sound. In the moonlight, she recognized Andrew’s tall silhouette immediately—the broad shoulders, the familiar way he carried himself. Relief and wariness warred within her as he drew closer, the cool night air suddenly heating her skin.
“The gardens are lovely at night,” he said softly, his rich baritone sending an involuntary shiver down her spine.
The gentle tone—so different from the cold dismissal he’d shown her in the hall—ignited her anger. Charlotte turned to face him, no longer able to hide behind politeness. “Are they? I find them rather cold,” she said, her voice sharper than intended. “Much like the reception inside.”
She saw him flinch slightly at her words, a crack in his carefully maintained composure. Good. If she was hurting, she wanted him to know it.
“Charlotte,” he began.
“Miss Morton,” she corrected icily. “We must maintain proper standards, after all. Isn’t that what you said?”
Andrew’s jaw tightened, and she caught a glimpse of something raw in his eyes—pain, perhaps, or regret. But it was gone too quickly to be certain.
“You don’t understand the position I’m in,” he said quietly. “The politics, the expectations—”
“I understand perfectly,” Charlotte interrupted, years of frustrated hurt finally finding voice. “You told me to pursue mydreams, Andrew. You funded them. You blessed my path. And now that I’ve succeeded—now that I’ve become exactly what you said I should become—you treat me like a pariah.”
