Page 42 of Touched By a Traitor
But watching her animated conversation with the duke, seeing the genuine affection in her eyes, Andrew wondered if in trying to protect his interest and respect Charlotte’s loyalty to the duke, he might have handed her directly to a better man.
And yet, as he observed Chatham’s protective stance, his obvious devotion to Charlotte’s well-being, Andrew couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps that was exactly what she deserved.
Garden Lights
10 December 1836
The cottage hadbeen full of activities all day, with staff rushing to prepare for the concert that night, rooms filling with candles and arrangements of herbs. Charlotte had stayed away from it all, needing to work on her cases. As evening approached, she finally descended the stairs, her eyes weary from hours spent poring over legal documents.
The servants bustled about with renewed urgency, carrying trays of crystal glasses and silver platters toward the dining room. The air hummed with anticipation for the evening’s entertainment—first dinner, then a musical performance in the drawing room. Charlotte paused at the bottom of the staircase, observing the organized chaos with a mixture of admiration and exhaustion.
Through the frost-etched windows, something caught her eye—a glimmer of light in the garden that seemed too deliberate, too beautiful to be mere moonlight. Curious, she made her way to the French doors leading to the patio.
The sight that greeted her took her breath away. The garden, typically barren in the depths of December, had been transformed into a winter wonderland of light. Hundreds of lanterns, their delicate glass domes gleaming like frozen teardrops, stretched as far as the eye could see. Each one houseda tiny, defiant flame that danced and flickered, casting an otherworldly glow across the frozen landscape.
Without thinking of the cold, Charlotte stepped onto the patio and began walking along the illuminated path. The lanterns hung from bare branches, lined frost-covered walkways, and nestled among holly bushes heavy with crimson berries. Their warm light caught the edges of icicles, setting them ablaze with golden fire.
She had walked only a short distance when she spotted a tall figure standing near the greenhouse, his face tilted toward the star-filled sky. The orange glow of a cigar tip punctuated the darkness as Andrew drew deeply, exhaling a stream of smoke that disappeared into the night air.
He turned at the sound of her footsteps on the gravel, and his expression immediately shifted from contemplative to concerned.
“Charlotte, what are you doing out here without a coat?” he chided, already moving toward her. “You’ll catch your death in this cold.”
Before she could protest, he was shrugging out of his own coat and draping it around her shoulders. The wool was warm from his body heat and carried his familiar scent that made her pulse quicken.
“Come,” he said, his hand hovering at the small of her back without quite touching. “Let’s get you somewhere warm.”
He guided her toward one of the glass structures she had admired from afar. Up close, she realized it was a miniature greenhouse, glowing with warmth from strategically placed lanterns.
“This is extraordinary,” she breathed, stepping inside the heated space. “Andrew, this garden is truly remarkable.”
A faint smile touched his lips as he watched her turn in a slow circle, taking in the artful arrangement of light and glass. “I’m glad you approve. I’ve spent considerable time perfecting it.”
“You created this? It’s like something from a fairy tale,” she said softly, then looked up at him. “But you must be freezing without your coat.”
“I’m fine,” he assured her, though she noticed he moved closer to one of the warming lanterns.
For a moment, they stood in comfortable silence, the magical garden surrounding them like a glittering cocoon. Then Andrew’s expression grew more serious, his gaze studying her face in the lamplight.
“Tell me about your relationship with Chatham,” he said, his voice carefully controlled but with an undercurrent of tension.
Charlotte’s eyes flashed with surprise. “What do you mean?”
“I mean exactly what I said. What is the nature of your relationship with the duke?”
She straightened, her chin lifting slightly. “We are friends. Close friends, and professional colleagues.”
“Friends,” Andrew repeated, his tone skeptical. “The man is in love with you, Charlotte.”
“That may be true,” she admitted quietly. “I don’t doubt that Albert loves me as a friend.”
He paused, seeming to steel himself for the next question.
“If he were to propose marriage? Would you accept him?”
Charlotte hesitated, her fingers twisting in her skirts. “He… he has mentioned it. Last evening, in fact.”
The relief that had begun to settle over Andrew’s features vanished instantly, replaced by something fierce and possessive. “And?”
