Page 5 of Touched By a Traitor
The admiration in her voice was entirely genuine. Whatever had brought her to this moment, she couldn’t deny her respect for what he’d accomplished.
He turned to her, something raw and wondering in his gaze. “A man alone can fight his way up. A gentlewoman alone?”His voice roughened with emotion. “That’s a different kind of battlefield. You must have ached for your family.”
The understanding in his voice nearly undid her. Charlotte felt tears threaten, surprised by how desperately she wanted to share her burden with someone who might comprehend it.
“I miss the dream of family,” she said carefully, her voice barely above a whisper. “But the reality? I lived among strangers who resented my refusal to trade on my charm for their gain. Father saw only Mother’s shadows in me. His love was admirable, but his failure to secure my future was not.”
Andrew’s arm settled across her shoulders, solid and warm. Charlotte froze, caught between instinct and yearning. The gesture was so natural, so protective, that for a moment she allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to have someone truly on her side.
“What kind of parents leave their daughter defenseless when they had the means to protect her?” Anger threaded through his words, and Charlotte’s heart twisted at his protective fury on her behalf.
“Is that why you turned to law?” he asked softly, his breath warm against her temple. “Your parents?”
She stilled, struck by his insight. No one had ever understood her motivations so clearly. “Yes. I want to fight a world that treats misfortune as a crime.”
As the tension slowly drained from her spine, Charlotte found herself melting into his embrace. This was dangerous territory—she couldn’t afford to trust, to hope, to feel anything real for this man. Yet wrapped in his arms, listening to the steady beat of his heart, she felt safer than she had in years.
Catching her wandering thoughts, she blurted, “Why are you unmarried?”
Andrew captured her free hand, studying her work-roughened fingers with gentle consideration. His touch was sodifferent from what she’d expected—not grasping or demanding, but almost reverent.
“I’ve waited for someone rare,” he said, his voice pitched low and intimate. “A woman who sees past my origins, accepts all I am, and can walk between worlds as I do… but with more grace.”
As he spoke, Charlotte looked up at him, and his eyes met hers with newfound intensity. She felt pinned by his gaze, her body humming with nervous energy and something deeper—a recognition that terrified her.
“Someone like you,” he murmured, the realization dawning in his voice.
His arm slipped to her waist, drawing her against him until no space remained between them. Charlotte’s breath stuttered as she realized what was happening—this wasn’t part of her plan, this growing warmth between them that had nothing to do with transactions or desperation.
“As I spoke of what I seek in a wife, I found myself describing you,” he whispered into her ear.
The words hung between them, weighted with possibility and danger. Charlotte pressed her palm to his chest, finding his heartbeat steady beneath linen while her own pulse raced wild as a hunted deer.
“You might be exactly what I need,” he said, his words carrying the gravity of revelation. “Sharp-minded, able to move between worlds, intimate with life’s cruel lessons. Add your beauty and courage, and you’re everything a man could want in a wife.”
Color flooded Charlotte’s cheeks as his words scattered her thoughts like autumn leaves in a storm. Surely, she had misinterpreted, or perhaps the brandy had addled her wits entirely. This wasn’t how transactions were supposed to unfold—with genuine feeling creeping in to complicate everything.
“We could…” he ventured, uncertainty threading through his voice like silver.
Charlotte straightened, her heart hammering against her ribs. “What?” The word emerged strangled; her usual wit abandoned her entirely.
“Join our lives,” he said softly, his hand moving to cup her cheek with devastating tenderness. “I think we’d make a formidable match.”
The room spun like a child’s top. Charlotte blinked hard, certain she must be lost in some fever dream. This man—this powerful, dangerous, captivating man she’d known only for an evening—was offering marriage?
“I… I don’t understand,” she whispered, even as part of her soul sang at the possibility. “We’re strangers, Mr. Creswell.”
His grip tightened fractionally at her waist. “Are we? You’ve shown me more of your true self in hours than most reveal in years. You challenge everything I thought I knew about women, Charlotte.”
Her name on his lips sounded like a prayer. She’d come with clear intentions, none of which involved marriage—especially not to a man who might actually see her as more than a burden or a prize.
And yet…
She couldn’t deny the current running between them, the way her skin sang at his touch, how their minds sparked against each other. For one dizzying moment, Charlotte let herself envision it: a life shared with Andrew Creswell, their combined strengths wielded for change. The possibility was intoxicating and terrifying in equal measure.
This could be her salvation—from poverty, from solitude, from vulnerability. But also from her dreams, from the future she was willing to sacrifice herself to achieve.
“I want to believe that’s possible,” she whispered, and realized she meant it more than she’d ever meant anything.
