Page 17 of An Unwilling Earl
They walked side by side. He kept pace with her, but they didn’t speak.
Her mind whirled as her stomach churned in apprehension. She had no idea what to say to him. She’d not really thought about what words she would use.
Was she making a mistake? Sarah didn’t know the whole story. No one really knew the whole story, and Charlotte wasn’t sure if she could even tell it.
He opened the door for her, stepping back to let her walk in first. She hesitated, peering into the darkness of the entryway, looking for… She didn’t know what she was looking for.
Her aunt lurking in the shadows, ready to drag her back into that life.
“There’s no one in here except Mrs. Smith, my housekeeper.”
“She didn’t seem to want me here,” Charlotte said.
He appeared surprised when she spoke, and she wondered if maybe he thought her mute. Then she realized that he probably thought her an uneducated lad, and her voice revealed the opposite.
“She’ll be fine,” he said. “No need to worry about her.”
He stood there patiently, letting the warmth of the house seep into the chilled outdoors while she tried to decide if she wanted to go in. It didn’t seem to matter to Mr. Baker that she was taking a long time making a decision.
What did she have to lose? Maybe he could help her, and if he couldn’t she wouldn’t be any worse off than she was before.
He led her into a room devoid of any comfortable furniture. A large desk with a good view of the street was to one side. The pictures on the wall were landscapes, giving away nothing of the person who occupied this house.
He dragged the straight-backed chairs that had sat in front of his desk close to the fire, and as she sat he rang a bell, presumably for the angry Mrs. Smith, then he sat in the other chair. The fire felt deliciously warm, heating her cheeks. Surreptitiously she stretched her feet out, hoping to catch some of the warmth in her sodden shoes. It was going to be hard leaving all of this warmth and comfort when it was time to go. She would soak up as much as she could, while she could.
Mrs. Smith entered and pulled up short when she saw Charlotte sitting in the chair.
“Tea please, Mrs. Smith,” Mr. Baker said. “And maybe some of those delicious sandwiches you’re so good at making.”
Mrs. Smith’s gaze bounced between Charlotte and Mr. Baker before she nodded and left.
“I don’t think she likes me,” Charlotte said.
“She doesn’t know you.”
“Neither do you.”
He tipped his head toward her. “Why don’t you change that?”
“Maybe I don’t want to.” Her defenses were coming up because she was scared. Scared to tell him anything. Scared if she did it would all go awry.
“I think you wouldn’t have knocked on my front door if there wasn’t something you wanted from me.”
She lowered her chin and stared into the fire.
“How did you find me, Charlotte?”
Her head jerked up, and she stared at him, surprised. “How did you know my name?” she whispered.
“The disguise is good. Not great, but good. No one could tell at a quick glance.”
“You couldn’t tell when you saved me from the horse.”
He frowned. “Horse?”
He didn’t remember.That one moment had consumed her thoughts for days, and it had meant nothing to him. She wanted to laugh at her foolishness.
“You pulled me from beneath the horse’s hooves on Regent Street the other day.”
