Page 47 of An Unwilling Earl
“Not today.” Yet, seeing Edmund convinced her that she should have gone to Cotton. She needed to get out of London.
She followed Jacob into the house and up the steps to his study where she settled into the window seat and watched him pour himself a drink. She thought it strange that they already had their little rituals like this. Had he had these rituals with his wife? She was strangely jealous of a dead woman who had experienced Jacob’s love.
He set the newspaper he’d been reading on a small table, close enough that she could read part of the headline. Frowning, she leaned over to snatch the paper and unfold it. The bold headline read that another headless body had been pulled from the Thames.
Number five.
Five women pulled from the river.
Five women without heads.
Five women who had probably died horrific deaths. Who had suffered needlessly.
“They found another one,” Charlotte said.
“The city is in an uproar. Politicians are blaming the police for not finding this monster. The police are running around with very few clues and nowhere to turn. The female servants are refusing to leave their employers’ houses. Some are quitting and going back to the countryside.”
She skimmed the article, but it provided very little new information.
“How do you know all of this?” she asked.
He appeared flustered, a rose tinge covering his cheeks as he shrugged. “I have friends who know things.”
Charlotte folded the paper and stared out the window. She wanted to go to America to escape. To be free. Butwouldshe be free? Or would she be haunted by the images of these five women?
Glassy eyes.
Twisted body.
Severed head.
Charlotte walked among the debris of body parts, her lungs heaving in despair as her heart pounded in fear and anger.
No.
NOOOOOOOOOOO!
“Charlotte! Charlotte, wake up. You’re dreaming.”
She sat up with a gasp to find Jacob leaning over her. Still lost in her dream, she made a noise of part fear, part surprise. Quickly he straightened and took a step back, his arms out to his sides.
“You were screaming,” he said.
His hair was sticking up in the back. There were creases on his cheek where his head had pressed against the pillow and his robe was haphazardly tied, and he looked so warm and safe andalive. With a strangled cry she catapulted toward him. He caught her with anoomph.
“You’re trembling,” he said.
She put her head against his chest, not caring if this was improper. It felt so good to be held.
“It was just a dream.” He smoothed her hair down.
She pressed her nose into his dressing gown and inhaled his spicy, clean scent.
His hand moved up and down her back, like what a mother would do to soothe her baby, but it made Charlotte shiver and tremble more.
“Charlotte, you’re worrying me. Please tell me this was just a dream.”
She pulled away but not far enough to leave his embrace, just enough to sniff.
