Page 72 of To Resist a Scandalous Rogue
“I found a locket. A locket Father gave Aunt Cait.” He swallowed. “It had his portrait in it. And a love letter of sorts. I had wanted you to see it and decide what we should do with it.”
Her green eyes bulged. “Could you have left it somewhere?”
He nodded, his mind immediately thinking of Charlotte. “Yes. I suspect I know where it is.”
“Is it somewhere safe?” she whispered hoarsely.
“Definitely,” he said, reaching out to squeeze her hand.
And still, panic set his nerves on edge. If the locket was not at Charlotte’s home, where else would it be? And if it was found, would the person know whose portrait was inside? Would they understand the grim importance of the note? And if they did, would he be able to survive the scandal?
As a duchess, Alethea could weather the worst of the storm, but he…well, he would be destroyed. For how could an illegitimate son inherit his father’s title? His bid for Weobley would be over.
But it had to be with Charlotte. And he trusted her. He had to.
As if sensing his mental battle, Darington thrust a tumbler of liquor into his hand, and he consumed it in one fiery gulp.
Chapter Twenty-Three
A soft knock on the door jolted Charlotte from her ruminations.
How long had she been standing at the window, hoping—no praying—for an alternative? An idea, a solution…anythingthat would save her from the plan she now feared she could not turn back from.
She approached the door on leaden feet. With numb hands she opened it, paying no heed to her safety. She’d promised Finlay she’d have a care, but with the course she’d set for herself, Charlotte doubted she deserved such a luxury as safety.
He slipped through the door without a word, snapping it closed behind him. He pivoted, and for a fleeting moment he looked pale. Stress lines fanned out from the corners of his beautiful eyes. But she didn’t have a chance to ponder if she was to blame, because he promptly gathered her in his arms and kissed her.
Surely this was torture. No medieval executioner could devise a worse agony than having Finlay’s divine lips on hers, moving over them with confident assurance.
Charlotte longed to relax into the kiss. To show him physically what she could not say verbally. That she loved him. That she was devastated to exploit him in such a heartless way. That she would forever regret it.
Nevertheless, her path was set. If she followed through, she would have the means to be free of the Townsends, even if it meant fleeing the life she’d worked so hard to build. Just as importantly, Finlay would be free from her. She would make him hate her and thus save his reputation and very future. Her broken heart was her only payment.
So she forced herself not to return his kiss. She remained rigid in his arms. Eventually, Finlay pulled back, his forehead puckered in confusion.
“Is everything all right? Are you unwell?”
Gritting her teeth, she shook her head. “I’m fine.”
A frown marred his visage. He glanced about as he released her, his troubled gaze returning to her face. “Very well. I didn’t expect to return so soon. I didn’t want to expose you to talk, but I fear I may have left something here by mistake.”
“The locket.” She was careful not to phrase it as a question.
“Yes,” he said, drawing out the sound. His shoulders relaxed. “You found it, then?”
“I did.”
“Right,” he said, shifting back and forth on his feet. “May I have it back? I had meant to give it to my sister now that she’s returned.”
“No.”
Finlay blinked. “No…what?”
She bit the inside of her cheek before she plowed on. “No, you may not have it back…unless…”
Watching Finlay’s green eyes grow wide made Charlotte’s stomach heave.
“Unless what, Char?”
