Page 56 of Unforeseen Affairs
Blast.Apparently not close enough.
“No.”
Her heartbeat ramped up again in the ensuing pause, but she remained motionless in her seat.
“Cousin Bess was asking after you. She says she hasn’t set eyes upon you in the past week or so. Walter’s photographs have come back all wrong, apparently. She aims to do another sitting, and I told her I would ask if you would attend once more to assist her.” Susanna sighed deeply. Charlotte heard the telltale sounds of her gathering up her supplies—tiny scissors, loops of thread, the little cushion speared with needles. “I am glad to have met Sir Colin. He seems a good friend to have.”
Friend?
The well-intended word stabbed Charlotte in the heart. She did not wish to be Sir Colin’sfriend.
“Goodnight, darling. Do not stay up too late,” Susanna said, stifling a yawn. “Your father always worries when you keep odd hours.”
“Goodnight,” Charlotte murmured, still hiding behind the paper. She felt incapable of showing her face to anyone just now.
When finally she heard the door shut, she blew out a long, shaking breath. She threw the paper aside, frustrated by this hateful, unbearable yearning.
It was only a week ago that she’d merely reveled in the novelty of him. She’d gone to bed thinking of Sir Colin’s handsome jaw, and the way he moved so confidently through the streets of London. She’d caressed herself through her nightgown, teasing her body as she recalled the way he’d deftly yet casually twisted those bits of straw into cord, with fingers so nimble and precise.It had felt good—luxurious, even—to dip into her own wetness and think of him.
A tiny shiver ran down her back at the recollection.
But now he’d kissed her. He thought her pretty. And, through his incessant apologies, he’d revealed his own frustration over their current circumstances.
Charlotte did not want his apologies. She wanted him on his knees before her, between her legs with his head beneath her rucked-up skirts, just as she’d seen in a ribald print on display at a printmaker’s shop years ago. She wanted him behind her—with those wide, strong hands easily spanning the width of her waist—pulling her back into him, harder and more insistent with every thrust inside her.
It would not serve her well, this yearning. Her mother had suffered endlessly for bearing a child out of wedlock, and the sins of the father had also been visited upon Charlotte; whispers about her bastardy followed her wherever she went. It had never bothered her, and in fact seemed to wound her father more than any other. But now Charlotte understood his guilt. She would not wish to bring another Sedley bastard into this cruel and cold world.
And still, she wanted to lie with Sir Colin. To rest her head upon his chest and listen to his every breath. She wanted to take his hand in hers and place a gentle kiss upon it every time he frowned, every time his brow creased with worry.
Just now, though, it seemed impossible.
As impossible as Mr. Bass forgiving them for causing a commotion at the spirit circle and inviting Sir Colin to another. If none of the credulous dullards in attendance would report the events accurately and cast doubt upon Mr. Bass’s pathetic blame-shifting, then it will all have been for nothing. Mrs. Stone would continue to be overshadowed by her fraudulent old rival, and Sir Colin’s friend would remain slandered and unvindicated.Which meant Sir Colin could never marry the insufferable man’s sister.
Charlotte was suddenly hit with a bolt of clarity.
She didn’t want him to marry that girl.
Her heart thudded even more wildly in her chest, like a pendulum knocked off its rhythm. She slid a hand into her skirts and fished through her pocket.
She withdrew a small bit of twine, dry and ragged, made hurriedly of straw only several days ago. Rolling it between her forefinger and thumb, she considered its maker.
Just who was Sir Colin Gearing? And why did Charlotte care two figs about whom he chose to marry?
She sighed deeply with exhaustion, and closed her eyes.
Chapter Sixteen
Hefeltasthoughhe was about to fall over.
Lightheaded and morose though he was, Colin did not want to remain at home. He wished to go out, to see people, to laugh and forget about his cataclysmic failures and unfulfilled promises.
But he could not go to the Rag, his club, for the friends there would be full of excitement and stories of their exploits at sea. Men who had just returned, or were preparing to ship out again. Colin wished more than anything that he’d never been cursed with this nonsense with his head. How different things might have been for him then. He would likely be halfway around the world right now, commanding his own tidy ship. His crew would be strong and diligent. Their ports? Perhaps Malta, perhaps Alexandria. He would send Alice a letter wherever they docked and buy her a trinket here and there. Ribbons for her hair. Spools of Italian lace, bolts of Chinese silk. Life would be just as it should.
But Colin had been dealt a different hand, and now he was instead hiding away in the library, reading the same paragraph about the news from India over and over again and thinking ofhow he could not even visit his club for a bit of cheer and good company. How he could not even walk the halls of his family home without being caught in the disappointed, unyielding stare of some long-gone Gearing in a blue coat and epaulettes, more decorated in their portrait frame than Colin would ever be. Worrying that if he turned his head too quickly, he’d set off a cascade of dizziness that would feel even ghastlier and last for who knew how long.
And besides, were he to venture out to the Army and Navy Club, he might see Beaky there, and he would be forced to admit his failure. Or, even worse than that, he’d encounter his father.
At least by staying home Colin could keep to his room and the library, relatively safe boltholes for one who wished to avoid the overbearing presence of one’spaterfamilias.
