Page 23 of Lady Willa's Divinely Wicked Vicar
He strode forward, his hands out, taking hers and drawing her straight into his bold embrace. “Good afternoon, my darling.” He put his lips to her cheek and spoke against her skin. “I have missed you so.”
She held him tightly and enjoyed each second. But she should not. He’d written letters, one every few weeks since last they met. His correspondence had been brief, filled with news of his parish doings and work he did for his father. While his tone had been friendly and sweet, he had not been ardent. No, his missives were not love letters. Hers matched his in tone and scope. They were merely…friends. Still in all, her heart beat like ten drums. She wanted him, welcomed him. And so she told him the truth of her joy to have him here. “I’m so pleased to see you again.”
He held her at arm’s length. “Are you? Good for you! I worried, you see. Thought you might even turn me out.”
She let her brows dance. “That I would do so? You told our butler not to notify my father you were here.”
“Your servant is a fine man. He did not bat an eyelash at my words. A friend of yours, I do believe. And why not!” He wrapped her close again, his hand to her nape as he spoke against her temple. “I could not blame him. I want to be your friend, too.”
She gave a laugh at that and leaned back to admire the winsome creature who thought enough to come to her like this. “Then as a friend,” she said that last word as if it were an impossibility, “do tell me why are you here?”
“To see you.”
“And you did not write first to learn if you were welcome?”
He lost his innocence. “Aren’t I?”
“Definitely. But you do know I mean to know why you wish to see me.”
He stepped backward then and took up a spot by the mantel. The fire behind the large screen crackled and spat, sending up odd warnings of what he was about. “I’ve things to tell you, Wills. Many changes in my life have occurred since last we talked.”
Her life had not changed. But rather—she fingered her letter in her pocket—she hoped that she was about to take control of her own destiny. A new life in Brighton beckoned…or she hoped it did. For many weeks, she thought it would. She liked Brighton. Had oft been there for seaside holidays with her parents. To live there would seem a new beginning. A way to live without a man—just any man—to be her husband.
He narrowed his focus on her. “What is it? I can’t believe you don’t want me here.”
“Oh, I am happy to see you. But I—” She took one of the Queen Anne chairs near him. She flexed her fingers. She should not fidget. “Please do sit. I’m not very hospitable. Please tell me what you came for.”
“You.”
She drowned in his beguiling green gaze. A rush of excitement fell over her like a cascade. The thrill of his claim was welcome, but so unusual that she was temporarily without words. And then her old fear set in. Old refrains of death mixed with newer hopes that he must live…live well!
Confusion muddled her.
He came to stand before her. “Look at me. Wills, I told you I would come for you. I’d find a way to prove to you that you are wrong. You are not cursed.”
“Oh, Charlie. I’m happy you’re here but we’ve not seen each other in months and…”
He went to a knee before her and seized her hands. “I dared not call upon you until I had new elements in place. I’ve worked hard. Very hard. I can change my life. Yours, too, I believe. Please tell me you do not entertain a proposal from any other man. You wrote of none. And I read nothing in the papers. Heard of no announcements by way of gossip. So—”
“No. I am not engaged to anyone.”
He exhaled. “Thank God.”
She must send him away. “I have plans, Charlie.”
“What kind of plans?”
“Yes,” came the thundering bass from the doorway. “What kind of plans?”
“Papa!” Wills scrambled to her feet, her heart beating so hard to jump away. “Do come meet a friend of mine.”
Charlie rose, his countenance serene as she introduced him to her father. He was respectful, nodding and offering a smile and his hand.
“Compton.” Her father, drawing himself up into his dignity, caught the name, his lashes fluttering as they did when he sought equilibrium. Recovering, he nonetheless did the polite thing to welcome the son of his antagonist to his home. “How kind of you to visit.”
“Good of you to receive me, sir.” Charlie clasped his hands behind his back.
“Come,” said her father who took a position in one Queen Anne chair. Then he indicated the far settee for their guest. “Sit with us. I see our man has already served tea. Good of him, eh? Yes, so good. Then do tell us how you’ve come to visit in the country.”
