Chapter 17
Whiddon paced while the dinner service was set up in his sitting room. He rehearsed his arguments and bolstered his resolve.
She was going to put up a fight.
But he would stand firm. Gird his loins. Hold the line.
He was running out of masculine phrases for stubbornness. It all went out of his head, in any case, when she came through the connecting door.
She wore a frock of pale yellow and white, with a dangerously low scooped neckline, a shallow bodice and tiny, frivolous sleeves of sheer lace. Her hair had been caught up high on the back of her head and left to fall in a shower of golden ringlets.
She smiled at him—and she glowed like the sun.
Something inside him stretched toward her, reaching for the warmth she gave.
Oh, no. No, no, no.
A knock sounded, the door opened, and Old Alf came in, carrying the first course.
“Why don’t we just enjoy our dinner before we talk?” Charlotte suggested. “I did ask Mr. Flemming to keep it simple.”
Simple turned out to be a clear soup with mushrooms, a filet of perch, thick with herbs, and beefsteaks prepared with butter and shallots. It was delicious. Charlotte was at ease and charming. Even Old Alf waited on the table as if he’d done it every night for years.
Whiddon barely noticed any of it. He needed to rally, to gather his thoughts. But all of his attention was focused on his wife and the connection he felt sizzling between them.
It had been there from the first and somehow, she had been making him feel more every day since. Sympathy. Admiration. Amusement. Tenderness. And just now, hot, soul-blistering desire.
He’d never had such a reaction to a woman. One so multi-faceted and complex. One that made him want to explore all the layers between them as well as each soft, intoxicating inch of her.
“Charlotte, we have to discuss the risks we’re taking,” he said at last, pushing his plate away.
“We do.” She set down her cutlery. “But my thoughts on the matter are complicated.”
“Mine are simple. I do not want you in danger. Nor Elizabeth.”
“It’s not so simple for me to decide who poses the bigger risk—Hurley or you.”
His jaw dropped in shock and horror. “Excuse me?”
She stood and left the table. “Consider it from my point of view for a moment. Hurley may indeed wish to grab me or Elizabeth, presumably to use as leverage against you. If he did, wouldn’t he be foolish to harm us?”
“Harm you?” He stood and paced after her. “Hekilledmy brother!”
“Perhaps,” she said, raising a brow. “We do not truly know.”
“Oh?” He stopped when he grew close enough to catch her scent. She’d disordered his senses enough already. “Tell me, then. Honestly, for we’ve always been honest with each other. Do you think he did it?”
She drew a deep breath. “Yes.” She released it slowly. “Listening to the information Elizabeth gathered, and judging Hurley by what I’ve seen of him these last weeks? Yes, I think she’s likely right.”
“Then I tell you, honestly, that if he gets a hold of you, he will harm you.”
“He might,” she conceded.
“You see why I must get you safely away.”
“No.” She pursed her lips. “I see that sending us away only leaves open unknown opportunity for anyone who might wish us ill. If we stay here, we are surrounded by a houseful of staff who already hold a grudge against Hurley and can be put on the watch for him. We’ll have you to protect us, and your friends as well. Elizabeth has already pledged to stay close. I vow to be careful. Given all of that, I feel like the chance that Hurley could get near us is small.” She paused and breathed deeply once more. “On the other hand, if you seize this opportunity to send me away, I feel like it will be only the beginning.”
“The beginning of what?” he asked hoarsely. He was afraid he knew the answer.
