Again, Seth felt sympathy for Charity, his thoughts irreversibly returning to the night he had met her. Their meeting was truly coincidental—a game of fate. What might have become of her had Luke gone to Holmwood in his stead? He shuddered at the thought, which she seemed to pick up on.
“We could.” He moved his lips to her forehead, kissing her and wondering what Luke or Bates would say if they found out Seth had eloped to Gretna Green with Charity. “The manor…” He paused and glanced around the room. This was one of the few chambers that Charity had yet to lay her flourishes on. “Change it as you wish to, and I do not just mean a few paintings here and there, or Yuletide decorations. Change anything and everything to your heart’s content.”
“Truly?” Charity asked, pushing herself off his chest and sitting up straight. She regarded him intently, and for a brief second, he felt vulnerably bare to her gaze.
Seth flinched, worried for a moment, as he thought about what she might make of his scars. Then, he realized what a fool he was. She couldn’t see his scars, and something more occurred to him. Her hands had run over him the night before—she had inadvertently touched those scars, and she had never once recoiled in disgust.
“Do you mean it?” Charity asked again.
“I do.” His voice was firm. “Renovate what you like, where you like, it is fine with me.”
Her smile grew wider.
“Would you mind if Shelby and Rufus were allowed in more parts of the manor? I tried to take them places yesterday, but Isobel said the hounds aren’t always allowed in all parts of the house.”
He chuckled softly. It was such a simple request, but clearly, it meant a lot to her.
Presently, I fear I will give in to any of her demands.
“Take them wherever you wish to.”
She beamed softly and cocooned herself against him again. Seth wrapped an arm around her, feeling the warmth of her body as he too matched her smile.
This room had been empty for so long, so isolated, so lonely, it was a shock to have another in it.
“Your Grace?” a voice from the corridor called, followed by a jittery rap.
Seth jerked his head toward the door, recognizing the voice of his butler. Charity stiffened and held a finger to her lips, showingshe was not going to make a sound and reveal that she was in fact here and not in her own bedchamber—where sheshouldhave been.
“What is it, Bates?” Seth asked calmly.
“Pardon me, Your Grace. Some correspondence has arrived and I was informed it was of some importance. I shall leave it here for you.” He must have left it on the table in the hallway for he retreated down the corridor a moment later.
Seth disentangled himself from Charity.
“How about a bath?” he whispered to her, and she nodded seductively—or at least that was how he took it, for it was how he seemed to regard all her subtle gestures these past few days. He was already planning on sharing that bath with her, perhaps returning to some of their activities from the night before too.
He heaved himself off the bed and moved to the door, wrapping a dressing gown around his shoulders. Stepping out of the door, he reached for the correspondence on the hallway table and picked it up. At the end of the corridor, Bates stopped walking, clearly having heard the door open. Seth asked him to bring up some hot water for a bath, and Bates nodded, hurrying by to the nearest footman to inform him of his duties.
Seth peeled open the letter, recognizing the seal imprinted in the red wax and who the sender would be, even before he had read it.
‘Dear Seth,
You should know that of course, Lord Holmwood knows his daughter is missing. He has ordered a search for her and has constables involved. He believes she was abducted and has not once contemplated the notion that she might have run away to avoid her marriage to the baron.
Be cautious, my friend. As useful as Lady Charity could prove to be in our quest for vengeance, she could also prove dangerous.
Your friend,
Luke.’
Seth hurried to close up the letter. There was something sickening to him in Luke’s letter. He had no intention of using Charity as part of his quest for vengeance.
Charity giggled as she trailed another paper chain around the staircase. Behind her, she could hear the sounds of poor Bates struggling to put up another painting.
“A little to the left, Bates,” Isobel called.
“Oomph!”
