She glanced toward the fireplace he could barely see opposite the foot of the bed. “Half ten.”
Alex clenched his jaw. So many days lost. He was to have returned to Edinburgh in just two days’ time.
He needed to send a letter to McNeal immediately.
Lady Charlotte moved back to his side, a rustle of silk and petticoats. She paused, looking at the bedside table and shuffling something out of his vision. Books, perhaps?
Her hair shimmered in the light, so pale blond it was nearly silver. Wee tendrils of her coiffure had escaped to curl against her temple and neck.
He was trapped here. And having this impossibly-lovely woman as his jailer felt like the final indignity. The last cruel blow this farce had to deliver.
But then, he noticed it. A small mole in the center of her left cheek. It was no feignedmouchelike those of the century past—a beauty mark artfully placed next to one eye or at the corner of a mouth.
No, the wee mole was entirely natural, stuck to the center of her cheek as if Lady Charlotte were at the end of a drunken night out and hermouchehad slid down her face. It was faint, only a few shades darker than her skin and easily missed at a distance. But this close, it stood out, that wee imperfection.
The mole should have abated his anger over her beauty.Look here!it said.This woman is not so perfect, after all.
But it had the opposite effect. It highlighted that the lady was not to be pigeon-holed. She was not monolithic but human and approachable and mussable.
And Alex didn’t wish the wordsmussableandLady Charlotteto ever come near one another in his brain.
She turned back to him.
“May I read to you while we wait for Cook to send up something tempting?” she asked, lifting a book in her hands.
Abruptly, a vision flashed through his head. Lady Charlotte’s beautiful head bent over a book, stories of princesses and dragons tumbling out in soothing English tones.
Or was it a memory?
“A fairy tale, I wager.” His tone left little doubt as to his opinion of such a thing. “Am I tae be relegated to the nursery next? Or are ye like all pretty women and strenuously avoid words which will lead tae—heaven forbid!—thinking?”
Lady Charlotte’s expression grew more and more remote as he spoke.
“May I offer you a pastime that is more acceptable then? Something more studious, perhaps?” Her words held a sharp edge.
Good. Alex wanted a fight.
“Yes. Paper, pen, ink, and a way to sit up would be greatly appreciated. I have far too many letters tae write, explaining to all and sundry my present degraded circumstances.”
She tossed the book she had been holding back onto the bedside table with a loudsmack.
“I shall see that a writing desk is brought to you immediately, then.” She turned to leave, denying him the fight he craved.
“And my watch, if you please,” he snipped.
She stopped and looked back at him, a question mark on her face.
“My writing deskandmy pocket watch,” he repeated.
“Of course, Dr. Whitaker. I shall see if they can be located.” Her tone dripped acid. She flicked a look up and down his supine body. “Fortunately, you shall not want for time to write your letters.”
Alex narrowed his eyes. Was she taking the piss out of him, now?
“Is there anyone else who could see tae my care?” he asked.
A long pause.
Lady Charlotte stared at him the entire time. He could practically see the emotions flitting across her face.
