‘It looks close enough to touch,’ she murmured wonderingly.
‘It’s on nights like these that I cannot imagine living anywhere else,’ Jago commented simply. ‘I daresay you feel the same way about Blackmore.’ Charity glanced sideways at him, wondering if he was merely indulging in idle conversation. To her surprise, he was staring directly at her, his gaze intent.
‘It is not usually a woman’s lot to remain close to her family after she has wed,’ Charity responded carefully. ‘My sisters are all at least half a day’s drive away from Blackmore with the exception of Grace, but we are lucky enough to be able to visit one another fairly regularly. And of course we send letters.’
She paused and took a deep breath. ‘If I should wed, it’s my hope that my husband would indulge me by allowing members of my family to stay and agreeing to visit them in turn.’ She stared back at him unflinchingly.
Jago remained stationary for a second. ‘If I should wed, it’s my hope my wife would allow me to indulge her in much more than family visits,’ he countered huskily. Charity’s heart hammered at the expression in his eyes.
‘Would you be an accommodating husband, then?’ she found herself asking, wondering at her boldness.
‘When this is over,’ he continued, his voice now a seductive murmur, ‘it’s my hope you’ll allow me to show you justhowaccommodating I can be.’ In the moonlight, his eyes had turned a molten gold. Her breath caught at the longing in their depths, and her entire body vibrated with an answering need.
Abruptly, a cold nose was thrust between them, putting an end to the moment. With a gasp of shock, Charity instinctively snatched her hand away, then looked down at Freddy who was gazing up at both of them, tail wagging happily.
‘Good timing, boy,’ Jago muttered drily, then raising his gaze to Charity, he added ruefully, ‘It appears we’ve had a chaperone after all.’
∞∞∞
Lurking in the shadows of the landing, Augustus Shackleford waited until Jago had shut the front door behind him and Charity. Then, with a quick glance towards the drawing roomto ensure Percy hadn’t moved, he tiptoed back down the stairs, taking care not to allow his candle to go out.
Charity’s question concerning the reason behind Morgan Carlyon’s furtive visits to his dead daughter’s small sitting room had played on the Reverend’s mind throughout dinner, and now was as good a time as any to take a quick look. Indeed, if he left it any later, he ran the risk of coming face to face with Jago’s father given that the dead of night was very likely the man’s preferred time for wandering about on legs he told everyone were unable to support him.
With a last glance around the hall, the Reverend turned the knob and slipped into the unused sitting room. Once inside, he lifted the candle high and stared curiously around. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected to find, but the feeling that this room harboured secrets became suddenly stronger. He found himself wishing Percy was here, though the curate would no doubt spend the entire time protesting about their inappropriate behaviour.
Reverend Shackleford placed the candle on a small desk, covered like the rest of the furniture in a large dust sheet. Wandering around, he lifted the sheet covering each piece of furniture and peered carefully underneath. There were no trinkets, no gewgaws that might reveal the nature of the woman who’d spent so much time here. The drawers of the desk were empty, and even the bookcase had been stripped of all its books.
Frowning, the Reverend looked round again, fighting an encroaching frustration. Perhaps Morgan Carlyon’s reason for coming here really was to feel closer to his daughter. He picked up the candle, thinking he’d already been there too long, when suddenly there came the sound of someone turning the doorknob. Rooted to the spot, the Reverend watched inalarmed fascination, until abruptly the twisting paused. ‘Can I be of assistance, Mr Noon?’ called the housekeeper from directly outside the door.
Hurriedly, Reverend Shackleford crept towards the desk and got down onto his knees. There was hardly any room for a child underneath, let alone a grown man. He heard the knob begin turning again. Muttering an unseemly epithet, he snuffed out the candle and crawled into the hole, twisting himself around so he was seated with his knees up to his chest, sideways on. Seconds later, Mrs Penna let herself into the sitting room. Hovering at the door, she shone the light around the room, before making a satisfactory clucking noise. Slowly the flickering light faded as she closed the door. Clearly the housekeeper was making her nightly rounds, checking that all was well.
Breathing a sigh of relief, the Reverend listened to her receding footsteps, then, tucking the candle holder in between his knees, he tried to move. Unfortunately, that was when he discovered that his legs and arms were wedged so tightly in the confined space, he was unable to shift so much as a finger. Grunting, the Reverend attempted to lever himself upwards, with no success. Uttering a small moan, Augustus Shackleford rested his head on his knees in the horrified realisation that he was well and truly stuck.
∞∞∞
After Jago bade her a soft goodnight at the entrance to the drawing room, Charity wanted to whoop with sheer joy. She realised that despite their short acquaintance, she was fallingin love with Jago Carlyon. Something she could never have imagined mere days ago. She couldn’t wait to tell Chastity.
The thought of her sister was like a sudden dousing of cold water. Being without her twin was like missing a part of herself. And yet, if they both wed, the two of them would have to get used to being apart.
Bidding Percy goodnight, Charity climbed the stairs thoughtfully. Once outside her room, she turned to the foxhound. ‘Do you want to stay with me or your master,’ she murmured, stroking his soft fur. Wagging his tail, Freddy trotted on towards her father’s room. Hurrying after him, Charity muttered, ‘Traitor,’ before knocking softly on the Reverend’s door. There was no answer, and after waiting a few more seconds, she pushed open the door, sticking her head inside. To her surprise, the burning candle on the bedside table revealed her father’s bed to be empty.
Frowning, she wondered where he could have gone. Mayhap he couldn’t sleep and was even now searching for a book in the library. Glancing back along the corridor, she wondered whether to simply leave Freddy to await his return while seeking her own bed. Truly, she was exhausted.
She began to open the door again, but clearly the foxhound had other ideas as he was already sat outside her bedchamber waiting. ‘So,’ she hmphed, ‘second best am I?’ Freddy simply wagged his tail and preceded her into the room, wasting no time in jumping on the bed.
Pushing her father out of her mind, Charity began unbuttoning her dress, her thoughts returning to Jago Carlyon. She had no doubt that if he did ask for her hand, he would be doing so without the blessing of his father. Though the dowry Nicholaswould bestow on her would surely go at least some way towards lessoning his strange animosity.
Climbing into bed, Charity leaned over to snuff out the candle. Lying in the dark, she wondered what it would feel like to lie in Jago’s arms, feel his big hands stroking her shoulders, her arms, even her breasts…
Shocked, Charity’s eyes flew open, wondering how she could ever even consider such a thing. She’d certainly never before imagined what it would feel like to lie … naked with a man. But nonetheless, her rebellious mind continued to conjure up sensual images of them entwined together, until finally after what seemed like an age, she fell into a restless sleep.
She was woken by a soft knock. Freddy gave a low growl, then wagged his tail sleepily. Dazedly, she turned her head towards the window, but only moonlight shone through the gap in the curtains. The knock came again.
Muttering to herself, she climbed out of bed and shrugging on her robe, went to the door. ‘Who is it?’ she called, her voice low.
‘It’s me, Miss Charity, Percy.’
Frowning, she pulled open the door. ‘Is something wrong?’
