And to think of all she’d done for Preston! How many times she had gotten him out of trouble?
“Leaving so soon?”
She looked up and found Sebastian standing in front of her, blocking her path.
“Sebastian, I’m in a foul mood. Move out of the way.”
“I love it when you’re angry.” He moved a bit closer and bent to inhale her hair. “Come to my bed and punish me.”
She smiled. Would he never stop trying to get her to his bed? She produced one of her knives and held it to his groin. “What will you do to me in your bed after I slice your scrotum from your body?”
He closed his eyes and his smile faded. He stepped out of her way. “You are a savage bitch, Char.”
“Always the smooth-talker, Sebastian.” She smiled at him. She didn’t mean it. None of her smiles were ever genuine. She’d just perfected them to make others think they were.
She slipped her knife back into its hiding place in a pocket of her riding skirts and left the house. She didn’t look for Preston. She’d go home and lock herself away in her room and think about what a fool she was to care for a cad who promised her everything and meant nothing.
She found Roddy with her horse and thanked him for his care before she shoved her boot in the stirrup and hoisted herself up into the leather sidesaddle.
Why was she still wasting her time waiting for Preston to make a move in her life? Hadn’t they known each other long enough for him to know if he wanted to marry her or not? He led her on while he entertained himself with other women like Amanda. Charlotte forgave him every time because, well, she wasn’t actually anything but a friend to him, so she had no right to be jealous.
She cursed him for making her go home alone. She was thankful that the days were still a bit long. It wasn’t that she was overly frightened of traveling in the dark. She’d been in dangerous spots before, but she had rarely been alone. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t stay here another minute. If Preston wanted her, he needed to prove it and come for her.
She put him out of her mind on the way home. Amanda and Sebastian, as well. She wasn’t angry with the willful baron. He teased her often. He was never serious about anything. Nothing at all ever ruffled him. He wanted her because he knew he couldn’t have her, that was all. He might be extremely handsome, but Charlotte pitied the woman who would become his wife. If there was such a woman.
She thought about her friend Rosie and Rosie’s family just outside of Bromley. Rosie had once been her nurse, but she’d happened upon Charlotte’s mother locked in the embrace of her then lover, Lord Roger Suthers, Viscount of Charlotte-Did-Not-Care. To keep her indiscretion quiet, Lady Lizette Whimsey sent Rosie away. Charlotte tracked her down when she grew older and had been helping her live. She could have brought Rosie money tomorrow if she still had those pocket watches. In a way though, she was glad she didn’t have the ring to give to Preston.
By the time she reached the house, it was time for supper. She hoped her father was still busy and her mother was not home.
Old John wasn’t at the door. Odd. “John?” She unpinned her riding hat and tossed it onto a chair in the foyer.
Her father peeped his head out of the dining hall entryway. “In here, Charlotte. Please, come inside. ’Tis urgent.”
Heart pounding, she hurried to the dining hall half-expecting to see poor John lying on the floor. Instead, she saw her father heading back to his chair, John standing behind it, and…and…no, it couldn’t be.
“Charlotte, dear,” her father said, taking his seat. “May I introduce Detective Michael Pendridge. He is an investigator.”
For the first time in her life, she was at a loss for words. She couldn’t swallow, or think, or move. Investigator? How had he found her? What had he told her father? Had he told him anything?
“I believe you met him this morning,” her father continued.
Instinctively, she looked at Old John, as the only comfort she knew in the hall came from him. She tried to slow her heart.
So then, the knave had spoken of her to her father. She could only imagine.
“Aye, we didmeet.” She turned her murderous gaze on the investigator. How much trouble was she in? He hadn’t seen her picking pockets. He had no proof except that which provedhewas the thief! “What brings you here?”
He appeared unconcerned about her rapid breath and flushed cheeks.
“You did, Lady Charlotte,” he said.
Thank God for John, who pulled out a seat at the table for her. She wouldn’t stay long. Just long enough to breathe.
“After I escaped the constable,” he said without any fear of consequence from her family. “I saw you get into your carriage and I hopped on the back.”
The bump on the road. She’d felt it! It was him! He’d traveled home with her all that time! Well, he’d certainly had the last laugh so far, hadn’t he?
She stood up, revived.
