“This is too good,” she answered on the edge of hysteria. “You are the answer to my prayers, Michael.”
His beautiful face broke out into a grin. “What’s wrong with that?”
“God does not hear my prayers.”
His grin faded and he came forward to her. “He hears all your prayers, Charlotte. If you think about it, He’s probably answered many of them, but not the big ones, like the ones for your parents, or maybe even Preston Bristol III. Come on,” he motioned to himself with his hand. “He knows what’s good for you, eh? Me.”
He made butterflies come alive and dance inside her. She wanted to giggle but wrapped her arms tighter around him instead. “Promise to always want me, Michael,” she said into his chest. “Promise me you will love me without condition.”
“I promise,” he whispered and ran his hand down the back of her head. She tilted her face to his. “I promise, Charlotte. I know you have some secrets. Keep them as long as you don’t trust me enough not to.”
His words were like knives in her heart. Did she trust him enough to tell him that Preston was the head of all the crime in Sutton, Croydon, and anywhere else he could send his men? That she was The Dark Horseman, accused of killing an earl? That her father worked underhandedly with justices of the peace to drop all charges against Preston because of her? Did she trust Michael enough to not have everyone in her life, including her, sent to the noose? No. In truth, she did not. Why would he spare Preston or her father from justice? A thought occurred to her. Could Michael be bribed if enough was offered? No! She remembered his reaction when she asked him if he, like his work partner, had taken bribes. Michael was honest and honorable, if not hardened and detached.
Soon, their embrace was interrupted by the service for Warren.
Charlotte wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold herself together. But for now, she encouraged Rosie with soft, heartfelt promises and supported her when she stepped outside.
When the priest from the next village said his last prayer and Charlotte turned to go with Rosie, she spotted Colin and William arriving on their horses.
“I sent word to them,” said Michael, coming up beside her. “I need to know who that man was last night. I’m going to find him, and anyone involved with him, and make certain justice is done.”
Charlotte’s belly burned. She felt faint. John deVille would certainly tell Michael everything about her. “Michael,” she said stopping him. No! She couldn’t tell him anything about deVille with Rosie standing with her. She couldn’t let Rosie know she was responsible for this. She wasn’t ready for that yet. “I wish to speak to you, please.”
Colin was off his horse first and reached him in seconds.
“Rosie,” the young man said first and bowed his head in respect for who she’d lost. “Rest assured, we will find the ones who did this.” He turned to Michael. “There was another robbery on the road last night.”
“Where?” Michael growled. Was the village a diversion?
“Outside Cheam. One of the Horsemen held up Lord Crawley, John Eddren, who traveled with his young wife. The Horseman made off with the lady’s jewelry and Lord Crawley’s signet ring and some money.”
“How do you know it was one of the Horsemen? Was anyone killed?”
“No, and we know because before he left, he kissed the lord’s wife.”
“The Kissing Horsemen,” Michael muttered. “How ridiculous.”
Sebastian. Charlotte knew it was Sebastian. He’d been planning the hold-up for a while. She didn’t tell Michael and hated herself for it. But she knew she would have hated herself even more if she turned on the people who had always been there for her.
“There is something else,” Colin told him. “But I would prefer to speak to you alone about it.”
Michael nodded and excused himself from her and Rosie.
Charlotte’s heart raced. She almost couldn’t call up the strength to keep moving but, somehow, she did.
She smiled at her betrothed, perhaps for the last time. If Rosie didn’t need her, she would get on her horse and run away. But no. She was not a child anymore. Running away was not the answer. No matter what Colin told Michael—and she had the dreaded feeling that it was about her—she would try to trust that Michael would keep his word to her and love her despite what he learned.
It didn’t take long for him to return. She’d just settled Rosie into a chair that looked about as comfortable as sitting on rocks when the front door opened.
“Charlotte.” He filled the doorway and blocked the sun. His voice was low, deep, angry.
She turned and, without a word, gently pushed past him and stepped into the sun.
He closed the door and took her by the hand. “I want to talk to you alone.” It was almost a bear’s growl.
“About what?”
“About Gerald FitzSimmons.”
