Asmall cough snapped Charlotte’s meandering thoughts back into focus. She blinked and set down her pen, realizing that her drawing paper was covered with naught but mindless doodles.
“His Lordship is here,” added McClellan from the doorway. “And wonders if he might have a word with you.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” She grabbed a rag from her paint box and scrubbed at spatters of black ink on her fingers. “I’ll be there in a moment.” A glance at the mantel clock showed it was later in the morning than she had thought.
Tick-tick.Charlotte quelled the impulse to grab it and hurl it out the window. Pique would not uncoil the hangman’s knot, but still, she found her hands were shaking.
Drawing a steadying breath, she gathered up Lady Julianna’s items and headed for the stairs.
Wrexford was standing by the windows with his back to the door, the broad bulk of his shoulders blocking much of the sunlight. His hair was in dire need of trimming, she noted. How odd that the tiny details seemed to take on such clarity in times of crisis.
He turned as she entered the room. Shadows darkened the hollows beneath his eyes, and his mouth was thinned in a grim line.
Charlotte felt her heart lurch and thud up against her ribs. “I take it there’s bad news?”
“I was wrong about Thornton. He’s not involved in anything evil—quite the opposite in fact.” He explained about the encounter at the Royal Institution, and their clandestine visit to DeVere’s villa.
When the earl was done, she merely nodded, unable to summon anything to say. All hope for Nicholas seemed to be slipping away.
“I’m sorry. You asked for my help, and all I’ve done is spin in circles.”
Charlotte had never heard such a note of defeat in his voice. “Ye gods, you mustn’t say such a thing, Wrexford! I—I had no right to ask you to undertake such an impossible task. You could have—youshouldhave—told me to go to the devil, and yet you didn’t.” She drew in a measured breath. “Without you, I would have given up long ago.”
“I would do anything for you,” he said softly.
Her heart lurched again, but it was more of a flutter than a thud.
“Would you?” Charlotte set down the book and box of cards. “Then please . . .” She moved a step closer and reached up to press her palm to his cheek. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. I can’t bear to see you trapped in such shadows.”
Surprise flickered in his eyes, then quickly gave way to some other emotion.
The warmth of his skin pulsed against her hand, and all the sharp-edged angles of his face seemed to soften. A tiny smile quivered at the corners of his mouth.
At that instant, all the mental wrestling with what they were and weren’t to each other suddenly melted away. She stood ontiptoes . . . and felt the feathery intake of his breath against her lips as she leaned closer—
“I thought you might like some tea.” McClellan shouldered through the half-closed door and stopped short. “I took the liberty of adding a bottle of Scottish malt to the tray, milord,” she added dryly, “as you looked like you might be in need of stronger sustenance.”
“Thank you,” said Wrexford, drawing back a step.
“I’ll just set it down here on the table.” McClellan caught Charlotte’s eye and lifted an apologetic shrug. “If you need anything else, I’ll be in the kitchen.”
“Thank you,” echoed Charlotte, unsure whether to laugh or cry. A fitting reaction, she decided, taking a seat on the sofa. Emotions were never simple when it came to the earl.
He waited until the maid was gone before joining her. “Much as I’m tempted to gulp down the whole bloody bottle, I had better keep a clear head.”
“Wrexford—”
Her breath caught in her throat as the earl brushed a quick kiss to her brow and slouched back against the pillows. “You need not worry,” he murmured. “The moment of weakness has passed.”
A cryptic statement, if ever there was one.
However, another quick smile seemed to say far more. “Let us concentrate on the matter at hand. Other things can be unraveled later,” he added. “All is not lost for Locke. For one thing, your drawing is already stirring questions as to the evidence—”
“I know I have no right to use my influence for personal reason,” she began, only to halt as the earl made a rude sound.
“Truth isn’t merely personal,” he continued. “It’s fundamental to the rights of everyone, so stubble any misgivings. You did the right thing.”
She felt a knot loosen in her gut.
