“You should rest,” Matthew told her. “You can see them in the morning.”
Charlotte pouted, an expression he had never witnessed on herface even during their childhood. Clearly, she was still more than a little tipsy. “But I witnessed the very beginning of their courtship. I wish to observe the next chapter.”
“Banshee. My love!” Pan crowed, not improving the situation.
With the air of a military commander, Hannah patted the mattress. “Lie down, Cousin. I promise Pan and Banshee’s ardor will not have cooled by the morrow. Listen to Matthew. He is well versed in injuries like yours and how to care for them.”
“But—”
Hannah gave the eiderdown padding another much more fearsome whack. Wide-eyed, Charlotte glanced at her cousin and studied her unyielding expression. Charlotte heaved out a childish sigh and dramatically flopped back before emitting a squeak of pain.
Matthew immediately inspected her bandage for signs of bleeding, but Hannah was not so solicitous. “That is exactly why you need to stay abed.”
Charlotte wrinkled her nose, but she did not otherwise protest. Instead, she wiggled down into the soft bedding.
When Matthew was certain that Charlotte had not ripped a stitch, he quickly made his goodbyes. There was so much he wanted to say to her but not in front of an audience and definitely not when her decision-making was impaired by alcohol. He certainly did not wish to pry secrets from her that she would not otherwise tell.
“Ban-sheeee!” Pan cried out irritably, digging his talons into Matthew’s scalp.
“We’re going to her. I promise!” Matthew pushed open the front door of Tavish’s mansion and headed down the gravel path to the orangery.
“Banshee!” Pan shouted into the night, clearly not satisfied with Matthew’s promises.
“Shhh! You’ll not only wake up the entire household but all the students in the dormitories.”
The parrot, however, would not be guilted. He maintained his ridiculous screeching even when Matthew entered the glasshouse. Only after Matthew began lighting the tapers set in the corners of the building did Pan’s tone change from demanding to adoring. A rustle of leaves overhead indicated that Banshee heard them. Matthew turned in the direction of the noise, and sure enough, the soft candlelight illuminated the monkey’s pale little face peeking out from behind a large frond.
Banshee’s lips curled back to show her toothy, loving grimace. Pan made an appreciative sound. Then with a flap of lime-colored wings, the avian joined his monkey sweetheart.
Matthew’s matchmaking duties complete for the evening, he turned back to the candles with the intent of extinguishing them. It had been a long, long, long day and night. He wanted nothing more than to head to the bedchamber that he used whenever staying on Tavish’s estate. He had just started to blow on the first flame when a soft voice stopped him.
“Don’t snuff out the candles. Not yet.”
Matthew’s body somehow simultaneously froze and warmed. He spun on his heels and then stood rooted to the heated floor.
Charlotte.
She still wore the dress he’d had to cut, the sliced-off sleeve a visceral reminder of her bravery. The raw-edged sable fabric contrasted with her pale flesh, making the delicate skin appear almost luminescent in the flickering candlelight.
Matthew’s breath stuck in his windpipe, creating a painful pressure. He tried to swallow it, but the slide of his muscles only made the lump worse.
Charlotte glided in his direction, her gait not as elegant as usual and perhaps even a wee wobbly but not dangerously unsteady. When she reached his side, she smiled at him. Matthew’s heart pitched.
“We should not be here, Charlotte,” Matthew said softly. “You need rest.”
“Pish!” Charlotte waggled her hand as she swayed. Fortunately, she righted herself before he had to touch her tempting form. “My arm is wounded, not my leg.”
“You’ve also imbibed hard spirits, which I have a feeling is a first for you,” Matthew pointed out, hoping that he didn’t sound like a complete ass, explaining things she was capable of deducing on her own.
“Whiskey is a new drink for me,” she admitted. “It does inspire a pleasant, buoyant feeling, doesn’t it? Rather freeing. It’s funny. Champagne may have bubbles, but it is whiskey that makes you bubbly.”
“I do not wish to take advantage of your feelings of liberty,” Matthew said solemnly.
Charlotte giggled and then immediately stopped. “I did not mean to laugh at you. It is just that you are so eminently trustworthy.”
A soft emotion rushed through Matthew. Did he have Charlotte’s trust? That seemed like a kind of miracle.
“Of course, I would never hurt you, Charlotte, but I don’t want you to betray confidences to me that you might not otherwise wish to share.” Matthew tried to make her understand.
