Charlotte bristled. “I very much doubt it.”
She didn’t want a match of any sort. All she desired was independence. And her most recent meeting with Avery had reconfirmed her ability to acquire such. Her earnings were good – excellent really – enough for her to view the theft of her previous royalty payment as nothing more than a brief annoyance. If she could just keep a ring off her finger until she published her next book, she ought to have saved enough to afford a small cottage somewhere.
“Have it your way then,” her father said. “You may tell Mr. Wright to be here at seven.”
Charlotte narrowed her gaze. “Dinner usually starts at seven.”
“Indeed,” her father agreed. He was already halfway out the door.
“Drinks are generally served at six.”
“Right you are. My mistake. I’d quite forgotten.”
The devil he had, Charlotte thought while sending his back an angry glare. The door closed and she slumped back in her chair. Her father was used to crafting plans of attack. He’d specialized in covert operations, sending spies into enemy terrain, and undermining every attempt made by his opponents.
Drumming her fingers against her desk, Charlotte came to a swift conclusion. If she was to beat her father at his own game, she’d have to be equally cunning. And that would mean making use of Mr. MacNeil’s full potential.
Shoving her diary aside, she retrieved a fresh sheet of paper and penned a few words. Sealing the missive with a blob of crimson wax, she collected three pounds, and called for Daisy to join her.
“It’s vital this reaches The Black Swan today without any of the money going missing. Can you think of a way to make that happen?”
Daisy considered briefly, then nodded. “One of the grooms owes me a favor. He’ll get the job done.”
“Thank you, Daisy.”
The maid departed, letter in hand, and Charlotte tried her best to relax. All she could do now was hope for Mr. MacNeil to do his part.
Weary from the boxing match he’d just engaged in, Blayne kicked off his shoes and padded across the floor to the washbasin. Since parting ways with Miss Russell, he’d put his energy into training the bare-knuckle fighters The Black Swan kept on its payroll. The exercise stopped his mind from getting bogged down by thoughts of the raven-haired beauty. As he’d predicted, envisioning Mr. Carlisle as his opponent helped him deliver more powerful punches.
He soaked a cloth in his washbasin and used it to clean away all remnants of his exertion before drying up and donning a clean shirt. A sideways glance brought the letter Miss Russell had sent into focus. It sat on his desk, inviting him to tear it open and read its contents.
He would resist for another few minutes.
After she’d kept him waiting four full days, he’d not rush to respond. Instead, he’d take a moment to care for his plants. The seedlings he’d brought to life in the spring were maturing. Collecting his watering can, he moistened the soil. His garlic was sprouting remarkably well in their clay pots on the window sill. So were the chives, mint, and parsley. Blayne studied the two empty pots at the end where tomatoes were meant to grow. But nothing appeared to be happening there yet.
He set his watering can aside, poured himself a drink, and snatched up the letter that taunted him almost as much as the woman who’d penned it. Christ above, she’d even begun invading his dreams, luring him into dark corners, then vanishing right before he managed to catch her.
Dropping into the only armchair he owned – a hideous thing clad in orange velvet he’d once picked up from a furniture shop going out of business – he tore the seal and unfolded the crisp white paper. The script was neat and perfectly straight with no hint whatsoever of belonging to someone who painted outside the lines. Blayne snorted and sipped his drink. It was absurd to think he knew her better than her own family, and yet he was starting to suspect that might be the case. In any event, she’d allowed him a glimpse behind the façade.
Granted, she’d felt cornered at the time – threatened by the imminent arrival of a man her parents hoped she’d marry, which was what had prompted her to make up the whole hodge-podge story about him being her fiancé in the first place. And then there was the tale about train of thought musings which didn’t make an ounce of sense when considering everything else he’d learned. Having admitted to hating needlework and water colors while favoring archery and shooting, imagining her in a quiet corner transcribing her opinion on the movement of clouds — or some such nonsense — to paper, was ludicrous.
He shook his head and proceeded to read.
Dear Mr. MacNeil,
Mr. Cooper has arrived and shall be joining me and my family for dinner tomorrow evening. In keeping with the agreement I made with my parents, you are invited as well, starting with drinks at six p.m. sharp. It is clear Papa means to champion Mr. Cooper and prove his superiority by making you blunder. Of course I shall help you as best as I am able, but since a great deal of weight will be placed on appearance alone, I am hoping you will accept the three pounds I’ve included and spend it on a new set of clothes.
Please don’t take offense to this request. I am merely arming my weapons.
Regards,
Charlotte Russell
Blayne set the letter aside and frowned. He ought to send his regrets. And yet the idea of letting her suffer some strange man’s attention – to leave her unguarded and alone – caused his heart to contract. Miss Russell deserved the chance to escape her cage and be free. No one, not even her parents, had the right to tie her down and stomp on her dreams.
Expelling a breath, he made his decision. It was just a dinner after all. He’d attend, take his leave, no harm done. His gut tightened with a twinge of guilt. In spite of her fibs and her ploy to place him squarely in the middle of her fight for independence, Miss Russell seemed to be a good person. She certainly didn’t deserve to get involved with a scoundrel, never mind a man who was guilty of murder. Which meant he had to keep his distance from her at all cost. He could not, for any reason, allow himself to forget the role he was meant to play in her life or that they were merely play acting.
Right.
