She blew out a shuddering breath and forced herself to meet his dark gaze. “I hope you don’t misunderstand the reason for my concern. I’d never be embarrassed to be seen with you like that, it’s just that we’re not really engaged, and even if we were that display would have given fodder to serious gossip. I’ve still my reputation to consider and—”
“Charlotte.” His voice was both firm and calming. “Ye’re the most remarkable woman I know. Brave, bold, and beautiful. The books ye’ve written are impressive – the best I’ve ever read. Ye ought to be proud of them, not ashamed.”
“And so I am,” she told him as they continued along the path that skirted the edge of the park. “But you have to agree that they contain several outrageously inappropriate scenes.”
“How many books have ye sold?” he asked, seemingly ignoring her comment.
“Somewhere in the vicinity of four thousand copies.”
He produced a low whistle. “Seems to me there are people who like those outrageously inappropriate scenes.”
“My parents would be horrified if they learned what I’ve written, not to mention that I’d be ruined if word got out. People will think I’m a wanton.”
“Hence the pseudonym branding ye a man.” When she gave a swift nod, he said, “In my opinion, those scenes ye’re referring to add an extra layer of excitement to the plot while making it more realistic. After all, yer hero’s a rakehell spy. It makes sense that he’ll bestow a few passionate kisses here and there throughout the story.”
“Naturally, that was my reasoning behind it, but the depiction of said kisses is slightly more descriptive than what can be found in other novels.”
“Certainly. But it’s not nearly as provocative as in say…Fanny Hill.”
“I should think not,” Charlotte choked. “That book has a great deal more than passionate kissing in it.”
“Ah. So ye’ve read it.” He gave her a teasing nudge.
Her cheeks flamed. “Considering my age and the path I’m currently on, I do think I’ve earned the right to read whatever I want.”
“Touché.” They continued on in silence for a while before he said, “So if ye’re Charles Cunningham, I gather the reason ye got so upset when ye sawThe Marquess’s Unsolved Mysterieswas because ye didn’t expect to find it in a bookshop?”
“Whoever stole my manuscript published it without my knowledge,” she told him bitterly. “They’re making money off my work and name.”
“Aye. We’re dealing with a really dishonorable scoundrel, but we should be able to track him down now without too much trouble. The name of the publisher will be listed inside the book. We’ll pay them a visit, tell them what’s happened, and ask them to put us in touch with whoever delivered the manuscript to them.”
Charlotte blinked. “Of course.” She’d been so distraught she’d not thought of the fact that in publishing the book, the thief would have left a trail for them to follow. The despair that had gripped her when she’d seenThe Marquess’s Unsolved Mysteriesfor sale dissipated. “We’ve a real chance of catching the culprit now.”
“Indeed we do. Meet me at our usual spot at nine o’clock tomorrow and we’ll head over to the publisher together.”
They were almost back at the carriage. Charlotte slowed her steps, forcing him to do the same. “Thank you for helping me. It means a great deal.”
The words encompassed more than she could express. Having his support, knowing he was there for her to lean on, sharing her most guarded secret with him and realizing he wouldn’t walk away over it, added a level of unity she’d never had with anyone else. Blayne knew her. He accepted her for who she was and even praised her for her achievements. No one had ever made her feel more appreciated. She almost believed she could take on any challenge as long as she had him by her side.
And perhaps she could.
What the bloody hell did he think he was doing?
Blayne glared at the plants still refusing to grow. But his mind wasn’t on them. It was on the petite raven-haired beauty who’d gradually slipped beneath his skin and found a place for herself in his heart.
Damn.
He raked his fingers through his hair.
She was Charles Cunningham, the author who’d written his favorite book, and while he’d begun suspecting as much, hearing her say it – having her place her unfailing trust in him – made him feel like he’d just won a thousand pounds. Discomfort gnawed its way through him until he acknowledged the guilt. It had been steadily growing since her confession.
He’d pushed her to tell him her secret, but could he ever share his?
Chest rising heavily, he expelled a deep breath, set the watering can aside, and went to pour himself a glass of brandy. He took a long gulp and savored the burn as the liquid slid down his throat. Charlotte wasn’t the only one with two identities. But there was a hell of a difference between a woman secretly writing successful novels under a man’s name, and a callous murderer posing as a tavern keep.
He was dangerous. More so than Charlotte realized, in spite of her knowing about his history with Guthrie. There was a time before St. Giles, a time Blayne had been trying to flee for almost two decades.
Those terrified eyes he’d struggled so hard to forget filled his mind with unforgiving insistence.Look here, they seemed to say.Remember what you’ve done. He could still recall in painful detail the feel of the candelabra connecting with bone, could still hear the choking gasps his mother made while his father collapsed to the floor.
