As if he couldn’t wait to quit her company, Blayne flung the carriage door open and leapt out. Turning, he told her fiercely, “Ye go too far, Miss Russell. Further than I am willing to allow. If ye still require a man’s protection when ye’re out and about, I’ll see to it that ye get it. But it willnae be from me. Ye and I are done.”
The door slammed shut in Charlotte’s face, prompting her to jump. She glared at it for a good long minute before she made up her mind. “I can’t let him do this. I won’t.”
“Miss?”
“Daisy,” Charlotte told her maid firmly. “Do me a favor and don’t fall in love.”
“What?”
“It makes you do foolish things.” She opened the door and stepped down. “Please excuse me while I go after that bull-headed man.”
“Miss Russell. Should I—”
Charlotte didn’t listen. She was too vexed and far too determined to let anyone or anything stand in her way anymore. Whatever it was Blayne had done, she’d forgive him. Why on earth could he not see that?
Well, she meant to make him see. She meant to prove to him that her love trumped all. Good lord, she would lay down her life for that man, live in sin with him if that was all he’d allow. The only existence she couldn’t accept was one in which they lived apart. Knowing he was out there, unwilling even to try, was what would slowly kill her.
So she entered The Black Swan and ignored those who glanced her way. Instead, she kept her gaze firmly trained on the far end of the tavern as she marched forward.
“Miss Russell,” she heard Claus call. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Charlotte ignored him. She just kept going until she reached the door to Blayne’s office. Without knocking, she pushed it open and instantly spotted Blayne. He was standing by the sideboard to her left, pouring a drink. His eyes widened the moment he saw her, and then his lips parted as if he meant to say something.
Whatever it was, it would have to wait. She was tired of fighting, of trying to climb the wall he’d erected between them. It was time to just knock it down.
“Charlotte,” he said, turning toward her and shifting his gaze to a spot behind her right shoulder while she closed the distance between them. “You should—”
She flung her arms around his neck, rose up onto her toes, and pressed her mouth to his in a kiss so fierce it seared her own lips. It didn’t matter if he only stood there. She didn’t care if he didn’t immediately wind his arms around her and kiss her back. All that mattered was what she was saying with her caress. It was a simple declaration – one which words would only complicate.
This way, through this kiss, he would know. There could be no doubt left in his mind. He was hers and she was his. They belonged to each other and—
Someone cleared their throat. Not her and not Blayne.
Charlotte went utterly still, and then Blayne was easing her back, setting her carefully on her feet. Instead of desire, torment filled his eyes. “I’m so sorry. Ye shouldnae have followed me, lass. I…”
“Miss Russell?” a masculine voice inquired.
Charlotte turned, searching for the man to whom it belonged. Slim, with thinning blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, and a curiousness about him that put her on edge, he’d just risen from one of the armchairs located to the right of the door, so she’d not noticed him when she’d entered the office. Her mind had been fixed on solely one goal. She’d not bothered to check the room’s occupancy and besides that, it hadn’t occurred to her Blayne wouldn’t be alone when he’d only left her outside a few minutes prior.
Pasting a smile on her face, she considered denying her true identity, then changed her mind since the man clearly knew who she was. So she straightened her spine and gave a quick nod instead. “Yes. And you are?”
He took a step forward and gave her a short bow. “Mr. Edmund Hallibrand, from theMayfair Chronicle.”
Dear God.
It took every ounce of control Charlotte possessed for her to stay calm, to not panic, to simply stand there and pretend all would be well. “I see.”
“Mr. Hallibrand came to ask a few questions of me,” Blayne said. He crossed to the man and handed him the glass of brandy he’d been pouring when Charlotte arrived. Glancing at her, he asked, “Would ye like one too?”
“Yes. Yes, please.” She needed all the fortification she could get. How was Blayne able to look so calm? Well, perhaps not calm. Heavens, he looked more resigned than anything else. Good lord. What had she done?
“I couldn’t help overhearing your father a few days ago when he conversed with friends during luncheon at Mivart’s. According to him, your engagement to the American businessman, Mr. Cooper, was imminent. Then this morning, the Earl of Dervaine’s butler stopped by my office to place an announcement in the paper. Apparently Mr. Cooper will be marrying Dervaine’s youngest daughter, Lady Fiona. To be frank, I actually thought you were forming an attachment with Mr. MacNeil after spotting the two of you together around Town.” Amusement flickered in Mr. Hallibrand’s eyes. “I’m guessing your parents didn’t approve and attempted to foist you off on Mr. Cooper instead. Figured I’d start looking into it in case there might be a story. That’s why I’m here.”
A shiver raked Charlotte’s spine. She couldn’t believe he’d seen her in Blayne’s company or that the manner in which they’d interacted had prompted the journalist to suspect a budding romance between them. How careless of her.
“Apparently, Mr. Cooper changed his mind with regard to marrying me,” Charlotte told Mr. Hallibrand stiffly. “He was my father’s choice. Our marriage was to be a practical arrangement intended to see me comfortably settled. But then Mr. Cooper found a better option and as a businessman, he chose to take it. There’s not really much more to say, I’m afraid.”
“Judging from the manner in which you just greeted Mr. MacNeil, I have to disagree.” Mr. Hallibrand sipped his drink, his assessing gaze never straying from Charlotte’s face. Her stomach churned and her heart felt as though it was being squeezed by a vice. “Now, I’m not a gossip columnist, but that doesn’t mean I’m about to pass up the chance to write a compelling piece. In fact, I think your situation could serve as an excellent example for change. These marriages of convenience prohibiting people from different classes from following their hearts are unsustainable. With more and more people coming from low income backgrounds and prospering through trade, I predict the lines will blur with higher frequency in the future.”
