‘Distasteful?’ she cried. ‘You accused me of attempting to entrap you within five minutes of our acquaintance. And what was it you said? Ah yes—that I had nothing to recommend me. You made your disdain perfectly plain from the very beginning.’
A faint flush rose along his collar.
‘Tell me, Miss Lucas, how precisely was I meant to interpret your throwing yourself upon me at the masquerade? Or your dramatic insistence that my coffee had been poisoned, if not with disbelief?’ His expression hardened slightly.
Charlotte stared at him in frustration.
‘And afterwards, during my first week at Alderley Park, when I was struggling with Tom, you accused me of being incompetentand quite beneath your notice. What was that, if not you showing me exactly how distasteful you found me?’
His jaw tightened. He stepped closer to her now.
‘I behaved towards a young female employee under my protection exactly as any honourable employer ought,’ he replied defensively, his tone controlled, though edged now with indignation. ‘And yes—I was suspicious of you. I considered that suspicion entirely justified, particularly when you had arrived here under an assumed name.’
Charlotte baulked but did not retreat. She squared her shoulders despite the intensity of his gaze.
He had stepped closer.
Far too close.
His eyes were dark now, as though barely restraining something dangerous beneath the surface. Her pulse stumbled.
She placed both hands firmly against his chest and pushed, but he did not move so much as an inch.
For one astonishing moment, she thought he was going to close the distance between them and kiss her.
An unwanted thrill fluttered traitorously through her, but she crushed it at once.
All the weeks of grief—of losing her father, of her mother’s betrayal, of fear over her fate as the murder suspect, of anger at the injustice of a life seemingly destined for lonely spinsterhood—suddenly surged to the surface. Whether he deserved the full force of it or not, she unleashed it upon him.
‘I might have forgiven your suspicion, my lord, had it been delivered with even the smallest degree of civility,’ she said, fighting to steady her voice as tears blurred her vision. ‘But you spoke with such contempt and cold reserve that I could hardly mistake your opinion of me. Even though you outrank him, my lord, your behaviour towards me, especially in the early days, makes the Captain the better—and more gentlemanly—man.’
For the first time since she had known him, he looked properly taken aback.
The words seemed to strike him physically. He took an unsteady step backwards.
His expression shifted—something close to shame flickering beneath the composure.
‘And this is truly your opinion of me?’ His voice had gone low and unnervingly controlled. ‘Well, perhaps your sensibilities were hurt, but did you not consider for a moment that I was trying to protect you—and still am?’
The question disturbed her more than she cared to admit.
Only moments earlier he had nearly throttled Wolverton for suggesting she be handed over like property. He had looked genuinely furious—furious for her. And now, before half the household, he had claimed her without hesitation, risking scandal himself in the process.
Worse still, she could not dismiss the memory of his arms around her in the library. The steadiness of him. The way he had drawn her close so instinctively, as though protecting her had become the most natural thing in the world.
Heat crept treacherously into her cheeks.
She had accused him of contempt. Of dismissiveness. Of cruelty.
Yet all the while he had been risking his life to stop the very men hunting her.
As the silence stretched between them, he spoke first.
‘Perhaps,’ he said at last, his tone carefully controlled, ‘I was mistaken.’
The quiet admission made something shift agonisingly inside her chest.
She opened her mouth, an apology rising instinctively to her lips. ‘I am—’
