Chapter Thirty-Four
Rafe woke to a dim light filtering through the shutters and discovered he had a headache. His next discovery was that he wasn’t alone. Charlotte’s familiar lavender scent, combined with the smell of warm, feminine skin, teased and tempted his nostrils. Beyond the shutters, he could hear the rapid burbling of a bird, and hoped, like Juliet in Shakespeare’s play, it was the nightingale and not the lark. Alas, it was the dim gray light of morning, not dusk, and the pair of them had been left to fall asleep undisturbed.
Which meant Charlotte faced social ruin.
Well, there was no alternative. He’d have to make her his wife, and the sooner, the better.
If she’d have him.
His headache was forgotten as he looked at her. They were tucked up together like spoons in a drawer, his body hooked around the curve of her back, one hand tucked presumptuously beneath her naked breast. Not daring to move lest he wake her, his mind revisited the events of the previous day.
Well, he was still alive, but no thanks to his own survival instincts. The angel who slumbered in his arms had saved him from a horrible fate. Even if his attackers stopped him from suffocating, torture was all he could have expected at the end of their journey. How much would he have been able to endure? More than most, he hoped. He was tough and used to pain.
Where would they have taken him? Why hadn’t they disarmed him before putting him on that horse?
Amateurs.
Charlotte sighed in her sleep and wriggled backward into his embrace, making him groan softly as desire flickered to life between his loins. She fitted into him so perfectly, one might almost imagine a benevolent God had designed it thus. He edged away from her to spare himself the torment—the cruel instruments of his enemies would have been preferable to such a torture of temptation, and it was taking all his willpower to ensure her honor remained intact—in fact, if not in the eyes of Society.
He tried to remember the last time he’d wanted any woman more, and couldn’t. He wanted Charlotte—body, heart, and soul. She was an extraordinary woman—beautiful, clever, resourceful, and would make him the perfect wife.
Assuming she had no more dark secrets that could compromise either him or his mission…
His heart constricted. She was worth the risk. And if he made sure to please her, he hoped she’d retain that aura of sweetness that made her so utterly adorable.
As if detecting the intensity of his thoughts, she stirred, rolled over, and woke up. She gazed up at the ceiling for a moment, then gasped in horror and scrabbled about frantically for her clothes. “Oh my stars! What’s the time? I never meant to fall asleep.”
“Nor did I, my love,” he said, kissing her. “Sorry, but I’m afraid you’re a ruined woman now. Well, almost. I’ll complete the ruination as soon as possible, but only after a solution to our present problem has been found.”
She shot up in bed, dragging the sheet up to cover herself.
He kissed her again. “Don’t worry. I promise you, I’ll make this right.”
He reached for his tinderbox and lit a candle. Holding the flickering light above the bed, he smiled down at her dazed expression and tousled hair.
“I know your mother will be seriously displeased,” he said, “but I fear the only solution is for you to marry me.”
He kept his voice light, although his heart was pounding. A great deal hung on her answer.
Her gaze focused, and her eyes widened. “Marry you?” she said with a gasp.
Watching the play of emotions across her face, he forgot to breathe. All his attention was on her, searching for her answer in her eyes. Hesitation was acceptable, wasn’t it? It didn’t necessarily presage a refusal.
Or did it?
“Rafe, you’ve just narrowly escaped death. You must be in an excitable state of mind at present, and I beg you, don’t say anything you might later regret.”
“My offer is genuine,” he said, edging closer. “I believe I’ve even mentioned the possibility before this.” He saw her breath catch as her gaze dropped to his bare chest. Damn—he hadn’t meant to distract her with his nakedness.
She said huskily, “I think we should get dressed. Such discussions are too weighty to be had in our present state.”
“On the contrary,” he replied. “I can’t think of a better circumstance for the brokering of a marriage.”
Her gaze drifted up to his mouth, and her lips parted. The urge to kiss her properly, and repeat the delights of last night, was almost overwhelming. But he didn’t think it was usual to do such a thing right in the middle of a proposal.
“Are you going to give me an answer?” he asked, praying it would be the one he sought. Suddenly, nothing in the world mattered more. Not his mission, his title, his wealth, or his reputation. A future without Charlotte by his side was not a future he wanted to inhabit.
“Nobody need know what we’ve done,” she said. “I can still get back home before they all wake up. I left a note with Mama to say I might visit with Thea, so if I could get Thea to cover for me—”
Oh no. She wasn’t going to wriggle off the hook that easily!
“In a village as small as this one,” he said, “such a falsehood could easily be exposed in a single conversation. Then we’d both be shamed. I don’t want that for you. I advise you accept me,” he added softly, “or the consequences will be dire.”
A frown furrowed her brow. “Are you threatening me, Rafe?” she asked.
He held up a hand. “Not at all. I’m just warning you. The consequences of a refusal would be devastating for me, in particular.”
“Worse than for me?”
He held her gaze. Her hazel eyes sparked with the beginnings of anger, so he laid a hand against her cheek, pressed his thumb to the corner of her mouth, and said quietly, “Indeed. Because if you refuse me, you’ll break my heart.”
The anger died, and her lips parted in surprise. He watched as realization dawned in her eyes. To eradicate any further doubt, he said simply, “I love you, Charlotte.”
Denial crept over her face.
How could she not believe him? He’d never said those words to anybody before, and with Charlotte, he’d been so sure of his ground. Despite her history, she’d been brought up a genteel young lady. Surely, she wouldn’t have let him do all those things to her last night if she didn’t have some feeling for him?
He wasn’t so arrogant as to assume she loved him back, but he’d hoped, in time, he could change her mind.
“Charlotte?”
Her expression altered. Treating him to a lop-sided smile, she said, “Well, given your admission, Rafe Pomeroy, Earl of Beckport, I shall give your offer positive consideration.”
Before he could decide how to interpret her words, there was a sudden eruption of noise from outside, followed by a loud cursing, and a bang.
Then the door burst open.
And Justin Jessop filled the doorway like a furious avenging angel.