Chapter 5.1. Unwanted Guest

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   "Blackmail." Charlotte's voice rang out in the shadows. "That's what I would call it."

   Before Benedic could respond, the conversation was interrupted by a ping-ping-ping that came from behind the closet door. The distinct sound of someone throwing dirt at the window from which Charlotte had seen her chemise so provocatively dangled only an hour or so ago.

   She stared across the room in an agony of indecision. It was impossible to pretend she did not hear the noise. Benedic clearly heard it, too, thick black brows lifting in speculation. The disturbance could only be her irresponsible brother trying in his unsubtle way to get her attention.

   If she ignored his summons, Damon, the reckless one, would either awaken the entire household or, worse, would decide blithely to climb into her window to find her. Another spray of dirt hit the window.

   He would confront Strathmere. Disaster, possibly death, would result.

   Benedic whistled through his teeth. "I suggest you take care of your visitor before the damn fool disturbs everyone in the house."

   Charlotte pulled the silk robe together, not certain how much he could see of her in the dark, "And what do you suggest I tell him?" She whispered, her eyes narrowing.

   He grabbed her arm, ignoring her gasp of outrage, and propelled her toward the closet, muttering, "Tell him the whole British army is watching the house. Tell him to stop robbing coaches! Tell him anything, but make him go away."

   "Good advice," she retorted, shaking off his arm. "Perhaps you should take it yourself."

   He gave her a little push toward the window, still left open from his entry into her trunk. Charlotte leaned over the sill, too benumbed really to feel the cool midnight mist shimmer over her burning face. She started as her chemise snagged in the wood.

   She could not believe this was happening to her. To think she had yearned for adventure. To think she had half wished that day in the rain that Strathmere would whisk her away from her uneventful life and . . . have his way with her.

   The cloaked figure in the garden shadows below was bending to snatch another clod of dirt to fling at her window. He straightened as he spotted her and broke into a grin.

   "Oh, no," she whispered in shock. Another character to add more chaos to her to drama. She bit the edge of her lip and stared down at the man with whom she had danced and flirted outrageously only a few short hours ago. She had not believed him when he'd said he would not sleep until he saw her again. What an ignominious start to a love affair.

   Benedic, pacing directly behind her, but not in view from outside, stopped and pivoted on his scuffed boot heels. His large frame bumped up against hers. "What is it?" he snapped.

   She stiffened her shoulders at the hauteur in his voice. There was something disturbingly pleasant about the support of his body behind hers. "You know everything. Figure it out for yourself."

   He lifted the outer edge of the curtain only far enough to peer down into the garden. Then he began to curse under his breath. Charlotte raised her eyebrow at him in chastisement. Of course, being a  Brumidge, she had heard far worse. In fact, she'd uttered worse herself.

   "That isn't your brother," he said between curses.

   Charlotte smiled, rather enjoying his exasperation. "No, it isn't. It's Lord Sinclair."

   "What the hell is he doing here?" he demanded.

   "How am I supposed to know?" she asked with an innocent look. "I only met him tonight."

   "Did you now?" he inquired in an icy tone.

   "Yes, I did."

   "You and your corset must have made quite an impression."

   "Do you have something against romance, Lord Strathmere?"

   "As a matter of fact, I do."

   Charlotte hesitated. "Well, some of us still believe in the possibility of love."

   "And some of us, having been murdered in our beds, are to be forgiven if we are cynical."

   "You cannot hold a grudge against the entire world," she said softly.

   He gave her a fierce look. "Why not?"

   "Well, because—"

  "Spare me your youthful idealism and get rid of your unwanted guest."

   "Which one?"

   "Do not provoke me," he growled.

   Charlotte glanced down into the garden with an enigmatic smile, which sent Benedic into another round of muttered curses.

   "Get rid of him," he said through his teeth.

   "And how am I to do that?" she asked sweetly.

"Stop smiling down at him like a siren for one thing."

   He studied the silhouette of her slender form in the moonlight, at the silk butterflies emblazoned on her curvaceous behind. "I suppose you kissed him, too," he added in a dour voice.

   She refused to dignify his insulting remark with an answer, although part of her realized that the situation did appear suspicious. A handsome young buck throwing dirt at her bedroom window this late at night. Benedic would never believe she had not invited him. Her brothers wouldn't have believed her either.

   "None of this is my fault," she thought aloud.

   Benedic grunted.

   "Well, it isn't," she insisted, scowling at him over her shoulder. "I didn't invite him here any more than I did you."

   "Perhaps you ought to keep your windows closed," he said in annoyance. "Tell me, are you expecting anyone else to visit you tonight? Should I prepare tea?"

   "Only if you have to sail to China to get it."

   Benedic took another long look at her silk-draped figure before resuming his agitated pacing. Trust his luck to have a tart-tongue Helen of Troy be the one to discover he wasn't dead. This woman was trouble, which, as he recalled, seemed to be a family trait. Well, more trouble he didn't need. And yet here he was, in the thick of a murder plot, with the village siren and the village idiot on his hands, and his killer on the loose.

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