An English Lord's Love Affair

Chapter 14.2. The Colossal Fool

   At that same moment, in the same house, Benedic was waiting impatiently inside her room for Charlotte to retire for the evening. He'd fought with himself for hours before down and climbing through the window into the closet.

   He knew it was a risk. He knew Aleister would throw up his hands in despair at his irrational behavior. But Benedic had stayed away from her as long as he could stand it. He had to see her again if only for a few minutes. She gave him strength and an emotional foundation besides  hatred to anchor him. He was obsessed with her, insane for her company, for the sight of her. He wanted to hear her laugh, to hold her again.

   She had been taunting him for days with her subtle little methods to draw him to her. Yes, he appreciated her attempts at discretion. No, he could not resist her, waving her chemise from her window like some impertinent Circe luring a sailor to his room.

   Not that he needed any reminders of her existence or her appeal. When he was not wholly absorbed in watching Edward, he was thinking about Charlotte, about how much he wanted to see her again. He could not believe how desperately he craved her when they had been together only a few stolen hours.

   He leaned against the windowsill and stared outside. Where the devil was she? Her room was a tribute to female vanity—stockings, fans, shoes strewn about as if she had tried on every article of clothing she owned to make the perfect impression.

   But on whom?

   His black eyebrows rose in displeasure. Was her scandalous corset missing? No. There was the provocative garment on the wardrobe floor, and a bloody good thing for her, too. If Charlotte was going to model that for any man, it would be him and him alone.

   "Where is she?" He muttered.

   He'd heard the carriage rattle home almost two hours ago. Hiding behind the door, he had waited and waited for Charlotte to come up to her room, but something, or someone, was keeping her downstairs.

   He hated not knowing where she was. He had seen Edward ride from Strathmere Hall earlier in the evening and wondered if it were possible that his uncle and Charlotte were together in the parlor. He hadn't noticed anyone else riding from his estate, but a visitor could have arrived before he climbed the tree to her room. He should have thought to check the stable. The problem was that she was the only thing he could think about.

   Ares lifted his head toward the window, releasing a soft growl of warning.

   Benedic drew back the curtain with scowl as he recognized the fair-haired masculine figure standing under the tree. "Not again," he said in disgust.

   "Charlotte!" James called up in a ridiculously seductive voice. "Don't hide from me, you little flirt. I see your pretty shape behind those curtains."

   "If you see a pretty shape," Benedic muttered to himself, "then you need a good pair of spectacles, you moron."

   "Are you  playing coy, Charlotte? You weren't coy at dinner when I fed you that cake."

   Benedic grunted. So that was where she had spent the evening, being spoon-fed by this colossal fool. He folded his arms across his chest and glared daggers at the window as the revealing one-sided conversation went on.

   "I won't go away until you talk to me, Charlotte," James whispered loudly. "I want to know you're not upset with me for stealing that kiss in the hallway." He paused. "Although it did seem to me you enjoyed it. All the ladies in Chistlebury enjoy my kisses."

   Kiss in the hallway? Benedic's jaw hardened as he envisioned the passionate Lady Charlotte locked in the embrace of Chistlebury's fair-haired Lothario. No doubt he was the only person in the village who did not think Charlotte and James were a delightful match. Being dead, however, he would likely not be allowed a say in the matter.

   On impulse he raised his voice to a warbling soprano and sang through the curtains, "Go home to your mother, James. I've had all I can take of you for one night."

   James blinked owlishly up at the window. "What in haven's name happened to your voice, Charlotte? You sound so queer. Are you taking sick again? Do you think it might be catching?"

   "Yes. Yes. I'm sick, dear," Benedic trilled, fluttering his fingers out the window. "I'm sure it must be horribly contagious."

"You didn't seem sick when I kissed you, and anyway I'm as healthy as a horse. Let me look at you once before I leave."

   "Ooh, gracious, no, James, you naughty thing! I've just gotten into my nightrail. I'm really not decent at all."

   James clutched his hand to his heart in melodramatic angst. "I refuse to budge until I'm allowed one last look." He broke into a boyish grin. "Paulina said you have some interesting garments in your trunk."

   Benedic gritted his teeth. "If you bring everyone outside with your antics, it will be your last look, I swear to God."

   James stamped his foot in a feigned display of temper. "I shan't go. I shall throw a great big nasty tantrum until you give in. Anyway, your aunt likes me."

   "Well, I don't," Benedic said under his breath. It was insulting, honestly. Did Charlotte really find this annoying infant attractive? She had kissed the fool?

   "What, Charlotte? Oh, come on. One peek is all I ask for pleasant dreams. It won't hurt anything."

   "Oh, hell," Benedic said, snatching a frilly night cap from one of Charlotte's trunks. Jamming it down low on his forehead, he reached for a pink silk shawl and threw it on over his wide shoulders.

   "I'm waiting, Charlotte," James whispered in a petulant voice.

   Benedic smiled with evil intent, poked his head through the curtains like a turtle, and disappeared just as quickly back into the room. "There. Are you happy now?"

   "That was cheating, Charlotte," James complained. "I couldn't see anything but a big pink blur."

   "Sweet dreams, James," he muttered, yanking the curtains together.

   Benedic pulled off the cap and shawl, turning his head. Footsteps sounded lightly in the hall outside Charlotte's bedchamber. The doorknob turned, and he heard her grumbling in annoyance about uncouth country houses as she pushed repeatedly against the warped doorframe.

   He stood in the dressing closet, suddenly unsure of himself, of how she would react, of what excuse he could give to explain his presence. The truth of his need, his hunger, might frighten her. He knew it frightened him. He could not promise her anything. Not the future her family desired for her. Not a sweet courtship. Not a future at all for that matter.

   He could offer her nothing but trouble.

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