An English Lord's Love Affair

Chapter 22.1. Uneventful Sentinel

   Was it her imagination, or was Uncle Humphrey subjecting her to more than the usual questioning looks tonight? Charlotte had the unfortunate feeling that he wished to speak to her. She also had the feeling that it was not a discussion she would enjoy.

   Hence, she made a quick escape up to her room as soon as they reached the comfortable old house. As she hurried up the creaking stairs, she sensed her uncle watching her from the hall below.

   What was wrong? Had he seen her sneak off with her masked highwayman at the ball? If so, he could only assume she'd had an assignation with Aleister, which she could quite honestly state was untrue. After all, she had only met the man tonight at the ball, and he had returned to the ball ballroom to cover her interlude with Benedic.

   Unless Uncle Humphrey suspected something else. He was an intelligent man, an intuitive one. She hesitated at the top of the stairs, tempted to peek down at him. She could hear her Aunt and Paulina laughing in the parlor, in high spirits because Aunt Penelope had taken first prize for her costume and Paulina had found an ardent admirer in James's brother, Colton.

   But what could her uncle have discovered? The encoded message from Bernard? No. That would not put him in such a brooding mood, Charlotte decided as she put her shoulder to her warped door and pushed.

   The door was already open, and she flew across the chamber, stumbling over the inert warm body lying on the floor. She went down on one knee, her wings flapping around her face.

   "Benedic?" she whispered hopefully, knowing of course it could not be him.

   Ares leaped up to give her a slobbery kiss on the mouth.

   "Ugh. You've been eating sausage again." She swiped her gloved hands across her wet, pork-scented lips. "I don't suppose we have company?"

   The hound padded after her as she stood and went straight into the dressing closet, searching in vain for a sign that Benedic might have come or left a message.

   "He hasn't been here," she murmured. "I shall have to console myself with his pudgy dog."

   She pulled her trunk to the window and sank down with a pensive frown. How could he win this battle by himself? she wondered. No, not by himself. With Aleister. She could only pray that the pair of them were as clever as they believed themselves to be.

'My uncle was once an instructor of Angelo's technique in Venice. He taught me everything I know about sword fighting.'

   Benedic's words came back to her as she rested her chin reflectively on the windowsill. She did not underestimate Benedic's strength and determination, but Sir Edward had a killer's instincts and no conscience whatsoever. If Benedic cornered him, his uncle would fight to the death. Both men would. She draped her arms across the window, poised on her trunk to watch the woods, his sleeping estate, for a sign of him.

   What did she expect?

   A fireworks display? An honorable duel at dawn in front of the duck pond? Benedic had become skilled at moving in shadows. It seemed likely he would take his revenge on a private field. Charlotte decided that at the first sign of trouble, she would make up some excuse to go straight to Strathmere Hall. She refused to submit to the waiting, the not knowing.

   Ares settled down beside her for their vigil. All through the night she would doze for a few minutes, wake up with her heart pounding, and watch.

   Dawn came, and nothing had changed. There were no signs of any disturbance from Benedic's estate. The sun rose on the mellow stones of Strathmere Hall, sheltering whatever secrets it held.

   She stretched her cramped limbs and rose stiffly from her uneventful sentinel. It was Sunday morning. She told herself the quiet meant that all was well.