Miss Fairchild had entered the drawing room and immediately joined a few of her cousins for a rousing game of charades. Anthony had excused himself, informing her that he’d forgotten his cane outside. In truth, he hadn’t brought a cane with him tonight, let alone out into the garden. His fiancé had merely smiled agreeably and turned to hear something fascinating that Mr. Creighton was saying.
Anthony’s throat constricted at the thought that she’d tell any of them of his ‘proposal.’ And of her acceptance.
Dear God.
Asking her had not been his intention at all. One moment he’d been testing the waters and the next a noose had dropped around his neck.
He released Charlotte’s arm. Miss Drake’s arm. He had no right to think of her by her Christian name, let alone touch her with such familiarity. And yet she’d not chastised him for it. And she had not bolted inside as he’d feared she might.
But then the realization of her location struck him. “You have been outside for long?” Had she overheard what had become his proposal?
She nodded, her eyes answering the question he’d not uttered aloud.
“Congratulations are in order, then?” She smiled weakly.
This was not what he wanted!
What could he say to this lady? Since first setting eyes upon her he’d wanted something… He’d felt as though he’d known her forever, and yet he yearned to begin to learn everything about her.
“Are you… growling?”
Anthony glanced up at the odd question. But, oh, hell. Daphne had accused him of growling for as long as he could remember.
But Miss Drake was laughing. It was a joyous sound that rivalled sleigh bells.
“You were!” she accused. “You were growling! I asked you if congratulations were in order and you growled at me! Like a giant boar!”
How could he not join in her amusement? Drawing one hand through his hair, he smiled sheepishly into those lovely eyes of hers. “And what if I was?”
“Growling generally does not convey pleasure.” She sobered.
At the reminder of what had occurred not thirty minutes earlier, another growl escaped—this one noticeable even to himself. “I did not intend to ask her in that moment. The question was hypothetical. I was asking her if… If I were to ask. I was not asking the question itself, per se.” He moaned and then dropped onto the bench Charlotte had just vacated.
“You kissed her.” Her voice was near. He didn’t need to look up to know that she’d lowered herself to sit beside him. He could feel her presence. She exerted an attraction unlike any he’d known.
He’d hoped that kissing Miss Fairchild would ignite something similar inside of him. It had done the opposite. “I had thought perhaps…” Anthony glanced sideways and forgot what he’d been going to say.
Why this woman? Charlotte Drake was a servant for God’s sake! Frustration turned to outright anger. By no means had he chosen Miss Fairchild lightly. He’d found himself backed into a corner by circumstances beyond his control. Not for a million years would he marry in such a calculated manner if conditions did not demand it. He would not be the person to suffer if the betrothal fell through. That would fall to others–to tenants and workers. Tenant families.
“Do you know how many families lost their homes in that infernal fire? How many merchants lost their shops in addition to their inventories? I’ve poured every penny I can into rebuilding that village. Can you begin to understand that? It’s not as though I have a choice...” His voice sounded gruffer than normal. It didn’t make sense that he should express himself thusly with Charlotte. She deserved none of this, and yet he was working himself into a most resentful state. How dare Miss Charlotte Drake come along with her sparkling intelligent eyes and full lips and delightful figure now? How dare fate set her in his path?
“Last summer I invested heavily in the canal system in the surrounding shire. Did you know that? Had I known the entire damn village would burn down I would not have spent so liberally. Families who’ve lived and worked on my family’s estate for generations have roofs that leak every time it rains. Roofs I’d intended to have replaced before spring. Have you notice that there seems to be an abundance of rain in this wretched country of ours? And the foundation at Maplehurst is in need of repairs. I’ll bet you didn’t realize that, did you?”
He leaned into her. This close, the green specks in her eyes could almost be counted. “Do you know how much all of that costs? Money I don’t have to spare right now.”
She simply stared back at him, and then made a barely imperceptible shake of her head.
Feeling desperate, Anthony grasped her hands in his. She needed to understand this about him. She needed to understand what drove him and why he’d come to the decision he had.
“I’ve a reputation to maintain! I’ve a younger sister and brother who rely upon me! And not only them, but two aunts and an ailing mother. And employees. Tenants. I represent security to them. Permanence. It is a part of the title. It is a part of who I am.”
And yet he leaned forward. Her warm, clean scent tantalized his senses, so much so that he could hardly keep himself from tasting her.
As though an invisible string wound itself around both of them, they’d inched closer and closer. Soon only a whisper separated their lips. “And Parliament.” She reminded him with a hoarse voice. “I am not uninformed, you know.”
“I did not mean to imply that you were.” He could taste her breath on his lips. “Damn you, Charlotte.”
Where had his anger gone? His frustration that she was mucking up all his plans evaporated.
He couldn’t allow it.
He couldn’t allow himself.
With a jerk, Anthony pulled himself away. “So, you see…”
She stared at the hand of hers that he’d just released and then looked up to meet his eyes.
“I see all right. I’ve seen all along.” She blinked once and tilted her head. “It is you who is being a slow top. Why are you sitting here talking to me? I certainly hope you aren’t expecting... Because I will not. I am not.”
He deserved it. He deserved her to slap him and then walk away, never to look back. But she did neither.
“And stop growling at me.”
“I’m not growling at you.” He huffed.
“You were.”
“Grrrr.” Perhaps he had been. “I know I shouldn’t be sitting here talking with you. And yet… it’s the only place I wish to be right now. Believe it or not, I’m making every possible effort to avoid you.”
“Might I suggest you’re failing miserably?”
Resting his elbows on his knees, he buried his head in both hands. “As I’m mucking this up, perhaps you’d do well to stay away from me in the future.” It was the last thing he wanted, and yet the only thing that made sense.
“That’s the trouble, my lord,” A heavy sigh fell between them. “I haven’t the option. You forget that my livelihood depends upon my ability to keep Miss Fairchild happy. I have no choice but to be at the beck and call of the woman who is your fiancé, now. I haven’t the choice of taking off for a brief holiday in London.” She tried to sound flippant, but he heard something in her voice that hadn’t been there before.