Wed Him Before You Bed Him (14 page)

“The town will never allow it,” David said.

“No? They've already agreed to approve licenses for both me and Watson.” He smiled. “Very hush-hush, of course. They know I have a financial obligation to someone else that prevents me from taking possession of this property until next year. But I've assured them that it will occur.”

So
that
was what the bastard had been planning. “And
they are willing to see the school go under for your benefit?”

Pritchard gave a condescending laugh. “They don't care about that. When I pointed out that her girls don't spend nearly as much money in town as would be brought in by a racecourse, they were fairly salivating over the prospect. The town fathers are not fools—they know a sure success when they see one.”

“She has done nothing to you!” he snapped. “I understand your anger at me, but if you're using her to punish me—”

“Don't be a besotted fool, Kirkwood. This is strictly business. It has nothing to do with you or her. Indeed, you ought to be thanking me.” He sneered at David. “Your presence here indicates that she's found a better way to save herself.” He thrust with his hips in a vulgar motion that left no question as to what he meant. “Giving you some…extra services, is she? In exchange for the new fortune you inherited from your poor wife?”

David saw red. Before he could think, he had his hands around Pritchard's throat and had slammed him into the nearest tree. “Listen to me, you bloody ass, and listen well. If you ever insinuate anything so vile to her or anyone else, I will hunt you down, cut off your ballocks, and shove them down your throat! Do you understand me?”

Pritchard's eyes were wide with fear as he struggled for breath. He nodded in agreement, his fingers clawing futilely at David's hands.

Abruptly, David released him, watching as he slid down the tree gasping. “Do whatever you feel you have to with Rockhurst. But I still have a lien on the school's property, and a great deal can happen in eight months.”

With his temper still raging, he turned on his heel and marched off before he beat the bastard to a bloody pulp.

But he hadn't yet passed out of earshot when he heard Pritchard mumble, “You'd think the damned woman was your wife or something…Christ!”

The words echoed in his brain as he stalked back to the school. His wife.

He let the idea sink into him, calming his murderous rage. What if he were to marry Charlotte? Then she wouldn't even need the school. After all, he could afford to support her. And if he made her his wife before the eight months were out, he'd never have to reveal the double game he'd played with her all these years. She'd simply close the school, and that would be that.

Yes, it was the perfect solution. Simple, practical.

Well, not entirely practical. There were difficult issues…like the fact that he was still in mourning. He wasn't even supposed to think about remarrying for another six months, but the longer he waited to secure her, the more chance she would find out about what Pritchard was up to and why.

Fortunately, society tended to be more lax with regard to men and mourning. He had no heirs, so people expected him to look for a wife to bear one as soon as possible. Though Charlotte would balk at marrying before the mourning period was up, he could surely change her mind.

He frowned. That was assuming he could persuade her to marry him in the first place. She still barely trusted him. He couldn't even think about proposing marriage until he had softened her toward him.

Very well, he'd go on as before, trying to convince her
to move the school, offering her Sarah's legacy. And in the process he'd play on the attraction that still burned between them. That shouldn't be too difficult. She was a vibrant, sensual widow who'd spent the last sixteen years celibate. Surely she was eager to change that.

Unless she hadn't spent it celibate. After all, there was a reason society called widows “merry.” And she hadn't answered his question about her relationship with Godwin.

He scowled. If the man
had
been sharing Charlotte's bed, that would end right now. So would any courtship between them. Because David didn't mean to let that damned newspaperman have Charlotte.

Take care, man. Such an obsessive desire was what got you into trouble with her last time.

But that was different. He'd been young and foolish. He'd believed in love, confusing a perfectly normal and healthy lust for a pretty woman with some ridiculous emotion. This was merely a practical decision. And if, in the process of gaining Charlotte as his wife, he also got to have her in his bed, all the better. Why shouldn't he have a wife he desired?

Absorbed in his thoughts, David didn't see Terence approach until the man was nearly upon him. “Having a few words with our neighbor, I see,” Terence said bluntly.

Confound it all. The footman must have seen his encounter with Pritchard. David considered rebuking him for not minding his own affairs, but it might be better to engage the man as an ally. “He insulted your mistress. I merely warned him not to do so again.”

Something like admiration gleamed in the man's eyes. “And very handily, too. Mayhap you'll leave here with your teeth after all.”

David acknowledged the veiled compliment with a nod. “I must ask you not to mention my…er…loss of temper to Mrs. Harris. I wouldn't want to have to reveal what that bastard said about her.” And if Charlotte ever did go digging and discovered that Pritchard owned the property, David didn't want her wondering about their connection.

“As you wish.” Terence fell into step beside him. “Incidentally, she ordered me to tell you that she regrets she'll be busy with interviewing for the remainder of the afternoon. She said that if you'll leave the list that you showed her, she will look it over.”

“The hell she will,” he growled.

The footman blinked.

David restrained his temper with some difficulty. Clearly, she feared that if he stayed around until she was free, he would tempt her into bed. And she was right to be afraid, too. Because he wasn't giving her up this time.

Nor would he let her dictate the terms of their new association. “You may tell your mistress that I'll be happy to hand over the list tonight when she comes to my town house for my mother's dinner. If she can't attend, then I'll be here in the morning to give it to her personally. Understood?”

“Perfectly, my lord.”

“Good.” With that, David turned and strode toward the stables. He'd tried to be patient. He'd given Charlotte every chance to refuse the legacy and his part in it.

No more. It was time he took control of this situation. Because one way or the other, he meant to have Charlotte as his wife. And neither the school nor her skittishness would stand in his way.

C
harlotte sat in her coach, staring up at the Kirkwood town house with trepidation.

“Is everything all right, madam?” Terence asked as he opened the door.

“It's just…I haven't been here since I chaperoned Lady Amelia at the Kirkwood spring ball six years ago.” The ball designed to find an heiress wife for David.

At the time, Charlotte had been painfully aware of the significance of the invitation—Lady Kirkwood had meant to rub it in Charlotte's face that David had moved on with his life despite Charlotte's apparent attempt to ruin him.

“Surely you're not nervous about seeing the young lady again,” Terence said.

“Of course not.” Amelia was the only reason she was here.

It had nothing to do with David's sly tactics, taunting her with a list of properties and threatening to show up on her doorstep again tomorrow if she did not come tonight. It had nothing to do with her being desperate to see him again.

She groaned. All right, so perhaps she
had
spent the entire journey into town reliving their delicious kisses and caresses and wondering if she dared repeat them. But she was no simpering girl, with her insides all aflutter at the prospect of meeting her beau. She was a grown woman of
good reputation, whose school was widely acclaimed for its education of young ladies.

She was also a widow who hadn't been touched intimately in sixteen years. Until today. Why was it that all the fine lessons she taught her girls flew out the window whenever she saw David Masters?

“Shall I knock then, madam?” Terence asked.

“Of course.”

As soon as he announced her to the butler and came down to hand her out, she squared her shoulders and marched up the steps. She would not let the prospect of seeing some
man
turn her into mush. The very idea was absurd.

After entering the house, however, her confidence faltered. While the butler went off to announce her, the first footman cast her furtive glances. No doubt her arrival at such a time to such a party would be remarked upon in the servants' quarters for the next week.

Fortunately, Amelia chose that moment to burst into the foyer, greeting her with hugs and kisses.

“You look wonderful!” Amelia cried as she pulled back to look Charlotte over. “I daresay you haven't aged a day in six years!”

“Nor you.” Delighted to see her friend again, Charlotte surveyed her from the top of her elegant coiffure to the hem of her pretty dinner gown of dark green silk. “No one would guess you'd already borne two children, and in a foreign country, too!”

“Yes, what a surprise that one can actually have children outside the blessed isle of England,” Major Winter said dryly, as he came to stand beside his wife.

“Do not start that again,” Amelia chided him with a
laugh. She bent toward Charlotte. “He still thinks we English are rather too full of ourselves.”

The American slid his arm about his wife's waist and gazed at her with a smile of pure love. “I suppose some of you have cause to feel superior. But as for the rest—”

“And which category do I fall into, sir?” Charlotte asked.

“The superior category, of course.” Smiling genially, he thrust out his hand. “Truly, it's good to see you, ma'am. I hope you've forgiven me for carrying off your star pupil years ago.”

“And if I had not forgiven you, what could you possibly do about it now?” she teased as she gave him her hand.

“Get my wife to soften you up. She's very good at it.”

“I do believe she is,” Charlotte agreed. Amelia had certainly softened up Major Winter. There was no denying the difference in his manner since the last time he had been here. Despite his comments about the English, he seemed happier. More relaxed.

Funny how being in love did that to a person.

Just as envy seized her painfully by the throat, another voice broke in. “Come now, what's all this?” Giles Masters entered the hall, looking as much a rascal as ever. “Why are you lot standing out here when everyone is waiting upstairs?”

With a laugh, Amelia looped her arm through Charlotte's, and they headed off chattering, leaving the gentlemen to follow behind.

The minute they entered the drawing room, Charlotte's uneasiness returned. Everyone else was a relation of David's. In addition to his brother and Major Winter, his two sisters were there with their husbands.

And of course, at the center was David's mother. Since the prescribed time for mourning Sarah had elapsed for the rest of the family, leaving only David and Lady Kirkwood in half-mourning, she'd dressed quite splendidly in a gray silk gown with an overlay of black gauze, trim of black bugle beads, and a striking necklace of jet. Clearly she did not plan to let something so minor as the death of her daughter-in-law cast a pall over her fashionable attire.

Nor did she mean to welcome with open arms the woman who had once injured her beloved son. Charlotte did not blame her for that, and tried not to take offense at the viscountess's cool nod of acknowledgment.

Then Charlotte spotted David at the back of the room, and everything else, everyone else, disappeared. She didn't hear a word of Amelia's chatter or notice Giles crossing to speak to one of his sisters. She only had eyes for David. And when he turned to notice her there, her breath lodged in her throat.

He scoured her from across the room, taking in every inch of her dinner gown. She'd had a devil of a time choosing it. Her favorite ruby gown had seemed too brazen for a family in mourning, and her yellow one too cheery. At last she had settled for a gown of dark periwinkle, since it was the most subdued.

Unfortunately it was also the most provocative she owned, a fact that did not escape David's notice, for he stripped her bare with his eyes. He paused very deliberately at her breasts and the juncture of her thighs, reminding her pointedly that only this afternoon he'd had his mouth and his hands on her most intimately.

Beneath the onslaught of that heated gaze, her nipples
tightened and warmth gathered low in her belly. And when his eyes swept back up to lock with hers, the heat flaring in his face made her want to leap into his arms.

Or turn tail and run.

Then he headed toward them, and it was too late for running. Ignoring his mother's disapproving frown, he approached with purposeful steps that launched Charlotte's pulse into a mad dance. Though he bore the requisite black armband and wore the most somber clothing of anyone in the room, he looked more alive, more robust than the other men in their flashy blue coats and gold buttons. Even Major Winter, with his rough good looks, could not hold a candle to David.

“You came,” he said in a husky voice as he reached her. “After you sent me packing this afternoon, I wasn't sure if you would.”

“Sent you packing!” she said with a forced laugh to remind him that they were not alone. “I did no such thing. The timing of your visit was inconvenient, that's all.”

Amelia was watching them closely. “You paid Mrs. Harris a visit today?” she asked David, curiosity implicit in every syllable.

“We had a matter of business to discuss regarding the school,” he said, apparently not the least concerned about what anyone would think of
that
.

“His lordship has been advising me on how to handle Mr. Pritchard and his shenanigans,” Charlotte explained hastily. She glanced at Amelia. “You know, the horrible man next door whom I've mentioned in my letters?”

Her friend's eyebrows arched high. “Yes, I remember those letters. I don't remember any mention of Lord Kirkwood's help, however.” She turned to her husband. “What
about you, dearest? Did you have any idea that your cousin was helping my friend so kindly?”

“None,” Major Winter said, his lips twitching. “But Kirkwood always was quite the gentleman.”

Except for when he was dragging Charlotte onto his lap and baring her breasts for his lascivious mouth. Though that was probably not evidence she should offer in countering Major Winter's claim.

“Advising Mrs. Harris was the least I could do,” David said smoothly. “After all, she was the one who brought me and my late wife together.”

That was stretching it a bit, since all Charlotte had done was give Sarah lessons in how to avoid fortune hunters, thus ensuring that the recalcitrant girl went right out and married the first one who approached her.

Apparently Major Winter thought it was stretching the truth as well, for he eyed his cousin oddly. “I thought Amelia brought you and Sarah together.” Ignoring David's scowl and Amelia's chiding glance, he added, “Wasn't Amelia the one who delivered Sarah's letter to you? After conveniently rebuffing your overtures herself, I might add.”

“Lucas!” Amelia exclaimed as David glowered at his cousin.

“What?” Major Winter asked. “It's true.”

“Yes, but it's not the sort of thing to bring up at a time like this. Really, sometimes I think you were raised in a barn.”

“Nonsense,” Charlotte put in lightly, “I am sure you mentioned it to me at some point.”

But they both knew she had not. And hearing of it shook Charlotte to her toes. David had once pursued Amelia? Had he…been in love with her? How had Charlotte not known about the two of them?

“Lucas, dear,” Amelia said swiftly, “why don't you and Lord Kirkwood go fetch us some wine? I'm sure Mrs. Harris is quite thirsty after her long ride from Richmond.”

“Certainly,” Major Winter answered, knowing when he was being dismissed. Though David glanced uneasily from Charlotte to Amelia, he nonetheless headed off with his cousin.

As soon as they were gone, Amelia asked, “Are you all right?”

Why must people keep asking her that? “Of course. Why wouldn't I be?”

“You look as if you've seen a ghost.” Her eyes narrowed. “Is something going on between you and Lord Kirkwood?”

“I cannot imagine why you would think such a thing,” Charlotte said hastily, her heart pounding in her throat.

“Perhaps because he looks at you the same way Lucas does me. Or perhaps because you went white as a sheet when my idiotic husband mentioned that Lord Kirkwood once made overtures to me.”

“I do not care about that in the least.”

“Then why are you so fidgety and nervous all of a sudden?”

“What do you mean?”

Amelia cast a meaningful glance to where Charlotte was running the strap of her reticule through her fingers over and over. With a grimace, Charlotte willed her fretful hands to stop.

“You must understand,” Amelia said, “Lord Kirkwood's pursuit of me was not remotely romantic. He spoke of how we would suit and how he found me amiable. No words of love, no attempts to kiss me. I knew it was prompted only
by his need for my fortune. Why do you think I rebuffed him before he could even make a formal offer?”

Relief coursed through Charlotte. “I assure you, whatever lay between you and Lord Kirkwood means nothing to me.”

What a bald-faced lie. It reminded her that much had happened to him in eighteen years, things she could not possibly know about. Something had transformed David from the teasing suitor of her youth into a man of such fierce intensity that he sometimes frightened her.

What had done it? His ill-fated marriage? His father's suicide? The humiliation she had forced him to suffer? Or perhaps all three together?

Because beneath the cordial surface he showed to the world lay a man of hidden depths. He was clearly keeping secrets, from her and from everyone else. She just could not figure out what they were.

“See here,” Amelia went on, “it's clear that you care for Lord Kirkwood. And if he cares for you, too—”

“Do not be silly. He is in mourning.”

“He won't be in mourning forever. Six more months, and he's free to remarry. And since he hasn't yet sired an heir…”

The words sent another shock down her spine. She had not even considered that. In her two years married to Jimmy, she had not once conceived a child, despite their spending plenty of time in the bedchamber. She had always assumed she was barren, which meant that she could not bear David the heir he needed.

As a shaft of pain went through her, she fought to ignore it. It did not matter whether she could or no—she was being ridiculous to even consider marriage to David.
He had not mentioned such a thing, and he could have any woman he wanted. Why should he pick one who was getting too old to have children? One who had wronged him in a most public fashion?

“Speaking of children,” Charlotte said, desperate to stop this mad talk about her and David, “how are your little angels?”

The doting mother was only too happy to wax on about her girls and their accomplishments.

Just as they were arranging a day for Charlotte to see the children, the gentlemen returned empty-handed. The wine had been taken away, since dinner was about to be served.

Telling the Winters that he wanted to show Charlotte a new painting he had acquired, David pulled her rather forcefully into the hall. Once they were well away, he growled, “You ran me off so quickly this afternoon that I didn't have the chance to—”

“I did not run you off!” she protested, trying to keep up with him as he half-led, half-carried her down the hallway to where a series of paintings hung. When they reached the first and he halted to face her, she added, “I could not help that I had people to interview. Or that it took me longer than expected.”

“Through no fault of your own, I'm sure,” he said dryly.

She thrust out her chin. “If you cannot accept that I have responsibilities—”

“I accept that perfectly well,” he said in a low voice. “What I can't accept is your willingness to let your precious school be destroyed by your negligence.”

“Negligence! How dare you!”

“Sarah's legacy is the only thing standing between the
school and certain ruin. If you hadn't had Terence send me away this afternoon, I would have told you what I learned from Pritchard and his potential buyer when I encountered them near your grounds.”