Wed Him Before You Bed Him (6 page)

“Perfect,” she muttered.

His hands tightened on the reins. “You don't
sound
pleased.”

She sighed, then patted the mare's withers as if to reassure the creature. “Oh, but I am. She has enough spirit to
be enjoyable, but a yielding temperament that makes for pleasant riding.”

“So why the long face?”

Fixing her gaze on the path ahead, she squirmed in the saddle. “I'm just…annoyed that you knew precisely what sort of horse to pick for me.”

“You hate not being the only one with a good eye for horses, don't you?” he teased, determined to lighten her mood.

A small smile curved her lips. “Exactly.”

But that wasn't the real reason for her annoyance. The chit didn't want to approve of anything he did, yet she couldn't help herself sometimes. Thank God.

The path suddenly opened out into a long road between two fields of barley. At the end stood a forest they used to play in as children. David flashed her a challenging smile. “Want to race to the woods?”

She eyed the dirt road, then him. “Only if you promise not to call me a nasty name when I win.”

“I promise.” He grinned. “But you're not going to win.” And with that, he goaded his mount into a run.

She followed him with surprising speed, impressing him with her skill. But she'd pricked his pride already once this morning. He meant to show her that he wasn't the lecherous twit she took him for, who dressed badly and spent his days lolling about in luxurious debauchery. He rode to win, putting every bit of his horsemanship to the test.

She nearly bested him anyway. But just as they neared the part of the road that bisected the forest, David pushed his gelding to his limits and thundered past the line of trees ahead of her. With a laugh of pure triumph, he pulled
up and turned toward her in the saddle. “Good show,” he said, trying not to gloat.

“I see you gave yourself the faster horse,” she grumbled.

He laughed at her, not the least daunted by her ill humor. “Why, Charlotte Page, you're as bad a loser as I am.”

Her irate gaze shot to him, and she opened her mouth as if to protest. Then she gave a weak laugh. “I suppose that's true. I despise losing.”

“Good of you to admit it,” he said as she continued down the road. He pulled his gelding into step beside her. “Feel free to call
me
a nasty name if that will make you feel better. I hear that Monkey is taken, but you could try, oh, Garish Goer. Or Mr. Fast and Loose. Or…Wait, I have the perfect one: the Debauched Devil.”

“Perfect?” Her brows arched high. “You'd consider
that
one a compliment. You and your friends, strutting about, bragging of your wickedness.”

“I never brag. Don't need to.” He grinned over at her. “My wickedness is self-evident.”

She laughed outright. “I swear, you're incorrigible, Mr. Masters.”

Delighted that he'd made her laugh at last, he pushed his success further. “Come now, can't you call me David? Surely even your pretend fiancé deserves that.”

“My pretend fiancé is stretching the rules of propriety,” she chided, then gave him a pretty smile that took the sting off her refusal.

They rode awhile in companionable silence. He surreptitiously checked his pocket watch. Surely he'd given the servants enough time to do as he'd ordered last night. He couldn't wait to see how Charlotte liked his surprise.

When they reached a certain small clearing near the road, he stopped and dismounted, motioning the groom to come forward for the horses. “I have something to show you,” David told Charlotte as he helped her down.

“Oh?”

Now came the dicey part. He offered her his arm, which she took. Then he nodded to the groom, who gathered the reins of their two horses and started leading them back down the road.

“Where is he going?” she asked.

“I told him we'd walk back.” With her hand firmly tucked in the crook of his arm, he headed for the woods.

“Mr. Masters—” she said, dragging her heels a bit.

“Charlotte, you're safe with me, I promise.”

There was a moment when he was half-afraid she might run after the groom to retrieve her horse, or even set off alone on foot to the house.

When she didn't, he exulted. From here, everything would be smooth sailing. Because he finally had Charlotte to himself.

But as they crossed through the woods and the sounds of rushing water began to trickle through to them, she dragged her feet again. “Have I been here before?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. We used to play here. Don't you remember?”

They came close enough to the edge of the wood to see the Thames beyond. He wondered if she remembered Saddle Island in the middle, so called because of its unusual shape. It had been forbidden to them as children. Now it boasted a gazebo. And a lavish picnic luncheon set out earlier by the servants.

She dug her fingers into his arm. Apparently she did re
call it. But when he glanced at her face, expecting surprise or pleasure, she was pale as a ghost.

“What are we doing here?” she asked, a strange note of panic in her voice.

He led them toward the boat moored at a little landing on the bank. “We're going over to the island for a picnic.”

Abruptly, she dropped his arm. “We most certainly are not. I'm heading back.”

Confound it all, why was she turning skittish again? He thought they'd put that behind them.

Gathering up her skirts, she rushed back to the woods at a near run.

“Don't be absurd,” David cried as he hurried after her. “We're not coming out all this way just to return without even seeing Saddle Island.” He grabbed her about the waist from behind, meaning only to stop her, but she struggled wildly against him.

Did she think he meant to ravish her out there? What sort of man did she believe him to be? “Calm down, it's merely a picnic, I swear. There's no need for this—”

“You can't make me get in that boat!” she cried. “I won't do it! Let me go!”

There was something more to this, something odd. “Charlotte, you're being—”

“He told you, didn't he?” She pried frantically at his arm.

“
Who
told me
what
? I don't know what you're talking about!”

When she twisted in his arms to face him, he saw, to his shock, the tears streaming down her face.

“Stop pretending! I know Papa must have told you. I know that's why you're doing this.” She grabbed his lapels.
“Please don't make me go out on the river, I beg you! I-I'll do whatever you want, whatever
he
wants. Just don't—”

“Shh, sweeting, shh, I won't make you do anything, I promise,” he murmured, gathering her close. “I swear your father told me nothing!”

He chanted it as he held her tight, trying to calm her. His heart ached to hear her sobbing. Too late he understood. Her fear had nothing to do with being alone with him. It had to do with the river.

“It's all right,” he assured her over and over. “You're safe. We won't go anywhere near the water, I swear.”

Oh, God, what had he done? He hadn't meant to hurt her. He certainly hadn't meant to reduce her to this.

Somewhere in the maelstrom of her fear, his words must have sunk in, for she stopped fighting his embrace. But now she was shaking violently, and that alarmed him. Dropping onto the grassy bank, he dragged her down with him so he could cradle her in his lap, soothe her with strokes of his hands, hold her close.

It took several moments to halt her tears, and several more to calm her enough so she stopped shaking.

When he was sure she was more her normal self, he drew back to cup her face in his hands. “Feel better?” he asked softly.

Her eyes were red and swollen. “Actually, I…feel a bit of a fool.”

“No need.” Pressing her head to his chest, he stroked her hair. “I'm sorry. I had no idea, or I would never have—”

“I know,” she mumbled into his damp coat. “I see that now.”

“It was just a stupid surprise. I thought you'd like going out to the island for a picnic.”

She uttered a harsh laugh. “Little did you know you were setting out with a lunatic.”

“Not a lunatic. But I
would
like to know why—”

“I go mad at the sight of a boat on the river?” she finished for him.

Ignoring her self-deprecating tone, he pressed a kiss into her hair. “You used to play in the water with the older children all the time. When did that change?
How
did it change?”

“If I tell you, you'll laugh at me,” she whispered.

“No.” He settled her more comfortably in his lap. “I promise I won't.”

Turning a wary gaze up to him, she searched his face. “And you won't make me go out on the river?”

A lump caught in his throat. “No.” He brushed the hair back from her tear-streaked face. “Not if you don't want.”

“Don't want?” She tried for a laugh and failed. “I would rather chew needles.”

He fished out his handkerchief and offered it to her. She blew her nose and wiped her eyes.

“It happened the winter I was nine, when we still lived near here. There'd been a storm, and the Thames was swollen and very swift. Mama and I were walking beside it when my favorite bonnet flew into it. Before she could react, I rushed in after my bonnet.”

David could see the fear rising again in her face, though he felt helpless to banish it.

“The current swept me off. I-I struggled, but I didn't know how to swim, and the water was so powerful. Our footman dove in after me, but I'd already been carried quite a ways.”

Her chest rose and fell with her quickening breaths.
“For a while it was a near thing. The water was churning, and I went under, dragged down by my wool skirts. The footman lost sight of me—I don't know for how long. All I remember is the horrible panic of not being able to breathe, of knowing I was about to die.”

A shudder wracked her, and he rubbed her back, wishing he could do more.

“I must have lost consciousness. When I came to, I was lying on the bank, and my chest hurt from someone pressing against it, forcing the water from my lungs. Mama was bending over me, and the footman's teeth were chattering from his dunking in the icy waters.”

Good God, she'd nearly died! His heart stopped just to think of it. “I hope your father rewarded him well for saving your life.”

She flashed David a wan smile. “The footman retired from service on what Mama gave him alone. Opened a cook shop in Reading, I believe.”

“And you've been afraid of the river ever since?”

“Lakes, rivers…” She swallowed. “The ocean gives me nightmares. I start…seeing it all again, feeling the panic, the searing pain of the water entering my lungs just before I passed out. I even tense up when I go over bridges.” A ragged sigh escaped her. “I know it's irrational and silly—”

“Certainly not. A fear of drowning is perfectly rational. In you, the fear is a bit exaggerated, that's all. What was it Shakespeare said? ‘Blind fear, that seeing reason leads, finds safer footing than blind reason stumbling without fear.' It's dangerous to be without fear entirely.”

She gaped at him.

“What?” he asked.

“You read Spenser and quote Shakespeare?” She gave a shaky laugh. “I swear, you are not at all what I thought.”

The words brought him up short, reminding him of what else she'd said in the throes of her fear. “Yes, I know what you thought,” he said tightly. “That I'm the sort of man to use your terror against you.”

She winced. “I'm sorry. I'm just so used to the way Father—”

When she caught herself and dropped her gaze from his, a knot of apprehension twisted in his belly. “The way your father does what?” he prodded.

“Nothing.”

She'd said her father must have revealed her weakness to him, and David saw nothing sinister in that.

But…now he remembered their dinner conversation that first night, with her father saying something about her inability to swim. Charlotte had gone white. At the time he hadn't thought anything of it, but…

“Charlotte, does your father use your fear of drowning to threaten you?”

For a long moment, she merely twisted the handkerchief in her hands. When at last she answered, her voice held a tinge of bitterness, “He tries.”

Anger boiled up inside him. No wonder she was skittish around men. “All this time, I thought your father was merely an ass. Now I see he's a bully, too.”

She met his gaze steadily. “He is indeed.”

The knot in his belly tightened. “And you thought he put me up to this?”

Remorse spread over her cheeks. “I wasn't thinking. You were acting as if you'd changed your mind about marrying me, and given the threats Papa made on the way
here about what he would do if I wasn't…nice to you, I thought he might have…or you might have…” She swallowed. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed that the two of you had conferred on the matter. It was very wrong. You've been nothing but nice to me.”

“When I'm not forcing you to go riding,” he said acidly, remembering how she'd reacted. “You think I'm a bully like him, don't you?”

“No.” She lifted an earnest gaze to him. “Not anymore, David.”

He blinked. “You called me David.”

A warm smile trembled on her lips. “I suppose I did.”

It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard. It made him painfully aware that she was sitting on his lap, with her delicate hands pressed to his chest and a new softness in her eyes.

Fire erupted in his veins. He didn't stop to think or give her any warning. He just kissed her.

And she kissed him back. By God, how she kissed him back, with the tender innocence of an untried maid. It was heaven. And hell. Because it wasn't enough.