They stood there for a moment, the quiet between them thick with unspoken things, before Henry broke the silence.
“Thank you,” he said. “For telling me. For staying with me in spite of… everything.”
Charlotte’s lips curved into a small, private smile. “I think you’re worth the risk.”
The air had gone still, the gentle hush of the room pressing in around them. Somewhere, far off, she thought she heard the muted sounds of laughter from the parlor, the shuffle of footsteps and the crackle of the fire, but all of it was distant, irrelevant.
Henry was looking at her as though she were the only person left in the world.
“Charlotte,” he said softly, his voice lower now, reverent. “I would go to any lengths. For you.”
And then he stepped closer. Just one pace. But it was enough.
Her heart was racing, thudding hard against her ribs. She felt breathless, rooted to the spot, unable to look away from him. She searched his face, trying to make sense of his expression. Of the desperation, the longing, the fear, and the fierce affection that flickered there.
He reached for her slowly, giving her every chance to pull away. She didn’t. She couldn’t. Her hands lifted of their own accord, curling lightly around the lapels of his coat. She thought she might say something—warn him, or herself, against getting caught again—but the words stuck in her throat.
And then he kissed her.
It was not the hurried, spontaneous kiss by the lake. This was deliberate and certain. His mouth met hers with such intensity that it took her breath. One of his hands cupped the side of her face, his fingers threading through her hair as though he was afraid she might disappear if he didn’t hold her close enough.
Charlotte leaned into him, her body melting against his. The kiss deepened, his other arm winding around her waist and drawing her into his chest, anchoring her. She kissed him back with every ounce of emotion she’d kept bottled up. Her fear, frustration, longing, and hope. It spilled out of her, pouring into a single, searing kiss.
The world fell away.
For one impossibly perfect moment, there was no blackmailer, no scandal, no future to fear. There was only Henry’s mouth on hers, the strength of his arms around her, and the pounding of her own heartbeat in her ears.
When at last they parted, both of them breathless, he rested his forehead against hers.
“I love you,” she whispered.
“I love you too, dear Charlotte.”
CHAPTER 28
Charlotte stoodnear the window of Henry’s office, studying the way the late afternoon light caught the gleam of the polished floor and cast long shadows across the desk as she watched Henry reread the letter for what must have been the hundredth time. According to him, he had discovered the letter on his desk not an hour earlier.
There was tension in his shoulders and the tight line of his jaw. He looked up at last and passed the letter to her, his fingers brushing hers as he did so. She took it without a word, sinking into the chair beside William as she unfolded the page. The handwriting was messy, as though scrawled in haste, but the message was clear:
You have until the night of the ball to call off the wedding, or your mother’s secret becomes the talk of London.
Charlotte’s stomach twisted, but her hands were steady as she passed the letter to William.
“So, do you have news on Leonard?” she asked, turning her eyes toward him.
William nodded. “I’ve been asking around. He’s been seen in the area on more than one occasion and at times that correspond with the letters. The day of the first letter, he was spottedbuying paper and ink at the stationer’s in the next town. One of the footmen saw him lingering near the east wing yesterday morning. And the worst part is... he’s still telling people in Town that the two of you”—he nodded at Charlotte—“will be announcing your engagement soon.”
Charlotte’s mouth dropped open. “Even now? After everything?”
“It seems that news of the duke’s engagement hasn’t reached the gossip pages yet,” William explained. “Or if it has, he’s pretending he hasn’t heard about it.”
Henry leaned back in his chair, his eyes flashing with uncharacteristic fury. “He’s desperate, then. If this letter is from him—and I believe it is—then he’s running out of time, and he knows it.”
Charlotte twisted her hands together in her lap. “So what do we do? Are we still going forward with this?”
Henry’s eyes met hers, and for a long moment, he was silent. Then he spoke, his voice low. “Are you absolutely certain you want this, knowing what he’s threatening?”
She rose from her chair, crossed to him, and settled her hand over his. “Yes, Henry. I was certain the moment I told you I’d take the risk. I’m not going to be bullied into giving up my life because of some man’s bitterness. Please, let’s have had enough of this constant questioning of my decision. I am yours.”
