Henry’s stomach dropped. Of course. The note directing him to the grotto, the scene staged with Harriet. It had all been a trap. He had seen the outline of it; only now could he put it all together.
“They wanted a match,” Leonard went on. “They figured if you got caught alone with her, they could steer you into a marriage without ever having to say why. No need to spoil the arrangement with scandal. Clever, really.”
“You stood by and let them do it.”
Leonard grinned. “I didn’t want you. I wanted her.” His eyes flicked to Charlotte, and Henry nearly took a step forward.
“She looked at you like a man dying of thirst looks at a glass of water,” Leonard said nastily. “No matter what I did, she wouldn’t even see me. You had everything I wanted.”
“And now you have nothing,” Henry said quietly. “I’ve spoken to Elias. He will deny all knowledge of these rumors about being my father. Including to the Fairchilds. No one will believeyouover a duke. If you continue, I’ll see you in court for slander.”
Leonard’s grin faded.
“I’m having you escorted from the premises,” Henry continued. “You will not come near Lady Charlotte again. Not in town. Not at any ball, any gathering, or any shop on Bond Street. If I so much as hear your name spoken in her presence, I will meet you at dawn. And we both know,” he added coldly, “no matter how much you love hunting, you’re a miserable shot.”
Leonard paled but nodded his assent. He’d clearly realized he could go no further.
Henry opened the door and motioned to the waiting servants. “Show Sir Roger out. Please make sure he understands that he is not to return. Ever.”
They stepped inside, flanking Leonard without a word. He rose stiffly, and for a moment, it seemed he might protest—but then he saw Henry’s expression and thought better of it.
He turned to Charlotte. “You’re making a mistake, you know. Men like him don’t change. He’ll ruin you eventually.”
Charlotte met his gaze with steel in her eyes. “Get out.”
Leonard was gone within moments.
Henry exhaled.
“What now?” Charlotte asked.
Henry turned toward her. “Now we confront the Fairchilds. We’ll make it clear their game is over. That whatever they thought they might gain has slipped through their fingers. As far as they’re concerned, Sir Roger was lying to them. I’ll have them banished from the house, ordered to never speak of this again unless they wish to be arrested for blackmail.”
“And then?” she prompted, her tone teasing.
“And then,” he said with a small smile, “we go back to the ball and celebrate our betrothal. Smile for the crowd. Pretend none of this happened. And I’ll have to consider what I want to do about... my father.”
Charlotte swayed closer. “You’ll figure it out.”
“But before any of that...” Henry took a step toward her, reaching for her hand again. “Before I think about anything else at all—I want to celebrate being free.”
She tilted her face toward his, expectant.
He kissed her.
A kiss full of victory and promise, and something deeper still—something fragile but certain. The kind of kiss that tasted like beginnings and the end of fear.
In the quiet room, with shadows curling around them and the ghosts of secrets starting to fade, Charlotte let herself believe—for the first time since all this had begun—that perhaps, just perhaps, they were going to be all right.
CHAPTER 30
London
August 1813
The scentof beeswax polish and old stone filled the church, mingling with the delicate perfume of the bouquets clutched by her bridesmaids as they made their way inside. Charlotte clung lightly to William’s arm, her heart fluttering like a trapped bird.
“You’re shaking,” William murmured in her ear.
