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Charity reached over for some white cambric and made a hoop. Needlework could be soothing, and she did enjoy it immensely. “I am fine,” she said with a small smile, threading her needle. She would use feather stitch and create a lovely profusion of flowers. For the remainder of the day she wanted to do something simple, something routine, something that would distract her heart and thoughts from the earl’s proposal.
I dearly hope I have not committed my most egregious mistake.
* * *
Since she had refusedEthan’s proposal, Charity lingered in an agony of doubts. A state of existence she resented for she had always been decisive and firm when she made decisions. It bothered her greatly considering the idea of not marrying for love. Yet she wondered if she was foolish in turning down an offer from the only gentleman to have made her yearn to live with him, the only man who made her laugh in such a comfortable manner, the only man who had ever made her heart race or who had inspired her to have evocative dreams about kissing and making love with him over and over. She stiffened, ached with the memory of his kisses, his tongue on her flesh…
Flushing with painfully aroused heat, Charity twisted on the bed and thumped her pillow. It was not only that she wanted to marry for love, but it was also how cynically dismissive Ethan had been. As if he thought love was simply a word…a word that fools used. She could not even hope that he might come to love her if he thought it a silly romantic sentiment females indulged in because of their impractical and whimsical sensibilities.
Two days passed in a blur of indoor games and reading with Jenna. Charity and Ethan were polite with each other, but all of the tension and lust seemed to have been sucked away into some mystical black hole, never to be recovered. Worse, no longer did they walk on the lawns together and have such pleasantly wonderful conversations. They had truly retreated back to polite friendship. And Charity did not want that.
Why can we not indulge in an affair?
Given the earl’s honor, it was clear to her that it had never occurred to him. It was either they married, or they observed the correct, respectable distance. Everything they had done had felt so perfect; how could he want to maintain such a distance afterward?
Did he not miss her?
An intolerable ache swelled inside Charity’s chest at the idea that the earl did not miss her. She missed his dry replies, his wit, the way his lips quirked in a smile, and how he gave her his undivided attention when they spoke as if he were simply captivated by her and could not help himself. She missed the bits he shared about his life. God, she missed the soft feel of his mouth against hers so terribly.
With a groan, she flipped over onto her back, shoved the coverlets from her body and eased off the bed. She went over to the small writing desk and chair in the corner and turned on the gas lamp. A quick peek at the mantle clock showed it to be only ten in the night. No wonder she could not sleep; it always took her some weeks to adjust to the early hours they kept to in the country. Rifling through the small drawer, she prepared some ink, withdrew a sheaf of paper on a quill. Taking a deep breath, she dipped the quill into the ink and wrote,
Dearest Ethan,
These past several days in Dorset with you have been lovely. I daresay we find comfort and joy in each other’s company, as evidenced by our attachment a few nights earlier. I deeply regret not being able to marry you, for with it comes a loss of your friendship which I have come to dearly cherish. I have thought about it and trust me when I say I did not come to this decision lightly. I would like to continue our special friendship until either of us decides it is time to move on. Should you agree, please meet me at the gazebo by the lake at ten-thirty.
Yours,
Charity.
A very scandalousletter that might either shock or intrigue him. Charity hoped for the latter. She stood and hastened to the armoire where she removed her pelisse and slipped in on over her shoulders. She also took out her boots put them on. A glance in the mirror showed her brightened eyes and her flushed cheeks.
She slipped discreetly from her room and made her way from the guests’ wing to the west wing, and then to the earl’s chambers. Beneath the door, she spied a sliver of light and swore she heard his pacing. She stooped and slipped the letter beneath his door, unaccountably too nervous about handing it to him directly. Charity stood and made to turn away. What if he had not noticed it. She knocked on the door sharply and then ran down the hallway and down the staircase. She moved more sedately once she reached the lower floors and slipped through a side door and made her way to the gazebo facing the lake.
The moon was out, and the silver glinted off the reflective surface of the lake. She waited for several moments, anticipation and nerves knotting her belly.
“I was silly,” she murmured. “I should have knocked on his door and had a conversation like a normal person.”
With a groan, she realized that sheer nerves had been directing her actions. The crunch of boots sounded on leaves that had fallen since the gardener raked the area a few hours ago. Clutching her pelisse edges, she held her breath to release it on an audible gasp when Ethan rounded the corner.
He was without jacket or cravat, his shirt was open so she could see the corded muscles of his throat, and his sleeves were rolled to his elbow. Never had she seen him look so disheveled. Even his hair appeared mussed as if he had raked his fingers through the strands several times.
When he saw her waiting, he briefly faltered, his gaze skipping over her with hunger. Her pulse tapped wildly at her throat, and she folded her arms across her waist, keeping her sudden misgivings inside.
“Lady Charity,” he said as he climbed the few steps of the gazebo.
“My lord,” she replied.
This unexpected formality after having been so intimate rattled her composure.
“You got my letter.”
“I did.”
She stared at him and bit into her lower lip. Was this how people in the ton went about assignations and trysts? It felt awfully complicated and unnerving.
“You are…” Ethan blew out a sharp breath. “You are lovely, Charity. “You move me, unlike any woman I have ever met. You deserve more than to be a gentleman’s mistress.”
Heat scorched across her cheekbones. “I do not believe I offered to be your mistress, Ethan.”
