He threw his leg over his horse and jumped down. When he stepped closer, even Addy had to crane her neck to peer up at the tan, dark-eyed Southern gentleman. Looking at him was a biting reminder of her brother, and Charlotte’s resolve not to cry faltered. She could only pray that Cade was the balm she needed for her tear-swollen eyes.
He opened his arms to her, and Charlotte went willingly, laughing as he tightened the embrace into a bear hug, then swung her around until her feet left the ground and her dress belled around her. Charlotte squealed, and Addy said, “Lord Almighty! Mr. Pettigru, you let Miss Charlotte go.” But Charlotte cried out with pleasure. It had been more than five years since he’d swung her around like this. She’d been eighteen and without a worry in the world. For a moment, she was transported back to that carefree time.
Finally Cade released her and made a bow to Addy. Before Addy could chastise him further, however, he gathered her up and repeated his welcome. Thankfully, his treatment of Addy was somewhat more reserved. When he’d set Addy down and taken Charlotte’s gloved hands in his again, she squeezed his fingers and said, “I can’t believe it’s really you, Cade. I can’t believe how good you look.”
He winked at her. “And you’ve grown into a fine woman. What are you doing here, and why didn’t you write? I would have arranged for us to meet somewhere more suitable.”
“I’m glad you didn’t. I have something of a delicate nature to discuss with you.”
Cade raised a brow. “I see. Business or pleasure, Lottie?”
Charlotte smiled. How long had it been since someone had called her by that childhood endearment?
“Lord Almighty,” Addy wailed when Charlotte’s smile wobbled. “Now don’t you start crying again, Miss Charlotte.” Addy pulled out her ever-present handkerchief. “Don’t you dare start, sugar.” Through the tears she was desperately attempting to hold back, Charlotte saw Addy give Cade a look that would have wilted cotton. “Now look what you did, Mr. Cade.”
Cade opened his mouth, closed it, then seemed to take careful note of Charlotte. She tried to look cheerful, but she knew that nothing could turn the somber bonnet and the black bombazine day dress into a pretty cap and gay ball gown or make her red, puffy eyes sparkle as they used to. He put his hand on her elbow. “Come inside. I don’t have much time, but I’ll do what I can.”
After a quick perusal of the street, he hurried them and the luggage inside the building, shutting the door and locking it behind her. Charlotte had the distinct sense that he didn’t want her there, and once inside she saw why. The place was indeed a tavern. It was still too early in the day to boast any customers, but the signs of their presence the night before flourished. Chairs and tables were overturned and those that stood upright were caked with thick, sticky residue. Broken glass littered the floor, and a large gray thing— Charlotte prayed it was a cat—scurried through a crack in the wall.
Cade navigated the public room with ease and showed Charlotte and Addy to an office in the back that held a desk and a large divan, pushed against a dingy window.
Charlotte stood in the doorway, finding it difficult to conceive of Cade working here. It was so different from the ornate Pettigru house in Charleston. Cade followed Charlotte inside, then hollered for a woman called Bess. No one appeared. Cade called again, and Charlotte took advantage of his distraction to give Addy a meaningful look, which she, of course, ignored.
Charlotte knew her maid was intent on playing the chaperone, but now that she’d finally found Cade, Charlotte did not want to wait to speak to him. Not to mention, sending Addy after the errant Bess was a good way to ensure she had Cade to herself. Charlotte reached over and pinched Addy’s arm. Addy scooted away.
“Where could she be?” Cade said, walking toward the office door. Charlotte reached out and pinched Addy again. Hard.
“Ow!”
Cade turned, looking at Addy with a puzzled frown, while Charlotte tried to stare Addy into compliance. Finally she capitulated. “Mr. Cade, you and Miss Charlotte sit there and talk. Lord knows I can find my way around a kitchen well enough to make two cups of tea. I’ll be a minute.” She looked at Charlotte. “A very short minute.”
“Thank you, Addy,” Charlotte said sweetly, settling herself on the long divan. It creaked in distress, and Charlotte prayed it would not collapse. When Addy was gone, Cade crossed the room and leaned against the desk so that he faced her. His eyes flicked to the window, and a shadow passed over his features, but then he smiled at her and the darkness was gone. She returned the smile, and he shook his head. “She hasn’t changed a bit. Makes me miss my own mammy back home. She’d whip me faster than a fish on a June bug.”
“Lot of good it did,” Charlotte said. “You and Thomas were the scourge of Charleston with all your pranks.” As soon as she’d spoken her brother’s name, Charlotte’s chest tightened, and she put a hand to her lips to quell their trembling.
Cade knelt beside her. “Lottie, what’s happened? Tell me.”
She shook her head, her voice failing her. She felt as though her throat were in the clutches of a ruthless taskmaster, intent upon squeezing every last ounce of grief from her. Finally she managed to whisper, “Oh, Cade.”
He gathered her in his arms, holding her while she wept. She’d cried enough tears to float a ship, and the ocean of salty rivulets running down her cheeks hadn’t changed anything. All the tears in the sea wouldn’t bring her father and Thomas back, wouldn’t restore her to the carefree days of the past. Cade patted her shoulder and shushed her, and Charlotte hiccupped. This was what she’d wanted, what she’d needed from Cade.
“Was it the British?” Cade asked finally, leaning back to look in her face. She nodded, and he swore. “I told your father he was a fool and a half. Leaving you home and risking his ships and skinny neck for a pile of lace, silk, and French wine.”
Charlotte nodded. She, too, had pleaded with her father and brother to cease the illegal smuggling runs, but with the British blockade strangling all trade, the value of European goods was too high to resist. “We needed the money,” she murmured. “Prices in Charleston—” She waved a hand as though to indicate exorbitance too excessive to put into words. She left out mention of her father’s gambling debt entirely, for that remembrance was a price too high for even her shattered pride.
“And you’ve come to me for help.” Cade’s look was grim, and Charlotte knew it would turn grimmer still when she told him the true state of affairs. Cade remembered her as the spoiled Southern belle. He had no knowledge of how she’d begged and scraped and lowered herself to keep the family together. And in the end her efforts weren’t enough. The house on Legare Street, the family’s savings, the last vestiges of social respect—gone. Snatched away with the bang of the cannon and the slow sinking of The Glory. Had it really been only a year ago she’d received word? It felt like yesterday. The pain in her belly, fresh and raw, hit home like a dagger plunged to the hilt.
“I didn’t know where else to turn,” she began, but Cade shushed her.
“You did right to come to me. But as you can see, I—” He looked away, listening intently.
“What is it?” Charlotte began. Suddenly there was a crash from the public room, and the sound of Addy screeching. Charlotte would have sprung to her feet, but she was grasped from behind in a viselike grip that all but stripped her of breath. In the shock of the moment, it took several heartbeats before she realized that her attacker was behind the divan and had probably been hiding there. Looking to Cade, she made a strangled cry of need, but he did not hear. He had a pistol in his hand and was staring at the office door. She watched as Cade rounded the desk, pulled out a drawer, grasped a sheaf of papers, and stuffed them into his waistcoat, never taking his eyes from the door.
The door flew open and two men burst in with pistols pointing at Cade. One’s face was disguised by a high collar and an old-fashioned Elizabethan hat pulled low over his eyes. The other’s collar was still turned up, but he must have lost his hat because Charlotte could see he had blond hair and an angry expression. The blond one ordered Cade to drop his weapon. Cade shook his head.
“Dewhurst. I should have known.” He turned to Charlotte, and his eyes widened as he noted the arm about her neck. Then he raised and pointed his pistol at her. Her heart stopped, causing a sharp pain to lance her chest. Then he fired, and the window behind her exploded in a shower of glass. Her assailant cried out as glass shards pierced his skin, and his hold on her loosened. Cade leaped forward, knocked the man’s hand away from her throat, and grasped her wrist.
“Lottie, listen to me.” He tried to force her to rise, but, paralyzed with fear, she couldn’t move.
