Addy scowled. “Dewhurst gave me a good bed in the servants’ quarters. I don’t have time for lazing about.”
“Oh, hush,” Charlotte said. “I’m not being lazy, I’m . . . adjusting to my new surroundings.”
“Is that what they call it?” Addy said, and Charlotte tossed the pillow at her. Addy threw it back, and Charlotte sent a volley of pillows at her, jumping up and running to the opposite side of the bed to avoid Addy’s retaliatory strike. She was laughing so hard that even Addy smiled, and Charlotte, overcome with giddiness, collapsed once again on the bed.
“Oh, Addy. I have a very good feeling about this. Two days ago we were on a ship with nothing. Now look where we are! Our luck has turned. You’ll have enough money to go to Boston or New York and go to school, like you always wanted.”
“Hmpf. I hope so, Miss Charlotte. But you still have to get along with that man.”
“Not a problem, Addy. We had a small discussion today, and I think he finally understands who has the upper hand in this ‘marriage.’ ”
“Hmpf,” Addy said again, and kept dusting.
Chapter Six
In her explorations that day, Charlotte had discovered that not only were she and Dewhurst to sleep in close quarters, their bedrooms were actually attached via a dressing room door between them.
That night Charlotte sat on her bed, still in her black bombazine gown, and stared at the closed door. She’d locked it, not that she need worry her husband would throw it open and ravish her. She’d heard nothing but silence from his room and could only assume that meant he was still with his mistress.
And why that should bother her, she did not care to consider. It was not as though she wanted the mistress’s place in his heart. She wanted no part of his heart.
But a small part of her wondered if any woman had ever touched him deeply. She’d seen him go from warrior to fool to lord and back again. Who was the real Dewhurst? The devastating charmer who’d made her feel like laughing for the first time in years? The lord who made her so angry she wanted to kick him? The warrior who would never let his guard down because any sign of vulnerability was seen as a defeat?
She sighed. How was she going to protect Cade from a man like this? A man who would be relentless in his hunt and ruthless in his execution of “justice.”
She heard the door to Dewhurst’s bedchamber open and held her breath. She’d heard the valet go in and out before and did not automatically assume Dewhurst was home. And then she heard his voice. He was speaking to Wilkins, issuing directives, telling a story, exchanging ripostes. Charlotte crept to the dressing room door and tried to make out his words. Did he mention Cade? Had they caught him?
What about the mistress? Was she out of Dewhurst’s life?
Then all was silent, and Charlotte cursed under her breath. Now she’d never know. Unless . . .
She unlocked the door and turned the knob, ignoring the voice in her brain telling her, Turn back! Turn back! Charlotte crept forward, through the dark dressing room, and stopped before Dewhurst’s door. Still no sound.
She glanced back at her room, all white and misty in the darkness, then turned and rapped on Dewhurst’s door.
For three heartbeats there was silence, and on the fourth, his door swung open and Dewhurst, dressed in black trousers and a white shirt, open at the collar, stood before her.
He cocked a brow and then inclined his head. “Lady Dewhurst. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”
Charlotte wanted to cut him with a sharp rejoinder. Instead she found she could not take her eyes from the bronze skin of his chest, visible in the V of his shirt. She could not help but stare at his hair. The soft curls glimmered in the candlelight. And then her gaze drifted lower to the tight pantaloons, the muscled calves, and his bare feet.
Charlotte’s gaze shot back to his eyes and saw he was watching her, allowing the perusal. “Have you seen enough?” he said with a half-smile. “Or did you come hoping for more?”
Charlotte stammered, her mouth unable to form a reply. Cade, she thought. Ask about Cade. But when she found her voice, what came out was, “Did you dismiss your mistress?”
His eyes widened and he seemed taken aback.
Charlotte shook her head. “No, I meant to ask about Cade. I—I don’t care about the mistress.”
“Don’t you?” Dewhurst said, and his eyes were amused. “I think it bothers you that I’ve spent the evening with Josephine almost as much as it bothers me to know you’ve been thinking of dear Pettigru.”
“But I wasn’t thinking of Cade. I mean, I was, but not in the way you imply.”
“And I wasn’t with Josephine. It didn’t seem appropriate on the day of my marriage, though I can’t say I expected you to agree to much of a wedding night.” His emerald eyes swept over her, making her body throb everywhere his gaze touched.
“I’m not. What I mean is, I don’t want a wedding night.”
His gaze met hers again. “Then go back to your room and lock the door before I decide to see for myself whether you’ve got petticoats on under that dress.”
