She gave him a look of reproach as she resumed her seat and Nick took his, at the head of the table. “You’re on time for once. I’m beside myself with astonishment.”
“Wait until you see what I’ve brought.” He set his offering on the table. “From Guillaume.”
Her dark eyes widened, and Charlotte seized the basket, sticking her nose under the cloth and inhaling deeply. “Guillaume is quite possibly the love of my life.”
“I’ll tell him you said so.”
“Someday I’d like to meet him.” Charlotte put a pastry on her plate and handed the basket to Nelly, who busied herself arranging the rest on a platter. “Will you let me come to the club and thank him?”
“No.” Nick gave the same answer he always did, but today it came out a little sharply.
“Why not?” she protested. “You allow ladies to bemembers. Why can’t I come and see it one day? Don’t you think it’s one of the best clubs in London?”
“It is the very best, and it’s also no place for you.” Nick tapped his empty teacup, trying to divert her.
Charlotte frowned at him, but she poured his tea. “What’s wrong with me, that I’m not fit to visit the best club in London?”
“Charlotte,” he said under his breath, in warning. Every now and then she got her teeth into this subject, and he never liked it. “It is not about you.”
Her brows were still drawn together. “Then what is it about?”
“I said no, and that’s the end of the matter.” He looked at Nelly. “The ham, please.”
“You’re not being honest with me.” Charlotte waved off his offer to serve her a slice of the cold ham on the platter Nelly brought. “And you’re in a temper this morning, which spoils all my joy at your punctual arrival.”
He gave her an aggrieved look. “You may go,” he told Nelly, who curtsied and slipped from the room. “I’m not in a temper.” He rotated his sore arm, blatantly soliciting sympathy. “I had to throw out a patron last night and he tossed me against the wall.”
She looked at him suspiciously, but her frown softened. “How hard?”
“Violently.” He winced—exaggerated for her benefit, but only a little. His shoulder did ache. “I feared it would be out of joint.”
“You should put a cold poultice on it.”
“I would have been late for breakfast.”
Sympathy flooded her face. Charlotte put her hand on his arm. “You silly man. You ought to have gone home and had Pearce look after you.”
“But there were fresh pastries,” he said, “from Guillaume.”
Her lips twitched, then slowly turned into a smile. “You’re such a scoundrel, Nicholas Dashwood. Are you even hurt at all?”
“I am!” He started to strip off his jacket. “Let me show you the bruise.”
“Stop.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m sure it won’t keep you from any of your usual habits. And I realize you distracted me from my question, you know.”
He only grinned and settled back into his chair.
“Polly invited me to the theater with her family,” she said. “May I go?”
The smile froze on his face. “Oh?” He reached for his cup, thinking rapidly. “That was very kind of her.”
“Isn’t it?” Eagerly she leaned toward him, her face alight with hope. “Please say yes, Nicky, please.”
He looked at her, trying to hide his instinctive response, which was profane and negative. It was such a simple thing, going to the theater. Polly Neale, who lived on the other side of the courtyard, was a good friend to have invited her. Charlotte almost trembled with excitement at the prospect, which made him feel cruel and heartless. Not only had he never taken her to the theater, he didn’t want to let her go now.
He let out a sigh, unconsciously shifting his sore shoulder back and forth. Fatigue was catching up to him; he was a creature of the night and it was time for him to go to bed. Instead he had to tell Charlottenoagain, which would make it difficult to sleep.
Perhaps he should allow it. What could go wrong? “What is the program?” he asked, stalling for time to think.
