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.Dark paths calling to her to turn the corners.To see what lurked around the hedges.She did something she wouldn’t have believed possible the moment she had heard her father’s outrageous mistake—or the moment the man across from her promised he would possess her—she curled up at the foot of the bed and, a few minutes later, felt her own lids fall.She woke abruptly.Her head was nestled on a pillow, covers pulled over her chest.She distinctly remembered falling asleep outside of the coverings though, and she pushed herself up against the headboard in a flash.But she was alone.Faint light had gathered at the edges of the windows, dull gray morning shadows allowing her to see that the clock said it was a quarter to six.Her father would arrive at any moment.She slipped her legs to the floor, the covers pulling at her dress as if unwilling to relinquish their hold.She drew upright and smoothed down the crinkles.She had worn a dress more suited to mourning than to lascivious activities, and it hadn’t taken well to being creased under the covers for so long.She would remember such things for liaisons in the future, she thought humorlessly.She stepped to the door between the bedroom and living quarters, wondering where her erstwhile host had taken himself off to.It didn’t take long to discover.He stood at the window, the drape pulled back by one hand.There was a stillness to him standing there, gazing out the window to something beyond.There was a minute tightening in his posture—enough to indicate that he knew she was standing there, watching—but he didn’t move.The clock struck the first of its six peals.She cleared her suddenly dry throat.“I suppose this is farewell then, Roman.” Her voice sounded unusually scratchy.He said nothing for two peals, then let the drape fall and turned to her.As he bridged the distance between them, the slow smile that heated something within her spread across his face.“Is it?”He was far too close.Looking down at her face in that manner.Making strange feelings curl within.“I—yes.”Another peal.His capable hand wrapped around the back of her neck, pulling her the short distance to him.Her mouth opened in exclamation, her quickened breath needing escape.“Then I suppose there is only one thing to do,” he said.And his lips were upon hers.Not the light press of a gentleman’s lips.Not the perfunctory kisses she had seen from established pairs.Not what she heard about in the back rooms with marriage-hungry misses saying they had exchanged quick butterfly touches with their loves.This was something far more consuming.Scorching.Claiming.A thump beat within and around her.And then they were skimming, barely touching hers.There was something even more serious in the brush.A promise.But a promise of what? For there was only one more peal for the night to be complete, and assuredly footsteps would be drawing closer, stopping on the other side of the door.Her father coming to escort her home.Roman’s hand slipped from her nape, his fingers drawing along the edge of her chin, rubbing over her lower lip.His other hand took hers and pressed something into her palm.“Knight to D6.”His voice sifted over her skin, silk over gravel, and she processed the words as the door opened, the last peal sounding.“Checkmate, Charlotte.”Chapter 7C harlotte watched the polish build layer by layer on the houses, the façades lengthening and widening as they drew closer to Mayfair.Her knuckles traced her lips, the white king clutched in her fist.Roman Merrick was.complicated.She thought that was the best way to sum up the man at the moment.And dangerous, very dangerous, to the path she needed to travel.“Charlotte.”She waited a moment, unwilling to break her vigil, then turned to observe her father.His shirt was slightly unkempt.Undoubtedly, he was fetching her after spending the night with his mistress.Consoling himself in the woman’s arms, as usual.His marriage bed cold and fallow, as it had been for as long as Charlotte could remember.“You are well?” he asked gruffly.Charlotte often saw her father’s mistress on the edges, in the market, at the theater, in the crowd at Vauxhall, waiting for the family to leave, eager, almost desperate, to service her longtime lover in the dark walks as soon as he broke free.Her knuckles fell from her lips, fingers curling more tightly over the chess piece.“He didn’t beat me, if that is what you are asking,” she said in a voice as dismissive as she had ever dared with her father.His hands fisted.“That wasn’t what I was asking.”“Ah.Then in any other instances of wellness, I assure you that I am as fine as I can be, given the circumstances.He didn’t touch me.”She resisted the urge to brush her lips again.He hadn’t touched her in the way her father was thinking, at least.Her father’s worn features relaxed a measure.“Good.” Though she wasn’t sure if he believed her words or if he just wanted to believe them.“I tried to bargain him out of it.To offer.other things.But he refused.I will remember better in the future.”She again wondered what else her father could have offered.The danger of her words of assurance hit her a second too late.She could see his thinking twisting to assume there had been nothing wrong with what he had done.Something about the night, about the strange and twining conversations she had had with Roman Merrick, wedged within her, in part confusing her and in part giving her added strength.“R—Mr.Merrick seemed to think of the situation as a lark.” She kept her voice as even as she could, for nothing about Roman Merrick’s eyes had indicated anything of the sort.“But, if you do such a thing again, I will not save you.” She said it calmly, making him meet her eyes [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]