oak paneling lined the walls. There was no evidence of Bay’s art collection downstairs; assuredly it would have shocked his elderly grandmother. Mrs. Kelly said many of the rooms in the house were still shut up, had been so even when Lady Bayard was still alive, but everything Charlotte inspected was mellow, tasteful, shining, dust-free. Bay’s little staff had been busy getting the house ready for what Charlotte was beginning to think of as the only honeymoon she would ever have. Instead of vows and a wedding ring, she would leave Bayard Court with the promise of economic independence and a priceless ruby necklace, which Bay had stubbornly insisted she keep. It was beneath her high-collared gray frock right now. The jewels were all he permitted her to wear at night in the modest inns they stopped at on the road. His letter had come to life at last with the wrong sister, but everything he had suggested became better than promised.
Charlotte was grateful most of the house was under Holland covers, as she did not think she’d get her bearings if she had to navigate through all of it. Mrs. Kelly was a bit breathless just from showing her the parlors, dining room, morning room, breakfast room, well-stocked library, and conservatory, an exquisite glass extension that overlooked the walled garden and the pewter sea. The conservatory was empty now of greenery, and rain tapped incessantly on the panes. Charlotte could imagine frost and snow on the window while tropical plants reached for the ceiling, but Bay’s grandmother had cut back on her hobby long ago.
Charlotte was winded herself when she entered her designated bedchamber. She was glad Mrs. Kelly and Irene had not put her in Lady Bayard’s bedroom, which still bore evidence of being a sickroom. Instead she followed Mrs. Kelly a good ways down the hall.
“We’ve put you right next to Sir Michael. He never moved into his grandfather’s room when he inherited, of course. He didn’t want to disturb his old gran.”
“Perhaps he will when he marries again,” Charlotte said softly.
Mrs. Kelly looked at her with some sympathy. The door to Bay’s suite stood open. The room, papered in a dark blue, was unmistakably masculine. Charlotte couldn’t restrain her curiosity and stepped in. A massive bed faced the leaded windows that overlooked the sea. Charlotte had an immediate image of lying on it, the blue brocade curtains concealing all the wicked things that Bay would do to her.
“This was his boyhood room. Mr. Frazier told me his grandmother had it redecorated after he came back from the war.”
Charlotte gazed through the wavy glass. “Bay told me he used to watch for smugglers.”
“Very likely. They were active on this part of the coast. My sister used to send me lace when she could get hold of it.”
“I make lace, Mrs. Kelly. Perhaps I’ll have time to make you some.” She had purposefully brought her equipment with her this time. She hated to be idle.
“Well! That would be lovely. I’d never say no to a bit of lace. If you’re ready?”
Charlotte would have ample opportunity to snoop into Bay’s things later. She followed Mrs. Kelly down three steps into another wing.
He had the bigger bed, but her view was just as perfect. Drawn to the window, she plunked down on the cushioned window seat to watch the whitecaps dance rhythmically beyond the lawn. Charlotte thought she might be perfectly content staring at the water all the rest of the day.
Mrs. Kelly broke the spell. “Is there anything you need, Miss Fallon?”
Charlotte shook her head. She’d examine her new room more thoroughly later. Now all she wanted to do was revel in the luxury of being in Dorset again.
Irene had already unpacked her meager belongings. Mrs. Kelly encouraged Charlotte to rest and come downstairs for tea with the master in an hour. Too excited to sleep, she washed and changed from her traveling clothes without ringing for Irene. The maid was a lovely girl, but it had been so very long ago since Charlotte and Deb had shared a maid that she was quite used to doing for herself. She sewed her own simple clothes so that she could get in and out of them without too much difficulty.
She was in a fresh gray dress, her head feeling unnaturally naked without the comfort of one of her little spinster’s caps. Of course, her neighbors in Little Hyssop thought she wore a widow’s cap. She really would feel like a widow once Bay was finished with her. There were thirty days left to enjoy her pretend marriage.
Charlotte sighed. What she had with Bay right now was better than most marriages. People in the ton married for property and consequence. For titles and wealth. If one could endure being covered by one’s husband once a week without too much revulsion, one could consider oneself lucky. Charlotte, on the other hand, could not wait to ditch her gray dress and tumble with Bay in his massive bed. She was fascinated by his conversation, loved studying his male beauty as he spoke. She could understand why Anne was so determined to have him again. Bay was the type of man one could not ever forget.
But forget him she must when she went back to reality and her little cottage.
Heavens. She could now afford something on a slightly grander scale. A house with a bigger garden. Her own conservatory, where she could make her lace in warmth and brilliant sunshine surrounded by the blooming plants she loved. She might even be forced to move from Little Hyssop if certain circumstances arose. Bay had promised to help her with investing her nest egg so that she could increase her new-found wealth.
But a financial bubble could burst, and then she’d be as badly off as her parents had been. She must be as careful and conservative with her treasure and heart as she’d been this past decade. Except for the next thirty days.
Charlotte removed the ruby necklace and wrapped it carefully in a lace-trimmed handkerchief. Leaving her room, she wished she had a trail of Hansel and Gretel crumbs to follow downstairs. After a few wrong turns, she bumped into Mrs. Kelly, who was wheeling a loaded tea trolley into one of the downstairs reception rooms. A fire burned in the grate to ward off the damp of the cavernous room. Bay was already seated in one of a pair of wing chairs in an alcove. The uncurtained French windows led out to the clipped lawn and the beach. Raindrops slid down the panes, but Bay’s smile was as sunny as it could be. He rose and kissed her hand.
“I trust you’ve settled in and everything meets with your approval?”
“Yes, of course.” She had nothing to complain about so far, except for the wretched weather, and there was nothing Bay could do about that. “Mrs. Kelly, thank you. This looks delightful. I’ll take care of serving.” Mrs. Kelly had even included a cut-glass bowl of raspberries, although Charlotte was not about to put them to their previous use. Truthfully, she wasn’t hungry at all, but she busied herself pouring tea for them both and pushing a full plate toward Bay.
“Sorry I left you in the lurch earlier and disappeared. I had some business with Frazier.” Bay wolfed down a sandwich and grabbed another as though they hadn’t shared a breakfast and a substantial luncheon already today.
“And how is Mr. Frazier? As feisty as ever?”
Bay grinned. “I believe he’s a bit bored after all the recent excitement.”
“I cannot say the same. I am looking forward to a quiet sojourn in the country. Your home is lovely, by the way.” She took a tiny bite of muffin for politeness’s sake.
“All my grandmother’s doing. This was her favorite spot in the afternoon. On a fine day the view is spectacular.” He scooped a spoonful of berries onto his dish and raised a naughty eyebrow at her. Charlotte ignored him.
“I can imagine. Even now it’s rather majestic.” The wind whipped at the shrubbery and the waves frothed white.
“I like a good storm myself. Maybe that’s why I like
“I’ll have you know until I met you I was most temperate. You are excessively provoking.” She watched him swallow a mouthful of berries, enjoying them far too much. His tongue darted out to lick his lips. It was stained bright pink. Charlotte thought of that tongue tasting her.
“So I have been told. Come sit on my lap, Charlie. I’d like to provoke you right this minute.”
Charlotte felt her blush wash over her. She supposed she must do as he asked. He was paying her more than enough. She slipped from her chair to his. His hand reached under her gown. Besides her caps, he had failed to pack any drawers. He was an absolute fiend.
“Ah,” he sighed happily, finding her shamefully accessible. He set to strumming the center of her womanhood. She leaned back onto his shoulder, her eyes closed. There was nothing but his hands and her body. He held her still with one hand. With the other he made her loose, free. Unraveled. She was soon as wet as the windowpane,
