trail to her bedroom. Her door was ajar, and he peeked in. A row of mismatched vases lined the mantel, filling the room with perfume. Charlie lay beneath the coverlet sound asleep under the cloud of fragrance. As tempting as it would be to crawl into bed with her, he reckoned he needed a bath to rid himself of the smell of sweat and horse which all the roses in the garden could not overcome.
He’d done a fair amount of thinking as he rode over his acreage, and had come to a surprising conclusion that had eluded him too long. His grandmother had been an excellent steward of the estate even at her advanced age, but there was no excuse now for him to fritter away any more time in London. His respectable army career was long over. If he hadn’t conquered his demons by now with women and drink, he never would. It was past time he assume his responsibilities as magistrate in his own little corner of the world.
But he didn’t want to live at Bayard Court alone.
In fact, he didn’t want to live anywhere without Charlie.
He didn’t know quite when her singular presence had become so necessary to him. She was a little shrew, and far past the age of biddability. He was unlikely to be Petrucchio to her Kate. In fact, it was she who had tamed him, bringing him back in touch with his boyhood home and ambition. His art was now paramount, and Charlie was his muse. Of course no one could ever set eyes on all the nudes he had done of her over the past weeks-it would be highly improper. Those drawings were for their pleasure alone. But they had warmed him up and unlocked the river of creativity which had been dammed up for a decade. He had plenty of money to indulge his hobby, and would have even more if he implemented improvements to his property. And surely she was not too old to bear him a child or two. His head was buzzing with possibilities. But foremost was securing Charlie permanently.
He would ask her to marry him this evening.
There truly could be no objection. Even if his grandmother had lived to give her opinion, Charlie was from a respectable gentry family, though they’d fallen on hard times. The fictitious Mrs. Fallon could easily disappear from Little Crackup and reappear here as a Dorset lamb come home. The Divine Deborah was now a dull married woman in distant Kent, too busy being Mrs. Bannister to bother them.
And Robert Chase would keep his mouth shut if he knew what was good for him. Bay was longing to smash him into the ground at the slightest provocation, the merest hint of a knowing smile or whispered word. He would never have the power to hurt Charlie again.
Bay whistled through his bath, pleased with his plans. The only fly in the ointment was Anne Whitley, who was not in France or any other foreign country, despite the fact that Bay had shoved her onto the packet himself weeks ago. He had learned from one of his tenant farmers today that she had been seen shopping in the village with her mother. The man obviously thought that Bay and Anne would be reunited now that the impediment of a living husband was overcome. Bay quickly disabused him of this notion. There would never be a second wedding ceremony for them in the village church no matter how many times Bay was kidnapped. He’d kill himself first.
Anne’s parents’ home was not very far from Bayard Court. She had been an object of his boyhood admiration for years before neighborliness turned to something more, and then something much less. He and Frazier had conferred on the matter this afternoon, and a few village lads were to be hired to repel unwanted guests, specifically Lady Whitley. If she caused him any further trouble, Bay was prepared to have her arrested. Charlie was apt to take matters in her own hands if she learned Anne was anywhere in the vicinity, and that was one encounter Bay could not permit.
He would marry Charlie by special license if he had to, just to make sure Anne got the point that they were finished for good. But tonight Bay had to make his own point with his future bride, a prospect that filled him with some trepidation. He’d always been much better on paper than in speech, writing poetic nonsense rather effortlessly. Charlie deserved some romantic blather, but Bay could see her stubborn chin and her incredulous look already. She was a practical woman who would no doubt disbelieve that he loved her.
He almost disbelieved it himself. He’d thought he was incapable of another grand passion until he’d been trapped indoors with Charlie through the rainiest summer in memory. Rather than chafing at the limitations, he had enjoyed every moment spent in her company. Even when she was disagreeable about her placement across a sofa as he sketched her or embarrassed by her expletives as he brought her to climax, she was a delight to him. His grandmother would have loved her, recognizing another woman who had the mettle to keep him in line.
Bay had not wanted to fall in love, had indeed fought against it, but Charlie with her honesty and incredible body had vanquished him utterly. He’d realized it today as he met with the humble farm families and felt jealous of their good fortune. Their dwellings were not as grand as Bayard Court, yet they had a shared purpose, children, affection. He would soon have that, too. The next time he rode out to visit with his tenants, she’d be with him, with bits of her lace and bunches of flowers. There would be no more hiding.
He had nothing to pledge their troth with, however. When his grandmother had passed on, he’d sent her jewels to his bank in London for safekeeping. There was nothing left but the ruby necklace, and he’d already convinced Charlie to keep it. She could have whatever she wanted-more rubies and diamonds or sapphires to match her eyes. They would go to Garrard’s first thing when they returned to London, although he was loath to break up their idyll to do so. However, something must be done about the house on Jane Street and his art collection. Perhaps if he promised Charlie all his lovely Italian ladies could be housed in one empty room at Bayard Court, she wouldn’t protest too loudly. She put them all to shame anyhow.
Feeling refreshed and confident, Bay stepped down the hall to find Charlie. She was, he was surprised to see, still firmly asleep, her hand curled under her chin like a child’s-and snoring just a bit. A delicate and ladylike snore, but a snore nonetheless. He had tired her out every night for weeks, poor thing, and would continue to do so for the rest of his life while he still could. A wife like Charlie might keep him young forever.
He bent over her and blew a breath across her eyelids. Her lashes fluttered, her eyebrows scrunched, but she continued to sleep. The sun would not dip behind the cliffs for hours yet, and he had every intention of seeing her naked in the foam before too long.
“Sweetheart, wake up.”
She rolled away with a grunt.
“Charlie, it’s still warm and beautiful outside. Let’s enjoy the rest of the day together.”
“Go away,” she mumbled.
“Come on, sleepyhead.” He tugged the covers from her. To his disappointment, she was in one of her prim white nightgowns, not an inch of her delicious skin visible save for her face and hands and toes. Her cheeks were sleep-rumpled and rosier than when he saw her last. The day in the garden and the nap had done her good. “I’ve got a supper fit for a princess down at the shore. Are you hungry?”
“Mmmf.”
“I’ll take that as a yes. I’ll send Irene up to help you dress, unless you’d like me to play maid.”
“As if you’d put clothes
“Just after six. I thought we could have a swim before we eat.”
“I don’t have a bathing costume.”
Bay lifted an eyebrow but said nothing.
“Oh, but you’re a fiend.” She said the epithet mildly, as though she was very fond of fiends, him in particular.
“I’ll meet you in the garden in thirty minutes. I want to see the wonders you worked.”
“Mostly I just cut.” She rubbed her hands together. Bay noticed a scratch and kissed it.
“It was worth the injury. The house smells wonderful, like it did when my grandmother was alive. She would have liked you.”
“You can’t know that.”
“Oh, but I do. And even if she didn’t, I like you enough for two or three people,” he teased.
Charlie blushed. “Oh, go away and let me get dressed. I won’t need Irene, either.”
“As you wish.” He kissed her hand again and then drew her to him, finding her lips warm and soft, a seductive promise of what was to come. “Don’t be too long. I’m very anxious for our swimming lesson.”
“Perhaps I’ll teach you a trick or two,” Charlie said, a naughty gleam in her blue eyes.
“Perhaps you will.” Bay looked forward to it.
The sun hovered over the horizon, still a bold orange in the sky. Bay led her across the thick lawn to the beach below, holding her hand as they picked their way over a jumble of rocks. Charlotte was amazed to see a mock room set up in the curve of sheltering stones. There was an enormous moth-eaten carpet unrolled over the sand, two
