Mistress by Mistake

her skin.

Charlotte’s hand traced the soft folds. “Goodness! What else is in that trunk?”

Bay bent over, still perfectly naked. “A robe for me. I suppose you’ll want this.” He tossed her a tortoiseshell comb. “Some slippers for both of us. Odds and ends. I hoped you’d agree to spend the night with me under the stars.”

Charlotte gasped when she saw what he pulled out of the trunk next.

“In case of smugglers. Or Jamie. No one is welcome to intrude on us this evening.”

She stared at the pistol, her stomach twisting nervously. The last time she had seen such a weapon was still too fresh in her mind.

“I thought you said the smugglers have gone straight hereabouts.”

“So they have. Frazier, God bless him, is a worrywart. Plans for every eventuality. I hope Kitty settles him down. It’s a wonder he didn’t pack a rapier.” Bay put the gun back and pulled a banyan over his head, a colorful striped affair that made him look reckless and rakish. “Let me comb out your hair, and then we’ll go a-caving.”

Charlotte sat down obediently on a folding camp chair. There was no fear of the pocketknife this time. Bay was efficient in unknotting knots and untangling tangles. She suspected he had lots of practice combing women’s hair and felt a flare of jealousy. Soon some other lucky dark-haired blue-eyed girl would be his companion, unless he changed his ways and made her his wife. There were probably a slew of seventeen-year-old brunettes lined up at Almack’s just waiting for him to get back. She pushed her disagreeable thoughts away and concentrated on the moment. The sky was turning smoky purple, and orange and pink clouds hung low on the horizon. The ocean glittered with the last of the light, the regular rush of the waves as soothing as the strokes through her hair. Her body felt heavy with relaxation, but she remembered exploration and supper were still ahead.

Apparently satisfied with his results, Bay tossed the comb onto the old carpet. Charlotte could see it once had been a thing of true beauty. Scarlet poppies and palm fronds formed an elaborate border around a midnight blue field covered with golden birds. There was a substantial rip in the center, with loose threads sticking up everywhere.

“This rug-I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“My grandfather sent it back from India. It was in my grandmother’s bedchamber for years until she kept tripping on the worn spots. I made her retire it but she didn’t have the heart to throw it away. It does lend some class to our camp-out.”

“I haven’t agreed to spend the night out here with you, you know. I’ve never done such a thing.”

Bay nuzzled her neck. “I’ll keep the fire going. There is a chamber pot nearby, if that’s what you’re worrying about.”

Charlotte felt heat course through her. How very cavalier he was about her bodily functions. There were still some things she was too shy to speak of or do anywhere in his vicinity.

“I’ve seen it all, you know. There weren’t privies in Portugal,” he reminded her, as if sensing her objection.

“Well, we are in England, and my mama would die if she weren’t dead already that we are even having this conversation.” Charlotte fastened the robe more securely around her waist. Her mama would certainly not approve of her current attire or recent activities either. “Speaking of which, let’s change the subject. Take me to your cave.”

Bay picked up the lantern and offered her an arm. “You know the hidden passage in the parlor. Turn left and you’re up the stairs. Turn right and there’s another set of stairs that leads to the cellars and an underground tunnel, very convenient when you’re unloading contraband from the beach. Right through here-”

He pointed to a narrow seam between two boulders.

“Goodness! Your contraband couldn’t be very wide, could it?”

“Ye of little faith.”

Bay placed his hand in an indentation and the rock, which wasn’t really a rock at all, pushed open with a screech of hinges. The rock had been sliced and affixed to a wooden panel. They were now standing in a small stone-lined chamber. There was indeed a fraying canvas cot, an abandoned rusty lantern, and a gleaming white chamber pot with neatly folded linen rags beside it.

“See? Nothing to worry about. Frazier is incomparable.”

Charlotte laughed. “What about the bats and spiders?”

“Gone. They wouldn’t dare linger. Now, my mermaid, what say you? Are you ready to spend a night counting stars with me?”

To do the job properly would take an infinite number of nights, but Charlotte knew she had just one.

“I am.”

Chapter 22

Bay watched her as she unselfconsciously licked apple tart crumbs from her fingers in the shimmering glow of the lantern. Her glorious hair corkscrewed down her shoulders. The robe had come undone, and each time she had leaned forward to pick another treat from the basket in the center of the carpet, Bay caught a glimpse of plump white breast. The moon had risen, casting a silver stripe on the sea. The sky was spattered with stars and a sultry breeze billowed the makeshift tent. If this wasn’t the perfect time to propose, there would never be one.

He’d moderated his wine intake, wanting to be clear-headed when he made the most decisive declaration of his life. Charlie had no such scruples. She was a bit tipsy, delightfully so. Gone was the cap-wearing solemn spinster of old. In her place was a saucy temptress, whose every movement aroused his unbridled lust.

But he felt more than that. Much more. And hoped to find the words to tell her.

He didn’t think she’d believe him, not after their distinctly rocky beginning and tempestuous middle.

It’s not as if he’d had much practice proposing either, not like his old army friend and fellow baronet Sir Harry Chalmers. Harry had been engaged four or five times. He’d been spectacularly unlucky in love, but the man at least had an initial way with women and words. Harry seemed to propose every time he popped out of bed. A little advice might prove useful right about now.

Of course, Bay had proposed once himself, thirteen long years ago. He couldn’t quite recall what he’d said to Anne to convince her to marry him, but in any event wouldn’t want to repeat that experience. He’d been a callow youth with years’ worth of worshipping her from afar, and she’d been a lonely young widow itching to get out of her parents’ house again. Anyone might have done for her back then, he thought sourly, except somehow she had become as fixated on him now as he was once with her. The fact that Anne had not stayed abroad was worrisome, but he shook his head free of those details. Now was not the time to be ruing the past and recent present. Now was the time to sweep Charlie off her feet with romance and enchantment.

Charlie was already off her feet, lounging in innocent seduction on a stack of cushions. Her eyes were half closed, her lashes casting long shadows on her cheeks in the flickering light. Her alabaster skin glowed, and her lips were stained from the berries and the fine port that Frazier had packed. Bay wanted to kiss those lips, taste the berries and the wine and the tart and Charlie, so he did. She snuggled against him with a sigh.

“This has been perfect.”

He caressed her hand, bringing her knuckles to his lips. “The best is yet to come.”

“What? Have you arranged for some entertainment? Dancing girls from your harem, perhaps? This all does remind me of an Oriental dream-the tent, the carpet, dining on pillows.”

“I wouldn’t insult you with any other women, Charlie. You are the only one I need.”

He felt her stiffen beneath him. Just pretty, insincere words, she’d be thinking. It was now or never.

“Charlie, there’s something I want to talk to you about.” He ran a hand through his too-long hair. By God, he was nervous. “I’m not sure where to start.”

She rolled back on the rug, tucking her legs beneath the dark robe. Her face was covered now with a jet curtain of hair. Just when he wished most to see her, she was drenched in shadow.

“Charlie, look at me. I promise it’s not so terrible. You might even like it.”

“Don’t spoil it, Bay.” Her voice was brittle. “Just let me have tonight. We can discuss me leaving tomorrow.”