“Okay, good night, then.”
Ryan smiles awkwardly back at me and raises a hand to scratch his shoulder. “This is all kind of surreal, isn’t it?”
“Just a bit,” I answer.
“Listen, I know I was giving you a hard time, but thank you for letting us stay.”
“It’s fine. I like the company.”
“Me, too. Hotels actually creep me out.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. They’re impersonal and sterile. I’d always pick sleeping on a friend’s couch if given the choice.”
“So we’re friends now?” I ask.
“I’d like to be. I think I would have tried to stay friends with you even after everything if you would have let me.”
I feel a slow drag in my gut at Ryan’s words. Maybe we could have stayed friends after our split, but I don’t see how. A no-contact policy was the only way I could get over him. To let Ryan into my life at all back then would have been to let him fill it completely and I couldn’t do that. Not again.
“Friends,” I murmur. “I think I’d like that, too.” I take a step back and grip my bedroom doorknob. “Good night.”
“Good night, Sullivan.”
I close the door and a strange sensation takes hold in me. I feel defenseless but somehow still in total control. Exhausted but wide-awake. My laptop catches my eye in the middle of the mattress and without hesitating, I move to the bed and sit cross-legged. I flip open the computer and enter the password. My manuscript appears on the screen and I immediately start typing.
Charlotte and Robert walked side by side through the stuffy portrait gallery, dutifully following Charlotte’s father as he blathered on about his illustrious family. He was a tall but sweaty sort of man—slippery as an eel and as good-humored as a tree stump.
Robert could tell that not all the paintings were original to the gallery. Faded marks on the wall were visible behind smaller artwork where large-scale paintings once hung. He wondered if Lord Destonbury was quietly selling off his family heirlooms to keep his creditors at bay. The ton knew Phillip to be a gambling man, but the extent of his debt was unknown.
“Excuse me for a moment,” Lord Destonbury said, exiting the gallery and leaving Charlotte and Robert very much alone.
Charlotte turned to Robert, not appearing the least bit surprised. “Clearly, my father isn’t the most effective chaperone.”
“Chaperoned or not, you have nothing to fear from me.”
Charlotte looked at Robert with an assessing eye. “Nor you from me.” She turned and continued along the gallery, Robert following her with a grin. They had only walked a few feet when she turned on her heels to face him once more.
“Forgive me for being so direct, Lord Stratton, but I don’t understand why you’re still here. You seem a decent sort of man. I’m sure you have friends. No doubt there are women in London who would be all too glad for your company. I told you I won’t marry you, so why do you remain?”
Robert closed the distance between them. He did not touch her, though his eyes revealed just how badly he wanted to. Restraint had never been difficult for him. Until now. Charlotte gulped but held her ground. It affected him more powerfully than he cared to admit.
“I remain here because I care for you,” he said after a moment. “Do you think you could ever care for me?”
“I...don’t know. But even if I did, it wouldn’t change my mind.”
“How about we make a bargain? I will refrain from making you an official offer of marriage until I depart in a month. If you do not love me by then, I will go and never return.” Robert reached out his hand, waiting for Charlotte to accept the wager.
A moment later, she confidently placed her hand in his. “Done. Shall I send a servant to help you pack at once or must we really wait until the end of your stay?”
“I’ll take my chances,” Robert said with a smirk. “Though, for an agreement such as ours, a handshake seems rather formal. Let’s seal it with a kiss, instead.”
Charlotte had no time to react as Robert swooped down and expertly pressed his lips to hers, eliciting a surprised squeak as he slipped a hand to her waist to pull her in close. She was stiff and nervous to start but soon relaxed under the gentle insistence of Robert’s warm mouth. The kiss was slow—soft and drugging—and she was set adrift within it. She was sure this was how Robert intended it. Even with him holding back she could still feel his want for her, the hint that there was so much more waiting for her when she was ready. She swore to pull away but ended up leaning into him farther when he was the one who drew back, but only just barely.
“Much better,” he whispered, his nose brushing along hers. “I’m looking forward to the next couple of weeks, Charlotte. Let the games begin.”
9
I’m drawn out of sleep by the sweet smell of pancakes. Breathing the aroma in, I roll off my stomach and onto my back, rubbing my eyes with the cuffs of my thick woolly sweater that hangs well past my wrists. If I didn’t have it on, I probably would have gotten frostbite last night. Ryan legitimately sleeps in an ice cave.
The clock beside my bed reads 7:18 a.m. If pancakes really are happening and it’s not just my bottomless pit of an appetite dreaming it up, then that means Ryan is now a morning person. Yet another reason why any relationship between us would be doomed for failure.
I drag myself out of bed and head stealthily into the bathroom, sneaking by without Ryan seeing me. Thankfully, Duke has vacated the premises, so we can forgo any power struggle. I turn on the faucet and throw a few handfuls of water onto my face until I’m fully awake.
Once dried, I give myself a once-over in the mirror and I can feel my skin
