Chapter 18

Background color
Font
Font size
Line height

Charlie could barely breathe after Claymore's confession.

By God, it was out of concern for you!

Could it be? She wondered.

Had he, indeed, come to care for her?

The very idea seemed out of the realm of possibles.

For one, she had been disguised as a lowly gentleman for most of their acquaintance. As of two moments ago, they hadn't even been properly introduced. And not only that, but Charlie felt a bit guilty as well for betraying him. How would Claymore feel to know that the lad he had taken into his employ - the one he had spent last evening with, alone and unchaperoned - was none other than the lady of last evening.

Lady Charlotte.

It made the whole tart debacle quite ludicrous. After all, a ruined waistcoat was nothing compared to the tatters her thoroughly debauched reputation was now. And still, she couldn't seem to give up her disguise.

Guilt, be damned. Reputation, be damned.

Being a respectable lady, well, she thought, that could quite go to the devil itself.

She had never felt more free in her life - a mix of anticipation, dread, uncertainty, joy. Breathlessness.

Charlie thought to last evening. The earl had thought her asleep, that she had been unaware when the door creaked open hours later. The bitter tinge of alcohol wafted to her nose buried under linen and down. It was everything Charlie could do to lie still and silent when all she wanted was to draw the covers down and watch.

Especially as the rustling began. It made her fidget, knowing the leanly muscled lord - reclusive and uncivilized, thought he may be - stood a stone throw's away from her slipping his cravat from his neck. His chest would have been revealed, a tanned throat. She could almost feel the tickling of his whiskers as she ran her hands through the hair she knew would be there.

The slip of each button had her imaginings how the cloth would loosen about him, revealing delectable inch after inch.

At one time, she could have sworn his eyes were fastened on her, an intense throbbing that had her eyes squeezing shut and her bottom lip sucked firmly between her teeth.

It was followed by sweet relief. For she had tossed and turned for hours upon the lumpiest piece of furniture this turn of the century. All for him to return. Claymore had left so suddenly, a draft of a navy tailcoat flapping behind him as the room's door blocked him from her. Severing whatever connection that had developed between them in the ballroom, in the stairway. Perhaps Claymore had abandoned her, Charlie thought. Decided she was more trouble than she was worth and had gotten onto his horse and ridden off, never to be seen again.

It had sent her into a panic. Was it because she was beginning to trust him so implicity, Charlie thought. To fall asleep in his lap on the ride to this shelter. To allow him to lead her to his estates in the country in hopes he wouldn't be able to identify her - reveal her - as the fraud she was?

Was she waiting for the other shoe to drop - for him to become as unreliable as every other man? The questions bombarding her had been unbearable.

As Claymore's words sank in, Charlie knew she wouldn't give him the full truth of the matter. The journey had begun out of necessity, but Charlie wanted to understand the prickling of her skin and the pinching of her throat when she thought of him, when his body was close to hers - a hairsbreadth away but never meeting.

Who are you in truth? he had asked.

"Well, Charlie?" Claymore said now.

Charlie broke from her fevered thoughts to find herself under his scrutinizing gray gaze. She fought the urge to look away. "What...what do you mean? I am not running away from anything."

The patent disbelief on his features would have been quite humorous if it was in regards to any other situation.

"How about we start with a truth?"

Charlie's brows shot up, "How the devil would you know if it was truth or not?"

"In the first," he began, holding up a forefinger as he prepared to list them off, "you ran decidedly away from me when you saw me in the inn." Claymore walked across the room, still holding up his right hand with that one pointer finger. Another came to join it. "In the second, you would only have run if you thought I would recognize you or give away your position."

He turned on his heel, glancing from beneath his eyes. Charlie's breath stuck in her chest.

"The third," another damned finger, another damned turn, "your story is hardly plausible."

"It was perfectly plausible," Charlie insisted.

"No doubt," Claymore said, "at the beginning. But you owning a fine horse such as you do makes little sense."

"The family fell on hard circumstances, as I said."

"Assuming that's true, why didn't your family see fit to sell off the remaining property to raise funds? Your mother hardly imagined it would be a swell idea for a lad...hell, you can't be more than seventeen -"

"I'll have you know I am close to one and twenty."

Charlie shouldn't have said that. Her worry was confirmed when Claymore's eyes lit as if he had hit upon a chink in her armor.

The bloody man had, in fact. Her age was a truth.

She scowled at him.

Drat!

"As I was saying, that your mother of yours thought it was a swell idea to send her boy - almost one and twenty," he said, grinning, "traveling down the road all the way to Northumberland, by oneself, with only your own protection with nary a weapon or frippery to halt an attack -"

"I tackled a man with my bare hands -"

"Be that as it may, mother dearest allowed you to do something so foolhardy - and to take a prime piece of horseflesh. One, no doubt, that would have been sold quite early upon learning of one's predicament.  By God, Charlie, it was as if you were waving a flag of surrender, volleying for who could attack the unprotected and uncouth lad first!"

Charlie hated that he made a valid point. But with the time she had, Charlie thought she had done rather good for herself.

The first leg of her journey had gone on well enough. She had proven she was much more clever than the earl or those thieves had thought her. And it seemed as if she had employment until such a time when she could make a bid for her fortunes.

"So, this leads me to believe you are running. Rather quickly since you have a rather ill-conceived plan."

Charlie bristled. "I have fallen upon hard times, my lord. What I don't understand is why you consider it your duty to help. Why would a lord such as you trouble himself so?"

The question had taken him off guard. Charlie could see it in the slackening of his jaw, the firming of his lips. His head shook as he placed one hand on his hip, his eyes falling to his boots. "Honestly? I have no bloody idea. I just -"

Charlie waited, her breath held in her chest. She didn't know why his answer mattered, but she found that it did.

I did it out of concern for you.

Was it true? Could such a thing happen?

She thought of her mother and father, the thought making her eyes burn. Charlie rarely thought of them. Ever since Papa had died, there had been no reason too. No amount of praying or begging or being the best niece she could had brought them back. God had forsaken her long ago, and the society of London's gentleman population was doing a bloody fine job of casting her out as well.

And yet, what would Papa have thought of this man?

Her fingers dug into her trouser pocket, the queen piece firmly clutched in her grasp. She thumbed the tip of the queen, running her finger alongside each curve to its bottom.

The queen is the most important piece on the board, Papa had said.

But he's a king!

A good queen is always as powerful- if not more so - than her male counterpart.

Charlie glanced at the earl, his face stretched taut with his frown. Perhaps it was the other way, she wondered. Could fate have brought her to him, instead?

Could they help each other?

Charlie considered laying out her circumstances - ridding herself of her gentleman's threads and revealing herself as the woman she was. What would happen? She wondered. Would Claymore give her back to Uncle Henry with a pat on the hand or, better yet, a scolding for her lack of ladylike behavior. As the whole of London, it seemed, was wont to do.

Or mayhap, he would simply be appalled? Knowing he had ruined her and offering his hand to make amends.

That would be the worst, Charlie knew. This man had already showed himself as a protector of those unfortunate. The last thing she needed to be was a pity case to an earl she had come to...care for.

Which led to the third possible.

Perhaps within her own womanly figure, Charlie would find a way to experience the excitement of the previous evening. The connection that pulled taut when they were in close proximity to the other. Things she knew she wanted, but damned if she quite yet had a name for them. But they were there, simmering below the surface, wanting to be near the earl. Wishing for his touch.

Desiring his growled words whispering in her ear.

She contained her shiver, reminded of the way his body had been taut atop his horse as she had ridden between his thighs. Her hands had been warm upon his chest. His hand comforting against her neck. Charlie had felt safe, and yet deliciously alive.

But nothing ever seemed to follow Charlie's plan. The last thing she needed was her gender coming between them. She must remain Charlie - the boy fallen upon hard circumstances - if she had any hope of attracting little notice. In two weeks' time, Charlie wouldn't be thinking about the earl, after all. She would be a woman of means, and nothing was going to complicate her future.

Yet, one less lie between them shouldn't hurt, she thought.

"Look," she began softly. His eyes focused on her, and it was all Charlie could do to keep eye contact. Her hands clenched, her fingers twining. "I am in something of a bind, my lord. I am sorry you were caught in the very thick of it and for..."

Charlotte motioned to his forehead and Greyson's hand probed his wound. Charlotte winced at what had been an unlikely happenstance.

"...for injuring you so. I appreciate you taking me in, my lord, I do," Charlotte's hands wrung as she bit her lip, "but I don't wish to speak of it."

"You are hiding from something, then?"

Charlie debated, biting her lower lip. "More like, I am biding my time."

The earl studied her face silently.

Charlie took the time to study his. It was the first time this day that he didn't have a scowl marring his features. It allowed her to focus on his eyes. Such an usual shade - although, she thought wryly, one could say the same for hers. His hair was wildly disheveled from the rain and wind, his skin glistening still with undried drops dotting his nose and cheeks. Her hand twitched, wanting to run over the hairs of his jaw. Kiss the bruise she had given him with her fist.

"You will accept my position, then?"

Charlie snorted. "I wasn't aware I still had a choice."

The man smiled rather devilishly, showing glistening white teeth. "Yes, well. I should have asked rather than force you into it, mayhap. But if you'd rather take your chances with your relations in Northumberland-" the way he said it made Charlie aware the earl didn't believe that either. Much too intelligent, this man. "-I will bring you to them. But I can offer a steady job with good wages. It comes with a warm place to stay, food to eat and recommendations should you need them in the future."

"I am to receive pay?" Charlie asked incredulous. It was more than she had been hoping for. Though she still had pin money left it would do nicely to have a pocket of blunt for when she dealt one on one with her uncle.

"Of course," Claymore said. He stopped before her, his eyes meeting hers. "Now, that we have all that out of the way, I don't believe we made formal introductions."

She laughed. Was he mad? "Isn't it quite late for introductions, my lord?"

"Nevertheless," he said, moving into a beautiful bow, his dark head glistening with rainwater. "I am Greyson Cliffton, the Earl of Claymore." He straightened, "And you are?"

Greyson.

Her lips formed the word, her tongue caressing the name. It suited him.

Charlie smiled, the absurd formality at this point, allowing her to go along with it. She gave a short bow.  "Charlie, Sir, at your service."

He held his hand out to her, and Charlie reached forward, placing her hand in his for a shake. It was then that Charlie realized something rather profound. It was the first time they had touched without gloves or cloth between them. His skin was warm and dark and rough against her pale and smooth palms. His hand was much bigger, engulfing hers, sending a delightful shiver down her spine.

She glanced up, locking with eyes that had become like storm clouds. It shocked her from the moment. It was the same look dispensed between them on the ballroom floor. The same locked in a battle of words on the balcony. One that Charlie had seen a glimpse of on the floor of the stables, the earl's body locked over hers.

Attraction.

The epiphany hit her over the head quite unexpectedly.

For the earl was into the opposite gender.

He was into Charlie.

***

Charlie cleared her throat as she took her hand from his. What a disaster the whole situation had become.

What would the earl think when he discovered she was, in fact, a woman. One he had already met, who had ruined his evening with fisticuffs and flying dessert?

While the attraction made sense to Charlie, she had to admit she was hardly prepared for the earl to not only desire the woman, but her as a man.

She had heard of such men, of course. It was whispered during tea calls and in the shielded palms of ladies' at dinner parties. But, bloody hell, she thought, Claymore would be quite deceived indeed to find them one and the same.

It all made sense now. How the earl had been so obliging to her person even after bludgeoning him over the head. The earl was simply attracted to the boy, Charlie. Or the ease with which he had straddled atop her on the stable floor. How at ease he had been holding a lad against his chest, making no objection when Charlie had clutched at him like her own personal strawberry tart!

Was he more attracted to her as a boy, she then thought, gasping beneath her breath. Or her as a woman? Did it really matter when she was one and the same?

It seemed a situation could always become quite a bit more preposterous, indeed.

Her face flushed with heat, and she resisted the urge to hide her face within her palms.

Lud, what a mess.

"Should we be on, then? Looks like the rain has stopped."

Oblivious to Charlie's thoughts, the man walked past her, opening the door. It gave with a groan, and with it, came a bolt of sunshine. He smiled back at her, and Charlie could only stare. His features were limned in gold. Against his dark hair, it looked rather...off putting.

Before she knew it, the blankets were discarded and she was shuffled into the murky daylight, Sir Rupert staring at her, solemnly. She balked. "What are you looking at?"

"I'm sorry. Did you say something, dear boy?"

"What?" She mumbled, irritated at his elevated mood. "Did he have the hearing of a hawk now, as well?"

"I'd prefer to be compared to a good English setter. They have superb hearing, don't you know?"

Charlie climbed atop Sir Rupert, clenching her teeth. "Right. A dog."

Claymore must have heard that too for his grinned widened further.

Keeping a scowl plastered on her features, Charlie headed southeast, kicking Sir Rupert into a trot that kept them a good distance ahead of the earl. She thought the man chuckled, but she didn't stop to find out.

Charlie couldn't wait to arrive at her new home - temporary, though it was.

You are reading the story above: TeenFic.Net