and hate
him at the same time. Charlotte shivered, and a
feeling like ice traveled up the back of her spine
and settled in the pit of her stomach. She stared
stonily ahead, unseeing, as a plan began to formulate in her mind.
"Tomorrow is Christmas Day," she whispered miserably, but Charlotte remembered that the Chambers sisters had said they would be departing the day after Christmas. She and grandfather could easily
do the same without arousing any undue suspicion.
Two days. She could manage for two days. She
fought to draw in air and promised herself she
would not think about what she had shared with
Edward. She would merely exist, hour by hour.
It was settled. Charlotte sighed heavily and the
weariness of her emotions forced her eyes to close. As
the darkness swirled around her, a painful feeling of
desperate yearning invaded her soul and the need to
release her grief was overwhelming. With a quivering
cry, Charlotte pressed her face to the sleeve of her
gown and wept openly.
She cried for a long time, cried until she had no
more tears. When she was done, Charlotte rose to her
feet. Standing tall, she squared her shoulders, stiffened her spine, shook out the creases of her gown
and stuffed her damp handkerchief in her pocket.
Deliberately ignoring the way her heart was
squeezing inside her chest, Charlotte left the room
with her head held high, determined to never
again allow thoughts of Edward Barringer to bring
her to self-pity.
CHAPTER 4
Six Years Later,
London
December
"The newspapers have arrived, my lord."
Though Edward heard his secretary's voice
clearly, he did not move a muscle to acknowledge
the man's announcement. Instead, he continued to
stand before the fireplace in his posh London business office, staring at the dancing flames as if mesmerized. Yet he did not really see the fire. His
mind, and his vision, were far away, focused on the
incredible turn of events that had suddenly turned
his life upside down.
Several minutes passed. Someone cleared his
throat sharply. Edward finally turned and saw his
secretary, Mr. Crenshaw, standing in the doorway,
his gaze down, his arms filled with newspapers. His
normally pale complexion was suffused with color.
"Put them on my desk, Crenshaw," Edward instructed. "And make certain to tell anyone who calls that I am busy. I want no one admitted to my
office. No one."
"As you wish, my lord."
The clerk bustled out, leaving Edward to wonder
how truly bad the newspaper stories were to put his
normally reliable assistant in such a state of agitation. Why the man had even reverted to bowing several times in a nervous fit before quitting the room.
Exasperation flared, but swiftly died. It was hardly
fair to blame Crenshaw for this current mess, especially because it was a disaster of a personal nature.
Though Edward realized when all was said and
done, it might affect his business empire too.
Giving the desk, and the newspapers atop it, a wide
berth, Edward crossed to the opposite side of the
room. He lifted a crystal decanter, positioned on a
small mahogany table, and poured himself a full glass
of whiskey. Never in his life had he gotten drunk
before noon, but today might be an exception.
Lips set in a grim line, he took a long swallow.
The intense burn engulfed his throat and stomach,
then spread throughout the rest of his limbs. He
finished the drink, then refilled the glass.
Unwittingly, his gaze traveled to his desk. The newspapers lay neatly stacked in the center of the polished
wood, awaiting his review. Swirling the contents of his
glass with a circular motion of the wrist, Edward contemplated those papers for several long minutes,
wondering what they had written about him.
Well, there was only one way to find the answer to
that pressing question. Edward set his whiskey glass
aside and purposefully crossed the room. He reached
for the top paper, snapping it to attention between his hands. His eyes
him at the same time. Charlotte shivered, and a
feeling like ice traveled up the back of her spine
and settled in the pit of her stomach. She stared
stonily ahead, unseeing, as a plan began to formulate in her mind.
"Tomorrow is Christmas Day," she whispered miserably, but Charlotte remembered that the Chambers sisters had said they would be departing the day after Christmas. She and grandfather could easily
do the same without arousing any undue suspicion.
Two days. She could manage for two days. She
fought to draw in air and promised herself she
would not think about what she had shared with
Edward. She would merely exist, hour by hour.
It was settled. Charlotte sighed heavily and the
weariness of her emotions forced her eyes to close. As
the darkness swirled around her, a painful feeling of
desperate yearning invaded her soul and the need to
release her grief was overwhelming. With a quivering
cry, Charlotte pressed her face to the sleeve of her
gown and wept openly.
She cried for a long time, cried until she had no
more tears. When she was done, Charlotte rose to her
feet. Standing tall, she squared her shoulders, stiffened her spine, shook out the creases of her gown
and stuffed her damp handkerchief in her pocket.
Deliberately ignoring the way her heart was
squeezing inside her chest, Charlotte left the room
with her head held high, determined to never
again allow thoughts of Edward Barringer to bring
her to self-pity.
CHAPTER 4
Six Years Later,
London
December
"The newspapers have arrived, my lord."
Though Edward heard his secretary's voice
clearly, he did not move a muscle to acknowledge
the man's announcement. Instead, he continued to
stand before the fireplace in his posh London business office, staring at the dancing flames as if mesmerized. Yet he did not really see the fire. His
mind, and his vision, were far away, focused on the
incredible turn of events that had suddenly turned
his life upside down.
Several minutes passed. Someone cleared his
throat sharply. Edward finally turned and saw his
secretary, Mr. Crenshaw, standing in the doorway,
his gaze down, his arms filled with newspapers. His
normally pale complexion was suffused with color.
"Put them on my desk, Crenshaw," Edward instructed. "And make certain to tell anyone who calls that I am busy. I want no one admitted to my
office. No one."
"As you wish, my lord."
The clerk bustled out, leaving Edward to wonder
how truly bad the newspaper stories were to put his
normally reliable assistant in such a state of agitation. Why the man had even reverted to bowing several times in a nervous fit before quitting the room.
Exasperation flared, but swiftly died. It was hardly
fair to blame Crenshaw for this current mess, especially because it was a disaster of a personal nature.
Though Edward realized when all was said and
done, it might affect his business empire too.
Giving the desk, and the newspapers atop it, a wide
berth, Edward crossed to the opposite side of the
room. He lifted a crystal decanter, positioned on a
small mahogany table, and poured himself a full glass
of whiskey. Never in his life had he gotten drunk
before noon, but today might be an exception.
Lips set in a grim line, he took a long swallow.
The intense burn engulfed his throat and stomach,
then spread throughout the rest of his limbs. He
finished the drink, then refilled the glass.
Unwittingly, his gaze traveled to his desk. The newspapers lay neatly stacked in the center of the polished
wood, awaiting his review. Swirling the contents of his
glass with a circular motion of the wrist, Edward contemplated those papers for several long minutes,
wondering what they had written about him.
Well, there was only one way to find the answer to
that pressing question. Edward set his whiskey glass
aside and purposefully crossed the room. He reached
for the top paper, snapping it to attention between his hands. His eyes
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