Charming Sir Charles (Dashing Widows 5)

Charles frowned thoughtfully out into the rain. Was Stone right? Excitement bubbled in his veins as he imagined finally having Sally in his arms.

Perhaps it was time to shock her into seeing him as a husband.

He turned back to Stone who watched him with an unwavering gaze. “So Caro said yes when you declared yourself, and you lived happily ever after?”

Stone snorted with derision. “Not a bit of it, old man. She sent me away with a flea in my ear and told me she never wanted to see me again. I was convinced all was lost.”

“Hell’s bells,” Charles muttered.

“Worst day of my life. But I persevered and eventually she relented. Even then, it took months to persuade her to marry me. With a widow, there’s sometimes the problem of once bitten, twice shy.”

Charles had long ago guessed that Sally’s silence about her marriage hinted at unhealed wounds. But Norwood had died four years ago. It was time for her to find new happiness.

With a surge of determination, he straightened and met Stone’s bright hazel eyes. “I’m going to propose to the girl and shame the devil. Then let the dice fall where they may.”

“Good show.” Stone’s smile radiated approval. “And I wish you the devil’s own luck, my friend.”

* * *

Chapter Five

* * *

Sally reeled back from the library door, open a crack so she’d clearly heard the conversation inside. Her heart was racing, and a jagged boulder blocked her throat. Hot tears stung her eyes, so she saw the elegant corridor with its graceful side tables and Chinese pottery through a misty haze.

She’d wanted a book, but paused before entering the library when she realized Silas and Sir Charles were in the midst of a discussion. Before she’d decided whether to interrupt or not, what she heard made her curious.

Eavesdropping was beyond the pale. And she suffered the fabled fate of eavesdroppers—she didn’t like what she heard.

She stumbled toward the drawing room. With shaking hands, she pushed open the door and said a fervent prayer of thanks to find it unoccupied. Biting her lip to stifle a sob, she shut the door behind her and rested back on it, trembling.

At last, Sir Charles had stated his intention to propose to Meg. It shouldn’t come as a surprise—it didn’t. Although his diffidence about his reception was unexpected. Sally had feared she’d been too obvious in her matchmaking, and if perhaps that had contributed to his tardiness in coming up to scratch.

Yet today, when she heard him say he’d set his sights on Meg, she wanted to die.

Because now when there was no longer any doubt that he hoped to marry her niece, Sally discovered that she wanted Sir Charles Kinglake for herself.

What a mess.

What a disaster.

And what a blind fool she’d been.

She’d survived her cold marriage by locking away her longing heart. She’d done this so successfully that she’d assumed all deeper emotion was forever banished from her life.

Whereas it turned out she was wrong, and her heart had only been sleeping. Now that understanding descended like a thunderclap, she realized her heart had clamored for her attention for weeks. But she’d been deaf to its frantic messages.

Obstinately deaf.

Any woman of sense would know that female interest sparked her pleasure in Sir Charles’s company. And see the stirrings of desire in her erratic pulse in his presence. And know that she was constantly unhappy and restless because she wanted him.

Anyone but silly Sally Cowan, that is.

Anyone but a woman who had never known desire.

No wonder she didn’t recognize desire when it came to life.

Desire. And…love.