Charming Sir Charles (Dashing Widows 5)

“I think Lady Norwood wants to return to London as soon as possible.”

“It wouldn’t be much of a detour,” Meg said, in the voice she used when she intended to coax someone into giving her her way. It was a tone Sally had become familiar with in the last few months. Meg was generally a good girl, but by heaven, she knew what she wanted.

“What wouldn’t?” Sally raised her head and wondered what she’d missed.

“My friend Perdita Gailes lives near here. When I wrote to tell her about Lord West’s house party and who was invited, she said Sir Charles has a hunting box just off the main road. I’d love to see it.”

Sally frowned. “I thought you wanted to get back for the Sedgemoor ball.”

“I do. But we made excellent time this morning, and the hunting box is only a few miles out of our way. Isn’t that right, Sir Charles?”

“Down some very winding lanes. And it’s all shut up. I haven’t even got any staff in the place, apart from the gamekeeper and his wife. I only use it for the autumn hunting.”

With his attention on Meg, Sally stole a chance to admire his fine profile and the set of his shoulders. Honestly she was her own worst enemy. Under the table, her hands curled against her skirts as she fought the forbidden urge to touch him.

“I hear the countryside is beautiful.” Meg sent him a meaningful look that Sally couldn’t interpret. “Please, Sir Charles.”

Sir Charles arched his eyebrows as if questioning Meg’s silent demand. Even through her preoccupation, Sally’s curiosity stirred. Her companions seemed to be conducting another conversation, separate from the spoken one.

Had they reached an understanding before they left Shelton Abbey? Despite wanting this horrible suspense to end, the thought twisted her stomach into an agonizing knot.

“As long as your aunt doesn’t mind.” He glanced at Sally and caught her gaze before she hurriedly looked away. Her hunger was so powerful and new, she feared he’d see it burning like fire in her eyes.

She dredged up a smile for Meg. “As you’re so agog to see the property, of course we’ll go, mousekin. But if it means we’re late into London and you miss the ball, I don’t want to hear a word about it.”

Meg leaped up to hug Sally. “Thank you, Aunt. You’re such a good sport.”

Meg’s open affection threatened to shatter her barely maintained control. Briefly she returned the girl’s embrace, then disentangled herself.

She felt so guilty about the jealousy eating at her. It wasn’t Meg’s fault that she was Sir Charles’s choice.

He watched them both with a speculative expression, then he stood with sudden purpose. “If we’re going, there’s no time to be lost.”

* * *

Charles dismounted outside his gamekeeper’s cottage at the gates of the isolated estate. Meg pulled the new team to a stop on the drive a few feet away.

Miss Meg proved to be a fine whip. And a skilled schemer.

Charles had no doubt she was responsible for today’s circumstances. That wheel of Sally’s carriage had been broken a little too conveniently. And he was sure she had plans in place for this visit to his obscure and rather neglected hunting box.

Did she intend to make herself scarce so he could initiate th

e pounce strategy?

He buzzed with excitement at the thought. Sally hadn’t warmed up over the miles since they’d left Shelton Abbey, he regretted to say. So right now, he was inclined to play along with Meg.

He knocked on the door, surprised when the noise didn’t set the dogs barking. The door opened to Mrs. Brown, his gamekeeper’s wife, dressed in a bonnet and gloves, and obviously on her way out.

“Sir Charles,” she said in a flutter. She glanced at Meg and Sally and managed a hurried curtsy. “Your ladyships.”

“Mrs. Brown, I apologize for not letting you know I was coming.”

“Do you need the house opened up?”

“No, it’s only a brief call. If Brown could unlock the door, we’ll do our tour, then be on our way.”

“Brown’s not here, sir. He’s gone over to Squire Harlow to get some pheasant chicks. He won’t be back until tomorrow.”