Charming Sir Charles (Dashing Widows 5)
o. Meg dutifully turned to face the huge canvas, although he’d wager a thousand guineas that the girl wasn’t remotely interested in the painting.
“Here it is.” He raised the candelabra to reveal the Madonna sorrowing at the foot of the Cross. Mary was lit with bright gold light, while the rest of the desolate landscape lay shrouded in darkness.
Meg studied the sublime painting with a disgruntled expression. “There are no horses.”
The response, while predictable, made him laugh. He’d felt so low when he’d left the drawing room, he was surprised that he could. He placed the candelabra on a side table. “You, Miss Meg, are a Philistine.”
Without shifting her gaze from him, she shrugged. “Of course I am.”
He leaned one shoulder against the wall and surveyed her, wondering what she was up to. Because she was undoubtedly up to something.
“So why this sudden interest in West’s art collection?” It was a deuced pity that Sally hadn’t seen fit to come with him. The silence and isolation were just right for passionate declarations.
Charles stiffened in sudden horror. Good God, was this girl having similar thoughts?
“Dash it all, Miss Meg, you’re not expecting something to happen, are you?”
It wasn’t the most coherent of questions, but there was nothing wrong with Meg’s brain. She understood immediately, and gave a reassuringly contemptuous snort. “Like a proposal? Don’t be silly.”
He laughed again, too relieved to be offended, and folded his arms. “So why are we here?”
“Because I want to talk to you, and it’s almost impossible to get any privacy. Propriety is a devil of a pest.”
Charles heartily agreed. If only he’d got Sally alone tonight, he’d have winkled out the cause of her troubles. But as a single man unrelated to her, he had to behave circumspectly. Even here, among friends. “So what is it you want to say?”
Meg’s stare intensified. “Aunt Sally thinks you want to marry me.”
“What on earth?” Shock made him stand up straight and uncross his arms.
The girl studied him curiously. “Do you want to marry me?”
Biting back the urge to curse like a sailor at this unexpected turn, he shook his head. He felt so nonplused, his answer emerged with more frankness than tact.
“Not a bit of it.” He frowned. “Do you want to marry me?”
“No. You’re too old for me.”
Despite everything, a huff of amusement escaped him. “Well, that puts me in my place.”
“I beg your pardon.” Meg’s blush was visible, even in the candlelight. “That was rude.”
“But true.” Then the full significance of what Meg had told him deflated all humor. “Sally thinks I want to marry you?”
Damn, damn, damn.
Hurt, frustration, and confusion crashed into one another and left him reeling. Don’t say he and Sally had been at cross purposes from the beginning. Was this why she didn’t respond to his overtures, because she’d consigned him to her charming, but completely incompatible niece?
The idea beggared belief. Surely she knew him better than this. But when he looked at Meg’s face, he saw no hint of teasing. Furious disappointment rammed his gut and left him winded.
Meg nodded. “She thinks that’s why you’ve been so attentive.”
“Dash it, I’ve been so attentive because—” He stopped, unsure how much he wanted to reveal to this self-assured chit.
“Because you’re in love with Aunt Sally.”
“Meg…”
She sent him a sharp look. “Are you going to deny it?”