Page 15 of Charlotte's Kisses

Private sounded good to Hugh.

“You may speak openly in front of me,” Alexander said.

“And me,” Charlotte added.

Lord Chesterhill pursued his lips as he studied his children. “You look awful, Charlie. Have you slept?”

Her cheeks bloomed red as she studied her pink slippers. Hell, even they were adorned with sparkling jewels. She did not look awful in the least. The strands falling from her coiffure gave her a rather disheveled look—as if she’d been tupped good and hard. If only? However, red circles rimmed her innocent eyes.

“Alexander, please walk your sister home. She needs a bath, food, and sleep.”

Charlotte rearranged her skirt, dropped onto her knees, and rested her head on her father’s lap. “Please let me stay here with you.”

Her father was correct on one point—the poor chit needed sleep.

“You should have something to eat and then rest,” Hugh encouraged her.

“Reginald fixed me some bread and tea a few hours ago.” She looked up at her father with those pleading eyes that might very well be the death of Hugh. “And Mr. Fletcher is my patient. The doctor left him in my care.”

“I promise you, Charlie, he will be safe.” Her father clasped her hands. Together, they stood. Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, he walked her to the door. Looking over his shoulder, the marquess called, “Alexander, come. Escort your sister.”

Instead of immediately obeying his father, Alexander stabbed his finger in Hugh’s direction and growled. “Fletcher, if you touch my sister, I’ll kick your bollocks so deep inside your arse you’ll need a wizardto extricate them.”

Once they were alone, Hugh prepared for the accusations and threats. He would do his best to defend himself since he couldn’t remember seducing a marchioness. However, just to be sure, he should ponder the possibility again.

There was Lady Hinkley, but she was married to Lord Hinkley. And there was the Dowager Marchioness Clinton, but she was a dowager. At least he thought she was still a dowager. Then, there had been the time he seduced Lord Vinewood’s daughter in a box at the theater.

Hugh’s breath caught in his throat. Was Charlotte’s stepmother the Marquess of Vineyard’s daughter? She was much younger than Chesterhill, but such things were common, especially with a man as wealthy as the marquess.

Chesterhill cleared his throat. “I want to hire you, Fletcher.”

Surely, Hugh had heard wrong. Or perhaps his brain bashing had left him befuddled.

“What?” Hugh asked.

“I need someone with whom I can trust my secrets. Someone who is not afraid to get his hands dirty. Someone with access to the aristocracy, the gaming hells, and the local gaols. And someone who knows how to track individuals who may not want to be found. Who better than a Bow Street runner who can’t keep himself out of jail because of his temper?” The marquess held up a hand, halting Hugh’s response. “How fortunate that you have an aristocratic mother and a working-class father.”

How did Chesterhill know about his circumstances? At the mention of his late father, Hugh swallowed the lump in his throat. Now, his mother worked herself to the bone, keeping the inn running and catering to society’s elite. Not that she ever complained. In fact, she seemed quite content. And Chesterhill was correct. Hugh was damn good at finding things. People. Stolen property. Lost items of value. You name it, Hugh could find it.

“Not interested,” Hugh said.

“But you have no idea what I am about to ask. You have not heard me out.”

“Because I am not interested.”

The marquess slid his chair closer to the bed and stared into Hugh’s eyes. “I know your countless brawls have you on thin ice with The Bow Street Runners.”

Why in the hell was Chesterhill privy to that information?

“Mr. Fletcher, like you, I was also quite the rake in my younger days. In fact, I still was up until a few years ago.”

The wrinkled, swine-bellied marquess could bugger off.

“I have children. By-blows. Many.” The marquess grimaced. “I paid well to have their mothers disappear. But now I would like to find them.”

Since this might affect Charlotte, Hugh should ignore the throbbing in his temple and concentrate on the marquess’s story.

“Why now, after all this time?” Hugh asked.