Page 18 of Charlotte's Kisses

“Mr. Fletcher is The Duke of Asleyshire’s cousin. He got himself into trouble with the magistrate, so William asked me to look out for him. Meanwhile, I hired Mr. Fletcher to look into some of my business holdings.” Papa waved a dismissive hand. “’Tis all rather boring and has to do with some of our tenants. I do not want my children to fret over the details.”

“Father, I’ve told you I want to be involved in all business decisions, and I need to be aware of our tenant’s needs. If anything ever happened to you….” Alexander winced. “How in the hell does a Bow Street Runner get himself into trouble with the magistrate? I’m telling you Hugh Fletcher is a reprobate.”

She had not known he was a Bow Street Runner. And why might he be in trouble? Every part of Alexander’s declaration pricked Charlotte’s heart. Hugh may have been a reprobate, but he was her reprobate who smelled of ginger and made her feel special. And, despite their silly sibling tiffs, Alexanderand Charlotte loved each other and their father dearly. They would struggle to find happiness without him.

Papa stared at his shoes before meeting Alexander’s gaze. “You will be apprised of all matters that affect our tenants.”

Alexander did not look any more placated than Charlotte felt.

“Papa,” she said, “I see something worries you. You spend too much time alone in your study, and you look unwell. Please tell us what troubles you.”

“Good lord, the two of you do fret worse than a mama bear. I am fine. Now, let us head to dinner. I confess I will be happy once all of our guests are gone. Lady Chesterhill’s constant social events tire me. Mayhap that is why I look unwell.”

Alexander grasped the brandy glass sitting next to him and gulped. “Can we go back to why our gardener has moved into the main house and why that arse is convalescing on our property?”

Something needed to be done about Alexander and his dashed obsession with Hugh.

“I’ve explained. Mr. Fletcher is simply investigating business items of little consequence. Meanwhile, I can honor my promise to the duke,” Papa said.

Alexander scoffed. “Then why was he alone in the gardens with our Charlie? Nash said they were indecently close.”

“Lord Nash has designs on me and fabricated an absurd story,” Charlotte said. Please do not let Lucifer come for her soul. But the truth would lead to another beating for Hugh, and his battered body could not take much more.

“Charlie, you are to stay away from Fletcher,” Papa said.

“Of course,” she lied for the second time in the last moment. “He is nothing but a scoundrel. No decent woman would be caught alone with him.” Dear God in heaven, forgive her.

Papa stood and swiped his hands back and forth in a that-is-that gesture. “Now that everything is settled, let us head to dinner.”

Charlotte and Alexander had no choice but to follow their father.

If Alexander did not cease rubbing his temple, he might very well scrub off a layer of skin. “Why do I feel like I have just been bamboozled by you both?” he asked.

Because the two of them were lying like thieving scalawags. “Because you fret too much,” Charlotte said, clasping her brother’s forearm.

“Alexander, my boy, ’tis time you take a wife,” Papa said. “A woman’s love might help you relax. ’Tis said a good woman cures a man’s anxiety.”

“No one has ever said that,” Alexander mumbled. “’Tis a bald-faced lie.”

Ah, yes. A woman would provide the perfect distraction for her brother.

“Why Alexander, I dare say, the lady in the peacock mask you spoke with last night was lovely? Did you learn her name?” Charlotte asked.

“Off to dinner. I’m quite famished. Come, nosey girl.” Alexander wrapped his arm around Charlotte’s waist and guided her into the hallway.

Chapter eleven

It was impossible tosleep peacefully with the sun stabbing his eyelids, his muscles spasming uncontrollably, and his cock reacting to memories of Charlotte. Therefore, Hugh tossed and turned, hovering in a half-sleep, half-awake state. He’d just dozed off—again—when a warm breath blew across his cheek. It seemed his Firefly was watching him sleep. How utterly sublime. He snuggled into the mattress, willing her to crawl beneath the counterpane and press her lips to his.

A sickly sweet perfume tickled his nose. Would it be an arse move to tell her that the light floral scent she’d worn the previous evening suited her better?

The tickles morphed into an all-consuming nostril burn. Attempting not to sneeze on her, he used his palm as a shield and opened his eyes.

“Shite,” he sputtered with his sneeze. “What the bloody…?” The woman hovering over him was not his Firefly. He sat upso quickly the room spun, and pain shot from his neck to his lower back.

“What indecent language, Mr. Fletcher,” the woman said in a drawn-out, affected drawl.

A plum dress of fine quality. A hat with absurdly large plumage. Sharp cheekbones. Unkind, piercing blue eyes. A pinched expression…