Page 48 of Charlotte's Kisses

The lovely Cleopatra at The Pink Petal is the most attentive of lovers. What a shame I must end our assignation, but I must, for she is with child. She claims it is mine, but how am I to know? You would think a whore would take more care with a man’s seed. Unless she meant to trap me?

I digress because how can one ever know what the fairer sex is up to? I have paid her well and advised her to set herself up in a small cottage outside of London. Am I disappointed or relieved that I shall never hear from her again? Can a man be both? Because the things she did to my co—”

Gagging, Hugh set the book down and rubbed his tired eyes.

Unfortunately, there was not much information in the entries about Cleopatra. Doxies, shop girls, and chambermaids would prove harder to track down than the aristocratic women. However, he suspected that once he found them, they would be easier to deal with than privileged ladies concerned for their reputations.

For now, he needed to put aside his investigation and prepare for Charlotte’s visit. Although that brought about his own wanton thoughts and desires.

Chuckling at himself, he sprawled across the mattress, accentuating the best parts of his physique. Thereupon, he waited and wanted…

Hugh awoke to booming thunder and heavy raindrops pelting the roof—a roof that seemed to be way too high. And that was not the only conundrum. His limbs were stretched out, but his feet were not hanging off the edge of the mattress. This meant he was not sleeping in his tiny bed in his square box of a flat. The next deafening crackle stabbed his already aching brain. Had he over-imbibed, ended up in a street brawl, and found himself in a stranger’s chamber?

Lightning struck nearby, illuminating a small window and triggering his memories. He was at a cottage in the woods on the outskirts of Chesterhill Manor, waiting for Charlotte.

With the next zigzagging bolt, he sat upright. It had to be the middle of the night, meaning he had not seen her in almost forty-eight hours. His instincts sent unnerving prickles to every one of his nerve endings. Something was wrong.

It was settled. He would go to her—immediately.

After donning his boots, he lit the lantern and traded his warm, dry cottage for a muddy trek.

By the time he reached the main house, the lightning had moved on, the torrential downpour had turned to a sputtering rain, and he’d come up with a plan. Not a great plan, but it would have to do.

He reconnoitered beneath the canopy of an oak and studied the structure.

More than likely, the servant’s entrance was off to the right side of the house. That would probably be the best place to enter. From where he stood, he could see two second-floor balconies. The largest was probably Lady Chesterhill’s. Flowerpots and a birdcage adorned the smaller of the two. This had to be Charlotte’s chamber. Luckily it was located in the center of the structure.

He would sneak into the servant’s entrance and find the stairs leading to the second floor. From there, he would go to the center of the hallway, because one of the rooms near there would be hers.

Unfortunately, this would only work if he did not encounter servants, and the chances of that were slim to none. Hugh was nothing if not adaptable, and plan Bs were his specialty.

Praying that a shoulder-high branch of a massive tree would hold his weight, he sprinted across the lawn and leaped.

Huzzah!

He hoisted himself until his hips were in line with the branch, and then began his climb. His bruised muscles strained and ached, and he was huffing hard by the time he reached the balcony. He swung his leg over the balustrade and peeked into the chamber.

Thank the heavens above. His instincts were correct. His fair-haired beauty sat on her bed petting a kitten. Candlelight played off her skin and silky night shift, ensconcing her in a magical glow. A shimmering dream in a dark storm, his brilliant Firefly illuminated the night.

Chapter twenty-two

Charlotte had been unsuccessfullyattempting to fall asleep when lightning struck a nearby tree, causing her kitten to leap onto her head.

“Meow,” Snowball screeched in Charlotte’s ear.

It seemed this was to be a sleepless night. Although she was cozy, there was no reason to stay in bed. After whispering comforting words to her kitten, she padded across her room to light a lantern, the ball of fur at her heels. Snowball gracefully leaped onto her dressing table. Charlotte sat and stroked her furry companion. Eventually, Snowball curled into a ball, closed her eyes, and purred contentedly. The adorable imp was probably dreaming about mousing in a sunny field.

How unfair because Charlotte was wide awake, her heart aching for the man she adored—despicable rat that he was. Itwas as if someone pummeled her in the chest over and over again, making it difficult to catch her breath. Luckily, petting a kitten eased a bit of the sting.

Just as she bent forward to kiss Snowball’s nose, something hit the window. Snowball startled, smacking her head against Charlotte’s chin. They both yelped. Hair standing at attention, Snowball leaped into the air and scampered behind the wardrobe.

Charlotte should be ashamed of behaving like a terrified ninny, especially when the racket was probably a branch blowing in the wind. Expecting to see a swaying tree limb, she peered out the full-length window. Instead, a dark figure stood on her balcony, tapping on the glass.

She squealed in horror.

“Charlotte, it is Hugh,” said his muffled voice as he pressed his nose against the glass.

It seemed as if a beam of sunshine shot into the room, filling her with joy. She skipped to him. However, once her hand landed on the pulley, her common sense berated her silly solicitude.