Read Online To Wed a Wicked Earl by Olivia Parker - Free Book Online
Authors: Olivia Parker
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do you sound so out of sorts? I regret entering your bedchamber—an honest mistake—but after all, you knew I was coming.”
“I did?”
“Well, of course you did. Your town house was the only location where we could meet in secret in such a short notice. It’s not as if you frequent the same society events as I do. Our circles of friends do not overlap, as you well know.”
“I can assure you, my clearly mad darling, that I had no idea you were due to arrive here.”
Her mouth parted slightly at his words. “Do you mean to say you don’t know…” As her words trailed away, her spine straightened with what could have only been a burst of indignation. “Of all the nerve! You have been ignoring me, haven’t you?”
“Could be,” he admitted with a shrug. “I ignore a great deal of women all the time. I assure you it is entirely necessary. There certainly isn’t enough time in the world to pay attention to them all.”
She began to pace the length of windows, muttering under her breath. Rothbury couldn’t make out a single thing she said except for a few key words: “arrogant,” “stubborn,” and “buffoon.”
“Wait,” she said, coming to a full stop directly in front of him, but still far enough away that she couldn’t possibly see him fully. “You did get my letters, didn’t you?”
Letters…letters. His mind raced. He received letters from women all the time. Per his orders, his solicitor threw the lot of them away.
She sighed in apparent exasperation. “The letters I’ve been sending you, telling you that we must meet in secret—tonight. It’s a matter of urgency.”
“Again,” he said, his patience fading, “I receive such letters all the time.”
“Think, Rothbury.”
All he could think about was the fact that he was abed and naked and they were quite utterly alone in his room. She obviously hadn’t a care for her virtue, so that left only two reasons for sneaking into his bedchamber in the middle of the night. Either she wanted to set up an arrangement with him as her lover or trap him into marriage. Maybe both. But she hadn’t done more than be cross with him, which completely bewildered him and put him on his guard.
He sighed, threading his fingers through his already tousled hair. “Just tell me what you want and be on your way, miss.”
“Miss? Since when do you call me ‘miss’?”
He could do nothing but give his head a slow, befuddled shake.
“It’s me,” she said, in a tone tinged with a familiar vulnerability that never failed to strike a chord within him. “Charlotte.”
All right. This wasn’t a dream. It was a bloody nightmare.
His mouth felt slack. He might as well have been dreaming. The utter astonishment of just who stood before him hit him square in the chest.
She stepped into a beam of moonlight, which alighted upon the curve of her cheek, the elegant lines of her neck, and a fat pale ringlet that had become tangled in the ribbon of her bonnet.
Charlotte. Shy, quiet, and usually quite predictable—except for tonight, evidently.
He didn’t know what provoked her desperate climb into his room, but he intended to find out. After all they were friends, or she kept claiming they were anyway. And quite adamantly too.
He humored her, of course, letting her believe what she wished, whatever pleased her.
According to her, their friendship had started the night of the Bride Hunt Ball. Charlotte had claimed he had saved her from certain mortification after not a single gentleman in attendance asked her to dance. She had called him her “reluctant hero.” Which wasn’t true.
But he allowed her to keep her little story, even found himself laughing while she retold the event animatedly for the hundredth time.
Charlotte was a lovely woman. Clearly an impulsive one, but a lovely one just the same. She had seen him at his worst. Well, maybe not the worst, but the fact remained—she had offered him kindness. For a man like him, it
“I did?”
“Well, of course you did. Your town house was the only location where we could meet in secret in such a short notice. It’s not as if you frequent the same society events as I do. Our circles of friends do not overlap, as you well know.”
“I can assure you, my clearly mad darling, that I had no idea you were due to arrive here.”
Her mouth parted slightly at his words. “Do you mean to say you don’t know…” As her words trailed away, her spine straightened with what could have only been a burst of indignation. “Of all the nerve! You have been ignoring me, haven’t you?”
“Could be,” he admitted with a shrug. “I ignore a great deal of women all the time. I assure you it is entirely necessary. There certainly isn’t enough time in the world to pay attention to them all.”
She began to pace the length of windows, muttering under her breath. Rothbury couldn’t make out a single thing she said except for a few key words: “arrogant,” “stubborn,” and “buffoon.”
“Wait,” she said, coming to a full stop directly in front of him, but still far enough away that she couldn’t possibly see him fully. “You did get my letters, didn’t you?”
Letters…letters. His mind raced. He received letters from women all the time. Per his orders, his solicitor threw the lot of them away.
She sighed in apparent exasperation. “The letters I’ve been sending you, telling you that we must meet in secret—tonight. It’s a matter of urgency.”
“Again,” he said, his patience fading, “I receive such letters all the time.”
“Think, Rothbury.”
All he could think about was the fact that he was abed and naked and they were quite utterly alone in his room. She obviously hadn’t a care for her virtue, so that left only two reasons for sneaking into his bedchamber in the middle of the night. Either she wanted to set up an arrangement with him as her lover or trap him into marriage. Maybe both. But she hadn’t done more than be cross with him, which completely bewildered him and put him on his guard.
He sighed, threading his fingers through his already tousled hair. “Just tell me what you want and be on your way, miss.”
“Miss? Since when do you call me ‘miss’?”
He could do nothing but give his head a slow, befuddled shake.
“It’s me,” she said, in a tone tinged with a familiar vulnerability that never failed to strike a chord within him. “Charlotte.”
All right. This wasn’t a dream. It was a bloody nightmare.
His mouth felt slack. He might as well have been dreaming. The utter astonishment of just who stood before him hit him square in the chest.
She stepped into a beam of moonlight, which alighted upon the curve of her cheek, the elegant lines of her neck, and a fat pale ringlet that had become tangled in the ribbon of her bonnet.
Charlotte. Shy, quiet, and usually quite predictable—except for tonight, evidently.
He didn’t know what provoked her desperate climb into his room, but he intended to find out. After all they were friends, or she kept claiming they were anyway. And quite adamantly too.
He humored her, of course, letting her believe what she wished, whatever pleased her.
According to her, their friendship had started the night of the Bride Hunt Ball. Charlotte had claimed he had saved her from certain mortification after not a single gentleman in attendance asked her to dance. She had called him her “reluctant hero.” Which wasn’t true.
But he allowed her to keep her little story, even found himself laughing while she retold the event animatedly for the hundredth time.
Charlotte was a lovely woman. Clearly an impulsive one, but a lovely one just the same. She had seen him at his worst. Well, maybe not the worst, but the fact remained—she had offered him kindness. For a man like him, it
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