Charlotte stood by the door, staring at it for a little while, not sure what to do, and went to take a shower. And now she was soaking her feet.
Charlotte slumped back in her chair. The room was quiet and dark around her. The glass doors to the balcony were open, and the night wind sifted through the gauzy white drapes. A big, pale moon lit the sky and the stone rail of the balcony. Beyond it, the river stretched, reflecting the moonlight.
How did she even end up here? Eight weeks ago she was just plain Charlotte living her life quietly in the Edge. Now she was attending a royal wedding, her name out in the open. She thought of Lady Augustine. Her surrogate mother wouldn’t have approved of airing out the name. The moment her adoption was made public, she’d become a target for the enterprising social climbers. But then the name was the least of her worries. She’d broken her oath. Lady Augustine would be horrified to know how far her star pupil had fallen.
A rope dropped from above, stretching to the balcony.
Charlotte blinked.
The rope was still there.
Feet in dark boots slid into her view, followed by long, lean legs, followed by narrow hips, a muscular chest clothed in dark fabric. Richard.
Her heart pounded in her chest. She tried to get up and splashed water all over the plush white rug. Damn it. And now she was swearing in her head. Wonderful.
Charlotte stepped out of the bath and ran to the balcony on her toes.
He landed on the rail.
“What are you doing?” she hissed in a loud whisper.
“I had to see you.”
“What? Get on that rope. You’re going to ruin everything.”
“Brennan isn’t everything.”
His face was sharpened, almost contorted, by desperation.
“What is it?” she whispered. “Did something bad happen? Are you hurt?”
He jumped off the rail, pulled her inside the room, and clamped her to him. His mouth found hers, hot, possessive, and demanding. He kissed her as if this was the last time he would see her.
For a moment she almost melted, but alarm won out. “Richard, you’re scaring me.”
“Let’s go away,” he whispered. “Let’s just leave, you and me.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I don’t want to lose you. I love you, Charlotte. Come with me.”
She studied his face. “Are you jealous of Brennan?”
“Yes.”
Oh, for the love of . . . “Richard!”
“I know that I can’t give you a title or riches or—”
She put her hand on his mouth. “Shut up. I have a title and riches. You don’t get to abort the plan because you didn’t like that I danced with him.”
“You liked it,” he said through her hand.
“No, I didn’t.”
“You looked like you were enjoying it.”
“I was supposed to look like I enjoyed it, you moron. It’s called ‘acting.’”
He looked at her, clearly at a loss for words.
“If you can go under the knife risking death, I can dance with Brennan and parade in front of him in my underwear.”
“What?”
She shouldn’t have said that.
“Charlotte?”
“I let him see me half-undressed. I’ll model it for you later if you wish. Now you need to get out!” She pushed him onto the balcony. “Get out, get out, get out. And take your rope with you. You’re too old for this. I’m too old for this.” She shut the glass doors.
He stood for a long moment, then jumped, caught the rope, and pulled himself up.
Charlotte fell backward onto the bed. Idiot. Moron. He scaled the wall for her like some sort of robber-prince from an adventure novel. Climbed a rope in a fit of jealousy. Really, who climbs a rope?
A knock sounded through her door. Now what? She walked over, pulling her thin robe tighter around herself, and checked the glass window in the door. Brennan.
“This is highly improper,” she said through the door.
“I’m a highly improper man.”
“Who shall remain in the hallway.”
“Charlotte, I just wish to talk.”
“One moment.”
Charlotte walked over to a communicator and dialed the castle staff. The gears spun and a man’s face appeared above the copper half sphere. “At your service, my lady.”
“Robert Brennan is at my door. He wishes to have a conversation. I require an escort.”
The man turned away for a moment and faced her again. “The escort has been dispatched. They will be at your door in twenty seconds.”
“Thank you.”
She walked over to the door and peered through the glass. Moments crawled by. She counted to twenty in her head. At eighteen, a man and a woman in castle uniform rounded the corner and came to a halt by her door.
Charlotte unlocked it.
Brennan sighed. “Chaperones? Are we children?”
“We are adults, which is exactly why I require witnesses.”
He grinned. “Do I scare you, Charlotte?”
“Your Highness, I’ve seen things that would turn most people’s hair white overnight. I don’t fear you. I’m simply being prudent.”
He tilted his head. “You undo your hair at night.”
“Of course.” Wearing her hair down wasn’t one of the best hairstyles for her. She looked much better with an updo, but her scalp did have to rest at some point.
“Why did you leave?”
“My ward had enough excitement for the evening.”
“The little girl? Who is she to you?”
“She’s the daughter of a friend. Her mother is dead, and her father is unfit to care for her.”
Brennan shook his head. “This would be so much better without an audience.”
“And that’s precisely why we have one.”
“I’d like to continue our acquaintance,” he said.
“Are you fond of tea in the morning?”
“I could be.”
“In that case, I could give a morning tea tomorrow at ten.”
“In that case, I would definitely attend. Who else will be there?”
“My ward and I. If you’re planning to attend, perhaps I will invite a couple of other people to maintain propriety.”
“You seem to be very concerned with propriety.”
You seem to be very concerned with making a profit on selling children into slavery. “There are times when I can be inappropriate.”
A small, hungry light sparked in Brennan’s eyes. “How inappropriate?”