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Authors: What A Woman Needs

BOOK: Caroline Linden
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“Well, splendid! Perhaps Ware will abandon his long-favored theater haunts for the opera.”
Charlotte started at Stuart’s lighthearted remark. The duke’s expression closed immediately, becoming distant and cool.
“Perhaps.” He stood. “Pray, excuse me, Madame Griffolino, Drake.” He bowed and moved away, leaving Stuart furious at himself and yet unable to forget how Ware had been looking at Charlotte. Ware hadn’t looked at a woman that way in years. What the devil would he do, if the reclusive duke finally came out of his shell to pursue her? How could he compete with a man like Ware? And should he even try to, when he had so little to offer Charlotte himself?
“He’s very lonely, isn’t he?” said Charlotte softly, watching the duke.
“I suppose.” Stuart’s frown turned to a scowl. It rubbed him the wrong way to hear her pity poor Ware, who lived in the finest house in London with his every need and wish satisfied at once. Ware, who could have any woman in England for a snap of his fingers. Ware, who had the influence and wealth to take London apart brick by brick until Susan was found.
Stuart sprang to his feet, hating himself for thinking such a thing. Ware was his friend, a gentleman who would never ... He looked at Charlotte, lush and sensual in her crimson gown, her ropes of pearls sliding tantalizingly into her cleavage. Friend and gentleman or not, a man would have to be blind not to be attracted to her. “Shall we go?”
She looked up in astonishment. “But we haven’t spoken to anyone! I thought you hoped to hear gossip that might help us find Susan.”
Stuart shifted his weight. “People come to the opera to talk about each other. It should be easier to let the kidnapper hear of you than for you to hear of him. I doubt we’ll hear anything of Susan here.”
“Oh.” She wilted a bit, and Stuart felt like a cad all over again. He knew the chance of hearing something among the ton was very small, but he’d hoped going out would be good for Charlotte ... just not so good she ended up a duchess. It was jealousy, pure and simple, and he hated himself for it, but he couldn’t deny it. Not even the reminder of how acute his own troubles were becoming could distract him. And Stuart didn’t quite know what to make of that.
C
HAPTER
T
EN
Charlotte was early to breakfast the next morning, not surprised to find Stuart there ahead of her. He had taken breakfast at his parents’ house every day, although thankfully Mr. Drake had been absent since that first morning. And because she knew he would be there, Charlotte came down as well; it would be rude to avoid him, after all his help. So she told herself, even as her heart lifted a little at the sight of his welcoming smile.
“No word from Pitney,” he said, seating her. “I expect to see him later today, though.”
Charlotte sighed, her moment of happiness fading. “He’s had no news at all.”
“Don’t be discouraged. He’s good at finding people; it was the one skill I particularly required. Pitney may seem slow, but he’s following his method, and has all but guaranteed results.” He took his own seat. “Have you any news from your friend?”
Charlotte poured a cup of tea. “No. All her letters are filled with gossip and—and other news.” She avoided his gaze, not wanting to share all the details of Lucia’s fascination with his friend Mr. Whitley, or her lurid questions about Stuart. “But nothing of Susan.”
“Well, we didn’t expect much. Don’t take it too much to heart. The center of our effort is still in London.” He looked up with a slight toss of his head to clear the hair from his eyes, giving her a quick smile. Charlotte stared, arrested by that careless motion. There was something so familiar, so
intimate
about noticing he needed to have his hair cut. No man had ever been so informal around her; they had always been turned out in their best, to impress and seduce and awe. Even Piero had refused to see her each day until his valet groomed him. But Stuart had sent away his valet to look for her niece. His hair was too long because he was neglecting himself to help her.
Even though she knew very well that Stuart had sent his valet back to Kent, it had never fully sunk in how much that signified. Not only was Stuart helping her, he was doing it at great inconvenience and cost to himself. He had sent away his only servant, imposed on his friends, and subjected himself to the hostility of his father’s house, all to help her find Susan.
No one had ever put themselves out for her. For the most part Charlotte simply accepted this fact; it relieved her of any obligation to put herself out for someone else, after all. But here sat Stuart, helping her almost as if he did it just for the sake of helping her. As if her happiness were all that mattered to him. As if he cared about her.
“Did you enjoy the opera?” she said, flustered by her thoughts.
“Very much,” he said. “I never would have thought to spend an evening listening to singing, but it was splendid.”
“I’m so glad. I have always found the opera enthralling.” Something in her tone must have betrayed her less musical thoughts, for Stuart looked up.
“I, too, found it most stimulating,” he said, his eyes darkening as he leaned toward her. “I’m so glad you suggested it; I couldn’t have enjoyed it half as much with anyone else. I should be very happy to escort you, any time you wish to go.”
“I can never hear enough opera,” she warned, allowing the ambiguity to continue. He leaned closer still, his gaze never leaving hers.
“I cannot tell you how delighted I am to know that, and how much I would like to satisfy your ... desire for more.”
The butler interrupted. “A message for you, madam.”
Charlotte dragged her gaze from Stuart’s and took the note. “It’s from Susan!” she cried, recognizing the handwriting.
Stuart bolted from his chair. “Brumble, who delivered it?”
“A very grimy lad, sir,” called the butler as Stuart ran from the room. The front door slammed as Charlotte tore open the letter. A smaller note fell out, but she ignored it, her eyes racing across Susan’s uneven writing.
Dear Aunt Charlotte,
I am writing to assure you I am well and happy. I am to be married soon! I expect you’re still unhappy about the way I left, and I apologize for that, but you must see I had to do it. Soon I shall send for my clothing and other belongings, but for now we have not taken a house, and have no room. London is everything I dreamed and more! I shall write again,
Susan
She ran into the hall in pursuit of Stuart just as he came back into the house, breathing heavily. “I couldn’t catch him,” he said, his voice sharp with frustration. “Brumble!”
The butler appeared at once. “Yes, sir?”
“If any other lads deliver messages for Madame Griffolino or me, take hold of him and don’t let go until I speak to him.” The butler bowed, and Stuart turned to Charlotte. “What does the note say?”
Charlotte handed it to him. A deep frown creased his brow as he read, and he waved her back into the breakfast room. When they were alone, she put her hands on her hips. “Well?”
Stuart began pacing, tapping the letter against his chin. “He’s told her he wants to marry her; we were right about the romance and adventure. But who is he? We still have no idea who could have lured her away so secretly and suddenly.”
“I realize that,” she snapped, snatching back the note—her only contact with Susan in a week—and holding it reverently close to her chest. This message proved her niece was alive and well, and in London. “She’s indisputably in London. How do we find her?”
“Send for Pitney,” he said at once. “Frakes can describe the messenger. If we can locate the boy who brought it, we’re one step closer to the person who sent it.”
“That could take days! There must be hundreds of grimy lads in London!”
“Thousands,” said Stuart. “Patience, Charlotte. Pitney knows the city, and the lowest citizens in it.”
“But what shall
we
do? Summon a carriage. Surely if we drive quickly, we might come across the boy ...”
Stuart was shaking his head. “He’s gone. We could drive every inch of London and not see him.”
“But I have to do something or I shall scream!” Charlotte gripped the letter like a lifeline, hysteria bubbling up in her throat. She had thought not knowing anything was the worst thing, but that was wrong; knowing a little, but not enough to act, was far more agonizing.
He sighed and ruffled one hand through his hair. “Besides telling Pitney ...” He shook his head. Charlotte abruptly remembered the other scrap of paper that had fallen out of Susan’s letter. She went down on her knees and crawled under the table to retrieve it. “What are you doing?” Stuart lifted the tablecloth to peer at her as she unfolded the coarse paper and gasped out loud.
“
What
?” Stuart all but dragged her from under the table and pried the paper from her fingers. “What the devil is this?”
Charlotte smoothed the page and translated from the Italian.
Scarlet whore, you have taken my treasure and I have taken yours. While you display yourself to the English gentlemen, your Susan sits by my side, weak and willing. When you return the Italian treasure, I will give her back to you.
Someone who watches.
“Bloody hell.” He snatched the paper back and scowled at the crimped writing. “What’s the Italian treasure?”
“I have no idea.” Charlotte was shaking, with elation and fear. “But he was watching us last night.” She seized the note and pointed, even though he couldn’t read it. “Scarlet! My red gown! He’s nearby! And Susan is with him!”
He looked up then, his eyes gleaming. “He is. You’ve provoked him into showing his hand. Well, well. He’s an Italian. He must have followed you from Italy. And he’s most likely the thief who broke into your house.”
“But what does he want?” She clasped her hands to stop their trembling. “I haven’t any treasure.”
“He obviously thinks you do.” Stuart frowned at the note again. “He stole Susan away when he couldn’t find it himself.”
“Oh, my poor girl!” Charlotte all but sobbed. “What can we do now? To know she is in London, so near, and I have no idea where!”
“Patience,” he said with fearful calm. “We know what to look for. I shall set Pitney and Benton on this at once. Now that they have some firm leads, I expect at least one of them to make great progress. Your friend is still in your house in Kent, is she not?” Charlotte nodded. “Write to her immediately. Tell her to pack up everything you brought from Italy and send it here as soon as she possibly can. I’ll send a note to Benton; he can help. He’s a master of packing quickly.”
“Why? Oh—of course!” she said with growing enthusiasm. “Whatever he wants must be in the things from Italy. Shall we do what Lucia did, set it all out and wait for him to break in and steal it?”
“No, we are going to discover what the bloody hell he’s after,” said Stuart grimly. “And then we’ll be able to deal with him on an equal footing. He knows he doesn’t stand a chance of getting it from you if he injures Susan, so she’s safe as long as he thinks we have it. Are you certain there’s nothing else from Italy besides the things in Kent, perhaps at a solicitor’s office or sent to a friend?”
“No, everything was shipped to Kent. If his object is in my possession at all, it’s in Tunbridge Wells.”
“Then we’ll find it and somehow let him know we’re ready to negotiate. I’ll also have Benton ask after any foreigners in Kent; you might ask the same of Lucia, particularly Italians. If he is your thief, he must have stayed close by, in order to watch your house and know when you left.”
“I’ll write to her immediately,” Charlotte promised, desperate for anything to occupy her mind. “But what else—?” Stuart silenced her with one finger over her lips.
“I’ll go to Pitney at once. Write to your friend.” He removed his hand and surprised her by pressing a quick kiss in its place. “The more we find out about the kidnapper, the better Pitney’s chances of finding him.” He kissed her again, longer and harder this time. Without a moment’s hesitation, she surged against him. Fear, she was finding, could be a powerful aphrodisiac, leaving her body tense and taut in anticipation of
something
. Desire came to life in an instant, supplanting her worries and concerns and focusing her entire being on Stuart, and the way he always affected her.
He caught her tightly around the waist when she opened her mouth, and Charlotte felt her knees give out as his other hand slid up to cover her breast. She had never wanted a man this way, never craved his presence and his touch so desperately. She clutched at him, straining to get even closer. He cupped the curve of her bottom, pulling her against him, and she moaned, her leg twining around his of its own volition. She wanted this, she wanted him, and she wanted him now.
As she pulled on his neck, completely willing to make love there on the carpet, he fell forward with her still clinging to him, catching a nearby chair to keep them upright. The table’s edge pressed her hips into his, and Charlotte rubbed against him shamelessly. Stuart ended the kiss with a gasp.
“I can’t make love to you here.” His shoulders shuddered. “God knows I want to, but I can’t.”
Charlotte released him like a hot coal. “Stuart—”
“Someday,” he said, low and fierce, “we have to finish this. You’re driving me mad.”
Before she could recover, the door opened. “Good morning,” trilled Amelia. Stuart turned, hiding Charlotte from view for a moment as she yanked her dress back into place. Good Lord, they had been on the brink of making love on the breakfast table, on his
parents’
breakfast table, where anyone might walk in on them. She was behaving worse than the most promiscuous courtesan, and being an abominably rude guest as well.
“We’ve received a note from Susan,” Stuart was telling his mother, as calm as if nothing had been happening. “She’s well, and in London. The fellow persuaded her to run off with him by promising to marry her; she wrote to Charlotte of her impending wedding.”
“What a cruel trick!” Amelia’s eyes flashed. “The poor girl! Why, she’s been practically kidnapped!”
“And held for ransom,” Stuart agreed. “It seems she doesn’t even know it yet.”
“Good heavens! What will you do to stop him?” Amelia cried, appalled.
“We received a message from him as well,” Charlotte said. “He wants an Italian treasure he thinks I have. In exchange for the treasure, he’ll release Susan.” She glanced at Stuart. “I shudder to think what will happen if I don’t have it.”
“You do,” he said firmly. “Somewhere. He must have been certain of it, or he wouldn’t have risked searching your house repeatedly, not to mention taking Susan. It mightn’t even be valuable, but it’s important to him.”
“I hope you’re right.”
He flashed his usual cocky grin. “I’m always right, m’dear; haven’t you noticed by now?” He headed for the door. “I’m off to find Pitney. Write Lucia at once.”
“I will,” she promised. He smiled briefly, and was gone.
Alone with his mother, Charlotte slipped into her chair to finish her breakfast, still on her plate. The memory of what had distracted her from it made her feel terribly awkward, and she sipped her cold tea in feigned nonchalance. What would Mrs. Drake say about discovering them locked in an embrace? Good Lord, she had almost ravished the woman’s son! In broad daylight!

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