The Redemption of a Dissolute Earl (3 page)

Her heart jumped in a way it had not jumped
in almost a year.

Joy surged through her.

Maybe she was not dead inside after all.

She glanced up to thank her savior and
stared in numb silence into bright blue eyes surrounded by long,
sooty lashes set in the face of a golden devil.

“Release me at once,” she hissed at Drew, as
the heat of longing and desire danced up her body, flushed her
chest, and singed her face.

The hounds of hell, indeed
.

Satan was holding her in his arms, and she
was not about to be dragged back down into the pits of hell,
otherwise known as love.

None of Drew’s heated fantasies of Char this
past year had included her demanding in a most unfriendly tone that
he let her go. Which was precisely why he was sure he was not
having another one of his lovely daydreams about her. Her angry
tone―along with the fact that some man was staring fiercely at
him―increased Drew’s confidence he wasn’t dreaming. He’d had some
debauched fantasies in his life, but never had a man been in any of
them.

Drew curled his fingers tighter around
Char’s warm, silky arms. Normally, he prided himself in the ability
to remember precise details of situations and people, but even his
memory was not so superb that he’d been able to perfectly conjure
up the way his heart jerked when she was near, the way her smell of
freesia immediately relaxed him, or the way her burning skin warmed
him to his soul.

This was definitely real. Char was here, in
the flesh, an answer to a prayer he’d been too ashamed―too
afraid―to plead. He breathed deeply of her and pulled her
close.

“Char,” he whispered in her ear, the soft
curls of her fiery red hair tickling his nose.

“Let me go, you drunken imbecile.” Char’s
slippered foot ground down on his toe in a manner that certainly
did not say, “I forgive you.”

Let her go?

Ha, ha, and bloody ha.
He’d sooner
cut off his hand than let her go a second time. Fate had finally
decided to crown him the golden son again, and he was not about to
argue with fate. Though his mind was a bit fuzzy from the copious
amounts of liquor he’d consumed to withstand the choppy boat
journey from France and―if he was being honest, which from time to
time he managed to be with himself―to forget the flaming-haired
temptress glaring at him, he was determined to embrace this gift
and immediately set things right.

In the spirit of embracing the offering, he
pulled Char tighter, wincing when she tried to squirm away from
him. Fate may have given him a gift, but he suspected a hearty
payment of groveling was due before he could claim his prize. “I
see you’ve not forgotten or forgiven.”

“Surely you jest?” Char’s perfectly kissable
red lips turned down into a frown.

His groin pulsed to painful awareness of the
woman he held so close. He cleared his throat. “I was a weak,
damnable ass.”

She jerked one arm free and then the other.
“At least we agree on that.” She was good at deftly maneuvering out
of his grasp, but she was no match for him. He smiled the roguish
smile he knew she once loved as he tapped his fingers, now twined
securely around her waist. “You’re fast, but as usual, I’m
faster.”

The line that had served to send them both
into bales of laughter in the past, elicited a deeper frown from
Char. Perhaps reminding her of how he had always managed to capture
her and undress her before she could stop her laughter and protest
was not one of his wisest decisions. “I’m sorry,” he hurriedly
supplied.
By God he was
. His heart throbbed with just how
damnably sorry he was.

“You’re precisely twelve months too late.”
She glanced down at his arms wrapped around her waist, her gaze
flickering to the right as a troupe of actors and actresses rushed
past them and bumped into each other in their attempt to gape.
Several people collided as they skirted around the dark-haired
buffoon standing in the middle of the narrow hall who was staring
directly at Drew.

Wait a bloody minute
. The buffoon
wasn’t staring at him―the man was leering at Char as if she were a
puzzle he had just figured out. Swinging Char around so her back
would be to the nosy man, Drew looked into her eyes and, decision
firmly made, moved his hands to grip her delicate face and say what
he should have said twelve months ago. He’d rather be penniless
than spend one more minute without this woman in his life. He
grinned at the twitching of her lips. She always twitched when she
was angry.

He’d soothe her anger with his apology and
explanation of his sorry character, but he needed to be quick and
employ every weapon at his disposal. He frowned. What weapons did
he have to sway Char with? He searched his mind and smiled. Char’s
father had raised her on the good book. Surely, she’d be more apt
to forgive if he could show God was on his side.

“Char—” he began and coughed to clear the
tremble from his voice. “It’s hard for a rich man—” he stopped
again and tried to recall the exact wording of the scene in Mark he
was trying to quote.
Damnation
. He should have drunk less
tonight
and
striven to be a better listener all the times
his mother had preached the Bible.

“Don’t say another word,” Charlotte hissed,
her face white under the rouge that should have made her look
vibrantly alive. As it stood, the unusual paleness of her skin was
sharply contrasted by the makeup and gave her an overall deathly
pallor. An uneasy feeling coursed through Drew.

“Char, what is it?” He’d not bloody fumbled
it all
that
badly, had he?

“Let me go.” She jerked his hands away from
her face, scooted around him, and went to the waiting and open arms
of the buffoon.

As she hovered in the other man’s arms, Drew
stared at the two of them for a moment, astonishment turning to
confusion turning to recognition. “Salisbury?” Drew croaked.

The Marquess of Salisbury inclined his head.
“Hardwick.”

Drew withdrew his handkerchief and wiped it
across his damp brow. After he won Char back, he needed a long
sleep. He drank too much to sleep well in Paris, and even if he
hadn’t drank a steady stream of whiskey on the boat ride back to
England, he could not have slept with the Channel waters being so
rough. “What the hell are you doing at the Sans Peril?”

“I’m here because of my betrothed.”
Salisbury’s arm slid around Char to pull her flush up against his
chest. Drew stepped forward to rip the man’s arm out of its socket
for touching Char so intimately, but like a pesky fly that wouldn’t
go away, Edgeworth appeared out of the shadows and placed himself
between Drew and the man he intended to harm bodily.

“Move,” Drew demanded of his cousin.

“I’m afraid I can’t,” Edgeworth replied,
putting his back to Drew, then extending his hand to Char and
bowing. “Felicitations are in order then?”

What the bloody hell
? Drew knew the
whiskey made him slow tonight, but why would Edgeworth be offering
felicitations to Char for cuddling up to a man who was betrothed to
another woman? Drew’s patience snapped, and just as his traitor
cousin’s lips grazed the hand of the woman who belonged, body and
soul, to Drew, he shoved Edgeworth out of the way.

“Char,” Drew said urgently. “You’re better
than this illicit affair.” He motioned to the marquess. “I hardly
think taking up with Salisbury will replace what you and I
have.”

Char shook her head, sending her bright red
curls cascading over her shoulders. She stepped out of Salisbury’s
arms, but his hand remained on the small of her back serving to
further Drew’s annoyance. “You’re drunk, Lord Hardwick,” Char said
coldly.

“I’m not,” he protested.

“You smell like a bottle of whiskey.”

“That’s just his normal smell, Miss Milne,”
Edgeworth offered unhelpfully.

“
My point exactly
.” Char frowned at
Drew. “I hardly need you to lecture me on who I can take up
with.”

“Miss Milne!” a voice screeched from the
darkness. “They’re holding the play for you!”

“Perfect,” Char mumbled. “Now you’ve made me
late.” She glared pointedly at Drew, as if he was the only one who
had made her late.

“Char―” he began, but she turned her back
toward him.

“If you’ll excuse me?” she asked Salisbury
in such a sweet voice that Drew wanted to throttle the man. That
honey voice was for Drew only.

Her sweet question may have been directed at
Salisbury―confirmed by the arse’s nod―but Drew sure as hell
wouldn’t excuse Char. He needed to tell her he wanted to marry her.
He needed to tell her what a bloody fool he’d been. The Marquess of
Salisbury brushed a kiss on Char’s cheek. That bloody well did
it!

Drew lunged forward, grabbing the man’s arm.
“Keep your lips off my woman.”

“Your woman?” came Char’s incredulous gasp.
“I’m not your woman. I despise you.”

God, she was beautiful when angry. Drew
smiled at her loveliness. Her eyes narrowed on him.

“I rue the day I met you and how foolish and
easy I was.”

“You were not easy,” he offered, then
realized how crass it sounded. “Char―”

She held her palm toward him. “Not another
word.”

He nodded. He wanted to say more―such as
telling her that her burning eyes made him want to kiss her from
head to toe―but he’d mucked it up fairly well already. Best to stay
quiet for the moment, until she spent her anger.

“I don’t know why you have finally sought me
out—”

Hell
. He
had
to answer that.
“Then let me explain.”

“Don’t waste your time.
Or mine
. I
don’t care. I don’t want your feeble explanations or
apologies.”

“What do you want?” he asked, his chest
tightening with new worry.

“I want you to leave me alone.” She stepped
around him, and he grabbed her arm.

“Char,” he pleaded, desperation taking hold.
This was not the reunion he had imagined. Not even close. “I need
to tell you—”

She shoved him hard in the chest. “Didn’t
you hear me?”

“I heard you,” Edgeworth supplied.

“Shut up,” Drew snarled, surprised to hear
Char’s voice echo his words exactly.

Char turned to Drew, her lips trembling, her
eyes two slits of bright green anger. “Has your conscience finally
caught up with you?”

That was hardly the way he’d put it, but he
doubted Char wanted to hear his exact version. Drew nodded
reluctantly.

“Good.” A sad smile spread across her face.
“I hope memories of what a miserable cad you were plague you until
your dying day.”

He flinched. “I suppose I deserve that.”

“And more,” she said, tossing her hair over
her shoulder. “But I’ve not the time or the inclination.”

“Aren’t you plagued?” he asked, not liking
the finality in her voice and eyes.

“Not in the least.” Her gaze shifted to a
fold of her costume, rendering it unreadable. She tugged on the
material until it lay flat before raising her gaze back to him. “I
put you out of my mind the day I met my future husband.”

Before Drew could react to her astonishing
statement, she scurried into the darkness of the corridor, all
traces of her gone except the lingering scent of freesia and the
fading pat of her slippered feet as she raced to make the curtain
call.

Drew ran a shaky hand through his hair and
tried to sort out everything Char had just said.
Her future
husband
? His blood boiled in his veins. “I’m going to find and
kill the man who thinks he’s going to marry the woman I love.”

“You needn’t look far then,” the Marquess of
Salisbury replied, his amused tone confusing Drew.

He turned to the man and glared. “I’d like
to know what is so bloody funny about the woman I love being
betrothed to some peacock who thinks he’s good enough to take my
place.”

Salisbury’s eyes narrowed. “I’m the peacock
who’s taking your place. And that, my friend, is bloody
hilarious.”