The Rocky Mountain Heiress Collection (113 page)

Even though you’re my wife
, he almost added.

He waited for a response and, hearing none, called her name.

She turned to face him, still fully clothed. “My faith is fine,” she whispered, her lips only slightly less blue than they had been outside.

“I believe you.”

“Papa doesn’t.” She looked as if she might continue, then shook her head and turned to stare into the flames.

“What matters is what
you
know to be true,” he said gently. “The Lord sees the heart, Charlotte, and that’s what’s important.”

She blinked twice as if clearing her focus, then regarded Alex with a serious expression. “I’ve been so selfish,” she whispered. A lone tear traced down her cheek and she lifted her hand to wipe it away. “So maybe my faith isn’t fine. But I want it to be.”

How many times had he wanted to remember what he believed? To find faith enough to go forward? Too many times to judge Charlotte for any lapse now.

“Faith isn’t a feeling,” he said gently. “If it were, we’d all lose and gain it every time the winds changed.” He mustered a smile as he spoke, not only to her, but to himself. “Faith is the knowledge that no matter the circumstances, you do not walk through them alone.” He shrugged. “At least that’s how I look at it.”

“Yes,” she said softly.

Alex allowed the silence a moment longer. Then he set the quilt on the bench and pressed his palms to her cheeks. “Charlotte, we can talk
about this later. Right now, you’ve other things to think about. Like getting warm. You have to get out of those wet riding clothes. Either you can do it alone or I’ll be forced to help. Which is it?”

Her fingers went to her bodice.

“First your boots,” Alex said quickly. He knelt before her and, with extreme effort, kept his mind off her slender ankles and the curves of her legs that the damp riding garment only served to accentuate as he removed her boots.

“There,” he said. “Now you can proceed.”

Alex lifted the quilt to allow her privacy. Whether Charlotte noticed his discretion or not, Alex couldn’t say, but after a moment, she stepped over a puddle of damp clothing and into the folds of the quilt. She held the blanket tight, allowing only a few inches of ankle and leg to show as she padded toward the bed.

“Good night, Alex,” she mumbled.

“Wait.”

He hurried past her to pull back the faded quilt and check for any unwanted creatures. Finding none, he allowed Charlotte to climb under the quilt. Before he could cover her with it, she had turned over and closed her eyes.

Only after Charlotte had settled into a slumber did Alex go outside and take care of the horse. When he returned, the cabin was nice and warm.

Stomping the snow off his boots brought no reaction from beneath the pile of blankets at the far end of the room. Nor did she rouse when he leaned over the bed to check on her. But when he brushed her cheek with the back of his hand, her eyes opened. Before he could move away, she grasped his hand in hers.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

The sun shone orange against Charlotte’s eyelids and warmed her face as she snuggled deeper beneath her blankets. Odd that the maid hadn’t closed the curtains last night.

Reaching toward the bedside table, Charlotte groped for the bell and found only air. She reached further, and her fingers hit what felt like another person.

Her eyes flew open. Her temporary husband stared at her from a chair situated next to the bed. From the look of him, he’d slept there. The glow behind him was not the sun but a fire of decent proportion. She blinked twice to adjust her focus, then allowed her gaze to sweep the one-room cabin.

Meager furniture combined with dim light offered little to recommend the place. It was, however, quite warm.

“Alex?”

He scrubbed at his face with his hands, then shook his head. With slow, deliberate movements, the Englishman straightened his collar then regarded her through tired eyes.

“What happened?” she asked.

Her last recollection was of her paints sinking beneath the icy waters of the Cache la Poudre River. Instant anger flared within her, tempered
by a less precise recollection of riding a horse and then, perhaps, of being wrapped first in something very cold and then in something very warm.

His gaze lowered and she followed his attention to see that she wore a threadbare, multicolored quilt trimmed in an odd shade of saffron yellow and nothing else.

Realization collided with dread and sent Charlotte scrambling to find her modesty. When she had covered what she could with the less-than-lilac-scented bedding, she fixed Alex with a direct stare. “Explain yourself, Viscount Hambly.”

Alex lifted a dark brow. “Excuse me?”

“Well, isn’t it obvious I’m …” Charlotte’s heart fluttered as she considered exactly what she
was
. “I demand to know how I came to be”—the quilt slipped and she clutched at it—“how I came to be here.”

Without sparing her a glance, Alex rose and raised his arms overhead in a languid stretch. “You came to be here,” he said, turning his back on her to move toward the fireplace, “because you’re a stubborn woman who refuses to listen to good sense. And it made
no
sense to wade into a river after a box of paints that can easily be replaced.”

The paints. Of course.

Charlotte’s temper sparked as she recalled the moment her mother’s paint box tumbled down the embankment. She remembered reaching for the precious box only to push it farther away.

Watching as it disappeared beneath the water.

And it all began with Alex Hambly.

A glance outside told Charlotte the hour was late, or perhaps early. How long had it been submerged? Though the paints would be ruined, perhaps there was still hope of finding the box.

With Alex occupied stoking the fire, Charlotte took the opportunity
to climb out of bed and adjust her makeshift costume. Her clothes had been laid across two benches and set in front of the fire. In order to retrieve them, she would have to step within view of Alex.

Taking a deep breath, she inched toward her goal, taking tiny steps to keep the blankets in place.

“Close your eyes.”

Alex looked up from his work at the fire. “What?”

Charlotte froze and pulled the fabric up just below her nose. “I said close your eyes,” she said, inhaling the musty smell of old quilts. She gestured to her riding garments and the embarrassing unmentionables on full display.

Alex followed her gaze, then returned his attention to her with a grin. “You intend to put on those wet things?”

Her bravado slipped slightly. “Yes.” She squared her shoulders and moved toward the circle of warmth near the roaring fire.

“I see.” He set the fireplace poker aside and dusted off his palms. “You might want to reconsider.”

Ignoring him, Charlotte snatched up her clothing and moved to the other side of the room. “Just keep your back turned, all right?”

“Of course, wife.” He punctuated the statement with a chuckle that stabbed at Charlotte’s last drop of patience.

“Wife,” she echoed as she began the difficult process of dressing while maintaining her modesty. “You
do
enjoy taunting me with that, don’t you?”

He shrugged, but kept his back turned. “Only stating fact, Charlotte.”

And then she recalled the rest of the cause for her anger: her husband’s unreasonable refusal to allow the annulment. When she reached
for her stocking, she caught Alex peering at her over his shoulder as he knelt by the fire.

Before Charlotte could scold him, Alex straightened and regarded her with a look that scorched through her blankets. She offered him her back and finished donning her undergarments without looking his direction.

“Charlotte,” he said softly, “what have we done?”

Grimacing, she pulled on skirts soggy with river water and splotched with mud. “What?” she asked as she reached for the remainder of her ensemble. The bodice was less muddy but no less damp, making Charlotte wonder whether modesty was worth enduring the chill.

He repeated his question, this time from much nearer. Charlotte hurried to complete her dressing, then let the quilt drop. She turned to find Alex standing within reach.

“What we have done,” she said as she felt the cold air hit her wet skirts, “is make a bargain that benefited us both.”

Alex picked up the quilt and wrapped it around her shoulders. His hands lingered, smoothing the fabric over her collarbone and touching her chin with the back of his knuckles. Then he traced the length of her jaw line.

“Four years,” he said softly, “and I never quite rid myself of thinking about you, Charlotte.” His fingers stilled. “Why?”

Entranced with his touch, with the curve of his smile and the way his eyes slid shut as he caressed her jaw, Charlotte could only breathe a soft, “Because I’m a menace.”

“No,” he said slowly, “though I cannot deny that fact.” His palm went from Charlotte’s jaw to the nape of her neck. “When I considered the bargain I’d made to marry you, I never failed to be reminded of some
irritating thing or another you’d said or done. And though I didn’t intend it, before long I’d found a smile where I shouldn’t have.”

Dare she tell him the same had happened to her? But she’d made her choice, and marriage did not fit with her plans. After all, look what happened when Mama fell in love and married.

Papa left her.

The thought surprised Charlotte. She’d never considered it that way before.

Alex must have noticed for he shook his head. “What aren’t you telling me, Charlotte?”

Look what happened to Mama
.

Did she want to pursue her interest in business because she loved it or because she feared falling in love? She didn’t have an answer.

Except, possibly, the faith that the Lord would send her in the direction He preferred if she let Him. And, perhaps, even if she did not.

“Charlotte?” Alex’s voice caressed her name just as his fingers had caressed her jaw.

“Nothing.” She shrugged out of his reach and moved toward the window. Ice covered the pane and snow drifted past. There would be no ride to the safety of the ranch tonight. Not until the sun rose and, Charlotte hoped, sent the temperatures soaring. She suppressed a shiver that even the quilt could not stop.

Footsteps moved her direction, and Charlotte steeled herself for whatever Alex might say.

“Wife,” he whispered, “what does that expression mean?”

She turned to rest her back against the cold windowpane, suffering the frigid feel of glass against her wet bodice rather than allow herself to stand any closer to Alex Hambly. Not when she longed to rest her head
against his shoulder, to fall into his embrace and forget any thoughts of Mama and Papa.

And of marriage.

To anyone.

“Wife,” he repeated. He grasped two corners of the quilt. “Come stand by the fire.” He tugged gently on the quilt, moving her—as much by her own will as against it—into his arms. “Four years,” he said, “and I never forgot your kiss.”

Nor did I
, Charlotte longed to admit.

“I can’t be married to anyone,” she whispered across his shoulder. “I just cannot.”

Alex’s chuckle rumbled against her ear. “Yes,” he said slowly but deliberately, “you can.”

And then he fit his lips over hers. Somehow her hands found his shoulders and then the back of his waist. She pulled him closer, deepening the kiss.

Perhaps she could be married.

Perhaps …

Alex ended the kiss far too soon, and Charlotte whimpered. She pulled him back to kiss her again, and he did not complain. This time when the kiss ended, he swept her off her feet and into his arms. The quilt fell away, leaving her wet clothing exposed. Had she not felt warm from the inside out, Charlotte might have shivered. But in Alex’s arms there was no thought of cold. For that matter, there was no thought at all.

“It’s time we were well and truly married, Charlotte.”

He waited until she managed a nod, then stepped over the quilt. They reached the bed so quickly that Charlotte had no time to wonder what might happen next. She allowed her husband to lower her gently and give her a kiss that seared her heart.

“You’re beautiful,” Alex said as he stood over her. The orange flames danced behind her husband, and the golden glow played in shadows across his cheekbones. Indeed, Alex Hambly was something to see.

She almost told him. Instead, she entwined her fingers with his. At her tug, he joined her. Lying on his side, Alex propped himself up on his elbow and rested his head on his right hand.

A niggling fear slithered up her spine and lodged in the words that longed to be spoken. Words that would stop Alex’s kisses. Words that would keep her heart safe.

She sucked in a deep breath. “Alex,” she managed. “I’m afraid.”

“Shhh,” he said softly. He kissed her. “There’s no need to be afraid. You’ve had my heart for years, though I’ve only just realized it.” He obliged her with a kiss that was every bit as soft as it was urgent. “I will never hurt you. I promise.”