Page 50 of A Lady's Dangerous Secret
She would send word to Arthur about their hasty nuptials, and ask him to ensure that their father signed the proper wedding contract. She would not bother notifying the rest of her family. If Arthur so pleased, he could tell them, but she did not have much faith they would care.
Charlotte closed her eyes. She felt calmer now that she had a plan of escape. Attending the masquerade ball had been a foolish idea. She should have backed out once Eleanor insisted she wear a black veil as part of Persephone’s costume. Charlotte had argued with Eleanor that a black mask would be sufficient, but her friend would not relent. Charlotte had not known how else to persuade Eleanor without revealing her role as Mrs. Gibson, so she finally acquiesced and prayed for the best.
But the black veil had been a bad omen, and her prayers had not been answered. They had been thrown back in her face.
Now, James held her life in his hands.
All she wanted to do was live her life away from Society in Shropshire with her mare, Mirabel. Instead, she was rushing to marry a duke more than twice her age to save herself from the gallows.
Charlotte ordered the carriage to stop at the end of the street leading to her aunt’s town house so she could alight in darkness and sneak in the back. She sent the coachman back to await Nate at the Stanhope Estate with a note to give to Eleanor that she had become too ill to stay and had left. Afterward, she climbed the servants’ stairs without being noticed.
Inside her bedroom, she did not ring for Bailey. All she wanted to do was crawl into bed. Her tunic fell to the ground, and she slipped on her night rail. She climbed into bed, but the peace of sleep escaped her. She tossed and turned for hours until the light of dawn crept into her window and finally fell into a dreamless sleep, not knowing if she wanted to see another day.
It was well past noon when Charlotte finally awoke. She let out a long sigh. Her life was in shambles. She rang for Bailey, whose steps faltered when she saw Charlotte’s face.
“How do you fare, milady?”
“I’m in trouble, Bailey. Deep trouble. I need to write some correspondence. I’m also cured from my ‘illness’ and will be joining my aunt.”
Bailey looked concerned but held her tongue. She simply curtseyed and left the room.
Charlotte dragged herself out of bed. She was exhausted from her fitful night of sleep, and her legs felt as if they weighed at least eight stone. Her mind felt foggy, but she tried her best to focus on the notes she needed to write. She trudged over to her escritoire and started with the Duke. She hoped her desperation was not too evident in her wording. Next, she wrote to Arthur and pleaded with him to tear himself away from his Parliamentary matters to help her.
Once these tasks were finished, she picked at the tray of food Bailey brought to her room. Her stomach was tied in knots from picturing herself swinging from the hangman’s noose. She just needed two days, maybe three, to stay alive before she became a duchess.
What was James doing right now?
Was he banging victoriously on the door of the magistrate with the name of the killer so he could collect his insurance money? He was trading her life for a shipment of flax.
If she kept dwelling on what could happen any longer, she would either lose the contents of her stomach or her mind.
Charlotte stood.
Focus on the facts, you ninny.
She had to take control of her destiny and not leave it in James’s hands, which meant plastering a bland smile onto her face that would make any lady of thetonproud, and preparing herself for the most important ball of her life.
Charlottewouldbecome the Duchess of Westcliffe.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
James had not slept.
After losing Lottie, or should he say the murdering Mrs. Gibson, he returned to the masquerade ball feeling betrayed. All he wanted to do was leave, but instead, he found Gabe, who had been in a panic. Lady Bridget was missing, so he then spent the rest of the night with Gabe tracking down his sister. Although it was a trying few hours, it had provided a distraction for him. He had been too consumed with helping find Lady Bridget to be able to mull over the fact that Lottie was a killer.
They found Gabe’s sister with her reputation intact and promptly left the ball. Once home, Gabe actually stayed and invited James to have a drink in his study. After a brandy and listening to his friend lament about squiring one’s sister through the temptations of a London Season, James stood and said goodnight. He needed to be alone.
Once James reached his bedroom, he paced relentlessly, trying to make sense of why Lottie would shoot Roberts. The best conclusion he formed was that it was somehow related to the money Roberts was stealing from her family. After accepting this theory, he finally collapsed onto his bed from sheer exhaustion.
James had slept so hard he awoke confused. For a brief moment, it was a blissful confusion, because his mind was disoriented and blank. Then, the past few days’ events rushed into his brain, and he sank back into the mattress, wanting to escape it all.
You are an officer. Get it together.
James willed himself up and out of bed. Bright light assaulted his senses, and he heard the house abuzz with activity. He had never slept this late. One woman had turned his life upside down in more ways than he could count. On top of that, if he wanted to collect his insurance money, he was tasked with turning Lady Charlotte Tipton, daughter of an earl and the woman of his heart, in to the magistrate.
James felt a sense of guilt at the thought of revealing her identity as the murderess, but he quickly pushed that emotion aside. He had bared his soul to her and confessed his love for her. In return, she had lied to him by admission. Lottie had not said a word when he revealed to her that he was looking for Mrs. Gibson. Now he understood why she flew from the bedroom that night.
Downstairs, he found Gabe in his study.
