Page 47 of Tamed By a Duke
She sighed, as the scene from over two years ago played in her mind. She had discovered Charles Deveraux towering menacingly over the diminutive Agnes Thatchery, whose face had been streaked with tears.
"Poor Agnes was sobbing and telling Mr Deveraux that she was carrying his baby," Charlotte recalled, attempting to keep her voice as dispassionate as possible, "She was frightened for her position, for her child, and for her future. Without his help, Agnes and her child would have ended up in the poor-house. And do you know what the cretin said?"
"I can guess," Penrith gave a heavy sigh. He was not, Charlotte noted, as innocent to the ways of some men as she had been.
"He told her to leave and to never darken his door again. That the child was no concern of his."
Charlotte allowed herself a moment to wallow in melancholy; before this incident, she had worn rose-tinted glasses when it came to the world. She had believed that all men were honourable and good, and obliged by society—and their own sense of right—to defend the fairer sex.
She had not realised that in their broken society only some of the fairer sex were afforded this protection. Women of money and class were to be cosseted and treated like dolls. Every other woman, it seemed, was just there for amusement. A sport to be played by unsporting men.
Charles Deveraux had told Agnes that he loved her, had sworn blind that he would make her his wife, then when he had taken his liberties and she served no other purpose, he had discarded her like rubbish.
"It was the unfairness of it all," Charlotte said abruptly, "Which caused me to involve myself. What difference is there between Agnes and I, other than the circumstances of our birth? We are the same age, the same height, we even have the same colour hair. If I had been in her shoes, my father—Lud, even Charles' father—would have been obliged to force his hand. They would have obliged him to save me and the baby from a life of poverty and hardship. But there was no one to do that for Agnes, so I—"
"Took responsibility for the girl yourself?"
"Yes," Charlotte tilted her chin proudly. She could not regret her actions, though some might condemn her for fraternising with a fallen woman. "Of course, I tried to browbeat Charles into assisting her first. He said I was foolish to waste any concern on a 'mere maid', and when I told him that I had no wish to marry a man such as he, he stormed off in a huff. He found an American girl with a fortune and married her a month later."
"How on earth did you secure the house on Barbour Street?" Penrith asked, interrupting Charlotte momentarily.
"With the assistance of my old governess," Charlotte replied, "She left our employ to marry a barrister and has been quite the champion of societal reform since. It was not difficult to find her, and she was quick to lend a helping hand. I have been pawning the gifts my father lavishes on me ever since, to cover the rent and other necessities."
"Well, you won't be doingthatanymore."
Penrith sounded so fierce, that for a moment Charlotte mistook his meaning. Did he mean to stop her supporting Agnes because he disapproved? She cast him a horrified glance, but before she had a chance to voice her concern, he spoke.
"I will support Agnes and the child," he said decisively, "What you have done thus far is beyond admirable, Charlotte, but from here on in, it is no longer your concern."
"W-why would you do that?" Charlotte stuttered, "They have no connection to you at all."
"I think you'll find," Penrith said softly, taking her hand in his, "That anything which concerns you, now concerns me. I would like to be a shoulder for all of your burdens, Charlotte, and more besides."
The night air had suddenly stilled, and Charlotte noted for the first time the floral scent of the garden and the light spring breeze caressing her cheek. She glanced at Penrith, whose blue eyes twinkled with warmth, and felt any fears she had about his intentions melt.
"Thank you," she whispered, as he shifted slightly closer to her.
"Let me take the lead, Charlotte," he said, echoing his earlier words, "I desire only to look after you."
His hand reached out to cup her cheek. Penrith inhaled sharply as he tilted her face up to look at him, before he lowered his head to capture her lips with his.
It was different to their kiss in the rain—far more tender, but no less pleasurable. Charlotte allowed him to pull her closer, wrapping her own arms around his neck in response.
It was heavenly, she decided, as firm lips pressed against hers, searching, demanding, and loving. Penrith's thumb stroked her cheek and the warmth rising from his hard body thrilled Charlotte's senses.
She would have stayed, locked in that embrace forever, had a voice from the garden above not shattered their sense of solitude.
"Penrith?" a young man called from the veranda above, "Are you out here?"
The sound of footsteps approaching the stairs down to the sunken garden had Penrith leaping to his feet.
"I will take care of Dubarry," he whispered to Charlotte, sprinting forward into the darkness.
Dubarry? What connection did Bianca's beau have to Penrith? Charlotte stilled, straining every muscle in her body as she sought to hear what the pair might have to say to each other.
"There he is, the man of the hour!" a voice called, sounding a little wine-sodden to Charlotte's ears.
"You are in your cups, cuz," Penrith replied.
