His words punctured her fog of pleasure. She seized the notes from his hand to count them herself.
Her mouth fell open. She clutched the bills to her chest. He was right. Mrs. Rowden had given her twenty pounds for helping her reunite with her son.
Charlotte stared out the window in a state of unreality as the jarvey set the hack in motion. Her mind bubbled with dizzy joy. Twenty pounds was as much as Anthony could earn doing odd tasks for an entire week. He was right. Counseling wealthy people was more than profitable. It was amazing.
What if she could pay off Anthony’s debt?
He didn’t want her money, said his vowels were his responsibility—plus their current finances couldn’t come close to resolving the matter—but what if someday she could? Perhaps not today, perhaps not in a fortnight, but even if the creditors took him away…she might still get him back.
But once he had his freedom, how would she be able to talk him into living far from London?
Chapter 13
By the time their hired conveyance pulled into Nottingham, Charlotte’s bones were exhausted from so many days of travel.
Her heart, however, was yearning to hope again. Not in a childhood dream of a long-lost father who would sweep her into a new life, but in the flesh-and-blood man seated next to her in the carriage. His unshakeable faith that good fortune was always right around the corner was baffling, but infectious. Perhaps this time, luck had found them both.
Impulsively, she turned to hold his strong, handsome face in her hands and pressed her lips to his. He cupped the back of her head as he responded in kind, his mouth as hungry as her own. She let him hold her close. There was nowhere else she wished to be.
One by one, she extinguished every sense except for their kiss. The clatter of the carriage disappeared until all she could hear was the beating of her heart. The jarring bounce of stiff wheels over uneven road vanished, as did the chill of the night air whistling through the carriage door. All she felt was the strength in his arms, the heat of his embrace. The dizzying taste of his mouth covering hers.
Another woman might wish such a kiss would never stop. Not Charlotte. She hoped it would occur again and again. That her future would be filled with a thousand passionate kisses, safe in the arms of this man. She would never take him for granted. His presence would always feel like she’d slipped into a dream. A place where she was the thing that mattered most. Where every kiss was a promise of five more to come.
She didn’t pull away until her lungs were out of breath and her heart was in grave danger of surrendering itself completely.
Anthony stared at her, his eyes heavy-lidded with arousal. His slow smile was as dazed as her own. “What was that for? Tell me, so I can be sure to do it again.”
“For being you,” she said. She could tell he didn’t believe her, but the truth was both as simple and as alarming as that. He was such a joy to be around. Easy to talk to, easy to travel with, easy to kiss until every beat of her heart pulsed with his name.
“Nottingham,” the jarvey called out. “Should I take a few laps about the square, or do you want to go straight to an inn?”
Cheeks burning, she jerked back to the other side of the carriage and tried to arrange herself as demurely as possible.
Anthony’s eyes met hers. “Definitely the inn.”
She tried to slant him a quelling look, but ended up smiling back at him instead. With Anthony, there was never a reason for shame or embarrassment. Every moment was simply part of the adventure they were building together.
“Got a specific inn in mind?” the jarvey asked. “There’s three up ahead.”
Anthony glanced out of the window and feigned deep thought. He tilted his head toward Charlotte. “Are you in a White Lion sort of humor or are you feeling a bit more Haystack and Horseshoe today?”
“With a full moon tonight?” she teased back. “Only a white lion can protect us.”
“The lady has chosen the second inn on the left,” Anthony informed the driver.
As the jarvey steered his horses in front of the White Lion, another carriage pulled to a stop a few yards behind them.
“Popular choice.” Anthony smiled at Charlotte in approval. “Must be a wise decision.”
Popular. Her earlier elation faded at the idea of staying somewhere fashionable enough that she was likely to be recognized.
Most men of a certain set knew who her mother was. Many of them, intimately. Although she’d tried her hardest to stay out of sight, sharing a face with a courtesan mother made attempts at anonymity laughable.
“Gentlemen” with presumptuous comments and shameless leers were the best of the lot. Others simply assumed “like mother, like daughter,” and yanked her into the nearest shadow with every expectation of enjoying a quick tup.
It was embarrassing, infuriating, and demeaning. And it would be all the worse when it happened in front of Anthony. He still saw her as a respectable woman. As a person.
She didn’t want to change his mind.
As he handed her down from the carriage, a short man with a limp and a scuffed black beaver hat alighted from the coach that had pulled up behind them.
She frowned. Not a man. The same man she’d seen at the inn back in Scotland. Her stomach hollowed and her skin went cold.
For the man in the scuffed hat to show up at the same randomly selected inn, two hundred miles south, having matched their grueling breakneck pace… It was more than an improbable coincidence.
They were being followed.
“Anthony,” she hissed, then stepped in front of him to block the approaching gentleman’s view. Her heart thundered. “The debt collectors have found us.”
“I’ll handle it.” He eased in front of her, stepping directly into harm’s way. His voice lowered. “Was that man one of the other guests at the Kitty and Cock Inn?”
“Yes,” she whispered back. “Should we run for it? Our luggage is still in the hackney.”
He shook his head in confusion. “That’s not one of the enforcers.”
She blinked. “Then who is it?”
“Dashed if I know.” Anthony’s eyes narrowed. “But he’s coming this way.”
She wrapped her arms about her chest and tried not to panic.
“Excuse me, miss?” the man called out.
Anthony stepped forward. “She is my wife.”
“Ma’am,” the man corrected. He bowed in haste. “Sir, could I speak to your wife for a moment?”
Dread sent her a step back. Who was this man? A client of her mother’s? He couldn’t possibly mean to proposition her beneath her husband’s nose, could he?
“I’m not leaving her side.” Anthony crossed his arms.
The man cleared his throat. “Ma’am, I couldn’t help but notice the distinctive ruby ear bobs you were wearing at the Kitty and Cock Inn. Do you mind telling me how they came to be in your possession?”
Her stomach turned at the unspoken implication. He thought she’d stolen them?
“You don’t have to answer,” Anthony murmured into her ear.
But of course she did. People like her never stopped having to defend themselves against insinuation and accusation.
“They were my mother’s,” she blurted. “And before that, my father’s.”
The man’s blank expression did not change. “I see. Who is your father, ma’am?”
“Never mind him, Charlotte,” Anthony murmured again. “He’s no one.”
It was too late. All her newfound self-assurance had already fled, leaving her shoulders as deflated as her confidence. If this man had come all this way to accuse her of something, he must have had a reason. It was better to deal with suspicion before it had the opportunity to spiral even more out of control.
“I don’t know who my father is,” she answered quietly, unable to meet the man’s eyes. “There’s no way to tell.”
“As it happens, ma’am…” He lowered his hat. “That’s not precisely true.”