At least, Anthony hoped Courteland couldn’t hurt her anymore. There was no telling what the will-reading might bring. What if the other family members were cruel to her? He couldn’t recall the duke having an heir apparent, but that wasn’t necessarily a boon. Distant cousins fighting for scraps could be even more vicious than a half-sibling might be.
And while Anthony was here right now, holding her slender cold hands in his, would he still be there a week from now when she needed him? Dread washed over him. And fear. By then, he might already be in Marshalsea.
Hands shaking, he helped her into her night rail and carried her to bed. After taking off his heavy boots and greatcoat, he curled in beside her, determined never to let her go.
Gently, he stroked her hair. He wasn’t certain whether being named in Courteland’s will would prove to be a blessing or a curse. After all this time, after never taking an interest in his daughter while he was still alive to do so, what the deuce would the blackguard have left her in his will? More jewels? Land? A pittance?
Money, as always, would solve all their problems. But even if it were enough money to right his wrongs, he yearned to be as dependable as Charlotte needed him to be. To be responsible for a change. To provide for her, to clean up his own scrapes, to fix his life without ruining hers.
Trepidation snaked down his spine. What if the old duke did leave Charlotte something worth money and the creditors took it—and it still wasn’t enough to keep Anthony out of prison? He could never forgive himself if his past actions robbed her of her inheritance, after everything she’d already lost.
He doubted Charlotte would ever forgive him either.
Chapter 15
Anthony awoke the following morning with Charlotte still cradled in his arms.
He kissed her forehead. He was glad that he could do at least this much for her. To be there when she needed someone. More than that—to be the one that she needed.
Even if he wasn’t yet certain he would always be there, he could swear to never let her down for as long as he was able. He hoped it was forever.
It might be less than a week.
“Good morning.” She opened her eyes and smiled up at him shyly. “Thank you for calming me last night. I feel much better.”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “Good morning, yourself. Did you sleep well?”
“How could I not?” Her cheeks turned pink. “I was in your arms.”
He grinned. “We should do this again sometime.”
“Every time,” she whispered. A shadow flickered across her face as if she too had just remembered they might not have much time left. “Today we head toward London?”
“Toward, yes. We should rest for the night near Northampton.”
She sighed. “I feel like all we do is ride in carriages and rest for the night.”
“That is all we do.” He stroked her cheek. “That, and I earn a bob or two sowing a few fields while you make twenty quid sipping tea with some wealthy old biddy.”
She laughed and cuffed his chest. “Mrs. Rowden was a sweet lady.”
“So sweet her own son didn’t want to speak to her?”
“Do you speak to your parents?” she shot back archly.
“Not as often as I should,” he admitted with a twinge. “I drop by every time the tables leave me flush, but Lady Fortune is not something is capable of planning around.”
“How delightful—blame the woman,” she murmured. “Lady Fortune isn’t even real and she’s responsible for everything.”
“Lady Fortune,” he informed her, “is right here in my arms.”
“And much prefers being here over being in a carriage,” she assured him.
He batted his eyelashes at her. “Your words…they’re like poetry.”
She nodded. “‘Romantic poetess’ shall be my reserve profession, should the current stream of wealthy old biddies come to an end.”
He clutched his heart dramatically. “Let us pray for indecisive old biddies to fall from the sky like…wealthy drops of rain.”
“You…should perchance not become a poet, either.” She gave him a consoling pat. “I hope this does not crush your dreams.”
“When I was young, I wanted to be a pirate.” He chuckled in remembrance. “Or a botanist. I had very eclectic tastes.”
Her eyes twinkled. “I imagine your parents had their own idea of suitable pursuits for a young man of your station.”
He shrugged rather than respond. There was little to say. His parents never thought he’d be much of anything. They had never managed to match their income to their spending. Why would their son fare any better?
Nonetheless, they were always pleased to see him. And their contentment made him happy. “What do you think about paying them a call when we get to London?”
Her lips parted in surprise. A flicker of fear marred her brow for a moment. Then a tentative smile curved her lips.
“I would love to meet your parents,” she said shyly. Her eyes shone with hope.
“I am certain they would love to meet you, too,” he answered automatically. He realized his mistake the moment her happy expression wilted.
“You know they won’t.” Her voice was dull. “They’ll be disappointed in me. They’ll be disappointed in you for marrying me.”
“They will not be disappointed,” he assured her. “Have you not considered they mightn’t have the slightest inkling of your past?”
“Have you considered that they might?” she countered, an anguished expression in her eyes. “What if your father takes one look at me and asks if I’m the daughter of Judith Devon, the courtesan? Perhaps they shared an ‘understanding’ a decade or two ago. Perhaps they still do.”
He winced. That would be…awkward, at best.
“Even if all of that happens…” He cupped her cheek. “I don’t care if you came from the wrong side of the blanket or if you fell from the sky. Just focus on me, and what I like.”
“Hmm.” Her features softened. “What do you like?”
He smoothed a lock of hair away from her face. “I like this brilliant brain of yours, and I love how even perfect strangers are drawn to your compassion and logic.” He kissed her forehead. “I like how they automatically respect your opinions, and I love how proud I am of you.”
Her cheeks flushed scarlet. “My opinions mean nothing. It’s just common sense.”
He brushed his thumb along her cheekbone. “I like these gorgeous blue eyes because they can see which henwits have misplaced their common sense so you can try to help them. These eyes are also remarkably perceptive at a gaming table. If a gentleman doesn’t mind his step, he might find himself losing more than his purse.”
“Like when you offered me your ‘purity?’” Her tone was dry, but her eyes twinkled.
“A selfless sacrifice,” he assured her. “To prove I was a gentleman.”
She arched her eyebrows. “Oh, I had no doubt.”
His heart warmed as the sparkle returned to her eyes. He leaned forward to kiss each corner of her mouth, then pressed a long kiss to the center of her lips. “I like this mouth because it hides a rapier wit. Perhaps ‘hides’ is the wrong term. I like this mouth because of the deep, grievous wounds each word makes as it cuts across my fragile ego like a—”
She burst out laughing. “I couldn’t dent your fragile ego with an anvil.”
“Fortuitously, we do not possess such a tool, so we are spared the experiment.” He gave her delicious mouth a kiss heated with sensual promise before lowering his lips to the soft line of her jaw, behind the lobe of her ear, down the curve of her neck. “I love your beautiful neck because even when you try to hide your interest in my kisses, the pulse at the base of your throat gives you away…like it’s doing right now.”
Her heartbeat fluttered against his lips, sending his blood racing. He tried to tamp down his body’s natural response. There would be other opportunities to indulge in his own release. This morning, he wanted to keep the focus on her. To give her pleasure.