All's Fair in Love and Seduction

Chapter One

Berkshire, 1864

Her sister was gravely ill.

The knowledge plagued Charlotte Rutherford, consuming her with such fear that a proper night’s sleep had been impossible since her good friend, Lucas Beaumont had informed her upon his return from England.

The news had catapulted her into a frenzy of activity for two days thereafter. In that time, she’d arranged passage to England and closed up her small townhouse in Manhattan. What came next required all of her endurance: an eleven-day voyage across the Atlantic Ocean. With too much time to her solitary thoughts, she’d been wracked with inconsolable grief and the bitterest regret...and heart stopping fear that her presence there would open a Pandora’s Box of a different sort.

Now two weeks to the day after she had learned of her sister’s illness, Charlotte was here. The place she’d once called home. And after an absence of nearly five years, the reality of once again being on English soil—standing at the doors of Rutherford Manor—brought with it the heartbreak of old.

All of that, however, paled in the light of her sister’s illness. For Katie, Charlotte would endure anything, even if it meant risking exposure and opening a wound that had never healed. One she feared might never truly heal.

With her heart in her throat and anxiety now a familiar—albeit unwelcome—companion, Charlotte lifted the knocker of the oak door and brought it down three times in rapid succession.

The ensuing seconds seemed to stretch on endlessly. Were they home? She hadn’t even considered that possibility when she’d arrived in Town and had proceeded directly to Paddington Station to catch the train to Reading. She shot a glance over her shoulder and regarded the phaeton parked in front of her hired coach. Someone must be in residence, as it appeared they had company. Something else she hadn’t considered.

At the opening of the door, she gave a nervous start and spun back around. Reeves, the Rutherford butler of thirty odd years, stood in the doorway, his tall, spare frame and lined visage reminiscent of happier times in days long past. But the advance of age had left its mark. Once possessed of a head of hair with equal amounts of gray and brown, his hair now rivaled the unadulterated white of Father Christmas. And his stature, which formerly would have been the envy of any uniformed man, now gently rounded at the shoulders, proving once again just how time spared no one.

Given he was a man disposed to typical English butler demeanor, she’d never imagined he had it in his personal repertoire to blanch, but that is precisely what he did upon viewing her. He said nothing for several seconds, simply stared, his eyes wide and unblinking. Charlotte stifled a laugh—one of the nervous sort—fearing any attempt at speech would cause her to dissolve into a heap of polka dot skirts at his feet.

Behind her, a horse whinnied and stomped its hooves and birds continued their cheerful chirping while Reeves appeared to be struggling to find his tongue. At length, he exclaimed softly, “Lady Charlotte.” He spoke as if he believed she was but a vision and any undue noise would send her off into obscurity.

Charlotte managed a tremulous smile, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. “Hullo, Reeves. I-I’m delighted to see you looking so well.” The greeting seemed hardly adequate, but she was at a loss to find something fitting to say after so long an absence. So sudden a departure.

Her voice appeared to galvanize him into action. Throwing open the door, he ushered her through an entrance hall as large as the ground floor of her townhouse and into the vestibule. She’d quite forgotten just how large an estate her brother owned.

“I fear we were not apprised of your arrival. Such a shame as, just this morning his lordship and her ladyship went into London with the children. However, Lady Catherine is in residence. She will be happy that you’ve returned.” Reeves never smiled, and that hadn’t changed, but he did appear pleased to make the announcement.

“I hadn’t time to send word of my coming.” She’d naturally assumed everyone would be home with her sister doing so poorly. She was more than a little surprised that James had gone off to London and left Katie alone in the care of the servants—and no doubt the attending physician. Actually, it was inconceivable that he would do so.

Pivoting sharply to face the elderly butler, Charlotte laid a restraining hand on his black clad arm as he made a move to relieve her of her pelisse. “Reeves, can you tell me anything of my sister’s condition?”

Reeves’ stilled at her touch. Lowering his hands to his sides, he stared down at her, his brows furrowed. After a pause, the deep creases in his forehead eased to mere lines. “If you’re speaking of that rather nasty cold she fell ill with the month past, then I can assure you she has since fully recovered.”

A cold?

The doctor has done all he can for her. If she recovers it will be by the grace of God.

She could hear Lucas’s words as though he’d spoken them yesterday. Not even the severest of colds rose to that criticality.

Before she had an opportunity to question Reeves further, the scramble of feet and a high-pitched squeal drew her attention to the top of the double mahogany staircase.

Her sister stood in the middle of the first floor landing clutching the balustrade, her form poised for flight. “Charlotte, is that really you?” Katie cried. Then in a blur of pale green muslin, she took the right set of stairs with all the refinement of a horde of marauding boars. Her fingers skimmed and skipped over the polished mahogany banister as her skirt fluttered and quivered under the breeze of her stampeding steps.

Transfixed by the first sight of her twin in nearly five years as she flew down the stairs, Charlotte could neither move nor speak.

Katie wasn’t ailing.

At least Charlotte had never seen a person whose survival was said to have hinged on God’s mercy with so much bounce and pep, her cheeks flushed with the healthy hue of breathless excitement, not the ravages of fever. No, her sister looked as vital and healthy as any twenty-three year old woman could.

After a fortnight of anticipating the worst and ardent prayers that she’d arrive to find her sister at least on the verge of recovery, a tidal wave of emotion washed over her, and soon Charlotte was moving, her feet carrying her forward without conscious effort or thought.

“Oh Lottie, Lottie. You’ve come back,” her sister cried before launching herself into her arms. “Lord, how I’ve missed you.”

Charlotte choked out a sob at the use of her childhood name as they embraced at the foot of the staircase, clinging to one another under a deluge of shared tears. Joy, relief, and the pain of their long separation had Charlotte trembling uncontrollably. The last time they’d held each other this tightly, they had been frightened five-year-old orphans just arrived at the boarding school. Save a father who’d ensured for only their financial welfare, they’d been very much alone in the world.

“Oh God, I thought you—” Charlotte broke off abruptly when her sister turned a tear-stained face to her, her joy a living breathing entity. How could she now admit she’d returned because she’d thought her near death’s door? She could not.

“Thought I was what?” Katie asked in a voice choked with tears.

“I thought perhaps I wouldn’t find you home,” Charlotte quickly improvised. “Oh Katie, how I missed you too, so very much.”

Katie’s breaths came in pants and half sobs, her arms tightening around Charlotte’s waist until she could scarce draw a breath. How long they stood holding each other, she didn’t know. But for those finite moments, time seemed to stand still.

After she caught her breath, and her sister was no longer gasping as if she’d been running too hard and too long, Charlotte loosened her hold and drew back to take in a face so dearly familiar and identical to her own. With them, their differences lay beneath the surface.

Sky blue eyes fringed with thick lashes gazed back at her. Eyes glassy with tears. In all the jostling and excitement, ringlets of burnished gold curls had come dislodged from what had to be a small army of pins securing her sister’s chignon. How well Charlotte knew what it took to keep the thick mane properly tamed and presentable.

Katie reached out to cradle Charlotte’s cheek in her palm, her touch almost reverent. “Where—when–why didn’t you say anything about coming home in your last letter?”

“The decision was very last minute,” Charlotte whispered in a voice equally thick with emotion as her twin’s.

After brushing the crest of Charlotte’s cheek with her thumb, Katie dropped her hand to her side. “I hope you realize that James and Missy will be beside themselves when I send word of your return,” she chided gently. “They’re to stay in London a week. Of course, I’ll have to send word express that you’ve returned. I expect they’ll be home tomorrow or soon after.”

“I know and I’m disappointed too, but in a way I’m happy it’s just the two of us—at least for today.”

Katie smiled, her face flushed pink with pleasure. After several seconds of contented silence, she took a step back and began a critical appraisal of Charlotte’s figure, commencing at the ruffled collar of her blue and yellow wool-traveling suit. Her expression sobered the further her gaze continued downward. “You’re too thin. Why, I must outweigh you by a good half a stone.”

“Perhaps a little. I’ve recently dropped some weight.” The stress of thinking one’s sister hovered on the brink of death tended to kill one’s appetite. Of course, that was something she couldn’t now admit to her twin.

“We’ll have to fatten you up a bit. It’s obvious you haven’t been taking proper care of yourself,” Katie stated crisply, eyeing the dress at her waist, which several weeks ago had cinched it nicely instead of bunching with excess fabric as it did now.

“You haven’t changed a bit, still just as bossy as ever,” Charlotte teased, attempting to lighten the mood. Her sister would have time to reproach about her inadequate diet later. Desperate to hold off the questions sure to come, she turned to her surroundings. Her gaze swept the three-storey vestibule and down the wide corridor of the picture gallery ahead. “Though the same can’t be said of this place. I would hardly recognize it anymore.”

Katie came immediately to her side and hooked her arm through hers as if she couldn’t bear any physical distance between them. Following the direction of Charlotte’s gaze, she said, “Yes, Missy redecorated three summers ago. I’m proud to say I did have a small hand in the effort. I selected the chandelier.” Her sister angled them toward the front and pointed at the elaborate crystal and glass lighting fixture soaring high above the entryway. “A fine choice if I daresay.”

Charlotte nodded her agreement. Her sister had always had exquisite taste.

“Missy insisted on a décor more suited to children. The rugs were purchased when the floors met with one too many of her treasured Wedgwood vases. Marble tends to be terribly unforgiving that way.” She emitted an airy chuckle. “But the alterations have added a warmth that was lacking before. Don’t you think it looks and feels more like a home and less like a museum than when the dowager lived here?”

Charlotte nodded mutely as a frisson of fear coursed the length of her spine at the mention of the dowager. She didn’t want to think about her.

Slowly, she lowered her gaze to admire the Persian rug beneath her booted feet, and continued on to take in silk-papered walls done in dark green. Two walnut tables inlaid with a lighter wood, and several chairs with cushioned seats in which a weary bottom might actually find comfort also graced the hall.

“Yes, it certainly does.”

Months after the death of their father, James’s mother, the dowager Countess of Windmere, moved to Devon and James took possession of the manor. Charlotte had found the place as cold and sterile as its previous occupant. Although they had never been formally introduced, the dowager had made no secret of her loathing for Charlotte and Katie. But given they were the illegitimate issue of the woman’s husband and born only months after her youngest son, her feelings were understandable and expected. However, the dowager had carried her hatred too far. The letter and the threat had revealed her truly vindictive side.

“While I was sad for James and Christopher when she passed away, I must admit to a sense of relief knowing our paths would never cross again.”

Charlotte’s next breath emerged a serrated gasp. Her head snapped to the side and she stared at Katie, mouth agape. “She is dead?” she asked in a hushed whisper.

Her sister sent her a puzzled frown, her winged brows collecting over a slender nose. “Surely you can’t be distressed?” Katie asked, clearly mistaking her shock for sadness. “You know how I normally refrain from the use of clichés, but truly that woman has been the bane of my existence. If you had remained, you would have been similarly affected. I’m certain if not for that wretched woman, I would have married ages ago. But no, she refused to allow anyone to forget I was James’s illegitimate sister. Not at all good enough for their precious sons.”

Charlotte didn’t respond immediately, still trying to digest the enormity of what she’d just learned. Dare she hope with the dowager gone, so too was the threat she had posed to everyone Charlotte loved?

“When—when did she die?” If she died recently, there was still time for the truth to come out if she’d confided in anyone.

“Early last year. I would have told you had I an address to send my correspondence to,” Katie replied a note of censure in her voice.

For almost an entire year. The length of time gave Charlotte great hope. James and Missy were in London with the children, and presumably still welcome members of Society. Certainly if the dowager had shared the information, something would have surfaced by now. It appeared she had taken it with her to her grave. She shot Katie a glance. Their secret was safe.

“I imagine it must have been a very difficult time for James and Christopher.” This Charlotte could say with all honesty.

Her sister gave her a sidelong look. “I feared you were going to start spouting empty platitudes about how sorry you are that she’s gone. She was a simply horrible woman, and I haven’t missed her one little bit.”

No, Charlotte couldn’t have lied to her sister about that. She wasn’t that good an actress. “As I said before, you haven’t changed at all,” she said dryly. Her sister didn’t believe in being agreeable for propriety’s sake.

Katie flashed an infectious grin. “And why should I change? As I recall it was the only way anyone could tell us apart. Should I become kind and agreeable, I could very well be mistaken for you.”

“And we certainly wouldn’t want that,” Charlotte replied, feeling lighter than she had in years. Such a shame that the death of someone close to the brothers she loved had removed an enormous weight from her. “Although, that happened often enough when we first came to live with James.”

For their newly discovered brother and his bride, telling her and Katie apart had come down to the simple matter of her sister’s birthmark—a tiny mole on the nape of her neck. The memory of Missy craning her neck in a not so subtle attempt to determine the existence—or lack thereof—of said birthmark brought a small smile to Charlotte’s face, eliciting a stark sense of nostalgia.

“Yes, the only person who never confused us was Al—” Katie broke off abruptly, as her eyes flashed wide with alarm. “I didn’t mean to-I mean….”

Tears stung Charlotte’s eyes and her chest constricted. Pulling her sister’s arm tighter against her side, she whispered, “It’s fine. I won’t break at the mention of his name. Truly. Anyway, it was I who….” She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. “Alex has always been a big part of our—your life. I certainly don’t expect you to change anything to suit me.”

With a tiny nod, Katie drew Charlotte into the circle of her arms for a gentle hug before setting her away. “Come, you must be famished. Off with your cloak and I shall have the cook prepare you something to eat. Then you can tell me everything that has happened to you in these last five years. I assume you hired a hackney from the station in town.”

Without giving Charlotte an opportunity to respond, her sister turned to Reeves, who stood far enough away as to allow them privacy, but close enough to be summoned to duty forthwith. “Reeves, please have the footmen retrieve my sister’s belongings from the coach.”

“No!” The response sprang sharp and unbidden from Charlotte’s mouth. Even she could hear the panic threading her tone.

Both the butler and her twin treated her to a look of surprise.

“I mean not yet. Katie, there is something I need to tell you—”

A movement, a figure, in the corner of her vision halted her speech. Charlotte shifted her gaze. Her breath and her world came to a shuddering halt.

Alex.

He rounded the stretch of hall leading from the study. Their eyes met across a distance of some forty feet.

Her breath left her completely then. The air surrounding her became charged and hot.

His stride might have faltered but he recovered so swiftly, she couldn’t be certain she hadn’t imagined it.

Charlotte stood frozen, ensnared as deftly and completely as a rabbit in the presence of a rattler preparing to strike. She watched as he proceeded down the seemingly endless corridor toward her.

Senses starved for the flesh and blood man greedily tried to take him in all at once, hoarding away every minute detail to take back with her to feed the lonely nights when dreams and memories were all she’d have…and yet still not enough.

Save the measured fall of his footsteps, silence reigned with a parasitic presence that made speech a novelty and breathing a luxury. Charlotte could do nothing but wait in statue-like stillness while her heart picked up its pace. To even blink would have been unimaginable.

As he drew closer, she began to make out the subtle changes time had wrought in his visage.

In appearance, he looked much the same as the man she’d known and loved—loved still. With hair the black and shine of obsidian brushing the collar of his tan morning coat, and the delicious little dimple in his chin, he had always been surfeit in looks. But the Alex of old had possessed a wicked sort of charm. His smile, lazy and hinting at deeper passions, had caused the palpitation of many a female hearts. Upon their betrothal announcement, the gossip sheets had stated the sound of those very same hearts breaking could be heard from Cornwall to Northumberland.

At present, however, it appeared no smile would dare venture near his lips. Faint lines bracketed his full mouth, the surrounding skin taut and unforgiving in its sternness. And there was an iciness in his expression that pierced her heart with a corresponding blast of cold. He even carried his lean muscular frame with an aloofness, tight and very controlled.

Any hope that she would find in him a smidgeon of warmth, an inkling of the affection he’d once felt for her, wilted and died under his regard. Yet she remained resolute as he advanced upon her, awaiting the first words they would exchange since the day before what should have been their wedding day.

With his every step, her anxiety climbed and her heart stumbled over the hurdle an ocean and five years had created. Twenty steps separating them became ten and then five. He stopped just shy of an arm’s length of her. Continuing to imprison her with his silver-eyed gaze, he finally spoke. “I see you have company.”

Charlotte nearly wept at the sound of his voice, a smoky baritone. Perhaps that was the reason it took her a moment to comprehend he was speaking to Katie and not her. That it was she to whom he referred to as ‘company’.

“Alex, I had no idea you were here,” her sister said with an uncharacteristic catch in her voice.

After a taut silence, he yanked his gaze from Charlotte’s and turned to include her sister in his regard as well as his address. “I instructed Reeves not to disturb you when I arrived. I’m just here to retrieve some documents your brother left for me.”

It was then Charlotte noticed the large envelope clutched in his hand.

“Um, Alex, Char-Charlotte has ju-just now arrived.”

Never had Charlotte heard her sister stammer so. Given the circumstances, it was she who should be rattled and out of sorts. She was all that and more.

“So I see,” he replied in clipped tones, keeping his gaze averted from her. As telling and deliberate a gesture as she’d ever witnessed.

Charlotte knew then she would have to initiate any form of communication between them. And who else should do it if not her.

“Hullo, Alex,” she said, finding her courage and her voice. But never had two words taken so much effort to speak.

His jaw firmed, his nostrils flared and an ominous stillness settled over him. A moment later he gave her sister a brisk nod. “I shall leave you to your guest. Good day, Catherine.” His gaze did not venture in her direction again. It was as if, to him, she’d ceased to exist.

Charlotte turned to watch as his long strides carried him across the wool rugs on the marble floors, through the entrance hall, and out the front door.

Lord, he wouldn’t even acknowledge her. She’d have preferred he’d railed and cursed her. She’d rather he’d shaken her like a ragdoll. Anything would have been better than being so ignored.

The weight of her sister’s hand settled on the curve of her shoulder, comforting and warm. “He is in shock. You must give him time to adjust to your…presence.” Though the words were meant to placate her, Katie’s tone held a hint of something else, a pained sort of despair. As if she herself was experiencing Charlotte’s hurt.

But Charlotte now knew he would never forgive her. The entire situation would simply grow ever more intolerable. The sooner she returned to America, the better it would be for everyone. To see him was to be constantly reminded of all she’d lost and all she’d had to walk away from. It would simply be too much.

“Where is he staying? The guesthouse? Have I just sent him in search of other accommodations?” Charlotte imagined he’d be departing the place shortly.

“Oh no, it’s nothing like that. Alex purchased the Grechen Manor two years back. Do you remember it?”

Charlotte briefly lowered her lids, only able to dip her head in response. Of course she remembered the Palladian style manor house with its portico, towering columns and lush green lawns. She’d fallen in love with it on sight. The house was no more than ten miles down the road, an easy distance by carriage or on horseback. Alex lived but a stone’s throw away.

“Oh Lottie, you mustn’t look so cast down.” Catherine nudged her chin up with her fingertip. “So much has happened since you’ve been gone. Alex hasn’t been the same since you left. You must be patient with him.”

A blink sent a stream of tears down cheeks now cool to the touch. They landed on her sister’s palm. “He despises me.”

“Believe me my dear, he does not despise you. Isn’t it obvious he’s still hurt by the whole affair? That itself says a great deal about how much he loved you.”

Loved her. The past not the present. He didn’t love her anymore. And would he still have loved her if he knew the truth about her. Who she really was?

“Come now, you look positively fatigued. First we must get some food in you and then you can rest. I’ll have to put off my interrogation until later.”

Her sister’s words had her stomach clenching in apprehension. There was one secret she had no choice but to reveal now, for it would become known soon enough.

“Katie, I didn’t come back to England alone. There is someone I’m most desperate for you to meet.”

She was back.

Alex descended the front steps toward his carriage, his pulse pounding a staccato beat. After two years of sobriety, he wanted—no needed—a drink. He needed enough to wipe her image clean from his mind. Which meant he’d have to consume the whole damn bottle. But thankfully not a drop of alcohol existed at his residence. Today he was safe, temptation of that sort well out of reach.

Though not impossible to acquire should his resolve crumble, a voice inside of him taunted. Alex ruthlessly quashed it. He’d come too far and worked too hard to be dragged down by that particular vice. By her.

Why the blazes had she come back? A damned eternity would have been soon enough to have to see her again.

Was she back for good? Was she married?

The questions crept insidiously into his thoughts, catching him unaware. Once years ago, he would have sold his soul—and at times thought he had—for any news of her. How often had he lain in his bed and prayed she’d come back to him or wished he would wake up to discover his wedding day had just been a dream. A nightmare. Today the thought that only a few miles separated them made his blood run cold.

She was so damn beautiful. Though unwanted, the observation was in no way a compliment to her. It was simply a statement of fact. And if he dared flirt with facts, he would have to concede she was even more beautiful than before. At eighteen, she’d been a flower on the brink of bloom. Well, she had bloomed and was certain to be a danger to the gentlemen in Society. No doubt she was a danger to men everywhere. Lord how he wished those four years, ten months and three weeks hadn’t been so kind to her.

Suddenly, the plaintive cry of a child rent the quiet of the April midday. Just about to bolt into his carriage, Alex’s gloved hand stilled on the cool metal sides of the phaeton. Angling his head in the direction of the sound, he noted for the first time a hackney coach parked a fair distance behind his in the circular drive. No doubt her transport. And it appeared she hadn’t come alone.

Without stopping to consider the injudiciousness of his actions, but compelled by a force beyond his control, Alex tossed the envelope onto the passenger seat of his phaeton and started toward the carriage, unsure of his purpose or what he hoped to learn.

He passed the idling driver without a glance, his mind preoccupied.

Whose child was it? Not that any of this mattered to him. It did not. Despite his denials, he found himself peering into the dark green interior. Ensconced in the back was a woman, and tucked at her side sat a young boy, whom she spoke to in quiet, soothing tones.

“Is there something wrong with the child?” He was fully cognizant that he had no business asking the question and that the answer was none of his concern. None of that seemed to matter.

The woman’s head snapped up at his voice revealing a breathtakingly beautiful face belonging to a young woman of no more than seventeen or eighteen years. With brown spiraling curls peeping from beneath her bonnet and a complexion that resembled his own tanned several hours in the sun, it was apparent she was of mixed blood. A mulatto.

“No sir, we is—are waiting for his mama,” she replied in an accent that proclaimed her American origins.

She had a child.

Although Alex had prepared himself for such an answer, upon actually hearing it, he stiffened, his breath escaping between his lips in an audible rush.

Swallowing hard, he stared at the boy who sat crowded against the girl, a fisted hand rubbing his eyes as if he’d just awakened. Then the boy tipped his head back to gaze up at him. Alex staggered back a step, his stomach feeling as if it had plunged clear down to his toes.

When he was five, his mother had commissioned a portrait of him and his older brother, Charles. Vivid in his recollection were the three lashes he’d received that day from his father for some small infraction. It had never taken much for him to raise his father’s ire—it still did not. The portrait borne of that unhappy incident in his young life hung in the gallery at Windsor Place, the Duke’s seat and country estate. The child who peered up at him now, his blue eyes still drowsy with sleep, his hair a mop of blonde looping curls, could have been the six-year-old boy in the portrait.

The child peering up at him could have been his brother Charles.