Mistress by Mistake

Chapter 23

Charlotte woke to the morning rhythms of Bayard Court, the rattle of a coal bucket, whispers and laughter on the stairs. The other side of the mattress showed no signs of disturbance. Bay had not ever come to the bed he’d tucked her into around midnight. He’d left her with a warm brick, a tot of brandy, and a kiss, off to the village to check on Frazier and see that Anne Whitley got more than a lump on her head. Gingerly, Charlotte touched her own goose egg. Her mama would have been disappointed that, once again, she’d failed to faint with grace.

She tried to rise, but quickly sank back onto the feather pillows. Dizzy and nauseous, and not just because of last night’s commotion. She felt weak as a kitten, although she was proud that she found the necessary strength last night to do the dirty work of dispatching Anne Whitley.

Lord, but her head hurt, but probably Anne’s was worse. Charlotte rolled carefully to reach the bellpull, then shut her eyes to ward away the dancing spots. She’d drunk altogether too much wine last night. Feeling her stomach lurch, she willed herself to lie still and wait.

It didn’t take Irene long to tap on the door and enter. Charlotte was relieved to see the maid brought two pitchers of water, one for drinking and one for washing up. Irene hadn’t said a word, but knew that Charlotte had been too sick first thing in the morning to swallow anything but Adam’s ale.

“Good morning, Miss Fallon! Such excitement last night! You’re a proper heroine, you are.” The girl poured Charlotte a tall glass of water and brought it to her bedside. “My, but you’re looking peaky. A bit green. Do you want a basin?”

“Not yet. Did you bring any crackers?”

Irene reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a linen napkin. “Here you are. Sir Michael says you’re not to worry yourself about getting up. I’m to bring breakfast to you when you want it.”

Charlotte took a deep swallow. “Where is he?”

“He’s downstairs with Mr. and Mrs. Buckland. Lady Whitley’s parents, you know.”

Charlotte shuddered. “And where is she?”

“Dr. Dixfield’s house in the village. You’re not to worry about her either. He’s got her under lock and key. Drugged her, too,” Irene said, her eyes lighting with satisfaction. “After what she did to poor Angus, he’s not letting her out of his sight.”

“Mr. Frazier will be all right, won’t he?”

“Oh, aye. He’s back home already, and Kitty is spinning in circles waiting on him hand and foot. The doctor said it was just a flesh wound. On his arm. Angus said it would take more than one crazy woman to kill him when the Frogs couldn’t. Everything will be all right, Miss Fallon, you’ll see.”

“I hope so.” She bit into a soda cracker and took another sip of water. Charlotte didn’t think Bay would want any of last night to become public knowledge. But the Toothaker sisters were witnesses to Anne’s desperation-how quiet could they keep? “Sir Michael hasn’t slept at all, has he?”

Irene shook her head. “I don’t believe so. He was busy with you, then getting the stable lads to watch over Lady Whitley while he went into the village to see about Angus and get word to the Bucklands. And then he came back and took that woman away. The boys are to take turns guarding the doctor’s house today. They said Lady Whitley screamed like a banshee all night long. Scared them silly, she did, cursing and whatnot. They’ll have something to talk about in the pub for years to come.” Irene opened the drapes and threw open the casement window. A fresh sea breeze wafted in. It looked to be another beautiful summer day.

And now the stable boys were involved, and hardly the strapping guards as would be needed to protect the world from Anne Whitley. Poor Bay. What a scandal it would be. Even if no one ever found out exactly how Anne spent her last unfettered minutes, the gossip would be relentless. Charlotte knew only too well its power. How could she and Bay marry and find peace at Bayard Court when they lived only a few miles from the Bucklands?

Charlotte made a second unwise attempt to get out of bed and was grateful when Irene caught her before she tumbled to the floor.

“Now, you stay put. Let me wash you up and do your hair, Miss Fallon. According to my mam, you’ll feel better in a month or two.” Irene blushed, lowering her eyes. “I hope I haven’t got ahead of myself, but I did notice.”

Charlotte blushed right back. “You haven’t said anything to Sir Michael, have you? I-I’m not sure yet, you know.”

Irene dipped a sponge into the warm water and proceeded to scrub Charlotte’s hot face. “’Course not. Nor to Mrs. Kelly either, but I think she knows. She always knows everything.”

Charlotte was quiet as Irene brushed and braided her hair, remembering Bay’s attentions yesterday after their swim. She really should wash the sea salt from her hair. Her body itched a bit, too. “I think I’d better have a bath this morning, Irene, if it’s not too much trouble for you girls. Don’t take Kitty away from Mr. Frazier, though. Goodness, the Toothaker sisters must be done in. Frightened, too.”

“Oh, we’ll be glad of our beds later. But you don’t know! In the shock of the shooting and all, Angus proposed to Kitty, so she’s more than happy. And Sir Michael has given everyone the day off tomorrow, and cash bonuses besides.”

Charlotte smiled, imagining tough Angus Frazier pouring his heart out. She hoped he did a better job of it than his master. “Please tell Sir Michael to come up here when he can, Irene. And don’t bother with my breakfast for a while yet. Just the bathwater.”

“Yes, miss. Right away.”

Charlotte waited until Irene disappeared before she spewed her water and cracker crumbs into the chamber pot. If she had to endure two more months of this, it would be hard going. But worth every unpleasantness. She rested a hand on her belly, imagining the tiny child within, a child that was actually going to have a father once Bay got his proposal right.

Summoning up her energy, she limped to the window to toss the contents out onto the bush below, then leaned out to swallow up the day. That poor bush wouldn’t thank her for the regular morning insult. Friendly puffy white clouds shadowed the sea’s dazzling surface as they blew across the sky. The wind caught the tail end of Charlotte’s braid. It was a perfect day for a sail, if she dared trust her stomach. But Bay would probably spend the day in bed in well-deserved rest once he had tidied up the business of Anne Whitley.

What would become of her? Charlotte decided she could not feel sorry for the woman, despite things Bay had told her as he quickly wrapped her in the coverlet last night. No matter what the viscountess had suffered at the hands of Viscount Whitley, she had gone beyond the pale. Kidnapping, attempted murder, virtual rape, if a woman could actually rape a man. Charlotte had not thought it possible until she had seen it with her own eyes. Thankfully it had been too dark for details.

If Anne were not imprisoned somewhere, they would never be free of her. She posed a danger to them-and this baby. Charlotte had horrific visions of a figure in black, tossing the child into the sea.

Her hand gripped the windowsill. If she had to, she would leave Bayard Court, and all the worthy proposals in the world would not be enough to stop her.

Bay half listened in exhaustion as Mr. Buckland continued to sputter inarticulate inanities. Mrs. Buckland was silent, looking gray, her skin and hair blending into the gray dress she’d donned so hastily in the night. They had both seen their daughter for themselves in Dr. Dixfield’s study. Bay had had to pry her off once again when she threw herself at him in hysterics, then restrain her as she began to throw medical textbooks and bric-a-brac with abandon. The Bucklands had watched in relief when Jamie Dixfield forced her to swallow an opiate while Bay held her still, then watched in alarm as the doctor restrained her in his spare bedroom.

Bay had known Jamie Dixfield all his life. They were of an age, played together, drank together, even wenched together. As boys they both had worshipped the slightly older Anne Buckland from afar. “Young” Dr. Dixfield, who had succeeded his father, “Old” Dr. Dixfield, had looked about as sick as Bay felt during that fiendish hour as Anne thrashed about his study.

Her parents had seen most of it. Why were they so blatantly resistant to the truth? Impatiently, Bay pulled his shirt from his breeches and lifted it. Four inches shy of his navel was a perfectly round bruise. Mrs. Buckland switched from gray to bright pink.

“Cover yourself, man!” Mr. Buckland said, shocked.

“See this? It’s from the barrel of Anne’s gun. Probably one of yours, sir, but sorry, it was pitched into the sea. This is the method she persuaded me with last night when she chose to couple with me. I should be grateful. Last time she hired four men who kidnapped me and beat me senseless. You cannot keep making excuses for her, sir. They dishonor you and diminish Anne’s problem.”

“Her only problem is you! First disgracing her with that hasty marriage-why, she wasn’t even out of mourning-and then never leaving her alone! You-you forced her to break her wedding vows!”

Anne’s mother spoke, finally. She had progressed from pink to vermillion. Bay gave her a twisted smile. “Which ones? Mine or Whitley’s? I assure you I meant mine as much as he did. And I would have been kinder to her than he ever was. Look to yourselves-I know Anne came to you time and time again when he made her suffer. And you both did nothing.”

“He was a viscount,” Anne’s ambitious father said, as if that explained everything.

“And I am a mere baronet. Rich, though. I can pay for Anne’s treatment. Dixfield might know of a place-”

“No!” Mrs. Buckland’s face was white now. “She’ll be with mad people. She won’t be safe.”

“Madam, I and my fiancée Miss Fallon-indeed my entire household staff-will not be safe unless Anne’s locked away. She can’t keep shooting my valet. Eventually, he won’t stand for it. Should harm befall Charlotte, I would have to take matters into my own hands.”

He stared down Mrs. Buckland, leaving no doubt of his threatened intentions. The woman looked away. “I’ll discuss it with Dixfield. You need do nothing more than-than sign the papers.”

Both the Bucklands suddenly looked their age. Anne was their only child, born to them when they had given up hope of ever having children. She had been spoiled from the instant she opened her blue eyes in her bassinet. They had wanted nothing but the best for her-which unfortunately included marriage at sixteen to a viscount with a vast estate and a predilection for cruelty. Anne had spent nearly twenty years paying for her parents’ willful blindness.

Mr. Buckland nodded. “Very well. Tell Dixfield-tell Dixfield we’ll cooperate.”

“Kenneth! Couldn’t we keep her at home? Hire s-someone?”

Her husband touched her gently, as if he knew she was already broken. “Marjorie, you know he’s right. It’s been an uncomfortable few weeks having her home again. You must agree.” He turned to Bay. “Thank you, Sir Michael. I’m sorry things have turned out the way they have. If I had known-well, there’s no use crying over spilt milk. Tell Jamie Dixfield to do his best. It won’t be easy.”

No, it wouldn’t be. But if anyone had a hope with Anne, it might be the other lad who had loved her, too.

Bay wanted nothing more than his bed, with Charlotte beside him. Seeing Irene standing discreetly in the hallway as he saw the Bucklands out the door, his heart stuttered. “Is she all right?”

Irene blushed. “Yes, sir. A bit tired. She’s having a bath and would like to see you as soon as it’s convenient.”

Bay supposed Jamie Dixfield could wait a while. He’d lent the doctor the two stable boys for the day to serve in shifts as needed, and secured Mrs. Kelly’s niece, who lived in the village, to assist the doctor’s elderly housekeeper in the care of his difficult new patient. The man had access to drugs and restraints, so he was better equipped to deal with Anne Whitley than most.

He pictured Charlie in the bathtub. It was almost as large as the tub on Jane Street. He’d lost his neckcloth somewhere during the hazardous evening, but began to unbutton his shirt as he mounted the stairs. Hot water. The satin of Charlie’s clean skin against his heart. His pace quickened.

He didn’t bother to tap on the door but went straight to the little dressing room. Charlie’s back was slick with soap bubbles, her hair piled up in a hasty knot atop her head. With a flick of his wrist, he removed the pins and watched it tumble down.

“Oh! I didn’t hear you! You might have given me apoplexy,” she said, looking up at him, the tender skin beneath her blue eyes a perfect match for them.

“You did sleep a bit, didn’t you?” he asked, concerned.

“Off and on. I missed you.” She extended a hand of welcome. Bay dropped his wrinkled trousers and slipped gratefully into the water.

“I was rather busy.”

For a few minutes there was silence between them as Charlie lathered his torso, her wicked fingers teasing the hair under his arms and tracing the muscles of his chest. She made no mention of the purple circle at the base of his ribs, but brushed by it with a featherlight caress. What could she think of his honor and intentions, when she had found him with Anne last night? He stilled her hand. He had to tell her. Now, when the words were foaming up to the surface like soap bubbles. Words he was too stupid to say yesterday. “I love you, Charlie, and only you. You saved my life last night. If I had gotten the gun away from Anne, I think I would have shot myself. It was the only way to stop her.” He watched all color leach from her face; even her lips seemed bloodless. “I can’t kill her. Oh, I think about it, I’ve even talked about it, threatened her parents with it, but I can’t. There’s too much history. And pity. But if you can forgive me, I’ll make last night up to you for the rest of our lives. Please marry me, Charlie. I can’t live without you.”

She blinked, or perhaps he did. There were tears in his eyes, tears of frustration and impossible yearning. He hadn’t cried in quite some time; it simply wasn’t done. But all he wanted to do was hold Charlie’s beautiful wet body to him and weep into her sea-scented hair. He was so tired, so very, very tired.

He heard her sigh and then whisper the word he needed to hear. And then the problem of Anne seemed to float out of range as the miracle of Charlie’s love washed over him. Her kiss was so innocent. So hopeful. So hard to resist, and he would never have to. Why had it taken him so long to realize that love could be separated from obsession and defeat? Charlie would never collar him and tug at his leash on a whim. She would give herself to him without reservation, and he to her. Anne as an obstacle was removed from his heart and their path.

Her finger stroked the raised scar on his cheek, a permanent reminder of his stupidity. But he would brave any sword if it meant a future with Charlie. Perhaps every single stumble had led him right here where he should be, in cooling bathwater with this stubborn, loving woman. A woman who saved his life with a chamber pot. In the middle of the most delicious, the most disarming kiss, he began to laugh.

He couldn’t stop. Relief coursed through his blood like the richest wine. Charlie’s eyes flew open, her dark brows beetled. She looked as prim as if she had one of her ridiculous lacy caps on her head. She smacked his chest.

“You simply cannot get the hang of this proposing business. Just what is so amusing?”

“Oh, my love. Think about it. A short while ago I entered a dark house to commit the sin of seriously mistaking your identity. You must admit we got off to a most dubious beginning. I seem to remember candlesticks and kidnapping and a bite or two. But there’s no doubt. None. You were made just for me, and I thank God for it.”

“Well.” She seemed somewhat mollified by his explanation and just a bit speechless. He tangled his fingers in her hair and she winced.

“How is your head?”

“Sore. My poor mama’s fainting lessons were unsuccessful, I’m afraid.”

Bay grinned. “You had fainting lessons? Just what else did your mother try to teach you?”

“I was a poor study. She would be horrified to see what Deb and I have come to.”

“Now, now. Your sister is a respectable married woman and you are about to be.”

She leveled a clear blue gaze at him. “You really want to marry me?”

“Have I not proposed awkwardly twice already? If you tell me the third time’s the charm I shall endeavor to do it better, but only once more. A man can only debase himself so much.”

Charlie scooted back, sloshing water onto the carpet. “Debase? Is that how you think of it? Lowering yourself to my level?”

“You quite mistake me. I’m on my knees, Charlie, and damned uncomfortable.”

Charlie glanced down, and just as quickly looked into his face. His erect shaft pierced the water like a rigid fish.

“I n-need to wash my hair,” she stammered.

Bay leaned in closer. “I’ll do it for you, if you do something for me.”

“Anything,” she whispered. “You know I’ll do anything for you.”

There was an urgent tapping on the bedroom door. Charlotte disentangled herself from the covers and Bay’s sleep-heavy arm and threw on her gray robe. Running her hands through her hair, she wished Bay had allowed it to dry before he fell upon her like a starving man. But a few knots were nothing to the saturated bliss of her body. She cracked the door open.

A pale Frazier stood there, his arm in a sling.

“What are you doing up? Oh, that sounds awful, but I thought you weren’t to be disturbed. How are you, Mr. Frazier?”

“I’ve never been better, Miss Fallon. Miss Kitty Toothaker has agreed to be my bride.” The man grinned like an idiot, and the gruff old Scot completely disappeared. “But Sir Michael’s wanted below. It’s Dr. Dixfield come to call, and he seems a mite agitated.”

“What time is it? Oh, good Lord. Lady Whitley hasn’t escaped, has she?” Charlotte looked down the hall behind him as if she expected to see the Black Widow any second.

“Just on four. And no. That was the first thing I asked. He says she’s got plenty of protection at the house and he felt confident enough to leave her.”

Charlotte hoped the doctor didn’t have any spare firearms lying around. “If you give us a few minutes, I’ll wake Sir Michael and we’ll get dressed and be right down. Have Mrs. Kelly do up a tea tray. I’m actually hungry.” They had slept right through lunch. No, not slept.

Angus Frazier gave her a beatific smile. “Yes, yes. You should eat more in your condition.”

Charlotte shut the door. Did everyone in the entire household know her secret? Everyone but Bay.

What if she wasn’t pregnant, but coming to the end of her child-bearing years? She knew of women her age who got sick and whose flow had stopped. She also knew women who bore offspring well into their forties. Mrs. King in Little Hyssop even had a babe at fifty-one, the same year one of her daughters gave birth to her seventh grandchild. Perhaps she should see a doctor.

Well, there was one waiting downstairs. She leaned over her lover, sprawled like Gulliver across the linens, his cock rampant, a sleep-sweetened smile on his face. She would be interrupting a very pleasant dream.

“Bay, wake up. Dr. Dixfield is here.”

“Unh.” He rolled over, giving her a very fine view of his bottom. It was a beautiful bottom to be sure, white, tight, just the right curvature to fill out his pantaloons properly, but she needed to see his dark eyes. Wide open.

“Bay!” Sharper now. He sat bolt upright, reaching for an invisible weapon. Realization dawned and he gave her a sexy smile. “Sorry I fell asleep. Come back to bed and we’ll take up where we left off.”

“Bay, you need to get dressed. Dr. Dixfield is below.”

“Damnation! Has she run off?” He was stuffing a leg in his ruined pants before she had a chance to even walk to the wardrobe.

“He says not. I’ve ordered tea and sandwiches. You haven’t eaten a thing.”

Bay gave her a sardonic look, and she felt the blush spread from her nose to her toes. Bay had been very, very thorough, “proposing” to her again and again until there was absolutely no question she would agree to be his wife. No wonder losing him had deranged Anne Whitley.

He stuck a comb in the tepid basin and slicked back his coppery hair. The longer it grew, the more it seemed to turn autumnal. Even with a day’s growth of beard, he was so handsome the breath left her.

He gave her a quick kiss. “Take your time. I won’t decide anything important without you.”

And he was gone.

Jamie Dixfield was one of his oldest friends. Bay had mentioned him numerous times over the past few weeks, recalling one boyhood stunt or another. He had entrusted Anne to Jamie’s care, and not only because he was a doctor. Charlotte wished to make a good impression, but was faced with her dull dresses. Gray or brown? She pulled a pale ashy muslin dress over her head, quickly braided her hair, pinched her cheeks, and bit her lips. That would have to do.

She needn’t have worried. When she reached the parlor, neither man even glanced her way. Both of them were standing before the bank of windows, not enjoying that view either but emanating a certain menace toward each other. The tea table was untouched. Nervous, Charlotte cleared her throat.

The doctor was the first to break away from Bay’s glare. He was an attractive man, if somewhat disheveled, with curling fair hair and an angular face. He looked like he’d been wrestling alligators on the Nile, but she supposed he had only wrestled a distraught Anne Whitley all day. Smiling, he revealed even, white teeth. “You must be Charlie. May I be one of the first to offer my wishes for your future happiness?”

His hands on hers were long, elegant, and warm. Good, safe hands for a doctor. “Charlotte, actually. No one calls me Charlie anymore, except for Bay.” And her sister, but there was no point in bringing her into this. “How do you do, Dr. Dixfield?”

“It’s just Jamie, but if you must be Charlotte, I can be James.” He winked at her. Out of the corner of her own eye she saw Bay flex his fists as if he longed to thrash his oldest friend for displaying such charm to his fiancée.

“What is going on?” Charlotte asked baldly. “Whatever it is, you’ll both do better with some tea and a sandwich. Won’t you sit down and join me?”

“Tea won’t solve this,” Bay bit out.

“Very likely not.” Jamie smiled at her again, but the smile didn’t reach his sober gray eyes. “I’m afraid my old friend and I are having a rather fundamental disagreement. As lovely as it is to meet you, perhaps we can become better acquainted another time.”

“You’ll not order Charlie out of my parlor in my house!”

“No, indeed. I’d never interfere with the woman you love.” Dixfield sat on the edge of the nearest chair, inspecting a loose button on his wrinkled jacket.

“Love!” Charlotte sat down quickly as Bay stalked about the room, waving his arms about like a windup toy. She had never seen him so ruffled, not even when his life had been in danger. “Don’t talk to me of love! You’re as unhinged as she is!”

“I beg your pardon,” Charlotte said with feeling, “but just because I agreed to marry you does not mean I’m unhinged.”

“Not you,” both men spoke at once.

“Oh, do sit down, Bay, you’re making me dizzy. What do you take in your tea, Jamie?”

“You can’t turn this debacle into a tea party, Charlie. It won’t work.” But at least Bay landed on a sofa, too far away to have tea or any sort of plate passed to him.

“Sugar please, no milk or lemon.” The men were quiet while she poured a cup, her hand shaking just a trifle, and passed it to the doctor. She served herself, adding a huge dollop of milk for the baby.

“Now,” she said after taking a bracing sip, “suppose one of you tells me what this is all about.”

The mantel clock ticked a full minute before Bay spoke, his voice dripping sarcasm. “It seems the doctor here has a peculiar plan to bring Lady Whitley back to some semblance of sanity. Why don’t you tell her, Jamie? I find I’m unequal to the task.”

Charlotte had heard of asylums for those afflicted with mental impairment. Some people in the ton even went so far as to visit the inmates-in Bedlam, for example-for sheer amusement. Such cruelty. Surely this kind, friendly man didn’t plan on subjecting Anne Whitley, no matter what she’d done, to such a fate.

And he didn’t. What he said next was far more frightening.

“It seems love is in the air-first for Angus Frazier, then for you and Bay, and now for me. I’ve asked Lady Whitley to marry me.”

Charlotte dropped her cup to the floor. Its contents fell on her slippers and it rolled harmlessly on the thick Aubusson carpet. She was too shocked to remark on the hot tea finding its way between her toes.

“You see? Unhinged,” said Bay grimly.

“I have loved Anne Buckland since I was a boy. Bay had his turn with her, and now it’s mine. We talked for hours when she woke up, Anne and I. She just wants what all women want: a home, children, a man she can depend on. She can depend on me. I’ve had my chances with the ladies, but I never married. It’s always been Anne. When I heard her husband died, I was getting my courage up to go see her, but then she came back home.”

“But-but-” Once she found her tongue, she revealed their shameful recent history. Charlotte was fairly sure she mentioned the word gun a few times. Bay chimed in about the brutes who kidnapped him. Nothing would shake Jamie Dixfield’s certainty that he could make Anne Whitley happy. His eyes shone as he pleaded his case.

“But I realize it would be awkward if I kept my practice here. My father has retired, but he’s still got some good days left in him, long enough to train a new doctor for these parts. Bay has more money than God, you know, more than he’ll ever need. I’ve come for a loan. He can set me up in another town where no one knows Anne or the trouble she’s had. I heard about a situation not long ago from a doctor friend of mine up in Scotland. A new country. A new start.”

Bay looked shattered. “If I thought it could work, I’d give you my whole fortune, Jamie, but you don’t know what she’s like now.”

“Oh, I believe I do. I was there this morning when she had her little fit, remember? She’s told me everything, Bay-what her husband did to her and what she did to survive it. She wants a baby so badly that it’s clouded her judgment. That happens to some women. I’ve seen it before.”

“I wager you’ve never been at the business end of a gun over it,” Bay snapped.

“No. She didn’t need to hold a gun on me. I was most willing.” Dixfield flushed, realizing what he’d just revealed. Bay stared at him, slack jawed. “I’ll marry her, whether you approve or not, whether you can give me any money or not.”

“Good God. She was drugged, Jamie. I watched you dose her myself. You can’t count on anything she said or did.”

“It was just honey and brandy. I knew she needed to sleep, and she did. She’s sorry, Bay, truly sorry for causing you both such trouble. It’s as if she was under some kind of spell and now she’s snapped out of it.”

“You’re the one who’s under a spell, man!” Bay returned to pacing the room, running his hand through his hair every seventh step. Charlotte counted-he was as regular as a metronome.

“You’re right,” Dixfield said. “And you of all people know what it’s like. You’ve moved on, Bay, and found your happiness. Don’t deny me mine.”

Bay snorted in disgust. He pulled open a French door and slammed it shut. Charlotte watched him lope down the green lawn toward the beach, leaving her alone with the love-struck doctor.

“I know Anne just sees me as a port in the storm,” he said softly. “But I have hope she’ll come to care for me, even love me. She-she was very responsive. Physically.” His cheeks were crimson but he continued the unwanted confession. “She’s had a hard life. Her only true peace was her brief time with Bay. Not even six months. Then she played her games. I know she hurt Bay terribly, but I swear she won’t bother you again.”

Charlotte’s mouth was dry. “How can you know that?”

“Because I mean to get her with child, children if we’re so lucky, and she’ll be too busy to think about the past. I’ve waited for her more than half my life.”

Apart from her obvious beauty, Charlotte could see no reason why any man should fall in love with Anne Whitley. Yet these two old friends had, and for most of two decades. Perhaps her judgment was clouded as well, and they knew a different Anne, one who was not shrill and dangerous. “I can’t trust her,” Charlotte said at last. “Especially not now.”

“Then convince Bay to lend me the blunt so we can go to Scotland. We’ll marry at Gretna Green on the way up. Once my practice here sells, I can pay him back.”

“I don’t think his reservation is about the money. Bay’s the most generous man I know. Don’t you see? You’re his best friend. He doesn’t want Anne to use you.”

Dixfield smiled. “I want to be used, Charlotte. Sad, isn’t it? Here I’ve got looks and skill-no false modesty for me. I know my worth-but all I want is that madwoman in my house. She’s all I ever wanted. I thought my heart would turn black and curdle with jealousy when Bay married her. I was glad when her husband came back from the dead-glad that my friend couldn’t have her either. You’re the only person I’ve ever told that to.”

Charlotte felt sympathy for the man, but Anne’s problems surely were too complicated to be solved by honey and brandy and one afternoon in bed with Jamie Dixfield. From the state of his clothing he hadn’t even bothered to get undressed. Charlotte scrubbed her mind of the unwelcome images.

“I will talk to him, but I can’t promise anything.”

Dixfield rose. “Thank you. I’m going to bring Anne back home to her parents. It’s not proper that she stay with me.”

Oh, God. A fist of fear clutched her heart. Anne would come after them again, and next time she might be successful. Bay’s child would be at risk as long as Anne was not confined. Charlotte stumbled over her good-byes and stared at the deceptively calm sea. She had to do something-something-but she couldn’t think what.