An Improper Situation (Sanborn-Malloy Historical Romance Series, Book One) (12 page)

He went to the door, then turned to her just before he disappeared.
“I’m looking forward to dancing with you on Saturday.”

Charlotte did not have time to respond. It occurred to her that this night, he had been the one to pull foot from her study, leaving his coffee cup and all. She sat in front of the fire a while longer, unraveling his words, sipping her coffee, and finally deciding he had been complimenting her in a strange fashion. She had never considered herself naive, but then, she had never dealt with such a situation.

And she, too, was looking forward to the dance on Saturday, and most especially to finally being held in his arms.

Charlotte was determined to get all her work done before Saturday so she could spend all day getting ready for the dance if need be. With just a couple days to go, she was filled with a mixture of abject terror and thrilled anticipation.

In the morning light, she grimaced at herself in the mirror over her chamber set as she dried her face and combed her hair. It probably
would
take all Saturday. And what would she do with her hair? What would Reed think of her dress? A thousand such questions knotted her stomach.

Reed had occupied Lily and Thomas with an early outing that morning, even taking a pic-nic breakfast, so she could work in absolute peace, but she simply didn’t want to. She wanted to go on an outing, too, but it seemed her lot was to stay cooped up inside the Sanborn house till she died—a shriveled old maid, a spinster.

Charlotte fled her reflection at that thought and headed downstairs. The house seemed so empty with them gone. Her footsteps echoed in the silence as they had not done for the past couple of weeks. It reminded her of when Thaddeus left, and she hugged herself tightly, as she went down the hall into the kitchen.

Skipping breakfast, she made herself a strong pot of tea before locking herself in her study. She hadn’t had to fend for herself in days as Reed always made sure she took an occasional break or asked her if she wanted a beverage in the afternoon.

Charlotte stoked the fire in the stove until it blazed.

This is how it will be when they’re gone—for all the rest of your days.

So what? It will be just as it was before they came.

But you’ve tasted companionship and now it’ll be so much harder.

It won’t take as long to get over as when Teddy left.

Maybe. Maybe not.

She tried to halt the conversation in her head as she poured the boiling water over the tea leaves in the pot, and then waited to pour the thin tawny liquid into her favorite cup. But the dreadful thoughts continued until Charlotte fairly ran to her study for sanctuary.

As she entered, the image of Reed in front of the glowing fire came unbidden. He had looked mysterious and inviting, all at once, and he’d taken her breath away with his eyes, his touch. Then he left and she’d given up trying to write, no longer feeling satisfied working late at night while everyone else slumbered peacefully above her.

Today, instead of sitting straightaway at her typewriter, she opened the bottom drawer of her father’s old desk and pulled out some of his manuscript—only half of the nearly one thousand pages written in his neat script. It had been a long time since she read it, a long time since she wondered how her life would be if he and her mother had lived. She flipped the pages, causing a breeze to lift wisps of hair curling by her cheeks.

Suddenly, she snapped the pages down on her desk. This was getting her nowhere. What she needed was . . . was a bath—perhaps a cool one with some of her mother’s best scented salts—just to clear her head while she had a moment’s quiet time. No children screaming and running through the house . . . or laughing or playing.

She took her tea and went to draw her bath. It took the usual ten minutes of hauling water to fill the claw foot tub. But as she eased herself into the soothing, aromatic liquid, only half-heated, she sighed and judged it to be well worth the effort.

Ever since Reed had brought her pulse to racing, she’d felt hot at the mere thought of him. She needed to wash his touch right away or she’d never be able to concentrate on her work.

She lingered in the fragrant water until the tea cup was empty and her skin began to feel chilled. By now the sun was high in the sky, and, pulling her banyan round her damp body, she went downstairs and carried a porch chair into the yard, setting it in the full sunshine between the new rose bushes.

Pulling the comb from her pocket, Charlotte began to work the tangles out. She didn’t notice the door open to her right. She didn’t notice the man staring at her, fixed to the spot by the sight of her, perched on her chair, one creamy-skinned leg exposed where her silken robe fell open, her hair gleaming like a copper waterfall. But then she heard his footsteps.

Charlotte couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her as she looked up to see Reed standing right in front of her, his head framed by the bright light as though a sun god in the flesh.

At first, because of the angle, she couldn’t make out his features. But when she shielded her eyes with her hand, she caught her breath at the expression on his face, pausing with the comb still in her other hand.

“Reed?” She heard the unfamiliar word from her own lips and blushed. “Are the children all right?”

“
We stopped at the Cuthins’ home with Sarah’s bowls and her platter, and she wants to teach them how to make butter. Apparently, it will take them a while.” He trailed off and still hadn’t moved.

“
What is it?” Charlotte asked, catching sight of her own exposed leg, which she hastily covered.

“
You.” His voice was low and rough and it brought her eyes directly to his. “Do you have any idea what a portrait of beauty you make sitting out here in your front yard?”

She gulped aloud; if she could have blushed any more than she was already doing, she would have.
“Oh, Mr. Malloy, I am not . . . I mean . . . Really!” She dropped her gaze away from his face.

Unexpectedly, he laughed.
“You are truly refreshing.” He got down beside her on his haunches and she nearly fell off her chair. His hand came up to take hold of a shimmering lock, still damp and gently curling.

“
You seem to have no notion of just how appealing you are,” he continued. “Not just your fine face,” he said, touching her cheek with his other hand, “or your glorious hair,” he added, twisting it around his finger, “but coupled with your admirable intellect, Miss Sanborn, I can only believe the reason you’ve not been plucked off the tree of single womanhood by now is that you’ve hidden yourself in this backward place.”

She opened her mouth to defend Spring City as best she could, but she could think of nothing with him kneeling beside her in the grass. She could hear nothing more for the blood was pounding in her ears, and she could feel her heart beating an excited tattoo in her chest. She was silent, watching this man with his tousled hair, whose handsome face looked so earnestly into her own.

“I’m wondering, Charlotte Sanborn, if right now you’d mind being kissed, because at this moment, I have an incredibly strong urge—no, a compulsion—to kiss you.”

For a long moment, she could not find her voice, staring into his blue eyes, which had become so familiar, whether engaging her across the dining room table or flickering intelligently as they conversed in her study at night.

There was a falling in the pit of her stomach as if she were sailing high on the rope swing she’d shared with her brother as a child.

Reed Malloy was not smiling now; he looked extremely serious and that fact, too, made her tremble. She did, at this moment, want desperately for him to kiss her. But she was ashamed to tell him that she had never been kissed by a man before, that she didn’t know how to or what he expected of her.

Yet when she opened her mouth to tell him this, all she said was, “Yes.”

A fire lit in his eyes, and the expression on his face turned sensuous at her acquiescence, anticipating what would come next. With him on his knees and her on the chair, they were face-to-face. He had merely to lean forward and he did.

Charlotte held her breath a moment, relishing the warm smell of him, the softly spicy sandalwood that always clung to his clothes and the male scent that she recognized as his alone. Her palms were wet and she dropped the comb as his face came closer.

Her eyes locked on his until the last moment when she closed them. She gave herself over entirely to feeling, both her hearing and sight lost in the sensation of his mouth pressing against her own.

His lips were a sweet surprise, firm but gentle, slightly rough—and the roughness was an unexpected delight. His hands did not touch her at all, but enclosed her by resting on the arms of her chair, so she felt enveloped by him. His shirt brushed her arm as he leaned closer, and she shivered.

She wanted this moment to last and last as his kiss grew firmer. He didn’t hold her head, but she kissed him in fervent response, as if pressed from behind. For just a moment, she felt his tongue against her lips, and it sent shock waves that seemed to head directly to her most feminine parts.

Then slowly, lingeringly, he pulled away, resting his forehead against hers as her eyes opened in wonder to look at him. She gasped drawing air into her starved lungs.

“
Oh,” she said, still breathing heavily. He sat back on his heels with a mystified look lurking in his glittering eyes, and she noticed his own chest rising and falling rapidly.

“
Thank you for the honor, Miss Sanborn.” His voice was honey thick and low, as if it stuck in his throat. Then, in a quick, fluid motion, he was up on his feet and walking toward the house.

Charlotte sat in her chair, stunned by what had happened. It was as if she’d conjured him with all her thoughts that morning. But she half-suspected that he’d hurried off to hide his own turbulent emotions.

She took in a deep breath and released it. How wonderfully welcome that kiss had been. She bent down to retrieve her comb from the grass, seeing the indentation where his legs had been.

Had he been there, just a moment ago, kissing her? It was incredible. And in another day, she would be going to the dance on his arm. She knew there was nothing she could think of that would be any better . . . except another kiss. How had her life swiftly become so exciting?

She paused as a dark slash of loneliness cut through her thoughts, hinting at what was to come when he and the children finally left.
Am I being a fool, playing with fire?
She knew she was growing ever more attached to her new family and soon they would be gone. Everything would be as it was before.

She looked across at the house as it was now, silent and shaded, but she could will herself to hear Lily’s voice and Thomas’s laughter as she’d heard them so often in the past few weeks, drifting down from the upstairs window.

Yes, everything would be as it was before, everything except herself—her heart would be torn. She knew it as surely as she knew she was falling in love with Reed.

When he left Spring City, her heart would ache, but she closed her eyes and smiled into the warm sun. Without a doubt, it was worth it. She’d hold nothing back and cherish every moment of their stay. She jumped up and hurried inside.

After a few moments, she found Reed in her study, staring hard at the books on her shelves. She didn’t think he’d noticed her at first. Then, without looking at her, he said evenly, “This is becoming intolerable.” He snatched a book off the shelf at eye level as he spoke.

Charlotte had expected anything but that. Since she didn’t know to what he was referring, she moved into familiar territory.
“Will Sarah bring the children home?”

“
Yes, later, or they may walk.” He seemed to be scanning Ramsay’s
Life of George Washington
with great earnestness, as Charlotte moved closer. He still didn’t look at her. “It seems they needed a change from playing with ‘Uncle Reed.’”

She laughed, hoping to break the tension in his voice.
“You’ve done an excellent job with—”

“
The hell I have,” he cut in, finally swinging his brilliant blue gaze toward her. She thought she saw him flinch as he took in the sight of her, still clad outrageously in nothing but the garish banyan. Then his eyes met hers and she saw all the pent-up passion barely hinted at in their kiss. It was there, sparkling in his eyes, and it almost seemed to be paining him.

“
Reed,” she stepped forward, not thinking of the impropriety of using his given name, allowing her strong feelings for this man to guide her. She took the book from his hand and put it down on the desk. “What is intolerable?”

“
I can’t stay here any longer. A decision must be made. That’s why I came back here alone, to talk about—” Then he shook his head. “I’m lying. You know that, don’t you? I came back to be alone with you.”

His eyes were raking over her face, and she could see the war he was waging.
“I’m supposed to be a professional, handling the execution of my client’s last will and testament. I knew you weren’t ‘Charles’ Sanborn. I just didn’t expect . . .” He reached out and ran his knuckles along her jawline. “I didn’t expect you to be so irresistible.”