The Reluctant Marquess
“Robert looked down at the small head that rested against his shoulder. Charity was sound asleep. The lamplight fell upon her cheek. He stroked her delicate skin with a finger and spoke her name. She didn’t stir. She was worn out, and rightly so. He felt a stab of guilt. She’d annoyed him asking about Arabella. Perhaps because she’d been right. He and Arabella had enjoyed a brief affair a year ago. He’d thrown Charity to the wolves and the vixens. He knew only too well how harsh the ton could be. She’d done remarkably well, though. Several friends had sought him out during the evening to offer their approval.
“I’ll carry Lady St Malin, Fielding,” he told the footman. He gathered her up, her soft body encased in corset, petticoats and skirts nestled against his chest as he walked up the steps and into the house. He realized how slight she was, how light in his arms.
When he reached her chamber, he found Brigitte waiting, dozing in a chair by the fire. “You may go.”
He laid Charity on the bed.
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