Charlotte heard her name called. At least she thought she had.
The rain sheeted around her, a thick curtain that blocked out everything but breaths and heart beats and nerve endings.
It was quiet, she noted. So ungodly quiet.
Rain slid unheeded down her cheekbones, her dress clinging to her chest and the weight of her skirts thick and damp between her legs.
The fire was a flickering menace on her periphery, one she knew, somehow, in someway, wouldn't be able to reach her.
That's when the sound of her name registered.
"Charlotte? By God..."
And then hands were burrowing beneath the heavy mass of her locks, clasping her neck. An arm swept around her waist, and then she was pulled into a warm body, her face cradled between neck and shoulder.
It was Greyson, his scent of bergamot mixed with rain and woodsmoke.
That was all it took for reality to come crashing back. Charlotte's hand fisted in Greyson's shirt, her teeth biting down on his skin as she wept. Her tears mixed with the rain, her shoulders shaking as Greyson's body sheltered her.
"H...how did you f...find me?" Charlotte asked, when she could speak, pulling back and watching a droplet of rain rove over the earl's lips.
"Your horse came galloping down the road, and that's when we saw it. The fire..." he murmured, his hand tangling further into her hair. "God, I saw you lying here and I thought...I thought..."
Charlotte didn't need to hear the rest.
Didn't wish to.
The foolishness of her actions - the fear that she might never see this man again, experience the warm ache in her chest - all collided at once, threatening to tear her apart.
"I'm okay," she whispered. She didn't know if it was Greyson she spoke to, however, her lips trembling slightly from the cold and the last lingering traces of her energy.
Greyson's thumb captured each sign of moisture on Charlotte's face, his eyes roaming over every curve and dip as if committing her to memory.
"Moreland?"
Charlotte's eyes fell to the crumbling heap of boards, the rain misting like a sick ghost. "He was inside when it collapsed. I...I had his knife. It stabbed through his coat and he got...stuck...inside..."
"God," Greyson gasped out, drawing Charlotte's body back into him. "God."
Charlotte's teeth began to chatter, and Greyson cursed, releasing Charlotte for a moment as he shrugged from his black greatcoat. Pulling it around Charlotte's shoulders, he clasped the fabric in his fists in front of her, dragging her body back into his.
His hand cradled her head, unwilling to release her as they both breathed. "I never...I didn't..."
Trailing off, Greyson's hand began a soothing motion over her back. Up and down. Charlotte ignored the twinges in her muscles and the sting of her shoulder. The throbbing of her face and the creak of her jaw.
Charlotte didn't wish for anything else but to be back home. Not at her parents' country estate. Not in London in her borrowed town home. Not in her imagined house with only Sophie for company.
She simply wished to be wherever Greyson was.
"Take me home." It was a meager whisper over the howling wind that had began, as if angry at the whole predicament as Charlotte was. As Greyson had to be.
Her body was gently pushed back, Greyson's hands coming up to clasp her cheeks. His gray eyes glanced at her as if trying to understand what was happening. "Charlotte...?"
Charlotte wrapped her arms around Greyson's neck, giving him the full of her weight as her eyes closed and her head landed trustingly on his collarbone. "Please, Greyson?" she whispered, her lips pressed to the shell of his ear. "Take me home."
Greyson didn't hesitate. Looping one arm around her shoulders, his other dipped beneath her knees and she was in his arms.
She didn't look back as she was settled atop Greyson's horse, his warmth falling in behind her.
***
Charlotte awoke sometime that evening to a large body wrapped around her.
The curtains were drawn partway closed, moonlight bringing into focus her guest room at the Claymore estate. She shifted, realizing that someone had changed her into a cotton nightdress.
She glanced down, Greyson's tanned forearm splayed over her hips and his hand covering her belly, fingers splayed. His breath ruffled the edges of her hair, tickling her skin.
That was when the aches decided to make themselves known. The twinge in her jaw from Moreland's fist and the stitch in her arm from where the nail had scraped her skin as she rolled. Not to mention the throbbing slice that decorated her cheek and the ache in her back when it had met the unyielding surface of the stable wall.
Her hand brushed over the bandage on her cheek, a brief memory entering of when the doctor had been here. His gaze had been concerned as he probed her heated skin. And then she had caught a glimpse of Greyson, his gray eyes watching over the doctor's shoulders, his lips moving as he spoke. The various faces of Thorne and Greyson's mother and sister.
And her uncle?
All Charlotte remembered was reaching for Greyson, trying to, before she had been claimed once more by sleep.
She twisted to face Greyson now, ignoring her injuries as she allowed a quiet moment to study him. It appeared his dreams were fretful for his brows her pinched, the corners of his mouth tight. Her eyes lingered on his sculpted nose and settled on his full lower lip.
His hair was mussed from sleep and he looked adorably...young.
This was what she had fought so hard for, she realized. This moment was what had pulled her through, brought out her last vestige of determination as she had slid the knife into the fabric of Moreland's coat. As she had run with fire licking at her skirts before the building had succumbed to the flames.
His fists clenched next to her hip and that was when Charlotte noticed his knuckles. Gasping softly, she brought his hand upwards, shoving down the sleeve of his white shirt. His knuckles were red, the skin broken.
What the devil?
She didn't have time to contemplate what had happened for his eyelids fluttered. Gray eyes met hers, the earl rubbing sleep from his eyes as he noticed that she was wide awake.
Charlotte could hardly believe everything that had happened in the last few days. She wouldn't have if it weren't for myriad pains that riddled her flesh and the tiredness that dogged the earl's body next to her.
As Greyson straightened, Charlotte found herself tongue-tied for the first time in her life. Instead of asking what had happened to his knuckles. If she had heard him correctly in mentioning her uncle had been dealing with Simpton. If Moreland was as dead as she had thought. Hoped.
Instead, she whispered, "Hi."
Eloquent, Charlotte.
He must not have minded, however, for a smile swept across his features as he settled back into her. His hand cupped her cheek as he brought his lips to hers.
It was a sweet kiss. A gentle one.
"Hi," he whispered against her lips.
Charlotte pulled back, her throat dry as she swallowed. "Greyson?"
"Yes, love?"
The bed linens twisted around her torso, and Charlotte shifted, dragging the sheet from under her and placing a tentative hand on Greyson's chest. His hand clasped hers, holding it until the reverberations of his heart thumped from her hand to his. "It wasn't a dream, was it?"
Greyson's hand trembled slightly as he leaned in to kiss her softly. His forefinger traced alongside the bandage on Charlotte's cheek. His head shook slowly before he added, "But it's over."
Charlotte's throat thickened as her eyes cast lingering glances over inch of flesh she could see. Was it true? She wondered. Was he gone?
As if Greyson could hear her thought, he leaned in and Charlotte's attention focused on his sober gaze. "We called the constable after the doctor checked in with you. I went out there with Thorne and your uncle." His throat worked as he hesitated. "We found him lodged under boards. The fire..."
His head shook, his eyes falling to their clasped hands.
He didn't need to say more.
Charlotte wrapped her arms around Greyson's neck, burying her face in his shoulder.
She had come so close to losing this, she thought. Losing Greyson.
"I am sorry."
Greyson groaned in his throat, his arms tightening around her.
"Because of me...because of my stubbornness..."
"It wasn't you who threatened me, Charlotte. It wasn't you who threatened your own." Greyson's head shook, the ends of Charlotte's hair snagging on the stubble of his chin. "Is that why you didn't come to me before you disappeared?"
His voice wasn't filled with anger, but merely curious.
"You were injured because of me. No -" Charlotte said, her fingers falling over Greyson's mouth as he went to argue. "It is. After my disguise had fallen apart...the feelings I had for you that day...what I wanted...?"
Charlotte broke off, feeling the heat in Greyson's gaze.
She blinked back the moisture in her eyes, inhaling deeply. She owed him this. "I wasn't ready to admit such things, Greyson. I didn't understand what was happening, how I could allow myself to trust you so damn willingly..."
Greyson pulled back slightly, his fingers falling to the strands of her hair. His eyes followed the movement as he twisted it through the tips of his fingers, waiting for Charlotte to finish speaking.
"I didn't wish for you to be injured once more coming to my protection. I knew you would insist on it -"
"I would have died doing so, Charlotte, and not given another thought."
The sincerity in the words brought the thickness back to Charlotte's throat. "Exactly. And if Moreland had his way, he wasn't just going to destroy you, Greyson. Not just your lands or your home, but your mother's future. Your sister's. They needed you too and I couldn't let that happen."
"Hell, Greyson," Charlotte continued, cursing the tears that had become her ceaseless companions this last week. "Moreland had admitted to killing...he said my parents..."
Greyson tucked her head beneath his chin, his touch soothing.
"They were simply a convenient method to get to your father."
Greyson nodded, releasing her hair. "Your uncle told me."
Charlotte met Greyson's eyes. "I keep meaning to ask. How did my uncle happen to be here?"
"Henry had come to visit the morning you disappeared. He had an inkling you would be here." Greyson chuckled, a wry smile on his lips as his eyes glinted with bemusement. "It seems your story about saving me from thieves has been gossiped about all over England."
Charlotte frowned. "My story?"
"The one you told enmasse to the proprietor and your riveted audience? At the inn?"
Charlotte's mouth opened before a snort of laughter tumbled from her lips. Her palm swiped away the moisture tracking her face as she looked at Greyson incredulously. "I had forgotten about that."
"Yes, well, if only all of England could be so accommodating," Greyson said, smiling. "Your tale has become legend. My stable boy whisking out a sword in the nick of time..."
A shock of chocked laughter left Charlotte. "A sword? Heavens, where the devil would I have kept one?"
"Unfortunately for me, it seems the gossipmongers have no concept or desire to consider plausibility," Greyson said, his hand sweeping her hair over one shoulder. "What would the fun be in that?"
They shared a smile before Greyson sobered.
"At any rate, your uncle was able to put two and two together."
"So, Henry had actually been worried for me?"
Greyson nodded. "Yes. He knew Moreland would be after you."
His thumb arched across her cheekbone and Charlotte's head tilted towards his touch.
"His story matches up with our suspicions. Henry told me about how he had gotten drunk and lost everything to Moreland that evening. He wasn't aware of Moreland's dealings or that he would be in debt to him for as long as he had. And then, Moreland had threatened your livelihood and Henry had hoped Simpton would be the one to come to your aid."
"I can't believe Simpton would go to such lengths."
Greyson snorted a bitter laugh. "For what else but greed? Power." His hand clenched. "Lust."
Charlotte burrowed her face in Greyson's neck, wondering at how intricately Moreland had weaved their lives together. Each ending in tragedy upon tragedy.
"Henry made poor decisions, true," Greyson said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, "but I don't think -"
"It wasn't intentional," Charlotte said. Her eyes gazed at each thread in Greyson's shirt as she digested everything she had been told.
At some point, Charlotte found that she had ceased to blame her uncle. They had been victims of a carousel forged by a master blacksmith, an endless cycle of bending to his will.
For all of her uncle's faults, Charlotte couldn't recall a single instance when her uncle had been deliberately malicious. Although she did wonder if it was guilt that had kept them apart. Guardedness on Henry's part and stubbornness on hers.
"What did happen to Simpton?" Charlotte asked.
A grim smile crossed Greyson's face and his eyes fell to his knuckles. "Henry and Thorne are currently escorting the man to Newgate where he will spend the rest of his miserable life."
Her gaze followed Greyson's and she had a nagging suspicion that she knew exactly what Greyson had been up to while she had slept.
Charlotte couldn't find it in herself, however, to care overmuch. "What happened?"
Greyson chuckled. "The damned fool ran straight at us. He was mumbling half incoherently, glancing over his shoulder. He didn't even hear us come up."
Greyson shook his head as if in bewilderment. "Strange behavior, but Henry jumped from his horse. Told me to find you while he took care of the man. It wasn't until later that I found out what had happened."
Charlotte raised a brow.
Greyson pushed up, bringing Charlotte to his side. She draped her arm over his torso, her head lying beneath his chin. "Simpton confessed to working with Moreland for quite some time. He was playing both sides. He had even stolen from Henry the night of the ball. Some evidence that he could lord over Moreland in case things went south."
Charlotte gasped, her head nearly hitting Greyson's chin as she met his eyes.
"What is it?"
"Sophie and I," she began, her hands shaking slightly. "We saw a man leave my uncle's study that evening. I assumed it was Moreland, but if Simpton admitted to working both Moreland and my uncle than it might have been him."
Nodding, Greyson's eyes moved to the flickering fire was that burning low in the grate. "When we had cornered Simpton to..." he glanced at Charlie from the corner of his eyes, clearing his throat as he finished with, "speak with him, we found him quite willing to fess up to a multitude of things. It wasn't just your attempted compromise he was guilty of, although he had been quite forthcoming that it had been a boon..."
Greyson's fists clenched at that, his eyes hard slate chips.
He visibly relaxed his position as he found Charlotte's eyes on him. "Before I alleviated the bastard of that particular notion. But he had also been involved with carrying out Moreland's vendettas."
"The men in Henry's correspondence?" Charlotte asked.
Greyson nodded. "Simpton was helping to destroy Moreland's enemies while stockpiling blackmail on Moreland. It was another boon," Greyson snarled, "for Simpton in that he would steal all of your uncle's evidence on Moreland. Your uncle it seems was hoping to blackmail Moreland as well, but he simply wanted...out. It didn't help that Henry had handed Simpton his arse, for it made Simpton only want his revenge on you all the more -"
"My uncle did what?"
Greyson's arm tightened around her, his eyes grave. "After Henry had found out what Simpton had done to you, he...let's say, taught Simpton a lesson."
Charlotte's head shook. All of the miscommunications....
Everything that had been hidden from her...
"When it became clear to Simpton that he was just as disposable as the rest, he ran for the hills. Unfortunately for Simpton, he chose the wrong direction."
"He is locked away for good, then?"
Greyson faced her, his eyes serious, as he tilted her chin up. "It's over, Charlotte."
It was all she needed, Charlotte realized. For she trusted Greyson implicitly. Wondered how she could have ever doubted him at all.
Greyson grinned then, and with a quick move, Charlotte found herself under Greyson, her back sunken into the feather-down mattress. She gasped out a laugh, even while she noted that Greyson was careful of her, not putting pressure on any spot that had been bruised this morning.
By God, how quickly things had changed for the better.
"Not to mention, my dear," Greyson said, his nose trailing up her neck, "you now have a marquess, an earl and a viscount at your back."
Charlotte realized at that moment that she was quite done with talking.
With waiting.
With thinking.
They had lost enough of their time to Moreland and Simpton. To Charlie, the stable boy and Greyson, the reclusive earl.
Smiling, Charlotte placed a chaste kiss on Greyson's lips, shuffling back as far as she could as his mouth delved in for a deeper touch.
He growled as Charlotte wrapped her arms around Greyson's back, her legs clasping on either side of his hips. Â "I never thought I'd say this, but thank heavens for you lords of the aristocracy."
Greyson pulled back, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he stared down at her. "Which reminds me, my lady."
His smile was bright against his tanned skin, and Charlotte was reminded of the day his mother and sister had arrived. The charming rogue with a quick grin and a boyish expression.
Charlotte wondered if it were possible to fall even harder in love for him.
Because damned if he wasn't doing so without even trying.
"There is the slight issue of your reputation to consider."
Charlotte's face flushed as his eyes went heavy lidded. Her mind went back to that evening, her body heating at the remembered feel of his hands on her.
She wanted to do it again, she realized.
Scoffing at Greyson's words, she met his gaze, her tone teasing. "My reputation? I believe it was I who took advantage of you, my lord. It is your reputation we need to consider."
Greyson laughed, the gray filled with an array of sparks.
Charlotte rolled until it was Greyson on his back, the long length of his body pillowed by blue sheets. She could see herself getting used to this quite well, indeed.
Leaning over him, Charlotte rucked up her nightgown to press her lips next to his ear. "But don't fret, my love. I vow to make a respectable man of you yet."
Greyson's hand landed on her hip, tightening, and Charlotte's breath left her in a gust. "And how do you propose to do that, hm?" His voice was a husky drawl beneath her, her skin pimpling.
Charlotte grinned. "Why, I am going to marry you, of course."
A loud laugh was her answer, and she frowned even as an answering smile tugged at her lips.
"I don't see what is so funny, Greyson," Charlotte said, pushing against his shoulders as she straddled him. "I am proposing marriage here."
"Only you, my Charlotte," he murmured, his hand wrapping around the back of her neck and bringing her face inches from his. "Only you."
Charlotte bit her lower lip as her eyes locked with Greyson's. "So, it that a yes?"
Greyson smiled, his thumb coming up and pulling lightly on Charlotte's lower lip. She released it, her mouth parting and a gasp falling between them. "That's a bloody hell, yes."
And then he kissed her.