Page 71 of Rogue of My Heart

Edmond grunted a response.

Because she wasn’t going to warm his bed. Because he was a stubborn fool.

“Did you find out anything more about the theft at Lord Asterville’s?” Grey asked.

“Not yet, but I’m still looking into it.”

“Why so curious? That bloke has been taking people’s baubles since last year some time.”

“Because he took something of Charlotte’s. It only seems right that I endeavor to get it back for her.”

“Have you asked at the pawn brokers? That’s where I’d start.”

Edmond nodded. “I suspected the man would walk into one and try to sell the whole lot, but none of the places I’ve checked have had anything like that.” Of course, when he’d had pieces to sell, he hadn’t handled it that way. He was merely speculating based on the man’s behavior the other night. His impatience.

“I’ll let you know if I hear anything,” Grey said.

“I appreciate it.”

Charlotte’s efforts to make her husband jealous had been half-hearted at best. In truth, all she’d done is try to dance as much as possible to forget how sad she was. Then she’d caught his eyes from the dance floor, and her cheeks still burned from his glance. He’d only asked for one dance himself, and she’d assumed that meant she was free to dance with whomever she chose for the others. Within reason, of course.

He sauntered up to her after she finished a dance with Lord Braden.

Holding his hand out to her, he said, “I believe this is my dance.”

She inclined her head and placed her hand on his, and he led her to the dance floor. His warm hand pressed lightly against the small of her back, and he held her much closer than she was accustomed to with other dance partners. He was her husband though, he had the right. And if it caused talk, then so be it. Her name had already been sullied.

But the nearness of him, the scent of him—all earthiness and masculinity—reminded her of their encounter in his study. Two nights ago. He’d been so passionate, and he’d taken her body to such heights. He hadn’t touched her since. She wouldn’t request his “services” again, as he’d so crudely implied.

She peered up at him, nearly losing herself in those honey eyes of his. How had she never noticed his eyes? Such a unique color. She supposed it was because she’d so often seen him as part of her scenery, and simply hadn’t bothered to look closer. There was much about Edmond she’d never noticed before.

But staring up at him now, noting that aquiline nose of his and the intensity of his eyes, the perfect squareness of his jawline, dusted with a shadow of whiskers. Her husband was positively dashing. Her heart sped, and had her hands not been otherwise occupied, she would have brought one to her breast to keep the fluttering from being too noticeable. Because surely people could see the pounding through her skin, through her gown.

He turned them expertly and she realized another thing she’d not known about Edmond—he was a skilled dancer. Good heavens, if she wasn’t careful she would most assuredly fall desperately in love with a man who could barely tolerate her company.

Why wouldn’t he visit her bed? Were other married couples that way, and her friends’ unions were the exceptions? Perhaps when she’d gone to him the other night, she should have spoken about meeting his needs rather than hers. Then she could have put her hands and mouth on him.

“Have you been enjoying yourself?” he asked.

She stared at his face, trying to determine if it was a simple question or one meant to cause her shame. “I have,” she answered honestly. “And you?”

“I’ve never cared much for these affairs.”

She eyed him for a moment. “Then why do you come?”

He gave her a wry grin. “It is what we do, is it not?” Then a tight shrug. “We dress up and parade ourselves about, trying to pretend that our lives are such that we can afford the best clothes and the sturdiest horses.”

She was quiet for several moments, considering his words. How often had she and Frannie sewn new lace upon an old dress to try to give it new life? “I suppose we do. We did not have to come, though. I’m content staying in for the evening if that is your preference. I am your wife now.”

“Yes, you are my wife and you enjoy these affairs. It is also good for your reputation, as it were, to be seen in public with me. We are a couple in love, after all.”

Edmond’s words were subtle, but Charlotte didn’t miss the bite of sarcasm. They were supposed to be in love, that was the story that had been told, but certainly everyone knew the truth. Surely by now, everyone had heard that she’d been caught in the embrace of a notorious thief, and gentlemanly, kind, and scholarly Edmond had swept in to save her. No doubt as a favor to his sister and her dear friend.

“Smile, Charlotte,” he said, his deep baritone brushed across her skin. “You look miserable.”

She tried to grin, but it felt foreign to her face, as if she didn’t know how.

“Is it so terrible being in my arms?” he asked.